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SHADOWINGS
BY LAFCADIO HEARN
LECTURER ON ENGLISH LITERATURE IN
THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY, TOKYO, JAPAN
_AUTHOR OF_ "EXOTICS AND RETROSPECTIVES,"
"IN GHOSTLY JAPAN," ETC., ETC.
[Decoration]
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1919
_Copyright, 1900_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
Printers
S. J. PARKHILL & CO. BOSTON, U. S. A.
Contents
STORIES FROM STRANGE BOOKS:
I. THE RECONCILIATION 5
II. A LEGEND OF FUGEN-BOSATSU 15
III. THE SCREEN-MAIDEN 23
IV. THE CORPSE-RIDER 33
V. THE SYMPATHY OF BENTEN 41
VI. THE GRATITUDE OF THE SAMEBITO 57
JAPANESE STUDIES:
I. SEMI 71
II. JAPANESE FEMALE NAMES 105
III. OLD JAPANESE SONGS 157
FANTASIES:
I. NOCTILUCAE 197
II. A MYSTERY OF CROWDS 203
III. GOTHIC HORROR 213
IV. LEVITATION 225
V. NIGHTMARE-TOUCH 235
VI. READINGS FROM A DREAM-BOOK 249
VII. IN A PAIR OF EYES 265
Illustrations
_Facing page_
PLATE I 72
1-2, _Young Semi._
3-4, _Haru-Zemi_, also called _Nawashiro-Zemi_.
PLATE II 76
"_Shinne-Shinne_" also called _Yama-Zemi_, and
_Kuma-Zemi_.
PLATE III 80
_Aburazemi._
PLATE IV 84
1-2, _Mugikari-Zemi_, also called _Goshiki-Zemi_.
3, _Higurashi_.
4, "_Min-Min-Zemi_."
PLATE V 88
1, "_Tsuku-tsuku-Boshi_," also called
"_Kutsu-kutsu-Boshi_," etc. (_Cosmopsaltria
Opalifera?_)
2, _Tsurigane-Zemi_.
3, _The Phantom_.
STORIES FROM STRANGE BOOKS
Il avait vu bruler d'etranges pierres,
Jadis, dans les brasiers de la pensee...
EMILE VERHAEREN
The Reconciliation[1]
[Decoration]
[1] The original story is to be found in the curious volume
entitled _Konseki-Monogatari_
THERE was a young Samurai of Kyoto who had been reduced to poverty by
the ruin of his lord, and found himself obliged to leave his home, and
to take service with the Governor of a distant province. Before quitting
the capital, this Samurai divorced his wife,--a good and beautiful
woman,--under the belief that he could better obtain promotion by
another alliance. He then married the daughter of a family of some
distinction, and took her with him to the district whither he had been
called.
* * * * *
But it was in the time of the thoughtlessness of youth, and the sharp
experience of want, that the Samurai could not understand the worth of
the affection so lightly cast away. His second marriage did not prove a
happy one; the character of his new wife was hard and selfish; and he
soon found every cause to think with regret of Kyoto days. Then he
discovered that he still loved his first wife--loved her more than he
could ever love the second; and he began to feel how unjust and how
thankless he had been. Gradually his repentance deepened into a remorse
that left him no peace of mind. Memories of the woman he had
wronged--her gentle speech, her smiles, her dainty, pretty ways, her
faultless patience--continually haunted him. Sometimes in dreams he saw
her at her loom, weaving as when she toiled night and day to help him
during the years of their distress: more often he saw her kneeling alone
in the desolate little room where he had left her, veiling her tears
with her poor worn sleeve. Even in the hours of official duty, his
thoughts would wander back to her: then he would ask himself how she was
living, what she was doing. Something in his heart assured him that she
could not accept another husband, and that she never would refuse to
pardon him. And he secretly resolved to seek her out as soon as he could
return to Kyoto,--then to beg her forgiveness, to take her back, to do
everything that a man could do to make atonement. But the years went
by.
At last the Governor's official term expired, and the Samurai was free.
"Now I will go back to my dear one," he vowed to himself. "Ah, what a
cruelty,--what a folly to have divorced her!" He sent his second wife to
her own people (she had given him no children); and hurrying to Kyoto,
he went at once to seek his former companion,--not allowing himself even
the time to change his travelling-garb.
* * * * *
When he reached the street where she used to live, it was late in the
night,--the night of the tenth day of the ninth month;--and the city was
silent as a cemetery. But a bright moon made everything visible; and he
found the house without difficulty. It had a deserted look: tall weeds
were growing on the roof. He knocked at the sliding-doors, and no one
answered. Then, finding that the doors had not been fastened from
within, he pushed them open, and entered. The front room was matless and
empty: a chilly wind was blowing through crevices in the planking; and
the moon shone through a ragged break in the wall of the alcove. Other
rooms presented a like forlorn condition. The house, to all seeming, was
unoccupied. Nevertheless, the Samurai determined to visit one other
apartment at the further end of the dwelling,--a very small room that
had been his wife's favorite resting-place. Approaching the
sliding-screen that closed it, he was startled to perceive a glow
within. He pushed the screen aside, and uttered a cry of joy; for he saw
her there,--sewing by the light of a paper-lamp. Her eyes at the same
instant met his own; and with a happy smile she greeted him,--asking
only:--"When did you come back to Kyoto? How did you find your way here
to me, through all those black rooms?" The years had not changed her.
Still she seemed as fair and young as in his fondest memory of her;--but
sweeter than any memory there came to him the music of her voice, with
its trembling of pleased wonder.
Then joyfully he took his place beside her, and told her all:--how
deeply he repented his selfishness,--how wretched he had been without
her,--how constantly he had regretted her,--how long he had hoped and
planned to make amends;--caressing her the while, and asking her
forgiveness over and over again. She answered him, with loving
gentleness, according to his heart's desire,--entreating him to cease
all self-reproach. It was wrong, she said, that he should have allowed
himself to suffer on her account: she had always felt that she was not
worthy to be his wife. She knew that he had separated from her,
notwithstanding, only because of poverty; and while he lived with her,
he had always been kind; and she had never ceased to pray for his
happiness. But even if there had been a reason for speaking of amends,
this honorable visit would be ample amends;--what greater happiness than
thus to see him again, though it were only for a moment? "Only for a
moment!" he answered, with a glad laugh,--"say, rather, for the time of
seven existences! My loved one, unless you forbid, I am coming back to
live with you always--always--always! Nothing shall ever separate us
again. Now I have means and friends: we need not fear poverty. To-morrow
my goods will be brought here; and my servants will come to wait upon
you; and we shall make this house beautiful.... To-night," he added,
apologetically, "I came thus late--without even changing my dress--only
because of the longing I had to see you, and to tell you this." She
seemed greatly pleased by these words; and in her turn she told him
about all that had happened in Kyoto since the time of his
departure,--excepting her own sorrows, of which she sweetly refused to
speak. They chatted far into the night: then she conducted him to a
warmer room, facing south,--a room that had been their bridal chamber in
former time. "Have you no one in the house to help you?" he asked, as
she began to prepare the couch for him. "No," she answered, laughing
cheerfully: "I could not afford a servant;--so I have been living all
alone." "You will have plenty of servants to-morrow," he said,--"good
servants,--and everything else that you need." They lay down to
rest,--not to sleep: they had too much to tell each other;--and they
talked of the past and the present and the future, until the dawn was
grey. Then, involuntarily, the Samurai closed his eyes, and slept.
* * * * *
When he awoke, the daylight was streaming through the chinks of the
sliding-shutters; and he found himself, to his utter amazement, lying
upon the naked boards of a mouldering floor.... Had he only dreamed a
dream? No: she was there;--she slept.... He bent above her,--and
looked,--and shrieked;--for the sleeper had no face!... Before him,
wrapped in its grave-sheet only, lay the corpse of a woman,--a corpse so
wasted that little remained save the bones, and the long black tangled
hair.
* * * * *
Slowly,--as he stood shuddering and sickening in the sun,--the icy
horror yielded to a despair so intolerable, a pain so atrocious, that he
clutched at the mocking shadow of a doubt. Feigning ignorance of the
neighborhood, he ventured to ask his way to the house in which his wife
had lived.
"There is no one in that house," said the person questioned. "It used to
belong to the wife of a Samurai who left the city several years ago. He
divorced her in order to marry another woman before he went away; and
she fretted a great deal, and so became sick. She had no relatives in
Kyoto, and nobody to care for her; and she died in the autumn of the
same year,--on the tenth day of the ninth month...."
A Legend of Fugen-Bosatsu[2]
[Decoration]
[2] From the old story-book, _Jikkun-sho_
THERE was once a very pious and learned priest, called Shoku Shonin, who
lived in the province of Harima. For many years he meditated daily upon
the chapter of Fugen-Bosatsu [the Bodhisattva Samantabhadra] in the
Sutra of the Lotos of the Good Law; and he used to pray, every morning
and evening, that he might at some time be permitted to behold
Fugen-Bosatsu as a living presence, and in the form described in the
holy text.[3]
[3] The priest's desire was probably inspired by the promises
recorded in the chapter | 1,593.447533 |
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HITTEL
ON
GOLD MINES
AND
MINING.
QUEBEC:
PRINTED BY G. & G. E. DESBARATS.
1864.
HITTEL
ON
GOLD MINES
AND
MINING.
_Chief Industry._--Mining is the chief industry of California. It
employs more men and pays larger average wages than any other branch of
physical labor. Although it has been gradually decreasing in the amount
of its production, in the profits to the individuals engaged in it, and
in its relative importance in the business of the state, it is yet and
will long continue to be the largest source of our wealth, and the
basis to support the other kinds of occupation.
_Metals obtained._--Our mines now wrought are of gold, silver,
quicksilver, copper and coal. Ores of tin, lead, and antimony in large
veins, beds of sulphur, alum and asphaltum; lakes of borax and springs
of sulphate of magnesia, are also found in the state, but they are not
wrought at the present time, though they will probably all become
valuable in a few years. Platinum, iridium, and osmium are obtained
with the gold in some of the placer mines, but are never found alone,
nor are they ever the main object sought by the miner. The annual yield
of our gold mines is about forty millions of dollars, of our quicksilver
two millions of dollars. Our silver, copper and coal mines have been
opened within a year, and their value is yet unknown. All our other
mining is of little importance as compared with the gold.
_Gold Mines._--Our gold mines are divided into placer and quartz. In
the former, the metal is found imbedded in layers of earthy matter,
such as clay, sand and gravel; in the latter it is incased in veins of
rock. The methods of mining must be adapted to the size of the
particles of gold, and the nature of the material in which they are
found. In placer mining, the earthy matter containing the gold, called
the "pay-dirt," is washed in water, which dissolves the clay and
carries it off in solution, and the current sweeps away the sand,
gravel and stones, while the gold, by reason of the higher specific
gravity, remains in the channel or is caught with quicksilver. In
quartz mining the auriferous rock is ground to a very fine powder, the
gold in which is caught in quicksilver, or on the rough surface of a
blanket, over which the fine material is borne by a stream of water.
About two-thirds of our gold is obtained from the placers, and
one-third from the quartz.
A mine is defined and generally understood to mean "a subterraneous
work or excavation for obtaining metals, metallic ores or mineral
substances;" but this definition does not apply to our placer mines,
which are places where gold is taken from diluvial or alluvial
deposits. Most of the work is not subterraneous; it is done in the full
light of day. In some of the claims the pay-dirt lies within two feet
of the surface; in others it lies much deeper, but all the
superincumbent matter is swept away.
Water is the great agent of the placer miner; it is the element of his
power; its amount is the measure of his work, and its cost is the
measure of his profit. With an abundance of water he can wash every
thing; without water he can do little or nothing. Placer mining is
almost entirely mechanical, and of such a kind that no accuracy of
workmanship or scientific or literary education is necessary to mastery
in it. Amalgamation is a chemical process it is true, but it is so
simple that after a few days' experience, the rudest laborer will
manage it as well as the most thorough chemist.
It is impossible to ascertain the amount of gold which has been taken
from the mines of California. Records have been kept of the sums
manifested at the San Francisco Custom House, for exportation, and
deposited for coinage in the mints of the United States; and there is
also some knowledge of the amounts sent in bars and dust to England;
but we have no account of the sums carried by passengers to foreign
countries and coined elsewhere than at London, or used as jewelry, or
of the amount now in circulation in this state. According to the books
of the Custom House of San Francisco, the sums manifested for export
were as follows:
In 1849, $4,921,250; in 1850, $27,676,346; in 1851, $42,582,695; in
1852, $46,586,134; in 1853, $57,331,034; in 1854, $51,328,653; in 1855,
$45,182,631; in | 1,594.558021 |
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HINT | 1,594.748876 |
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THE TEMPTATION
OF
ST. ANTONY
OR,
_A REVELATION OF THE SOUL_
BY
GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
_VOLUME VII._
SIMON P. MAGEE
PUBLISHER
CHICAGO, ILL.
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY
M. WALTER DUNNE
_Entered at Stationers' Hall, London_
CONTENTS
THE TEMPTATION OF ST. ANTONY
CHAPTER I. PAGE
A HOLY SAINT 1
CHAPTER II.
THE TEMPTATION OF LOVE AND POWER 16
CHAPTER III.
THE DISCIPLE, HILARION 40
CHAPTER IV.
THE FIERY TRIAL 48
CHAPTER V.
ALL GODS, ALL RELIGIONS 99
CHAPTER VI.
THE MYSTERY OF SPACE 143
CHAPTER VII.
THE CHIMERA AND THE SPHINX 151
ILLUSTRATIONS
TEMPTATION OF SAINT ANTONY
FACING PAGE
"DO NOT RESIST, I AM OMNIPOTENT!" (See page 157) _Frontispiece_
HE LETS GO THE TORCH IN ORDER TO EMBRACE THE HEAP 26
The Temptation _of_ Saint Antony
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
A HOLY SAINT.
It is in the Thebaid, on the heights of a mountain, where a platform,
shaped like a crescent, is surrounded by huge stones.
The Hermit's cell occupies the background. It is built of mud and reeds,
flat-roofed and doorless. Inside are seen a pitcher and a loaf of black
bread; in the centre, on a wooden support, a large book; on the ground,
here and there, bits of rush-work, a mat or two, a basket and a knife.
Some ten paces or so from the cell a tall cross is planted in the
ground; and, at the other end of the platform, a gnarled old palm-tree
leans over the abyss, for the side of the mountain is scarped; and at
the bottom of the cliff the Nile swells, as it were, into a lake.
To right and left, the view is bounded by the enclosing rocks; but, on
the side of the desert, immense undulations of a yellowish ash-colour
rise, one above and one beyond the other, like the lines of a sea-coast;
while, far off, beyond the sands, the mountains of the Libyan range form
a wall of chalk-like whiteness faintly shaded with violet haze. In
front, the sun is going down. Towards the north, the sky has a
pearl-grey tint; while, at the zenith, purple clouds, like the tufts of
a gigantic mane, stretch over the blue vault. These purple streaks grow
browner; the patches of blue assume the paleness of mother-of-pearl. The
bushes, the pebbles, the earth, now wear the hard colour of bronze, and
through space floats a golden dust so fine that it is scarcely
distinguishable from the vibrations of light.
Saint Antony, who has a long beard, unshorn locks, and a tunic of
goatskin, is seated, cross-legged, engaged in making mats. No sooner has
the sun disappeared than he heaves a deep sigh, and gazing towards the
horizon:
"Another day! Another day gone! I was not so miserable in former times
as I am now! Before the night was over, I used to begin my prayers; then
I would go down to the river to fetch water, and would reascend the
rough mountain pathway, singing a hymn, with the water-bottle on my
shoulder. After that, I used to amuse myself by arranging everything in
my cell. I used to take up my tools, and examine the mats, to see
whether they were evenly cut, and the baskets, to see whether they were
light; for it seemed to me then that even my most trifling acts were
duties which I performed with ease. At regulated hours I left off my
work and prayed, with my two arms extended. I felt as if a fountain of
mercy were flowing from Heaven above into my heart. But now it is dried
up. Why is this?..."
He proceeds slowly into the rocky enclosure.
"When I left home, everyone found fault with me. My mother sank into a
dying state; my sister, from a distance, made signs to me to come back;
and the other one wept, Ammonaria, that child whom I used to meet every
evening, beside the cistern, as she was leading away her cattle. She ran
after me. The rings on her feet glittered in the dust, and her tunic,
open at the hips, fluttered in the wind. The old ascetic who hurried me
from the spot addressed her, as we fled, in loud and menacing tones.
Then our two camels kept galloping continuously, till at length every
familiar object had vanished from my sight.
"At first, I selected for my abode the tomb of one of the Pharaohs. But
some enchantment surrounds those subterranean palaces, amid whose gloom
the air is stifled with the decayed odour of aromatics. From the depths
of the sarcophagi I heard a mournful voice arise, that called me by
name--or rather, as it seemed to me, all the fearful pictures on the
walls started into hideous life. Then I fled to the borders of the Red
Sea into a citadel in ruins. There I had for companions the scorpions
that crawled amongst the stones, and, overhead, the eagles who were
continually whirling across the azure sky. At night, I was torn by
talons, bitten by beaks, or brushed with light wings; and horrible
demons, yelling in my ears, hurled me to the earth. At last, the drivers
of a caravan, which was journeying towards Alexandria, rescued me, and
carried me along with them.
"After this, I became a pupil of the venerable Didymus. Though he was
blind, no one equalled him in knowledge of the Scriptures. When our
lesson was ended, he used to take my arm, and, with my aid, ascend the
Panium, from whose summit could be seen the Pharos and the open sea.
Then we would return home, passing along the quays, where we brushed
against men of every nation, including the Cimmerians, clad in bearskin,
and the Gymnosophists of the Ganges, who smear their bodies with
cow-dung. There were continual conflicts in the streets, some of which
were caused by the Jews' refusal to pay taxes, and others by the
attempts of the seditious to drive out the Romans. Besides, the city is
filled with heretics, the followers of Manes, of Valentinus, of
Basilides, and of Arius, all of them eagerly striving to discuss with
you points of doctrine and to convert you to their views.
"Their discourses sometimes come back to my memory; and, though I try
not to dwell upon them, they haunt my thoughts.
"I next took refuge in Colzin, and, when I had undergone a severe
penance, I no longer feared the wrath of God. Many persons gathered
around me, offering to become anchorites. I imposed on them a rule of
life in antagonism to the vagaries of Gnosticism and the sophistries of
the philosophers. Communications now reached me from every quarter, and
people came a great distance to see me.
"Meanwhile, the populace continued to torture the confessors; and I was
led back to Alexandria by an ardent thirst for martyrdom. I found on my
arrival that the persecution had ceased three days before. Just as I was
returning, my path was blocked by a great crowd in front of the Temple
of Serapis. I was told that the Governor was about to make one final
example. In the centre of the portico, in the broad light of day, a
naked woman was fastened to a pillar, while two soldiers were scourging
her. At each stroke her entire frame writhed. Suddenly, she cast a wild
look around, her trembling lips parted; and, above the heads of the
multitude, her figure wrapped, as it were, in her flowing hair,
methought I recognised Ammonaria.... Yet this one was taller--and
beautiful, exceedingly!"
He draws his hand across his brow.
"No! no! I must not think upon it!
"On another occasion, Athanasius asked me to assist him against the
Arians. At that time, they had confined themselves to attacking him with
invectives and ridicule. Since then, however, he has been calumniated,
deprived of his see, and banished. Where is he now? I know not! People
concern themselves so little about bringing me any news! All my
disciples have abandoned me, Hilarion like the rest.
"He was, perhaps, fifteen years of age when he came to me, and his mind
was so much filled with curiosity that every moment he was asking me
questions. Then he would listen with a pensive air; and, without a
murmur, he would run to fetch whatever I wanted--more nimble than a kid,
and gay enough, moreover, to make even a patriarch laugh. He was a son
to me!"
The sky is red; the earth completely dark. Agitated by the wind, clouds
of sand rise, like winding-sheets, and then fall again. All at once, in
a clear space in the heavens, a flock of birds flits by, forming a kind
of triangular battalion, resembling a piece of metal with its edges
alone vibrating.
Antony glances at them.
"Ah! how I should like to follow them! How often, too, have I not
wistfully gazed at the long boats with their sails resembling wings,
especially when they bore away those who had been my guests! What happy
times I used to have with them! What outpourings! None of them
interested me more than Ammon. He described to me his journey to Rome,
the Catacombs, the Coliseum, the piety of illustrious women, and a
thousand other things. And yet I was unwilling to go away with him! How
came I to be so obstinate in clinging to this solitary life? It might
have been better for me had I stayed with the monks of Nitria when they
besought me to do so. They occupy separate cells, and yet communicate
with one another. On Sunday the trumpet calls them to the church, where
you may see three whips hung up, which are reserved for the punishment
of thieves and intruders, for they maintain very severe discipline.
"Nevertheless, they do not stand in need of gifts, for the faithful
bring them eggs, fruit, and even instruments for removing thorns from
their feet. There are vineyards around Pisperi, and those of Pabenum
have a raft, in which they go forth to seek provisions.
"But I should have served my brethren more effectually by being a simple
priest. I might succour the poor, administer the sacraments, and guard
the purity of domestic life. Besides, all the laity are not lost, and
there was nothing to prevent me from being, for example, a grammarian or
a philosopher. I should have had in my room a sphere made of reeds,
tablets always in my hand, young people around me, and a crown of laurel
suspended as an emblem over my door.
"But there is too much pride in such triumphs! Better be a soldier. I
was strong and courageous enough to manage engines of war, to traverse
gloomy forests, or, with helmet on head, to enter smoking cities. More
than this, there would be nothing to hinder me from purchasing with my
earnings the office of toll-keeper of some bridge, and travellers would
relate to me their histories, pointing out to me heaps of curious
objects which they had stowed away in their baggage.
"On festival days the merchants of Alexandria sail along the Canopic
branch of the Nile and drink wine from cups of lotus, to the sound of
tambourines, which make all the taverns near the river shake. Beyond,
trees, cut cone-fashion, protect the peaceful farmsteads against the
south wind. The roof of each house rests on slender columns running
close to one another, like the framework of a lattice, and, through
these spaces, the owner, stretched on a long seat, can gaze out upon his
grounds and watch his servants thrashing corn or gathering in the
vintage, and the cattle trampling on the straw. His children play along
the grass; his wife bends forward to kiss him."
Through the deepening shadows of the night pointed snouts reveal
themselves here and there with ears erect and glittering eyes. | 1,594.754306 |
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THE
WORKS
OF
JOHN DRYDEN,
NOW FIRST COLLECTED
_IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES_.
ILLUSTRATED
WITH NOTES,
HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND EXPLANATORY,
AND
A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,
BY
WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.
VOL. VIII.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET,
BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH.
1808.
CONTENTS
OF
VOLUME EIGHTH.
PAGE.
Amphitryon, or the Two Sosias, a Comedy, 1
Epistle Dedicatory to Sir William Leveson Gower, Bart. 7
King Arthur, or the British Worthy, a Dramatic Opera, 107
Epistle Dedicatory to the Marquis of Halifax, 113
Cleomenes, the Spartan Hero, a Tragedy, 181
Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Rochester, 191
Preface, 196
The Life of Cleomenes, translated from
Plutarch by Mr Thomas Creech, 207
Love Triumphant, or Nature will prevail, a Tragi-comedy, 331
Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Salisbury, 337
Prologue, Song, Secular Masque, and Epilogue, written for
the Pilgrim, revived for Dryden's benefit in 1700, 437
AMPHITRYON:
OR
THE TWO SOSIAS.
A COMEDY.
_Egregiam verò laudem, et spolia ampla refertis,
Una dolo <DW37>ûm si fæmina victa duorum est._ VIRG.
AMPHITRYON.
Plautus, the venerable father of Roman comedy, who flourished during
the second Punic war, left us a play on the subject of Amphitryon,
which has had the honour to be deemed worthy of imitation by Moliere
and Dryden. It cannot be expected, that the plain, blunt, and
inartificial stile of so rude an age should bear any comparison with
that of authors who enjoyed the highest advantages of the polished
times, to which they were an ornament. But the merit of having devised
and embodied most of the comic distresses, which have excited laughter
throughout so many ages, is to be attributed to the ancient bard,
upon whose original conception of the plot his successors have made
few and inconsiderable improvements. It is true, that, instead of a
formal _Prologus_, who stepped forth, in the character of Mercury,
and gravely detailed to the audience the plot of the play, Moliere
and Dryden have introduced it in the modern more artificial method,
by the dialogue of the actors in the first scene. It is true, also,
that with great contempt of one of the unities, afterwards deemed so
indispensible by the ancients, Plautus introduces the birth of Hercules
into a play, founded upon the intrigue which occasioned that event.
Yet with all these disadvantages, and that of the rude flatness of
his dialogue,--resting frequently, for wit | 1,594.84579 |
2023-11-16 18:43:38.8322920 | 6,348 | 14 |
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Makers of History
Xerxes
BY JACOB ABBOTT
WITH ENGRAVINGS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1902
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York.
Copyright, 1878, by JACOB ABBOTT
[Illustration: ARTABANUS AND THE GHOST]
PREFACE.
One special object which the author of this series has had in view, in
the plan and method which he has followed in the preparation of the
successive volumes, has been to adapt them to the purposes of text-books
in schools. The study of a _general compend_ of history, such as is
frequently used as a text-book, is highly useful, if it comes in at the
right stage of education, when the mind is sufficiently matured, and has
acquired sufficient preliminary knowledge to understand and appreciate
so condensed a generalization as a summary of the whole history of a
nation contained in an ordinary volume must necessarily be. Without this
degree of maturity of mind, and this preparation, the study of such a
work will be, as it too frequently is, a mere mechanical committing to
memory of names, and dates, and phrases, which awaken no interest,
communicate no ideas, and impart no useful knowledge to the mind.
A class of ordinary pupils, who have not yet become much acquainted with
history, would, accordingly, be more benefited by having their attention
concentrated, at first, on detached and separate topics, such as those
which form the subjects, respectively, of these volumes. By studying
thus fully the history of individual monarchs, or the narratives of
single events, they can go more fully into detail; they conceive of the
transactions described as realities; their reflecting and reasoning
powers are occupied on what they read; they take notice of the motives
of conduct, of the gradual development of character, the good or ill
desert of actions, and of the connection of causes and consequences,
both in respect to the influence of wisdom and virtue on the one hand,
and, on the other, of folly and crime. In a word, their _minds_ and
_hearts_ are occupied instead of merely their memories. They reason,
they sympathize, they pity, they approve, and they condemn. They enjoy
the real and true pleasure which constitutes the charm of historical
study for minds that are mature; and they acquire a taste for truth
instead of fiction, which will tend to direct their reading into proper
channels in all future years.
The use of these works, therefore, as text-books in classes, has been
kept continually in mind in the preparation of them. The running index
on the tops of the pages is intended to serve instead of questions.
These captions can be used in their present form as _topics_, in respect
to which, when announced in the class, the pupils are to repeat
substantially what is said on the page; or, on the other hand, questions
in form, if that mode is preferred, can be readily framed from them by
the teacher. In all the volumes, a very regular system of division is
observed, which will greatly facilitate the assignment of lessons.
CONTENTS.
Chapter Page
I. THE MOTHER OF XERXES 13
II. EGYPT AND GREECE 33
III. DEBATE ON THE PROPOSED INVASION OF GREECE 56
IV. PREPARATIONS FOR THE INVASION OF GREECE 78
V. THE CROSSING OF THE HELLESPONT 100
VI. THE REVIEW OF THE ARMY AT DORISCUS 125
VII. PREPARATIONS OF THE GREEKS FOR DEFENSE 151
VIII. THE ADVANCE OF XERXES INTO GREECE 178
IX. THE BATTLE OF THERMOPYLAE 201
X. THE BURNING OF ATHENS 224
XI. THE BATTLE OF SALAMIS 245
XII. THE RETURN TO PERSIA 284
ENGRAVINGS.
Page
ARTABANUS AND THE GHOST _Frontispiece._
MAP OF THE PERSIAN EMPIRE xii
PHERON DEFYING THE NILE 48
MAP OF GREECE 101
XERXES CROSSING THE HELLESPONT 121
FATE OF THE PERSIAN EMBASSADORS AT SPARTA 160
CITADEL AT ATHENS 241
RETURN OF XERXES TO PERSIA 297
[Illustration: MAP OF THE PERSIAN EMPIRE]
XERXES.
CHAPTER I.
THE MOTHER OF XERXES.
B.C. 522-484
Persian magnificence.--The mother of Xerxes.--Cambyses.--Ambition and
selfishness of kings.--General influence exerted by great sovereigns
upon the community.--Labors of great
conquerors.--Caesar.--Darius.--William the Conqueror.--Napoleon.--Heroes
and conquerors.--The main spring of their actions.--Cyrus.--Character
and career of Cambyses.--Wives of Cambyses.--He marries his
sister.--Death of Cambyses.--Smerdis the magian.--Cunning of
Smerdis.--His feeling of insecurity.--Smerdis suspected.--His imposture
discovered.--Death of Smerdis.--Succession of Darius.--Atossa's
sickness.--The Greek physician.--Atossa's promise.--Atossa's
conversation with Darius.--Success of her plans.--The expedition to
Greece.--Escape of the physician.--Atossa's four
sons.--Artobazanes.--Dispute about the succession.--Xerxes and
Artobazanes.--The arguments.--Influence of Atossa.--The Spartan
fugitive.--His views of the succession.--The decision.--Death of Darius.
The name of Xerxes is associated in the minds of men with the idea of
the highest attainable elevation of human magnificence and grandeur.
This monarch was the sovereign of the ancient Persian empire when it was
at the height of its prosperity and power. It is probable, however, that
his greatness and fame lose nothing by the manner in which his story
comes down to us through the Greek historians. The Greeks conquered
Xerxes, and, in relating his history, they magnify the wealth, the
power, and the resources of his empire, by way of exalting the greatness
and renown of their own exploits in subduing him.
The mother of Xerxes was Atossa, a daughter of Cyrus the Great, who was
the founder of the Persian empire. Cyrus was killed in Scythia, a wild
and barbarous region lying north of the Black and Caspian Seas. His son
Cambyses succeeded him.
A kingdom, or an empire, was regarded, in ancient days, much in the
light of an estate, which the sovereign held as a species of property,
and which he was to manage mainly with a view to the promotion of his
own personal aggrandizement and pleasure. A king or an emperor could
have more palaces, more money, and more wives than other men; and if he
was of an overbearing or ambitious spirit, he could march into his
neighbors' territories, and after gratifying his love of adventure with
various romantic exploits, and gaining great renown by his ferocious
impetuosity in battle, he could end his expedition, perhaps, by adding
his neighbors' palaces, and treasures, and wives to his own.
Divine Providence, however, the mysterious power that overrules all the
passions and impulses of men, and brings extended and general good out
of local and particular evil, has made the ambition and the selfishness
of princes the great means of preserving order and government among men.
These great ancient despots, for example, would not have been able to
collect their revenues, or enlist their armies, or procure supplies for
their campaigns, unless their dominions were under a regular and
complete system of social organization, such as should allow all the
industrial pursuits of commerce and of agriculture, throughout the mass
of the community, to go regularly on. Thus absolute monarchs, however
ambitious, and selfish, and domineering in their characters, have a
strong personal interest in the establishment of order and of justice
between man and man throughout all the regions which are under their
sway. In fact, the greater their ambition, their selfishness, and their
pride, the stronger will this interest be; for, just in proportion as
order, industry, and internal tranquillity prevail in a country, just in
that proportion can revenues be collected from it, and armies raised and
maintained.
It is a mistake, therefore, to suppose of the great heroes, and
sovereigns, and conquerors that have appeared from time to time among
mankind, that the usual and ordinary result of their influence and
action has been that of disturbance and disorganization. It is true that
a vast amount of disturbance and disorganization has often followed from
the march of their armies, their sieges, their invasions, and the other
local and temporary acts of violence which they commit; but these are
the exceptions, not the rule. It must be that such things are
exceptions, since, in any extended and general view of the subject, a
much greater amount of social organization, industry, and peace is
necessary to raise and maintain an army, than that army can itself
destroy. The deeds of destruction which great conquerors perform attract
more attention and make a greater impression upon mankind than the
quiet, patient, and long-continued labors by which they perfect and
extend the general organization of the social state. But these labors,
though less noticed by men, have really employed the energies of great
sovereigns in a far greater degree than mankind have generally imagined.
Thus we should describe the work of Caesar's life in a single word more
truly by saying that he _organized_ Europe, than that he conquered it.
His bridges, his roads, his systems of jurisprudence, his coinage, his
calendar, and other similar means and instruments of social arrangement,
and facilities for promoting the pursuits of industry and peace, mark,
far more properly, the real work which that great conqueror performed
among mankind, than his battles and his victories. Darius was, in the
same way, the organizer of Asia. William the Conqueror completed, or,
rather, advanced very far toward completing, the social organization of
England; and even in respect to Napoleon, the true and proper memorial
of his career is the successful working of the institutions, the
systems, and the codes which he perfected and introduced into the social
state, and not the brazen column, formed from captured cannon, which
stands in the Place Vendome.
These considerations, obviously true, though not always borne in mind,
are, however, to be considered as making the characters of the great
sovereigns, in a moral point of view, neither the worse nor the better.
In all that they did, whether in arranging and systematizing the
functions of social life, or in ruthless deeds of conquest and
destruction, they were actuated, in a great measure, by selfish
ambition. They arranged and organized the social state in order to form
a more compact and solid pedestal for the foundation of their power.
They maintained peace and order among their people, just as a master
would suppress quarrels among his slaves, because peace among laborers
is essential to productive results. They fixed and defined legal
rights, and established courts to determine and enforce them; they
protected property; they counted and classified men; they opened roads;
they built bridges; they encouraged commerce; they hung robbers, and
exterminated pirates--all, that the collection of their revenues and the
enlistment of their armies might go on without hinderance or
restriction. Many of them, indeed, may have been animated, in some
degree, by a higher and nobler sentiment than this. Some may have felt a
sort of pride in the contemplation of a great, and prosperous, and
wealthy empire, analogous to that which a proprietor feels in surveying
a well-conditioned, successful, and productive estate. Others, like
Alfred, may have felt a sincere and honest interest in the welfare of
their fellow-men, and the promotion of human happiness may have been, in
a greater or less degree, the direct object of their aim. Still, it can
not be denied that a selfish and reckless ambition has been, in general,
the main spring of action with heroes and conquerors, which, while it
aimed only at personal aggrandizement, has been made to operate, through
the peculiar mechanism of the social state which the Divine wisdom has
contrived, as a means, in the main of preserving and extending peace
and order among mankind, and not of destroying them.
But to return to Atossa. Her father Cyrus, who laid the foundation of
the great Persian empire, was, for a hero and conqueror, tolerably
considerate and just, and he desired, probably, to promote the welfare
and happiness of his millions of subjects; but his son Cambyses,
Atossa's brother, having been brought up in expectation of succeeding to
vast wealth and power, and having been, as the sons of the wealthy and
the powerful often are in all ages of the world, wholly neglected by his
father during the early part of his life, and entirely unaccustomed to
control, became a wild, reckless, proud, selfish, and ungovernable young
man. His father was killed suddenly in battle, as has already been
stated, and Cambyses succeeded him. Cambyses's career was short,
desperate, and most tragical in its end.[A] In fact, he was one of the
most savage, reckless, and abominable monsters that have ever lived.
[Footnote A: His history in given in the first chapter of DARIUS THE
GREAT.]
It was the custom in those days for the Persian monarchs to have many
wives, and, what is still more remarkable, whenever any monarch died,
his successor inherited his predecessor's family as well as his throne.
Cyrus had several children by his various wives. Cambyses and Smerdis
were the only sons, but there were daughters, among whom Atossa was the
most distinguished. The ladies of the court were accustomed to reside in
different palaces, or in different suites of apartments in the same
palace, so that they lived in a great measure isolated from each other.
When Cambyses came to the throne, and thus entered into possession of
his father's palaces, he saw and fell in love with one of his father's
daughters. He wished to make her one of his wives. He was accustomed to
the unrestricted indulgence of every appetite and passion, but he seems
to have had some slight misgivings in regard to such a step as this. He
consulted the Persian judges. They conferred upon the subject, and then
replied that they had searched among the laws of the realm, and though
they found no law allowing a man to marry his sister, they found many
which authorized a Persian king to do whatever he pleased.
Cambyses therefore added the princess to the number of his wives, and
not long afterward he married another of his father's daughters in the
same way. One of these princesses was Atossa.
Cambyses invaded Egypt, and in the course of his mad career in that
country he killed his brother Smerdis and one of his sisters, and at
length was killed himself. Atossa escaped the dangers of this stormy and
terrible reign, and returned safely to Susa after Cambyses's death.
Smerdis, the brother of Cambyses, would have been Cambyses's successor
if he had survived him; but he had been privately assassinated by
Cambyses's orders, though his death had been kept profoundly secret by
those who had perpetrated the deed. There was another Smerdis in Susa,
the Persian capital, who was a magian--that is, a sort of priest--in
whose hands, as regent, Cambyses had left the government while he was
absent on his campaigns. This magian Smerdis accordingly conceived the
plan of usurping the throne, as if he were Smerdis the prince, resorting
to a great many ingenious and cunning schemes to conceal his deception.
Among his other plans, one was to keep himself wholly sequestered from
public view, with a few favorites, such, especially, as had not
personally known Smerdis the prince. In the same manner he secluded from
each other and from himself all who had known Smerdis, in order to
prevent their conferring with one another, or communicating to each
other any suspicions which they might chance to entertain. Such
seclusion, so far as related to the ladies of the royal family, was not
unusual after the death of a king, and Smerdis did not deviate from the
ordinary custom, except to make the isolation and confinement of the
princesses and queens more rigorous and strict than common. By means of
this policy he was enabled to go on for some months without detection,
living all the while in the greatest luxury and splendor, but at the
same time in absolute seclusion, and in unceasing anxiety and fear.
One chief source of his solicitude was lest he should be detected by
means of his _ears_! Some years before, when he was in a comparatively
obscure position, he had in some way or other offended his sovereign,
and was punished by having his ears cut off. It was necessary,
therefore, to keep the marks of this mutilation carefully concealed by
means of his hair and his head-dress, and even with these precautions he
could never feel perfectly secure.
At last one of the nobles of the court, a sagacious and observing man,
suspected the imposture. He had no access to Smerdis himself, but his
daughter, whose name was Phaedyma, was one of Smerdis's wives. The
nobleman was excluded from all direct intercourse with Smerdis, and even
with his daughter; but he contrived to send word to his daughter,
inquiring whether her husband was the true Smerdis or not. She replied
that she did not know, inasmuch as she had never seen any other Smerdis,
if, indeed, there had been another. The nobleman then attempted to
communicate with Atossa, but he found it impossible to do so. Atossa
had, of course, known her brother well, and was on that very account
very closely secluded by the magian. As a last resort, the nobleman sent
to his daughter a request that she would watch for an opportunity to
feel for her husband's ears while he was asleep. He admitted that this
would be a dangerous attempt, but his daughter, he said, ought to be
willing to make it, since, if her pretended husband were really an
impostor, she ought to take even a stronger interest than others in his
detection. Phaedyma was at first afraid to undertake so dangerous a
commission; but she at length ventured to do so, and, by passing her
hand under his turban one night, while he was sleeping on his couch,
she found that the ears were gone.[B]
[Footnote B: For a more particular account of the transaction, and for
an engraving illustrating this scene, see the history of Darius.]
The consequence of this discovery was, that a conspiracy was formed to
dethrone and destroy the usurper. The plot was successful. Smerdis was
killed; his imprisoned queens were set free, and Darius was raised to
the throne in his stead.
Atossa now, by that strange principle of succession which has been
already alluded to, became the wife of Darius, and she figures
frequently and conspicuously in history during his long and splendid
reign.
Her name is brought into notice in one case in a remarkable manner, in
connection with an expedition which Darius sent on an exploring tour
into Greece and Italy. She was herself the means, in fact, of sending
the expedition. She was sick; and after suffering secretly and in
silence as long as possible--the nature of her complaint being such as
to make her unwilling to speak of it to others--she at length determined
to consult a Greek physician who had been brought to Persia as a
captive, and had acquired great celebrity at Susa by his medical science
and skill. The physician said that he would undertake her case on
condition that she would promise to grant him a certain request that he
would make. She wished to know what it was beforehand, but the physician
would not tell her. He said, however, that it was nothing that it would
be in any way derogatory to her honor to grant him.
On these conditions Atossa concluded to agree to the physician's
proposals. He made her take a solemn oath that, if he cured her of her
malady, she would do whatever he required of her, provided that it was
consistent with honor and propriety. He then took her case under his
charge, prescribed for her and attended her, and in due time she was
cured. The physician then told her that what he wished her to do for him
was to find some means to persuade Darius to send him home to his native
land.
Atossa was faithful in fulfilling her promise. She took a private
opportunity, when she was alone with Darius, to propose that he should
engage in some plans of foreign conquest. She reminded him of the
vastness of the military power which was at his disposal, and of the
facility with which, by means of it, he might extend his dominions. She
extolled, too, his genius and energy, and endeavored to inspire in his
mind some ambitious desires to distinguish himself in the estimation of
mankind by bringing his capacities for the performance of great deeds
into action.
Darius listened to these suggestions of Atossa with interest and with
evident pleasure. He said that he had been forming some such plans
himself. He was going to build a bridge across the Hellespont or the
Bosporus, to unite Europe and Asia; and he was also going to make an
incursion into the country of the Scythians, the people by whom Cyrus,
his great predecessor, had been defeated and slain. It would be a great
glory for him, he said, to succeed in a conquest in which Cyrus had so
totally failed.
But these plans would not answer the purpose which Atossa had in view.
She urged her husband, therefore, to postpone his invasion of the
Scythians till some future time, and first conquer the Greeks, and annex
their territory to his dominions. The Scythians, she said, were savages,
and their country not worth the cost of conquering it, while Greece
would constitute a noble prize. She urged the invasion of Greece, too,
rather than Scythia, as a personal favor to herself, for she had been
wanting, she said, some slaves from Greece for a long time--some of the
women of Sparta, of Corinth, and of Athens, of whose graces and
accomplishments she had heard so much.
There was something gratifying to the military vanity of Darius in being
thus requested to make an incursion to another continent, and undertake
the conquest of the mightiest nation of the earth, for the purpose of
procuring accomplished waiting-maids to offer as a present to his queen.
He became restless and excited while listening to Atossa's proposals,
and to the arguments with which she enforced them, and it was obvious
that he was very strongly inclined to accede to her views. He finally
concluded to send a commission into Greece to explore the country, and
to bring back a report on their return; and as he decided to make the
Greek physician the guide of the expedition, Atossa gained her end.
A full account of this expedition, and of the various adventures which
the party met with on their voyage, is given in our history of Darius.
It may be proper to say here, however, that the physician fully
succeeded in his plans of making his escape. He pretended, at first, to
be unwilling to go, and he made only the most temporary arrangements in
respect to the conduct of his affairs while he should be gone, in order
to deceive the king in regard to his intentions of not returning. The
king, on his part, resorted to some stratagems to ascertain whether the
physician was sincere in his professions, but he did not succeed in
detecting the artifice, and so the party went away. The physician never
returned.
Atossa had four sons. Xerxes was the eldest of them. He was not,
however, the eldest of the sons of Darius, as there were other sons, the
children of another wife, whom Darius had married before he ascended the
throne. The oldest of these children was named Artobazanes. Artobazanes
seems to have been a prince of an amiable and virtuous character, and
not particularly ambitious and aspiring in his disposition, although, as
he was the eldest son of his father, he claimed to be his heir. Atossa
did not admit the validity of this claim, but maintained that the oldest
of _her_ children was entitled to the inheritance.
It became necessary to decide this question before Darius's death; for
Darius, in the prosecution of a war in which he was engaged, formed the
design of accompanying his army on an expedition into Greece, and,
before doing this, he was bound, according to the laws and usages of the
Persian realm, to regulate the succession.
There immediately arose an earnest dispute between the friends and
partisans of Artobazanes and Xerxes, each side urging very eagerly the
claims of its own candidate. The mother and the friends of Artobazanes
maintained that he was the oldest son, and, consequently, the heir.
Atossa, on the other hand, contended that Xerxes was the grandson of
Cyrus, and that he derived from that circumstance the highest possible
hereditary rights to the Persian throne.
This was in some respects true, for Cyrus had been the founder of the
empire and the legitimate monarch, while Darius had no hereditary
claims. He was originally a noble, of high rank, indeed, but not of the
royal line; and he had been designated as Cyrus's successor in a time of
revolution, because there was, at that time, no prince of the royal
family who could take the inheritance. Those, therefore, who were
disposed to insist on the claims of a legitimate hereditary succession,
might very plausibly claim that Darius's government had been a regency
rather than a reign; that Xerxes, being the oldest son of Atossa,
Cyrus's daughter, was the true representative of the royal line; and
that, although it might not be expedient to disturb the possession of
Darius during his lifetime, yet that, at his death, Xerxes was
unquestionably entitled to the throne.
There was obviously a great deal of truth and justice in this reasoning,
and yet it was a view of the subject not likely to be very agreeable to
Darius, since it seemed to deny the existence of any real and valid
title to the sovereignty in him. It assigned the crown, at his death,
not to his son as such, but to his predecessor's grandson; for though
Xerxes was both the son of Darius and the grandson of Cyrus, it was in
the latter capacity that he was regarded as entitled to the crown in the
argument referred to above. The doctrine was very gratifying to the
pride of Atossa, for it made Xerxes the successor to the crown as her
son and heir, and not as the son and heir of her husband. For this very
reason it was likely to be not very gratifying to Darius. He hesitated
very much in respect to adopting it. Atossa's ascendency over his mind,
and her influence generally in the Persian court, was almost
overwhelming, and yet Darius was very unwilling to seem, by giving to
the oldest grandson of Cyrus the precedence over his own eldest son, to
admit that he himself had no legitimate and proper title to the throne.
While things were in this state, a Greek, named Demaratus, arrived at
Susa. He was a dethroned prince from Sparta, and had fled from the
political storms of his own country to seek refuge in Darius's capital.
Demaratus found a way to reconcile Darius's pride as a sovereign with
his personal preferences as a husband and a father. He told the king
that, according to the principles of | 1,594.852332 |
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NOTES
ON
THE BOOK OF GENESIS.
"Things new and old."
FIRST AMERICAN EDITION.
PHILADELPHIA:
HENRY LONGSTRETH,
1336 CHESTNUT STREET.
1863.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I. 13
CHAPTER II. 29
CHAPTER III. 42
CHAPTER IV., V. 64
CHAPTER VI.-IX. 90
CHAPTER X. 115
CHAPTER XI. 118
CHAPTER XII. 123
CHAPTER XIII. 140
CHAPTER XIV. 151
CHAPTER XV. 158
CHAPTER XVI. 171
CHAPTER XVII. 181
CHAPTER XVIII. 189
CHAPTER XIX. 197
CHAPTER XX. 205
CHAPTER XXI. 210
CHAPTER XXII. 217
CHAPTER XXIII. 230
CHAPTER XXIV. 235
CHAPTER XXV. 248
CHAPTER XXVI. 251
CHAPTER XXVII.-XXXV. 256
CHAPTER XXXVI. 300
CHAPTER XXXVII.-L. 300
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 305
CHAPTER XXXIX.-XLV. 306
PREFACE.
To all who love and relish the simple gospel of the grace of God, I
would earnestly recommend the following "Notes on the Book of Genesis."
They are characterized by a deep-toned evangelical spirit. Having had
the privilege of reading them in MS., I can speak as one who has found
profit therefrom. Man's complete ruin in sin, and God's perfect remedy
in Christ, are fully, clearly, and often strikingly, presented,
especially in the earlier chapters.
To Christ's servants in the gospel sound, forcible statements as to
what _sin_ is and what _grace_ is, are deeply valuable in the present
time, when so much that is merely superficial is abroad.
The gospel of Christ, as perfectly meeting man's nature, condition, and
character, is comparatively little known, and less proclaimed. Hence,
the numerous doubts, fears, and unsettled questions which fill the
hearts and perplex the consciences of many of God's dear children.
Until the soul is led to see that the entire question of sin and the
claims of divine holiness were _all and forever settled_ on the
cross, sweet, quiet rest of conscience will be but little known.
Nothing can meet the urgent cry of a troubled conscience but the one
perfect sacrifice of Christ; offered _to_ God _for us_, on the cross.
"For even Christ _our_ passover is sacrificed _for us_." There, and
there alone it will find a _perfect answer_ to its every claim; because
there it will find, through believing, all ground of doubt and fear
removed, the whole question of sin eternally settled, every divine
requirement fully met, and a solid foundation laid for present, settled
peace, in the presence of divine holiness: Christ "delivered for our
offences, and raised again for our justification," settles every thing.
The moment we believe the gospel, we are saved, and ought to be
divinely happy. "He that believeth on the Son _ | 1,594.947756 |
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Internet Archive)
[Illustration: DORCHESTER FROM THE MEADOWS]
THE HEART OF WESSEX
Described by SIDNEY HEATH
Pictured by E. W. HASLEHUST
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
Beautiful England
_Volumes Ready_:
OXFORD
THE ENGLISH LAKES
CANTERBURY
SHAKESPEARE-LAND
THE THAMES
WINDSOR CASTLE
CAMBRIDGE
NORWICH AND THE BROADS
THE HEART OF WESSEX
THE PEAK DISTRICT
THE CORNISH RIVIERA
DICKENS-LAND
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
Dorchester from the Meadows _Frontispiece_
Hangman's Cottage, Dorchester 8
Puddletown 14
Bere Regis 20
Portisham 26
Weymouth and Portland 32
Gateway, Poxwell Manor House 38
Lulworth Cove 42
Wool House 46
Wareham 50
Corfe Castle 54
Poole Harbour from Studland 58
[Illustration: _HIGH STREET, DORCHESTER._
THE HEART OF WESSEX]
DORCHESTER AND THE NEIGHBOURHOOD
As all the world is beginning to realize, that portion of the country
immortalized by Thomas Hardy, in his great romances of rural life,
lies in one of the most delectable regions of south-west England; and
although, for the purpose of giving variety to his scenic backgrounds,
Mr. Hardy has occasionally gone far beyond the narrow boundaries of
his home county, yet for general purposes his Wessex is synonymous
with the county of Dorset. Historically considered the Wessex of the
novels is but partially conterminous with that wherein, after
centuries of bloodshed, our Saxon ancestors established their
Octarchy, and the novelist has explained his reasons for the adoption
of the name "Wessex", which did not appear in any of the novels until
the publication, in 1874, of _Far from the Madding Crowd_. "The
series of novels I projected," he writes, "being mainly of the kind
called local, they seemed to require a territorial definition of some
sort to lend unity to their scene. Finding that the area of a single
county did not afford a canvas large enough for the purpose, and that
there were objections to an invented name, I disinterred the old one.
The press and the public were kind enough to welcome the fanciful
plan, and willingly joined me in the anachronism of imagining a Wessex
population living under Queen Victoria, a modern Wessex of railways,"
&c.
As Professor Windle says: "Whilst peopling these scenes with the
creatures of his imagination, Mr. Hardy has achieved a feat which he
was probably far from contemplating when he first commenced his series
of novels. For incidentally he has resuscitated, one may even say
re-created, the old half-forgotten kingdom of Wessex."
Although there is scarcely any portion of the county that does not
figure in one or other of Mr. Hardy's novels or poems, yet by far the
greater number of scenes lie in the portion called South Dorset,
around and below an imaginary line drawn from a little to the west of
Dorchester to Poole Harbour, and it is mainly with this portion of the
Hardy country that it is proposed to deal in this volume.
Like all the true beauty spots of England, increasing familiarity with
these south-country landscapes deepens their ineffaceable impression
as it multiplies their alluring charms; and, small as is the
geographical extent of this strip of rural England, it yet fills our
thoughts as it delights our eyes; and it is large enough to attract us
by a thousand threads of history and romance, by a hundred beauties of
rolling downs and grassy vales, and of steep chalk cliffs where the
blue waters of the Channel break with a splutter of spray.
For miles one can wander amid such scenes in this fair Wessex land,
where the roses of dawn fade into the infinite azure of a cloudless
sky, and the cool salt breath of the sea-borne air is an elixir of
life. Moreover, these soft sea breezes, that temper the dazzling heat
of the summer sun, waft in their train an unfading wreath of memories
of that antique civilization which existed long before the prows of
the Roman galleys clove the ethereal mists that fringe the Dorsetian
seas.
Mr. Hardy is unique among English novelists in that he writes of
ecclesiastical and domestic architecture with the eye and the
knowledge of a trained architect, and one who took high honours in
this profession before he abandoned it for literature. To this no
doubt are due the descriptions he has given us of the homes and haunts
of his heroes and heroines. Occasionally we find that a house of the
novels has been made up of two or more neighbouring dwellings, at
other times there is some slight transposition of site or locality;
but to all intents and purposes Mr. Hardy's Wessex of romance is the
Dorset of reality, with regard both to its natural scenery and to the
buildings that accompany it. Thus it is that the novelist's
architectonic settings, and his literal descriptions of natural
scenery, make identification a simple task, and lend interest to
numerous old houses and cottages, just as they have immortalized a
thousand scenes of their author's native land.
A few of Mr. Hardy's critics have cavilled at the insistence of the
architect's point of view, just as some of his readers fail to
perceive the genius that lies behind his detailed treatment of
buildings; but there is little doubt that the novelist's artistic use
of technical material has endowed his romances with a personal note of
deep interest, and an architectural one of great value.
Although Dorset has a host of literary associations other than those
furnished by the Wessex novels, and notwithstanding that William
Barnes sang of its charms to deaf ears as sweetly as ever Burns piped
of the North Country, it was left to Thomas Hardy to reveal Dorset to
those who knew it not; although he was writing for a great many years
before his novels began to draw people to the land of Gabriel Oak,
Tess, and Ethelberta.
[Illustration: HANGMAN'S COTTAGE, DORCHESTER]
As the tourist must have a centre, a starting-off place for his
various excursions, the visitor to the Hardy country cannot do better
than make his headquarters at Dorchester, the Durnovaria of the Romans
and the "Casterbridge" of the novels.
Alighting at either of the railway stations, for the town is well
served by both the Great Western and the South Western Companies, the
visitor who has learned that Dorchester occupies the site of an
important town of the Romans will probably receive a shock at the
prevailing note of modernity that confronts him on every side. It is
only when one begins to understand the planning of the streets, and
has visited the town's outlying earthworks of Maumbury and Poundbury,
that the mind can realize the possibility of a Roman town being buried
a few feet beneath the houses that line the narrow thoroughfares. It
has been said that one cannot plant a shrub in a Dorchester garden
without unearthing some link with the legions of imperial Rome, an
excusable exaggeration if we think of the vast number of treasures
that have been discovered wherever the layer of surface soil has been
penetrated; and there is every reason to believe that the foundations
of Roman Dorchester lie just below the gardens, houses, and pavements
of the bright and modern town.
Excavation in the scientific sense the town has happily been spared,
but the accidental finds are of great value, as proving that the
town's historic past recedes into that twilight of dreamland and myth
which veils the infancy of our island in a golden haze of mystery. All
around this capital of Dorset lies a storied land, wherein memories of
the Durotriges, of the Roman legions, and of the ruthless march of the
Saxon through the beautiful land of Britain jostle with modern
associations of poetry, literature, and art.
Proceeding along South Street, as the narrow thoroughfare that
connects the stations with the centre of the town is called, the first
building to claim attention is the Grammar School, founded in the
sixteenth century by a Thomas Hardy, and rebuilt in the same style in
1879. Adjoining the school is "Napper's Mite", a small
seventeenth-century almshouse with a picturesque open gallery and a
clock bracket, copied from the one that adorns the old George Inn at
Glastonbury. The almshouse clock came from the old workhouse near by
when it was pulled down. Farther along the street, but on the opposite
side, is the Antelope Hotel, a Jacobean building whose beauties are
concealed behind nineteenth-century walls, although some interior
panelling and carving remain _in situ_.
Just beyond the hotel the street joins the main thoroughfare of the
town, and at this intersection, where four roadways diverge towards
the cardinal points of the compass, historical memories and literary
associations clamour for recognition. The curious stone obelisk in the
centre of the near roadway, and for many years used as the Town Pump,
marks the site of the old Octagon, and was erected in 1784, which date
is carved in characteristic Georgian figures on the coping stone. It
also marks the site of two houses that stood close together with their
upper rooms built over the street.
Facing us are the Town Hall and St. Peter's Church, the latter of
which is conjectured by some authorities to stand on the site of a
Roman temple. It is a stately Perpendicular building with an imposing
tower and a remarkable set of gargoyles. The Transition-Norman
door-arch of the south porch is a survival of an older church that
once occupied the same spot. Outside the church is Roscoe Mullins's
lifeless-looking bronze statue of William Barnes, the Dorset poet,
who, until his death in 1886, was the near neighbour and literary
friend of Thomas Hardy. The pedestal of Barnes's monument bears the
following verse from his poem, _Culver Dell and the Squire_:--
"Zoo now I hope this kindly feaece
Is gone to vind a better pleaece;
But still wi' vo'k a-left behind,
He'll always be a-kept in mind."
Within the sacred edifice are several interesting monuments, including
two cross-legged effigies of the "camail" period, but neither of these
is _in situ_. In the porch of this church John White, one of the four
founders of Salem and the virtual founder of Massachusetts, lies
buried.
Opposite the eastern end of the church is the Corn Exchange, where the
fickle Bathsheba displayed her sample bags of corn to the astonished
farmers, "adopting the professional pour into the hand, holding up the
grains in her narrow palm for inspection in perfect Casterbridge
manner". It was in a neighbouring shop that this "Queen of the Corn
Market" purchased the fatal valentine that aroused the amatory
instincts of Farmer Boldwood; while it was but a short distance away
that, a little later in the story, _Far from the Madding Crowd_,
Bathsheba and her husband, Sergeant Troy, met the piteous figure of
Fanny Robin on her painful journey to the Casterbridge workhouse. By
way of Mellstock (Stinsford) and Durnover (Fordington), Boldwood
came to Casterbridge, where, turning into Bull-Stake Square, he
"halted before an archway of heavy stonework which was closed by an
iron-studded pair of doors", and gave himself up for the murder of
Troy. Here also came Gabriel Oak in search of the licence which was to
procure for Bathsheba "the most private, secret, plainest wedding that
it is possible to have".
In the _Mayor of Casterbridge_ the town naturally figures largely,
although the opening scenes of the novel are laid at Weydon Priors
(Weyhill, Hants). In Casterbridge Susan Henchard and Elizabeth-Jane
sought for Henchard
"What an old-fashioned place it seems to be!" exclaimed
Elizabeth-Jane, "it is huddled all together; and it is shut in
by a square wall of trees like a plot of garden ground with a
box-edging."
It is in this novel that its author gives us, in a few masterly
touches, the architectural details of the town's houses, the
"brick-nogging" and the "tile roofs patched with slate"; and indicates
the everyday life of its inhabitants. The whole town, in fact, teems
with Hardy scenes and characters, and particularly with the story of
the Man of Character who was its Mayor. To Casterbridge came Stephen
Smith when he commenced that study of architecture which led to his
meeting the blue-eyed Elfrida. Bob Loveday, brother to the
Trumpet-Major, came hither to meet his Matilda; and in the courthouse
Raye sat when on the Western Circuit, after he had parted with Anna at
Melchester (Salisbury).
Walking down High East Street the most unobservant eye could not fail
to notice the beautiful distant view of the Frome Valley and the
Yellowham Woods, and to note the number of the hostels on either side
of the short length of street. Prominent among them is the King's
Arms, with a spacious and noble Georgian window projecting over the
main portico. This window, that is at once the delight and the despair
of the modern architect, gave light to the room wherein was held "the
great public dinner of the gentle-people and such like leading
folk--wi' the Mayor in the chair".
Just below this still fashionable hotel is the "Three Mariners" with
its "four-centred Tudor arch over the entrance". The original inn has
vanished, but the present one occupies its site. On the opposite side
of the way stands the "Phoenix", but risen again from her ashes since
it was the scene of Jenny's last | 1,595.551416 |
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Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger
THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM
by Tobias Smollett
COMPLETE IN TWO PARTS
PART I.
With the Author's Preface, and an Introduction by G. H. Maynadier, Ph.D.
Department of English, Harvard University.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
PREFATORY ADDRESS
CHAPTER
I Some sage Observations that naturally introduce our important
History
II A superficial View of our Hero's Infancy
III He is initiated in a Military Life, and has the good Fortune
to acquire a generous Patron
IV His Mother's Prowess and Death; together with some Instances
of his own Sagacity
V A brief Detail of his Education
VI He meditates Schemes of Importance
VII Engages in Partnership with a female Associate, in order to
put his Talents in Action
VIII Their first Attempt; with a Digression which some Readers
may think impertinent
IX The Confederates change their Battery, and achieve a remarkable
Adventure
X They proceed to levy Contributions with great Success, until
our Hero sets out with the young Count for Vienna, where he
enters into League with another Adventurer
XI Fathom makes various Efforts in the World of Gallantry
XII He effects a Lodgment in the House of a rich Jeweller
XIII He is exposed to a most perilous Incident in the Course of his
Intrigue with the Daughter
XIV He is reduced to a dreadful Dilemma, in consequence of an
Assignation with the Wife
XV But at length succeeds in his Attempt upon both
XVI His Success begets a blind Security, by which he is once again
well-nigh entrapped in his Dulcinea's Apartment
XVII The Step-dame's Suspicions being awakened, she lays a Snare
for our Adventurer, from which he is delivered by the
Interposition of his Good Genius
XVIII Our Hero departs from Vienna, and quits the Domain of Venus
for the rough Field of Mars
XIX He puts himself under the Guidance of his Associate, and
stumbles upon the French Camp, where he finishes his
Military Career
XX He prepares a Stratagem, but finds himself countermined--
Proceeds on his Journey, and is overtaken by a terrible
Tempest
XXI He falls upon Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis.
XXII He arrives at Paris, and is pleased with his Reception
XXIII Acquits himself with Address in a Nocturnal Riot
XXIV He overlooks the Advances of his Friends, and smarts severely
for his Neglect
XXV He bears his Fate like a Philosopher; and contracts
acquaintance with a very remarkable Personage
XXVI The History of the Noble Castilian
XXVII A flagrant Instance of Fathom's Virtue, in the Manner of his
Retreat to England
XXVIII Some Account of his Fellow-Travellers
XXIX Another providential Deliverance from the Effects of the
Smuggler's ingenious Conjecture
XXX The singular Manner of Fathom's Attack and Triumph over the
Virtue of the fair Elenor | 1,595.653479 |
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Transcribed form the 1911 W. Foulsham & Co. Ltd. edition by David Price,
email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
THE LAIR OF THE WHITE WORM
To my friend Bertha | 1,595.653629 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Note:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/anoldstorymyfar00reutgoog
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
3. Greek text is transliterated and bracketed [Greek: ].
_Each volume sold separately at the price of M 1,60_.
COLLECTION
OF
GERMAN AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
* * * * *
VOL. 35.
AN OLD STORY OF MY FARMING DAYS.
By FRITZ REUTER.
IN THREE VOLUMES.--VOL. 2.
LEIPZIG: BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.
LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY, LIMITED.
ST. DUNSTAN'S HOUSE, FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET E.C.
PARIS: LIBRAIRIE C. REINWALD, 15, RUE DES SAINTS-PERES; THE
GALIGNANI LIBRARY, 224, RUE DE RIVOLI.
_This Collection of German Authors may be introduced_
_into England or any other country_.
COLLECTION
OF
GERMAN AUTHORS.
VOL. 35.
* * * * *
AN OLD STORY
OF MY FARMING DAYS BY FRITZ REUTER.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
AN OLD STORY
OF MY FARMING DAYS
_(UT MINE STROMTID)_
BY
FRITZ REUTER,
AUTHOR OF "IN THE YEAR '13:"
FROM THE GERMAN
BY
M. W. MACDOWALL.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
_Authorized Edition_.
LEIPZIG 1878
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.
LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON.
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
PARIS: C. REINWALD & CIE, 15, RUE DES SAINTS PERES.
AN OLD STORY
UT MINE STROMTID.
CHAPTER I.
On the 23rd of June 1843, the eldest son of David Daesel and the
youngest daughter of John Degel were seated on a bench in the
pleasure-grounds at Puempelhagen. They had gone out to enjoy the beauty
of the moonlight evening together. Sophia Degel said to her companion:
"What made you look so foolish, Kit, when you came back from taking the
horses over to meet the squire?"--"It was no wonder if I looked a
little foolish. He took me into the sitting-room at the Inn and showed
me his wife, and, says he, 'this is your new mistress.' Then she gave
me a glass of wine, and made me drink it at once"--"What's she like?"
asked the girl.--"Why," said Christian, "it's rather difficult to
describe her. She's about your height; her hair is bright and fair like
yours, and her colouring is red and white like yours. She has grey eyes
like you, and she has just such another sweet little mouth."--Here he
gave Sophia a hearty kiss on her pretty red lips.--"Lawk a daisy!
Christian!" cried the girl, freeing herself from his embrace, "I
suppose then that you gave her just such another kiss as you've given
me?"--"Are you crazy?" asked Christian, and then went on soothingly.
"No, that would have been impossible. That! sort have something about
them that doesn't go with our sort. The lady might have sat here on the
bench beside me till doom's day, and I'd never have thought of giving
her a kiss."--"I see!" said Sophia Degel, rising and tossing her pretty
head; "you think that _I_'m good enough for that sort of thing! Do
you?"--"Sophia," said Christian, putting his arm round her waist again,
in spite of her pretended resistance, "that kind of woman is far too
small and weakly for us to admire; why if I wanted to put my arm round
a creature like that--as I'm doing to you just now, Sophia--I'd be
frightened of breaking or crushing her. Nay," he continued, stroking
her hair, and beginning to walk home with her, "like mates with
like."--When they parted Sophia was quite friends with Christian again.
"I shall see the lady in the morning," she said, as she slipped away
from his detaining arm, "the girls are all going to make wreaths of
flowers to-morrow, and I'm going to help."
Every one at Puempelhagen was busy weaving garlands, and setting up a
triumphal arch across the avenue. Next morning Hawermann saw the last
touches put to the arch, to which Mary Moeller added a bunch of flowers
here, and a bit of green there, as it seemed to be required, and Fred
Triddelfitz fluttered about amongst the village-lads and lasses
as a sort of volunteer-assistant, in all the grandeur of his green
hunting-coat, white leather breeches, long boots with yellow tops, and
blood-red neck-tie. While they were employed in this manner, uncle
Braesig joined them in his very best suit of clothes. He wore pale blue
summer-trousers, and a brown coat which he must have bought in the year
one. It was a very good fit at the back, and was so long in the tails
that it nearly reached the middle of his calf, but it showed rather too
great an expanse of yellow pique waistcoat in front. As the coat was
the same colour as the bark of a tree, he might be likened to a tree
that had been struck by lightning, and which showed a broad stripe of
yellow wood in front where the bark had been torn away. He also wore a
black hat about three quarters of a yard high. "Good morning, Charles.
How are you getting on? Aha! I see that the erection is nearly
finished. It looks very nice, Charles--but still, I think that the arch
might have been a little bit higher, and you might have had a couple of
towers, one on the right hand and the other on the left. I once saw
that done at Guestrow in the time of old Frederic Francis, when he came
back in triumph! But where's the banner?"--"There's none," said
Hawermann, "we hav'n't one."--"Do try to remember where we can get one,
Charles. You can't possibly do without a flag of some kind. The
lieutenant was in the army, and so he must have a flag flying in his
honour. Moeller," he called without turning round, "just fetch me two
servant's sheets and sew them together lengthwise; Christian Paesel,
bring me a smooth straight pole, and you, Triddelfitz, get me the brush
you use for marking the sacks, and a bottle of ink."--"Bless me!
Zachariah. What on earth are you going to do?" asked Hawermann, shaking
his head.--"Charles," said Braesig, "it's a great mercy that the
lieutenant was in the Prussian army, for if he had been in a
Mecklenburg regiment we should never have managed to get the right
colours. Now it's quite easy to rig up a Prussian flag. Black ink and
white sheets! we want nothing more."--Hawermann at first thought of
dissuading his friend from making the flag, but on second thoughts he
let him go on unchecked, for, thought he, the young squire will see
that he meant it kindly.
So Braesig set to work, and painted a great "vivat!!!" on the sheets.
"Hold tight!" he shouted to Mary Moeller and Fred Triddelfitz who were
helping him, "I want to get 'Lieutenant and Mrs. Lieutenant' properly
written on the banner."--He had decided, after much thought, on putting
"Lieutenant and Mrs. Lieutenant" after the "vivat", instead of "A. von
Rambow and F. von Satrop" as he had at first intended, for von Rambow
and von Satrop are merely the names of two noble families, and he had
all his life had a great deal to do with people of that kind, while he
had never yet known a lieutenant, and therefore thought the title a
very distinguished one.
When the flag was finished he trotted across the court with it, and
stuck it up on the highest step of the manor-house, and then hastened
down stairs again to see how it looked from below. After | 1,597.553775 |
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Produced by Charles Franks, Beth Trapaga and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
REMARKS
By BILL NYE.
(EDGAR W. NYE.)
Ah Sin was his name;
And I shall not deny,
In regard to the same,
What the name might imply:
But his smile it was pensive and childlike,
As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.
--Bret Harte.
With over one hundred and fifty illustrations,
by J.H. SMITH.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Bill Nye]
DIRECTIONS.
This book is not designed specially for any one class of people. It is
for all. It is a universal repository of thought. Some of my best
thoughts are contained in this book. Whenever I would think | 1,597.64641 |
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E-text prepared by Andrew Turek and revised by
Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D., and Delpine Lettau
Transcriber's note:
This novel was first published in serial form in 1868-1869,
followed by a two-volume book version in 1869. Both were
illustrated by Marcus Stone, and those illustrations can
be seen in the HTML version of this e-text. See
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/5140/5140-h/5140-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/5140/5140-h.zip)
HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
With Illustrations by Marcus Stone
CONTENTS
I. SHEWING HOW WRATH BEGAN.
II. COLONEL OSBORNE.
III. LADY MILBOROUGH'S DINNER PARTY.
IV. HUGH STANBURY.
V. SHEWING HOW THE QUARREL PROGRESSED.
VI. SHEWING HOW RECONCILIATION WAS MADE.
VII. MISS JEMIMA STANBURY, OF EXETER.
VIII. "I KNOW IT WILL DO."
IX. SHEWING HOW THE QUARREL PROGRESSED AGAIN.
X. HARD WORDS.
XI. LADY MILBOROUGH AS AMBASSADOR.
XII. MISS STANBURY'S GENEROSITY.
XIII. THE HONOURABLE MR. GLASCOCK.
XIV. THE CLOCK HOUSE AT NUNCOMBE PUTNEY.
XV. WHAT THEY SAID ABOUT IT IN THE CLOSE.
XVI. DARTMOOR.
XVII. A GENTLEMAN COMES TO NUNCOMBE PUTNEY.
XVIII. THE STANBURY CORRESPONDENCE.
XIX. BOZZLE, THE EX-POLICEMAN.
XX. SHEWING HOW COLONEL OSBORNE WENT TO COCKCHAFFINGTON.
XXI. SHEWING HOW COLONEL OSBORNE WENT TO NUNCOMBE PUTNEY.
XXII. SHEWING HOW MISS STANBURY BEHAVED TO HER TWO NIECES.
XXIII. COLONEL OSBORNE AND MR. BOZZLE RETURN TO LONDON.
XXIV. NIDDON PARK.
XXV. HUGH STANBURY SMOKES HIS PIPE.
XXVI. A THIRD PARTY IS SO OBJECTIONABLE.
XXVII. MR. TREVELYAN'S LETTER TO HIS WIFE.
XXVIII. GREAT TRIBULATION.
XXIX. MR. AND MRS. OUTHOUSE.
XXX. DOROTHY MAKES UP HER MIND.
XXXI. MR. BROOKE BURGESS.
XXXII. THE "FULL MOON" AT ST. DIDDULPH'S.
XXXIII. HUGH STANBURY SMOKES ANOTHER PIPE.
XXXIV. PRISCILLA'S WISDOM.
XXXV. MR. GIBSON'S GOOD FORTUNE.
XXXVI. MISS STANBURY'S WRATH.
XXXVII. MONT CENIS.
XXXVIII. VERDICT OF THE JURY--"MAD, MY LORD."
XXXIX. MISS NORA ROWLEY IS MALTREATED.
XL. "C. G."
XLI. SHEWING WHAT TOOK PLACE AT ST. | 1,597.65074 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy 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 Notes: Small-capped text within the stories is
surrounded by +plus signs+ to separate it from the ALL-CAPPED text.
Italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
Mother’s Nursery Tales
[Illustration]
MOTHER’S
NURSERY TALES
_TOLD AND ILLUSTRATED_
_BY_
_KATHARINE PYLE_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
681 FIFTH AVENUE
COPYRIGHT, 1918
BY
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
_All Rights Reserved_
_Printed in the United States of America_
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
PAGE
The Sleeping Beauty 1
Jack and the Bean Stalk 13
Beauty and the Beast 31
Jack-the-Giant-Killer 47
The Three Wishes 71
The Goose Girl 75
The Little Old Woman and Her Pig 92
The White Cat 100
Brittle-Legs 115
“I Went Up One Pair of Stairs,” etc. 124
The Straw, the Coal, and the Bean 128
The Water-Sprite 132
Star Jewels 139
Sweet Porridge 146
Chicken-Diddle 152
A Pack of Ragamuffins 157
The Frog Prince 165
The Wolf and the Five Little Goats 174
The Golden Goose 183
The Three Spinners 199
Goldilocks and the Three Bears 207
The Three Little Pigs 215
The Golden Key 229
Mother Hulda 232
The Six Companions 241
The Golden Bird 256
The Nail 281
Little Red Riding-Hood 284
Aladdin, or the Magic Lamp 291
The Cobbler and the Fairies 323
Cinderella 328
Jack in Luck 345
Puss in Boots 356
The Town Musicians 369
ILLUSTRATIONS
COLOR PLATES PAGE
Goldilocks and the Three Bears _Frontispiece_
Beauty and the Beast 31
Brittle-Legs 115
The Water-Sprite 132
The Three Spinners 199
Mother Hulda 232
Little Red Riding-Hood 284
BLACK AND WHITE
Contents (_Headband_) v
Introduction (_Headband_) ix
The Sleeping Beauty 10
Jack and the Beanstalk (_Half title_) 13
Beauty and the Beast (_Tailpiece_) 46
The Three Wishes (_Headband_) 71
The Goose Girl (_Half title_) 75
The Goose Girl (_Tailpiece_) 91
“The Pig would not go over the Stile” 94
The White Cat 105
The Straw, the Coal, and the Bean (_Headband_) 128
The Straw, the Coal, and the Bean (_Tailpiece_) 131
Star Jewels (_Half title_) 139
Sweet Porridge (_Headband_) 146
“Come little Pot” 150
A Pack of Ragamuffins (_Headband_) 157
The Frog Prince (_Headband_) 165
The Frog with the Ball 167
The Wolf and the Five Little Goats (_Tailpiece_) 182
The Golden Goose (_Headband_) 183
The Three Little Pigs (_Half title_) 215
The Three Little Pigs (_Tailpiece_) 227
The Golden Key (_Headband_) 229
Mother Hulda (_Tailpiece_) 240
The Six Companions (_Half title_) 241
The Golden Bird (_Headband_) 256
The Golden Bird (_Tailpiece_) 280
Aladdin, or the Magic Lamp (_Half title_) 291
The Cobbler and the Fairies (_Headband_) 323
Cinderella (_Headband_) 328
Cinderella and the Prince 335
Cinderella (_Tailpiece_) 344
Puss in Boots 363
The Town Musicians (_Tailpiece_) 376
[Illustration]
INTRODUCTION
These are not new fairy-tales, the ones in this book that has been
newly made for you and placed in your hands. They are old fairy-tales
gathered together, some from one | 1,597.747272 |
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Produced by Veronika Redfern, D Alexander, Juliet Sutherland
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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TALES FROM "BLACKWOOD"
Contents of this Volume
_My Friend the Dutchman. By Frederick Hardman, Esq._
_My College Friends. No. II. Horace Leicester._
_The Emerald Studs. By Professor Aytoun._
_My College Friends. No. III. Mr W. Wellington Hurst._
_Christine: a Dutch Story. By Frederick Hardman, Esq._
_The Man in the Bell._
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
TALES FROM "BLACKWOOD."
MY FRIEND THE DUTCHMAN.
BY FREDERICK HARDMAN.
[_MAGA._ OCTOBER 1847.]
"And you will positively marry her, if she will have you?"
"Not a doubt of either. Before this day fortnight she shall be Madame
Van Haubitz."
"You will make her your wife without acquainting her with your true
position?"
"Indeed will I. My very position requires it. There's no room for a
scruple. She expects to live on my fortune; thinks to make a great catch
of the rich Dutchman. Instead of that I shall spend her salary. The old
story; going out for wool and returning shorn."
The conversation of which this is the concluding fragment, occurred in
the public room of the Hotel de Hesse, in the village of Homburg on the
Hill--then an insignificant handful of houses, officiating as capital
of the important landgravate of Hesse-Homburg. The table-d'hote had been
over some time; the guests had departed to repose in their apartments
until the hour of evening promenade should summon them to the excellent
band of music, provided by the calculating liberality of the
gaming-house keepers, and to loiter round the _brunnen_ of more or less
nauseous flavour, the pretext of resort to this rendezvous of idlers and
gamblers. The waiters had disappeared to batten on the broken meats from
the public table, and to doze away the time till the approach of supper
renewed their activity. My interlocutor, with whom I was alone in the
deserted apartment, was a man of about thirty years of age, whose dark
hair and mustaches, marked features, spare person, and complexion
bronzed by a tropical sun, entitled him to pass for a native of southern
Europe, or even of some more ardent clime. Nevertheless he answered to
the very Dutch patronymic of Van Haubitz, and was a native of Holland,
in whose principal city his father was a banker of considerable wealth
and financial influence.
It was towards the close of a glorious August, and for two months I had
been wandering in Rhine-land. Not after the fashion of deluded Cockneys,
who fancy they have seen the Rhine when they have careered from Cologne
to Mannheim astride of a steam-engine, gaping at objects passed as soon
as perceived; drinking and paying for indifferent vinegar as
Steinberger-Cabinet, eating vile dinners on the decks of steamers, and
excellent ones in the capital hotels which British cash and patronage
have raised upon the banks of the most renowned of German streams. On
the contrary, I had early dispensed with the aid of steam, to wander on
foot, with the occasional assistance of a lazy country diligence or
rickety _einspaenner_, through the many beautiful districts that lie upon
either bank of the river; pedestrianising in Rhenish Bavaria, losing
myself in the Odenwald, and pausing, when occasion offered, to pick a
trout out of the numerous streamlets that dash and meander through dell
and ravine, on their way to swell the waters of old Father Rhine. At
last, weary of solitude--scarcely broken by an occasional gossip with a
heavy German boor, village priest, or strolling student--I thirsted
after the haunts of civilisation, and found myself, within a day of the
appearance of the symptom, installed in a luxurious hotel in the free
city of Frankfort on the Maine. But Frankfort at that season is
deserted, save by passing tourists, who escape as fast as possible from
its lifeless streets and sun-baked pavements; so, after glancing over an
English newspaper at the Casino, taking one stroll in the beautiful
garden surrounding the city, and another through the Jew-quarter--always
interesting and curious, although anything but savoury at that warm
season--I gathered together my baggage and was off to Homburg. There I
could not complain of solitude, of deserted streets and shuttered
windows. It seemed impossible that the multitude of gaily dressed belles
and cavaliers, English, French, German, and Russ, who, from six in the
morning until sunset, lounged and flirted on the walks, watered
themselves at the fountains, and perilled their complexions in the
golden sunbeams, could ever bestow themselves in the two or three
middling hotels and few score shabby lodging-houses composing the town
of Homburg. Manage it they did, however; crept into their narrow cells
at night, to emerge next morning, like butterflies from the chrysalis,
gay, bright, and brilliant, and to recommence the never-varying but
pleasant round of eating, sauntering, love-making, and gambling. Homburg
was not then what it has since become. That great house of cards, the
new Cursaal, had not yet arisen; and its table-d'hote, reading-room, and
profane mysteries of roulette and rouge-et-noir, found temporary
domicile in a narrow, disreputable-looking den in the main street, where
accommodation of all kinds, but especially for dinner, was scanty in the
extreme. The public tables at the hotels were consequently thronged, and
there acquaintances were soon made. The day of my arrival at Homburg I
was seated next to Van Haubitz; his manner was off-hand and frank; we
entered into conversation, took our after-dinner cigar and evening
stroll together, and by bed-time had knocked up that sort of intimacy
easily contracted at a watering-place, which lasts one's time of
residence, and is extinguished and forgotten on departure. Van Haubitz,
like many Continentals and very few Englishmen, was one of those
free-and-easy communicative persons who are as familiar after twelve
hours' acquaintance as if they had known you twelve years, and who do
not hesitate to confide to a three days' acquaintance the history of
their lives, their pursuits, position, and prospects. I was soon made
acquainted, to a very considerable extent, at least, with those of my
friend Van Haubitz, late lieutenant of artillery in the service of his
majesty the King of Holland. He was the youngest of four sons, and
having shown, at a very early age, a wild and intractable disposition
and precocious addiction to dissipation, his father pronounced him
unsuited to business, and decided on placing him in the army. To this
the _Junker_ (he claimed nobility, and displayed above his arms a
species of coronet, bearing considerable resemblance to a fragment of
chevaux-de-frise, which he might have been puzzled to prop with a
parchment) had no particular objection, and might have made a good
enough officer, but for his reckless, spendthrift manner of life, which
entailed negligence of duty and frequent reprimands. Extravagant beyond
measure, unable to deny himself any gratification, squandering money as
though millions were at his command, he was constantly overwhelmed with
debts and a martyr to duns. At last his father, after thrice clearing
him with his creditors, consented to do so a fourth time only on
condition of his getting transferred to a regiment stationed in the
Dutch East Indies, and remaining there until his return had the paternal
sanction. To avoid a prison, and perhaps not altogether sorry to leave a
country where his cash and credit were alike exhausted, he embarked for
Batavia. But any pleasant day-dreams he may have cherished of tropical
luxuries, of the indulgence of a _farniente_ life in a grass hammock,
gently balanced by Javan houris beneath banana shades, of spice-laden
breezes and cool sherbets, and other attributes of a Mohammedan
paradise, were speedily dissipated by the odious realities of filth and
vermin, marsh-fever and mosquitoes. He wrote to his father, describing
the horrors of the place, and begging to be released from his pledge and
allowed to return to Holland. His obdurate progenitor replied by a
letter of reproach, and swore that if he left Batavia he might live on
his pay, and never expect a stiver from the paternal strong-box, either
as gift or bequest. To live upon his pay would have been no easy matter,
even for a more prudent person than Van Haubitz. He grumbled
immoderately, swore like a pagan, but remained where he was. A year
passed and he could hold out no longer. Disregarding the paternal
displeasure, and reckless of consequences, he applied to the chief
military authority of the colony for leave of absence. He was asked his
plea, and alleged ill health. The general thought he looked pretty well,
and requested the sight of a medical certificate of his invalid state.
Van Haubitz assumed a doleful countenance and betook him to the
surgeons. They agreed with the general that his aspect was healthy:
asked for symptoms; could discover none more alarming than regularity of
pulse, sleep, appetite, and digestion, laughed in his face and refused
the certificate. The sickly gunner, who had the constitution | 1,597.74743 |
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[Illustration: "Permit your slave——" _Page_ 220.]
*The Imprudence
of Prue*
_*By*_* SOPHIE FISHER*
With Four Illustrations
By HERMAN PFEIFER
A. L. BURT COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT 1911
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
*CONTENTS*
CHAPTER
I The Price of a Kiss
II Lady Drumloch
III Sir Geoffrey’s Arrival
IV The Money-Lender Intervenes
V A Widow on Monday
VI A Matter of Title
VII A Wedding-Ring for a Kiss
VIII An Order for a Parson
IX The Wedding
X The Folly of Yesterday
XI The Morrow’s Wakening
XII The Price of a Birthright
XIII The Sealed Packet
XIV A Pair of Gloves
XV The Red Domino
XVI At the Unmasking
XVII Lady Barbara’s News
XVIII The Den of the Highwayman
XIX In the Duchess’ Apartments
XX A Threat and a Promise
XXI An Affair of Family
XXII In A Chairman’s Livery
XXIII The Parson Sells a Secret
XXIV A Supper for Three
XXV A Confession
XXVI Preparations for a Journey
XXVII A Different Highwayman
XXVIII The Dearest Treasure
*THE IMPRUDENCE OF PRUE*
*CHAPTER I*
*THE PRICE OF A KISS*
"Stand and deliver!"
The words rang out in the gathering darkness of the February evening.
The jaded horses, exhausted with dragging a cumbrous chariot through the
miry lanes and rugged by-roads of the rough moorland, obeyed the command
with promptitude, disregarding the lash of the postboy and the valiant
oaths of a couple of serving-men in the rumble.
"Keep still, unless you wish me to blow out what you are pleased to
consider your brains," said the highwayman. "My pistols have an awkward
habit of going off of their own accord when I am not instantly obeyed—so
don’t provoke them."
The postilion became as still as a statue and the footmen, under cover
of the self-acting pistols, descended, grumbling but unresisting,
yielded up their rusty blunderbusses with a transparent show of
reluctance and withdrew to a respectful distance, while the highwayman
dismounted, opened the carriage door and throwing the light of a lantern
within, revealed the shrinking forms of two women muffled in cloaks and
hoods.
One of them uttered a shriek of terror when the door was opened and
incoherently besought the highwayman to spare two lone, defenseless
women.
The highwayman thrust his head in and peered round eagerly, as though in
search of other passengers. Then, pulling off his slouch-brimmed hat, he
revealed a pair of dark eyes that gleamed fiercely from behind a mask,
and as much of a bronzed and weather-beaten face as it left uncovered.
Black hair, loosely gathered in a ribbon and much disordered by wind and
rain, added considerably to the wildness of his aspect, and the
uncertain light of the lantern flickered upon several weapons besides
the pistols he carried so carelessly.
"I shall not hurt you, Madam," he exclaimed impatiently. "Your money
and jewels are all I seek. I expected to find a very different booty
here and must hasten elsewhere lest I miss it altogether by this
confounded mishap. So let me advise you to waste neither my time nor
your own breath in useless lamentations, but hasten to hand out your
purses and diamonds."
"We have neither, Mr. Highwayman," said the other lady in a clear,
musical voice, quite free from tremor. "I am a poor widow without a
penny in the world, flying from my creditors to take refuge with a
relative almost as poor as myself. This is my companion—alack for her!
The wage I owe her might make her passing rich if ever ’twere paid—but
it never will be."
"Do poor widows travel in coach and four with serving-men and maids?"
demanded the highwayman with an incredulous laugh. "Come, ladies, I am
well used to these excuses. Do not put me to the disagreeable necessity
of setting you down in the mud while I search your carriage
and—mayhap—your fair selves."
The lady threw back her hooded cloak, revealing a face and form of rare
beauty, and extended two white hands and arms, bare to the elbow and
entirely devoid of ornament. In one hand she held a little purse
through whose silken meshes glittered a few pieces of money.
"This is all the money I have in the wide world," she said, | 1,597.753372 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
PERSONAL NARRATIVES
OF EVENTS IN THE
WAR OF THE REBELLION,
BEING PAPERS READ BEFORE THE
RHODE ISLAND SOLDIERS AND SAILORS
HISTORICAL SOCIETY.
THIRD SERIES - NO. 15.
PROVIDENCE:
PUBLISHED BY THE SOCIETY.
1885.
PROVIDENCE PRESS COMPANY, PRINTERS.
REMINISCENCES OF SERVICE
WITH THE
TWELFTH RHODE ISLAND VOLUNTEERS,
AND A
MEMORIAL OF COL. GEORGE H. BROWNE.
BY
PARDON E. T | 1,598.552031 |
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Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Transcriber's Note:
I feel that it is important to note that this book is part
of the Caledonian series. The Caledonian series is a group
of 50 books comprising all of Sir Walter Scott's works.]
WAVERLEY
BY SIR WALTER SCOTT
VOLUME II
WAVERLEY
OR 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE
CHAPTER XXXVI
AN INCIDENT
The dinner hour of Scotland Sixty Years Since was two o'clock. It
was therefore about four o'clock of a delightful autumn afternoon
that Mr. Gilfillan commenced his march, in hopes, although
Stirling was eighteen miles distant, he might be able, by becoming
a borrower of the night for an hour or two, to reach it that
evening. He therefore put forth his strength, and marched stoutly
along at the head of his followers, eyeing our hero from time to
time, as if he longed to enter into controversy with him. At
length, unable to resist the temptation, he slackened his pace
till he was alongside of his prisoner's horse, and after marching
a few steps in silence abreast of him, he suddenly asked--'Can ye
say wha the carle was wi' the black coat and the mousted head,
that was wi' the Laird of Cairnvreckan?'
'A Presbyterian clergyman,' answered Waverley.
'Presbyterian!' answered Gilfillan contemptuously; 'a wretched
Erastian, or rather an obscure Prelatist, a favourer of the black
indulgence, ane of thae dumb dogs that canna bark; they tell ower
a clash o' terror and a clatter o' comfort in their sermons,
without ony sense, or savour, or life. Ye've been fed in siccan a
fauld, belike?'
'No; I am of the Church of England,' said Waverley.
'And they're just neighbour-like,' replied the Covenanter; 'and
nae wonder they gree sae weel. Wha wad hae thought the goodly
structure of the Kirk of Scotland, built up by our fathers in
1642, wad hae been defaced by carnal ends and the corruptions of
the time;--ay, wha wad hae thought the carved work of the
sanctuary would hae been sae soon cut down!'
To this lamentation, which one or two of the assistants chorussed
with a deep groan, our hero thought it unnecessary to make any
reply. Whereupon Mr. Gilfillan, resolving that he should be a
hearer at least, if not a disputant, proceeded in his Jeremiade.
'And now is it wonderful, when, for lack of exercise anent the
call to the service of the altar and the duty of the day,
ministers fall into sinful compliances with patronage, and
indemnities, and oaths, and bonds, and other corruptions,--is it
wonderful, I say, that you, sir, and other sic-like unhappy
persons, should labour to build up your auld Babel of iniquity, as
in the bluidy persecuting saint-killing times? I trow, gin ye
werena blinded wi' the graces and favours, and services and
enjoyments, and employments and inheritances, of this wicked
world, I could prove to you, by the Scripture, in what a filthy
rag ye put your trust; and that your surplices, and your copes and
vestments, are but cast-off garments of the muckle harlot that
sitteth upon seven hills and drinketh of the cup of abomination.
But, I trow, ye are deaf as adders upon that side of the head; ay,
ye are deceived with her enchantments, and ye traffic with her
merchandise, and ye are drunk with the cup of her fornication!'
How much longer this military theologist might have continued his
invective, in which he spared nobody but the scattered remnant of
HILL-FOLK, as he called them, is absolutely uncertain. His matter
was copious, his voice powerful, and his memory strong; so that
there was little chance of his ending his exhortation till the
party had reached Stirling, had not his attention been attracted
by a pedlar who had joined the march from a cross-road, and who
sighed or groaned with great regularity at all fitting pauses of
his homily.
'And what may ye be, friend?' said the Gifted Gilfillan.
'A puir pedlar, that's bound for Stirling, and craves the
protection of your honour's party in these kittle times. Ah' your
honour has a notable faculty in searching and explaining the
secret,--ay, the secret and obscure and incomprehensible causes of
the backslidings of the land; ay, your honour touches the root o'
the matter.'
'Friend,' said Gilfillan, with a more complacent voice than he had
hitherto used, 'honour not me. I do not go out to park-dikes and
to steadings and to market-towns to have herds and cottars and
burghers pull off their bonnets to me as they do to Major Melville
o' Cairnvreckan, and ca' me laird or captain or honour. No; my
sma' means, whilk are not aboon twenty thousand merk, have had the
blessing of increase, but the pride of my heart has not increased
with them; nor do I delight to be called captain, though I have
the subscribed commission of that gospel-searching nobleman, the
Earl of Glencairn, fa whilk I am so designated. While I live I am
and will be called Habakkuk Gilfillan, who will stand up for the
standards of doctrine agreed on by the ance famous Kirk of
Scotland, before she trafficked with the accursed Achan, while he
has a plack in his purse or a drap o' bluid in his body.'
'Ah,' said the pedlar, 'I have seen your land about Mauchlin. A
fertile spot! your lines have fallen in pleasant places! And
siccan a breed o' cattle is not in ony laird's land in Scotland.'
'Ye say right,--ye say right, friend' retorted Gilfillan eagerly,
for he was not inaccessible to flattery upon this subject,--'ye
say right; they are the real Lancashire, and there's no the like
o' them even at the mains of Kilmaurs'; and he then entered into a
discussion of their excellences, to which our readers will
probably be as indifferent as our hero. After this excursion the
leader returned to his theological discussions, while the pedlar,
less profound upon those mystic points, contented himself with
groaning and expressing his edification at suitable intervals.
'What a blessing it would be to the puir blinded popish nations
among whom I hae sojourned, to have siccan a light to their paths!
I hae been as far as Muscovia in my sma' trading way, as a
travelling merchant, and I hae been through France, and the Low
Countries, and a' Poland, and maist feck o' Germany, and O! it
would grieve your honour's soul to see the murmuring and the
singing and massing that's in the kirk, and the piping that's in
the quire, and the heathenish dancing and dicing upon the
Sabbath!'
This set Gilfillan off upon the Book of Sports and the Covenant,
and the Engagers, and the Protesters, and the Whiggamore's Raid,
and the Assembly of Divines at Westminster, and the Longer and
Shorter Catechism, and the Excommunication at Torwood, and the
slaughter of Archbishop Sharp. This last topic, again, led him
into the lawfulness of defensive arms, on which subject he uttered
much more sense than could have been expected from some other
parts of his harangue, and attracted even Waverley's attention,
who had hitherto been lost in his own sad reflections. Mr.
Gilfillan then considered the lawfulness of a private man's
standing forth as the avenger of public oppression, and as he was
labouring with great earnestness the cause of Mas James Mitchell,
who fired at the Archbishop of Saint Andrews some years before the
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A
SOLEMN CAUTION
AGAINST THE
TEN HORNS OF CALVINISM.
BY PHILALETHES,
LATELY ESCAPED.
FOURTH EDITION, CORRECTED.
And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and I saw a beast rise up out
of the sea, having seven heads and Ten Horns. Rev. xiii. 1.
LEEDS:
PRINTED BY JAMES NICHOLS, 36, BRIGGATE, AND SOLD BY OTHER
BOOKSELLERS.
1819.
TO
THE REV. JOHN WESLEY.
Reverend Sir,
THE author of the following strictures hopes your candour will
pardon his addressing you in this public manner. Who he is, or what
he is, signifies very little; only he begs leave to intimate, that
he hopes he is a follower of that Saviour who "gave himself a ransom
for all." He was convinced when young in years, in a great measure,
by reading "Alleine's Alarm;" and the Calvinists being the only
professing people near him, he soon got acquainted with them, and
was, for some time, in their connexion. Being young in years,
experience, and knowledge, he saw with their eyes, and heard with
their ears; yet not without many scruples concerning the truth of
several of their tenets. Sometimes he proposed his doubts, yet
seldom had much satisfaction; but rather was a little brow-beaten
for being muddy-headed. He often paused, and pondered, and read, and
rubbed his head, and wondered what he ailed. Cole on "God's
Sovereignty" was put into his hands to clear his dull head, and make
him quite orthodox; but still he could not see how God could be just
in condemning men for exactly doing what he had decreed them to do.
After many conflicts, your little piece, entitled, "Predestination
Calmly Considered" fell into his hands; he read it over with that
attention which both the doctrine and performance deserve; and never
had a doubt, from that day to this, that God is loving to every man.
You will, dear sir, excuse the liberty which he has taken in
recommending that little useful piece, as well as some others, which
are published in your catalogue. But, perhaps, you will say, "Who
hath required this performance at your hands? Are there not already
better books written upon the subject than yours?" He answers, Yes;
there are books much better written: They are really written too
well for the generality of readers. He wanted to adapt something to
the genius and pockets of the people. The generality of such as
profess religion are poor, and have little time, little capacity,
little money. If they read and understand this, perhaps they may be
capable of relishing something better. However, the writer throws in
his mite, and hopes it will be acceptable. In the meantime may you,
who have much to cast into the divine treasury, go on and abound
until you finish your course with joy. I am, Reverend Sir, your
obedient and humble servant,
THE AUTHOR.
_December_ 5_th_, 1779.
A
SOLEMN CAUTION,
_&c._
When the forerunner of our blessed Lord came preaching his
dispensation among men, it is said, "the same came for a witness, to
bear witness of the light, that all men through him might believe.
He was not the light, but was sent to bear witness of the light.
That was the true light which lighteth every man which cometh into
the world." It is farther added, "this is the condemnation, that
light is come into the world, but men love darkness rather than
light."
One would think such express testimonies were sufficient to convince
any man who attentively considers what is here spoken, and who spake
these words, "that Christ tasted death for every man;" and that he
"would have all men to be saved, and come to the knowledge of the
truth." Yet it is well known, men have found the art of torturing
these and many other scriptures to death, so as to leave neither
life nor meaning in them. For many years I did not see the bad
tendency which unconditional predestination has; for though I was
convinced that it was not a scriptural doctrine, yet knowing some
who held it to be gracious souls, I was ready to conclude that all
or the greater part were thus happily inconsistent, and so, contrary
to the genius and tendency of their doctrine, were perfecting
holiness in the fear of the Lord. But latter years have convinced me
to the contrary; and though many are either afraid or ashamed to
hold it forth in its full extent, and have kept its chief features
out of sight, yet it is still like that second beast which is
mentioned in the Revelation,--its horns are like a lamb; but attend
closely to it, and it speaks like the true dragon, and with its ten
horns is pushing at the saints of the Most High; and, I fear, has
cast down many, and is still pushing every way to the great danger
of many more. Many who were simply going on their way, rejoicing in
a crucified Saviour, denying themselves, and taking up their cross,
--no sooner has this beast obstructed their way, but they have
unwarily been seduced from the path of life. Having now their eyes
opened, they are become wise in their own conceits, and are no
longer the same simple, patient followers of the Lamb; but soon
become positive, self-conceited, and gradually fall back into the
world again.
It is true, many excellent checks have been given to this growing
plague; several of which are mentioned in the subsequent part of
this little performance: Yet they are really too well written, and
too large, for the generality of readers. Such arguments as Mr.
Toplady and Mr. Hill have made use of, that is, being pretty liberal
in calling foul names, are far more taking than rational scriptural
reasoning. I could not prevail upon myself to stoop so low; truth
does not require it. Yet a few plain strictures, just giving a
concise view of some of the principal features of this beast, is
what is pretended to here. I think I shall avoid all railing
accusations, all personal abuse; there being something so low and
mean in scurrility, that it can never help the cause of pure and
undefiled religion. The following positions, concerning absolute
predestination, I hope to make appear.
The sum of Calvinism is contained in that article in "the Assembly's
Catechism," viz., "that God, from all eternity, hath ordained
whatsoever comes to pass in time." From hence naturally follow the
ensuing ten blasphemous absurdities:--
I. If it is so, that, God has from all eternity ordained whatsoever
comes to pass in time; then it is certain, nothing can come to pass
but what he hath ordained or appointed.--But, we are sensible, the
most shocking things have come to pass; such is the rebellion and
fall of the angels, who kept not their stations, but are become the
enemies of God and man, and seeking to do all the mischief they can
in the world. But if God has, by an express decree, ordained
whatsoever shall come to pass, he has ordained that these angels
should sin, and fall, and become devils; they could not help it; and
all the mischief they do in the world is but fulfilling the divine
decree. Likewise it was ordained, that they should seduce man, and
that he should fall, and propagate a race of sinful creatures like
himself, and that all the shocking consequences should follow; that
Cain should murder his brother; that the old world should be
immersed in sin and sensuality, and then be drowned; and, though
Noah was a preacher of righteousness a hundred and twenty years,
that none should believe and be saved; likewise the arriving of the
Sodomites to such an enormous pitch of wickedness, was ordained; and
that they should burn in lust, working that which was unseemly, and
perish by fire; also that the Israelites should murmur, tempt God,
commit fornication in the wilderness, and their carcases should then
fall; in like manner, after they were settled in the promised land,
that they should fall in with the various abominations, such as
burning their children to Moloch, use enchantments, witchcrafts, and
every other abomination which we find them charged with. Then was
not the cruelty exercised by Pagans, or <DW7>s, or Mahometans all
ordained?--also all the massacres, treacheries, plundering, burning
of towns and cities, dashing poor infants to pieces, or starving
them to death, ripping up their mothers, together with all the
rapes, murders, and sacrileges which have ever come or shall come to
pass? I say, this doctrine charges the blessed, the merciful God
with it all, by ordaining from all eternity whatsoever shall come to
pass in time. Here is no overstraining, no forcing things; it is the
unavoidable consequence, as much as a man charging, pointing, and
firing a cannon at any one or number of men is the cause of their
death. The powder, cannon, and ball only do what the men appoint
them to do. Reader, is not this shocking? Does not thy blood chill
at reading all this blasphemy? I am sure mine does at writing. I
know, great care is taken to hide their monstrous visage; but as it
is there, I am determined to drag it out to light.
II. This doctrine makes the day of judgment past;--a heresy which
very early found its way into the church of God, and thereby
overthrew the faith of some. If God from all eternity ordained
whatsoever | 1,598.652101 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
HISTORY OF THE BEEF CATTLE INDUSTRY IN ILLINOIS
BY
FRANK WEBSTER FARLEY
THESIS
FOR THE
DEGREE OF BACHELOR OF SCIENCE
IN AGRICULTURE
IN
THE COLLEGE OF AGRICULTURE
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
1915
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
May 22, 1915
THIS IS TO CERTIFY THAT THE THESIS PREPARED UNDER MY SUPERVISION BY
_Frank Webster Farley_
ENTITLED _History of the Beef Cattle Industry in Illinois_
______________________________________________________________
IS APPROVED BY ME AS FULFILLING THIS PART OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE
DEGREE OF _Bachelor of Science in Agriculture_
____________________________________________________
_~Henry P Rusk~_
Instructor in Charge
APPROVED: _May 27, 1915_
~Herbert W. Mumford~
HEAD OF DEPARTMENT OF Animal Husbandry
INDEX
I. Introduction
Topography of the Land
People
Cattle and cattle feeding
II. Cattle Feeding Industry
The first silo in Illinois
The Chicago market
III. Cattle Barons and Pioneer Drovers
John T. Alexander
Jacob Strawn
Benjamin Franklin Harris
Tom Candy Ponting
IV. The Range Industry
Texas cattle
V. The Pure Bred Industry
T. L. Miller
Thomas Clark
VI. Cattle Plagues
VII. The Feed Industry of the United States.
HISTORY OF THE BEEF CATTLE INDUSTRY IN THE STATE OF ILLINOIS
I. INTRODUCTION
_Topography of the Land_
"As a whole, the surface of the State of Illinois is nearly level.
The prairie regions which cover a large part of the state are only
slightly rolling, except in those places where streams have worn
valleys. These are shallow in the eastern and the northern parts of
the state, deepening gradually as the great rivers are approached.
Nearly all the waters of Illinois find their way to the Mississippi
river. Along this river, as also along the larger streams of the state,
the lands are cut into abrupt bluffs or sharp spurs which, nearing
the sources of the streams, gradually become softened into rounded
hillocks, sinking at last into the low banks. Through such waterways
as these form, flow streams usually gentle in current, often sluggish,
and sometimes becoming even stagnant. Over a large part of the state,
ponds and "sloughs", or marshes, formerly abounded. In these the water
was renewed only by the rains that fell occasionally. Under hot suns
these ponds, having neither inlet nor outlet, quickly became foul,
particularly where stock resorted to them to drink and cool themselves,
as they did almost universally throughout the state a few years ago,
and do even now in some parts.
"For years such ponds furnished the principal, almost the only, water
supply for stock in large areas of this state. The constant use of
such impure water greatly injured the quality of the milk and butter of
cows, and doubtless had a baneful effect upon the health of the animals
that | 1,598.746936 |
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Produced by Al Haines
SAVROLA
A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION IN LAURANIA
BY
WINSTON SPENCER CHURCHILL
AUTHOR OF "THE RIVER WAR: AN ACCOUNT OF THE RECOVERY
OF THE SOUDAN" AND "THE STORY OF THE MALAKAND
FIELD FORCE"
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
LONDON AND BOMBAY
1900
COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
TYPOGRAPHY BY J. B. CUSHING & CO., NORWOOD, MASS.
THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED
TO
THE OFFICERS
OF THE
IVTH (QUEEN'S OWN) HUSSARS
IN WHOSE COMPANY THE AUTHOR LIVED
FOR FOUR HAPPY YEARS
PREFATORY NOTE
This story was written in 1897, and has already appeared in serial form
in _Macmillan's Magazine_. Since its first reception was not
unfriendly, I resolved to publish it as a book, and I now submit it
with considerable trepidation to the judgment or clemency of the public.
WINSTON S. CHURCHILL.
CONTENTS
I. An Event of Political Importance
II. The Head of the State
III. The Man of the Multitude
IV. The Deputation
V. A Private Conversation
VI. On Constitutional Grounds
VII. The State Ball
VIII. "In the Starlight"
IX. The Admiral
X. The Wand of the Magician
XI. In the Watches of the Night
XII. A Council of War
XIII. The Action of the Executive
XIV. The Loyalty of the Army
XV. Surprises
XVI. The Progress of the Revolt
XVII. The Defence of the Palace
XVIII. From a Window
XIX. An Educational Experience
XX. The End of the Quarrel
XXI. The Return of the Fleet
XXII. Life's Compensations
CHAPTER I.
AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE.
There had been a heavy shower of rain, but the sun was already shining
through the breaks in the clouds and throwing swiftly changing shadows
on the streets, the houses, and the gardens of the city of Laurania.
Everything shone wetly in the sunlight: the dust had been laid; the air
was cool; the trees looked green and grateful. It was the first rain
after the summer heats, and it marked the beginning of that delightful
autumn climate which has made the Lauranian capital the home of the
artist, the invalid, and the sybarite.
The shower had been heavy, but it had not dispersed the crowds that
were gathered in the great square in front of the Parliament House. It
was welcome, but it had not altered their anxious and angry looks; it
had drenched them without cooling their excitement. Evidently an event
of consequence was taking place. The fine building, where the
representatives of the people were wont to meet, wore an aspect of
sombre importance that the trophies and statues, with which an ancient
and an art-loving people had decorated its façade, did not dispel. A
squadron of Lancers of the Republican Guard was drawn up at the foot of
the great steps, and a considerable body of infantry kept a broad space
clear in front of the entrance. Behind the soldiers the people filled
in the rest of the picture. They swarmed in the square and the streets
leading to it; they had scrambled on to the numerous monuments, which
the taste and pride of the Republic had raised to the memory of her
ancient heroes, covering them so completely that they looked like
mounds of human beings; even the trees contained their occupants, while
the windows and often the roofs, of the houses and offices which
overlooked the scene were crowded with spectators. It was a great
multitude and it vibrated with excitement. Wild passions surged across
the throng, as squalls sweep across a stormy sea. Here and there a
man, mounting above his fellows, would harangue those whom his voice
could reach, and a cheer or a shout was caught up by thousands who had
never heard the words but were searching for something to give
expression to their feelings.
It was a great day in the history of Laurania. For five long years
since the Civil War the people had endured the insult of autocratic
rule. The fact that the Government was strong, and the memory of the
disorders of the past, had operated powerfully on the minds of the more
sober citizens. But from the first there had been murmurs. There were
many who had borne arms on the losing side in the long struggle that
had ended in the victory of President Antonio Molara. Some | 1,598.753427 |
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E-text prepared by KD Weeks, Jana Srna, Bryan Ness, Jennie Gottschalk, and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page
images generously made available by the Google Books Library Project
(http://books.google.com)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 43590-h.htm or 43590-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43590/43590-h/43590-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43589/43590-h.zip)
Project Gutenberg has the other volume of this work.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43589
Images of the original pages are available through
the Google Books Library Project. See
http://books.google.com/books?id=yfABAAAAMAAJ
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: Isaac^1).
The 'oe' ligature appears only in the words 'Coeur
d'Alene', and is rendered as 'C[oe]ur.'
Words printed using "small capitals" are shifted to all
upper-case.
Please consult the note at the end of this text for
details of corrections made.
THE LIFE OF ISAAC INGALLS STEVENS
By His Son
HAZARD STEVENS
With Maps and Illustrations
In Two Volumes
VOL. I
[Illustration]
Boston and New York
Houghton, Mifflin and Company
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1900
Copyright, 1900, by Hazard Stevens
All Rights Reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XXVI
THE CHEHALIS COUNCIL
Graphic account by Judge James G. Swan--Indians assemble on
lower Chehalis River--The camp and scenes--Method of
proceeding--Indians object to leaving their wonted
resorts--Tleyuk, young Chehalis chief, proves recusant and
insolent--Governor Stevens rebukes him--Tears up his
commission before his face--Dismisses the council--His
forbearance, and desire to assist the Indians--Treaty made
with Quenaiults and Quillehutes next fall as result of this
council 1
CHAPTER XXVII
PERSONAL AND POLITICAL.--SAN JUAN CONTROVERSY
Death of George Watson Stevens--Governor Stevens keeps Indians
in order--Visits Vancouver--Confers with Superintendent
Palmer, of Oregon--Firm stand against British claim to San
Juan Archipelago--Purchases Taylor donation claim--Democratic
convention to nominate delegate in Congress--Governor Stevens
a candidate--Effect of speech before convention: "If he gets
into Congress, we can never get him out"--J. Patton Anderson
nominated 10
CHAPTER XXVIII
INDIANS OF THE UPPER COLUMBIA
Manly Indians--Ten Great Tribes--Nez Perces--Missionary
Spalding--His work--Abandons mission--Escorted in safety by
Nez Perces--Intractable Cuyuses--Religious rivalry--Dr.
Whitman--Yakimas, Spokanes, Coeur d'Alenes, Flatheads, Pend
Oreilles, Koutenays--Upper country free from settlers--Indian
jealousy--Conspiracy to destroy whites discovered by Major
Alvord--Warnings disregarded--Governor Stevens thrown in
gap--Prepares for council--Walla Walla valley chosen by
Kam-i-ah-kan--Journey to Dalles--Incidents--Unfavorable
outlook--Escort secured--Trip to Walla Walla--"Call yourself
a great chief and steal wood?"--Council ground--Scenes--General
Palmer arrives--Programme for treaty--Officers--Lieutenant
Gracie, Mr. Lawrence Kip, and escort arrive--Governor Stevens
urges General Wool to establish post there 16
CHAPTER XXIX
THE WALLA WALLA COUNCIL
Nez Perces arrive--Savage parade--Head chief Hal-hal-tlos-sot or
Lawyer, an Indian Solon--Cuyuses, Walla Wallas, Umatillas
arrive--Pu-pu-mox-mox--Feasting the chiefs--Fathers Chirouse
and Pandosy arrive--Kam-i-ah-kan--Four hundred mounted braves
ride around Nez Perce camp--Young Chief--Spokane
Garry--Palouses fail to attend--Timothy preaches in Nez Perce
camp--Yakimas arrive--Commissioners visit Lawyer--Spotted
Eagle discloses Cuyuse plots--Council opened--Treaties
explained--Five thousand Indians present--Horse and foot
races-- | 1,598.850306 |
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Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger
THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM
by Tobias Smollett
COMPLETE IN TWO PARTS
PART I.
With the Author's Preface, and an Introduction by G. H. Maynadier, Ph.D.
Department of English, Harvard University.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
PREFATORY ADDRESS
CHAPTER
I Some sage Observations that naturally introduce our important
History
II A superficial View of our Hero's Infancy
III He is initiated in a Military Life, and has the good Fortune
to acquire a generous Patron
IV His Mother's Prowess and Death; together with some Instances
of his own Sagacity
V A brief Detail of his Education
VI He meditates Schemes of Importance
VII Engages in Partnership with a female Associate, in order to
put his Talents in Action
VIII Their first Attempt; with a Digression which some Readers
may think impertinent
IX The Confederates change their Battery, and achieve a remarkable
Adventure
X They proceed to levy Contributions with great Success, until
our Hero sets out with the young Count for Vienna, where he
enters into League with another Adventurer
XI Fathom makes various Efforts in the World of Gallantry
XII He effects a Lodgment in the House of a rich Jeweller
XIII He is exposed to a most perilous Incident in the Course of his
Intrigue with the Daughter
XIV He is reduced to a dreadful Dilemma, in consequence of an
Assignation with the Wife
XV But at length succeeds in his Attempt upon both
XVI His Success begets a blind Security, by which he is once again
well-nigh entrapped in his Dulcinea's Apartment
XVII The Step-dame's Suspicions being awakened, she lays a Snare
for our Adventurer, from which he is delivered by the
Interposition of his Good Genius
XVIII Our Hero departs from Vienna, and quits the Domain of Venus
for the rough Field of Mars
XIX He puts himself under the Guidance of his Associate, and
stumbles upon the French Camp, where he finishes his
Military Career
XX He prepares a Stratagem, but finds himself countermined--
Proceeds on his Journey, and is overtaken by a terrible
Tempest
XXI He falls upon Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis.
XXII He arrives at Paris, and is pleased with his Reception
XXIII Acquits himself with Address in a Nocturnal Riot
XXIV He overlooks the Advances of his Friends, and smarts severely
for his Neglect
XXV He bears his Fate like a Philosopher; and contracts
acquaintance with a very remarkable Personage
XXVI The History of the Noble Castilian
XXVII A flagrant Instance of Fathom's Virtue, in the Manner of his
Retreat to England
XXVIII Some Account of his Fellow-Travellers
XXIX Another providential Deliverance from the Effects of the
Smuggler's ingenious Conjecture
XXX The singular Manner of Fathom's Attack and Triumph over the
Virtue of the fair Elenor
XXXI He by accident encounters his old Friend, with whom he holds
a Conference, and renews a Treaty
XXXII He appears in the great World with universal Applause and
Admiration
XXXIII He attracts the Envy and Ill Offices of the minor Knights of
his own Order, over whom he obtains a complete Victory
XXXIV He performs another Exploit, that conveys a true Idea of his
Gratitude and Honour
XXXV He repairs to Bristol Spring, where he reigns paramount during
the whole Season
XXXVI He is smitten with the Charms of a Female Adventurer, whose
| 1,598.954506 |
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by The Internet Archive)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. =Bold font= is
indicated with the ‘=’ character.
Footnotes are limited to a single quoted passage, and have been
relocated to follow that passage.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.
TOBACCO:
GROWING, CURING, AND MANUFACTURING.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TOBACCO:
GROWING, CURING, & MANUFACTURING.
A HANDBOOK FOR PLANTERS
IN ALL PARTS OF THE WORLD.
EDITED BY
C. G. WARNFORD LOCK, F.L.S.
[Illustration]
E. & F. N. SPON, 125, STRAND, LONDON.
NEW YORK: 35, MURRAY STREET.
1886.
PREFACE.
Tobacco growing is one of the most profitable branches of tropical and
sub-tropical agriculture; the$1“$2”$3has even been proposed as a
remunerative crop for the British farmer, and is very extensively grown
in continental Europe. The attention recently drawn to the subject has
resulted in many inquiries for information useful to the planter
desirous of starting a tobacco estate. But beyond scattered articles in
newspapers and the proceedings of agricultural societies, there has been
no practical literature available for the English reader. It is a little
remarkable that while our neighbours have been writing extensively about
tobacco growing, of late years, no English book devoted exclusively to
this subject has been published for nearly thirty years. A glance at the
bibliography given at the end of this volume will show that the French,
German, Swiss, Italian, Dutch, Sicilian, and even Scandinavian planter
has a reliable handbook to guide him in this important branch of
agriculture, while British settlers in our numerous tobacco-growing
colonies must glean their information as best they may from periodical
literature.
To supply the want thus indicated, the present volume has been prepared.
The invaluable assistance of tobacco-planters in both the Indies and in
many other tropical countries, has rendered the portion relating to
field operations eminently practical and complete, while the editor’s
acquaintance with agricultural chemistry and familiarity with the best
tobacco-growing regions of Asiatic Turkey, have enabled him to exercise
a general supervision over the statements of the various contributors.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
THE PLANT 1
CHAPTER II.
CULTIVATION 7
CHAPTER III.
CURING 67
CHAPTER IV.
PRODUCTION AND COMMERCE 137
CHAPTER V.
PREPARATION AND USE 231
CHAPTER VI.
NATURE AND PROPERTIES 253
CHAPTER VII.
ADULTERATIONS AND SUBSTITUTES 267
CHAPTER VIII.
IMPORTS, DUTIES, VALUES, AND CONSUMPTION 271
CHAPTER IX.
BIBLIOGRAPHY 276
INDEX 281
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
FIG. PAGE
1. CUBAN TOBACCO PLANT 4
2. MARYLAND TOBACCO PLANT 5
3. AMERSFORT TOBACCO PLANT 6
4. STRAW MAT FOR COVERING SEED-BEDS 47
5. SHADE FRAMES USED IN CUBA 49
6. QUINCUNX PLANTING 52
7. TOBACCO WORM AND MOTH 56
8. SHED FOR SUN-CURING TOBACCO 83
9. HANGING BUNCHES OF LEAVES 95
10. TOBACCO BARN 95
11. INTERIOR OF TOBACCO BARN 96
12. HAND OF TOBACCO 108
13. PACKING HOGSHEAD 133
14 to 17. TOBACCO-CUTTING MACHINE 234
18. MACHINE FOR MAKING PLUG TOBACCO 237
19 to 21. MACHINE FOR MAKING TWIST OR ROLL TOBACCO 238
22, 23. DIAGRAMS OF SEGMENT ROLLERS OF TWIST MACHINE 240
24 to 26. ANDREW’S IMPROVEMENTS IN TWIST MACHINE | 1,599.246257 |
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produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
THE
FRIENDS OF VOLTAIRE
[Illustration: JEAN-LEROND D’ALEMBERT.
_From an Engraving after Pujos._]
THE
FRIENDS OF VOLTAIRE
BY S. G. TALLENTYRE
AUTHOR OF “THE LIFE OF VOLTAIRE,” “THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS,” ETC.
“Il faut que les âmes pensantes se frottent l’une contre l’autre
pour faire jaillir de la lumiere.”
Voltaire: _Letter to the Duc d’Uzès, December 4, 1751_.
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1906
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. D’ALEMBERT: THE THINKER (1717-1783) 1
II. DIDEROT: THE TALKER (1713-1784) 32
III. GALIANI: THE WIT (1728-1787) 62
IV. VAUVENARGUES: THE APHORIST (1715-1747) 96
V. D’HOLBACH: THE HOST (1723-1789) 118
VI. GRIMM: THE JOURNALIST (1723-1807) 150
VII. HELVÉTIUS: THE CONTRADICTION (1715-1771) 176
VIII. TURGOT: THE STATESMAN (1727-1781) 206
IX. BEAUMARCHAIS: THE PLAYWRIGHT (1732-1799) 236
X. CONDORCET: THE ARISTOCRAT (1743-1794) 268
INDEX 299
PORTRAITS
D’ALEMBERT _Frontispiece_
_From an Engraving after Pujos._
DIDEROT _To face_ _p._ 32
_From an Engraving by Henriquez, after the Portrait by
Vanloo._
GALIANI " 62
_From a Print._
VAUVENARGUES " 96
_From a Print in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris._
D’HOLBACH " 118
_From a Portrait in the Musée Condé, Chantilly._
GRIMM " 150
_From an Engraving, after Carmontelle, in the Bibliothèque
Nationale, Paris._
HELVÉTIUS " 176
_From an Engraving by St. Aubin, after the Portrait by
Vanloo._
TURGOT " 206
_From an Engraving by Le Beau, after the Portrait by
Troy._
BEAUMARCHAIS " 236
_From an Engraving, after Michon, in the Bibliothèque
Nationale, Paris._
CONDORCET " 268
_From an Engraving by Lemort, after the Bust by St.
Aubin._
SOME SOURCES OF INFORMATION
D’Alembert. _Joseph Bertrand._
Œuvres et Correspondance inédites. _D’Alembert._
Correspondance avec d’Alembert. _Marquise du Deffand._
Diderot and the Encyclopædists. _John Morley._
Éloge de d’Alembert. _Condorcet._
Œuvres. _Diderot._
Diderot. _Reinach._
Diderot, l’Homme et l’Ecrivain. _Ducros._
Diderot. _Scherer._
Diderot et Catherine II. _Tourneux._
Ferdinando Galiani, Correspondance, Étude, etc. _Perrey et Maugras._
Lettres de l’Abbé Galiani. _Eugène Asse._
Mémoires et Correspondance. _Madame d’Épinay._
Jeunesse de Madame d’Épinay. _Perrey et Maugras._
Dernières Années de Madame d’Épinay. _Perrey et Maugras._
Mémoires. _Marmontel._
Mémoires. _Morellet._
Causeries du Lundi. _Sainte-Beuve._
Vauvenargues. _Paléologue._
Œuvres et Éloge de Vauvenargues. _D. L. Gilbert._
Melchior Grimm. _Scherer._
Rousseau. _John Morley._
Miscellanies. _John Morley._
Correspondance Littéraire. _Grimm et Diderot._
Turgot. _Léon Say._
| 1,599.25469 |
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
The Thousand and One Days;
A COMPANION TO THE
"_Arabian Nights._"
WITH INTRODUCTION BY MISS PARDOE.
[Illustration: P. 113.]
LONDON:
WILLIAM LAY, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND.
1857.
INTRODUCTION.
The Compiler of the graceful little volume which I have the pleasure
of introducing to the public, has conferred an undeniable benefit upon
the youth of England by presenting to them a collection of Oriental
Tales, which, rich in the elements of interest and entertainment, are
nevertheless entirely free from the licentiousness which renders so
many of the fictions of the East, beautiful and brilliant as they are,
most objectionable for young and ardent minds. There is indeed no lack
of the wonderful in the pages before us, any more than in the Arabian
and Persian Tales already so well known: but it will be seen that the
supernatural agency in the narratives is used as a means to work out
totally different results. There is, in truth, scarcely one of these
Tales which does not inculcate a valuable moral lesson; as may be seen
by reference to "The Powder of Longevity," "The Old Camel," and "The
Story of the Dervise Abounadar" among several, others.
The present collection of Eastern Stories has been principally derived
from the works of different Oriental Scholars on the Continent, and
little doubt can be entertained of the genuineness of their origin;
while they have been carefully selected, and do honour to the good
taste of their Compiler. An acknowledgment is also due to him for his
adherence to the good old orthography to which we have all been
accustomed from our childhood, in the case of such titles as "Caliph,"
"Vizier," "Houri," "Genii," &c.; as, however critically correct and
learned the spelling of Mr. Lane may be in his magnificent version of
the "Thousand and One Nights," and however appropriate to a work of so
much research and value to Oriental students, it would have been alike
fatiguing and out of character to have embarrassed a volume, simply
intended for the amusement of youthful readers, by a number of hard
and unfamiliar words, difficult of pronunciation to all save the
initiated; and for the pleasure of the young requiring translation
fully as much as the narrative itself.
In one of the Tales there will be at once detected a portion of the
favourite old story of Aladdin's Lamp, in the subterranean gem-garden
discovered by the handsome youth; while in another, mention is made
of the already-familiar legend of the hidden city of Ad, so popular
among the ancient Arabs[1]; but these repetitions will cease to create
any surprise when it is remembered that the professional story-tellers
of the East are a wandering race, who travel from city to city,
exhibiting their talent during seasons of festivity, in the palaces of
the wealthy and the public coffee-houses. Those admitted to the
women's apartments are universally aged crones, whose volubility is
something marvellous; and they are always welcome guests to the
indolent beauties, who listen to them for hours together without a
symptom of weariness, as they pour forth their narratives in a
monotonous voice strangely displeasing to European ears. The men,
while reciting their tales, indulge in violent gesticulations and
contortions of the body, which appear to produce great delight in
their audience. Since they generally travel two or three in company;
and, save in rare cases of improvisation, their stock of narrative is
common to all, it is their ambition so individually to embellish,
heighten, and amplify their subject-matter, as to outshine their
competitors; and it is consequently to this cause that the numerous
variations of the same Tale which have reached Europe must be
attributed.
Taken altogether, there can be no doubt that the "Thousand and One
Days" merit the warm welcome which I trust awaits them.
J. P.
LONDON, FEB. 1857.
CONTENTS.
I.
PAGE
HASSAN ABDALLAH, OR THE ENCHANTED KEYS 1
Story of Hassan 7
Story of the Basket-Maker 11
Story of the Dervise Abounadar 21
Conclusion of the Story of Hassan 29
II.
SOLIMAN BEY AND THE THREE STORY TELLERS 46
First Story Teller 47
Second Story Teller 49
Third Story Teller 55
III.
PRINCE KHALAF AND THE PRINCESS OF CHINA 58
Story of Prince Al Abbas 67
Continuation of Prince Khalaf and the Princess of China 99
Story of Lin-in 106
Story of Prince Khalaf concluded 126
IV.
THE WISE DEY 178
V.
THE TUNISIAN SAGE 190
VI.
THE NOSE FOR GOLD 203
VII.
THE TREASURES OF BASRA 215
History of Aboulcassem 223
Conclusion of the Treasures of Basra 230
VIII.
THE OLD CAMEL 250
IX.
THE STORY OF MEDJEDDIN 263
X.
KING BEDREDDIN-LOLO AND HIS VIZIR 299
Story of the Old Slippers 300
Story of Atalmulc the Sorrowful 305
Continuation of King Bedreddin-Lolo and his Vizir 338
Story of Malek and the Princess Schirine 340
Conclusion 358
[Illustration]
THE "THOUSAND AND ONE DAYS;"
OR,
ARABIAN TALES.
I.
THE STORY OF HASSAN ABDALLAH; OR, THE ENCHANTED KEYS.
Theilon, caliph of Egypt, died, after having bequeathed his power to
his son, Mohammed, who, like a wise and good prince, proceeded to root
out abuses, and finally caused peace and justice to flourish
throughout his dominions. Instead of oppressing his people by new
taxes, he employed the treasures, which his father had amassed by
violence, in supporting learned men, rewarding the brave, and
assisting the unfortunate. Every thing succeeded under his happy sway;
the risings of the Nile were regular and abundant; every year the soil
produced rich harvests; and commerce, honoured and protected, caused
the gold of foreign nations to flow abundantly into the ports of
Egypt.
Mohammed determined, one day, to take the census of the officers of
his army, and of all the persons in public situations whose salaries
were paid out of the treasury. The vizirs, to the number of forty,
first made their appearance and knelt in succession before the
sovereign. They were, for the most part, men venerable from their age,
and some of them had long beards of snowy whiteness. They all wore on
their heads tiaras of gold, enriched with precious stones, and carried
in their hands long staves as badges of their power. One enumerated
the battles in which he had been engaged, and the honourable wounds he
had received; another recounted the long and laborious studies he had
pursued, in order to render himself master of the various sciences,
and to qualify himself to serve the state by his wisdom and knowledge.
After the vizirs, came the governors of provinces, the generals, and
the great officers of the army; and next to them the civil
magistrates, and all who were entrusted with the preservation of the
peace and the awarding of justice. Behind these walked the public
executioner, who, although stout and well-fed, like a man who had
nothing to do, went along as if depressed with grief, and instead of
carrying his sword naked on his shoulder, he kept it in its scabbard.
When he came into the presence of the prince, he threw himself at his
feet, and exclaimed, "O mighty prince, the day of justice and of
munificence is at last about to dawn on me! Since the death of the
terrible Theilon, under whose reign my life was happy and my condition
prosperous, I have seen my occupation and its emoluments diminish
daily. If Egypt continue thus to live in peace and plenty, I shall run
great danger of perishing with hunger, and my family will be brought
to misery and ruin."
Mohammed listened in silence to the complaints of the headsman, and
acknowledged that there was some foundation for them, for his salary
was small, and the chief part of his profits arose from what he
obtained from criminals, either by way of gift, or as a rightful fee.
In times of trouble, quarrelling, and violence, he had lived, in
fact, in a state of ease and affluence, while now, under the present
prosperous reign, he had nothing better than the prospect of beggary
before him.
"Is it then true," exclaimed the caliph, "that the happiness of all is
a dream? that what is joy to one, may be the cause of grief to
another? O executioner, fear not as to your fate! May it, indeed,
please God that, under my reign, your sword,--which is almost as often
an instrument of vengeance as of justice,--may remain useless and
covered with rust. But, in order to enable you to provide for the
wants of yourself and your family, without the unhappy necessity of
exercising your fatal office, you shall receive every year the sum of
two hundred dinars."
In this way all the officers and servants of the palace passed before
the notice of the prince; he interrogated each on the nature of his
occupation and his past services, on his means of existence, and on
the salary which he received. When he found that any one held a
situation of a painful and difficult nature, for which he was
inadequately remunerated, the caliph diminished his duties and
increased his pay; and, on the other hand, when he found the contrary
to be the case, he lessened the salary and increased the duties of the
office. After having, in this way, performed many acts of wisdom and
justice, the caliph observed, among the officers of the civil service,
a sheik, whose wrinkled countenance and stooping figure indicated his
great age. The caliph called him up, in order to inquire what was his
employment in the palace, and the sum which it yielded him.
"Prince," the old man replied, "my only employment is to take care of
a chest that was committed to my charge by your father, the late
caliph, and for attending to which he allowed me ten pieces of gold a
month."
"It seems to me," replied Mohammed, "that the reward is great for so
slight a service. Pray what are the contents of this chest?"
"I received it," replied the sheik, "in charge forty years ago, and I
solemnly swear to you that I know not what it contains."
The caliph commanded the chest to be brought to him, which was of pure
gold, and most richly adorned. The old man opened it. It contained a
manuscript written in brilliant characters on the skin of a gazelle,
painted purple and sprinkled with a red dust. Neither the prince,
however, nor his ministers, nor the ulemas who were present, could
decipher the writing. By the caliph's order, the wise men of Egypt
were summoned, as well as others from Syria, Persia, and India, but to
no purpose; not one was able to interpret the mysterious characters.
The book remained open for a long time, exposed to the gaze of all,
and a great reward was offered to any one who could bring forward a
person of sufficient learning to read it.
Some time after this, a savant who had left Egypt in the reign of
Theilon, and had now returned after a long absence, chanced to hear of
the mysterious book, and said that he knew what it was, and could
explain its history. The caliph immediately admitted him to an
audience, and the old man addressed him as follows:
"O sovereign ruler, may the Almighty prolong your days! Only one man
can read this book, its rightful master, the sheik Hassan Abdallah,
son of El-Achaar. This man had travelled through many lands, and
penetrated into the mysterious city of Aram, built on columns, from
which he brought this book, which no one but himself could read. He
made use of it in his experiments in alchemy, and by its aid he could
transmute the most worthless metals into gold. The caliph Theilon,
your father, having learned this, commanded the sage to be brought
before him, with a view of compelling him to reveal the secret of his
knowledge. Hassan Abdallah refused to do so, for fear of putting into
the hands of the unjust an instrument of such terrible power; and the
prince, in a rage, laid hold of the chest, and ordered the sage to be
thrown into prison, where he still remains, unless he has died since
that time, which is forty years ago."
On hearing this, Mohammed immediately despatched his officers to visit
the prisons, and, on their return, learned with pleasure that Hassan
was still alive. The caliph ordered him to be brought forth and
arrayed in a dress of honour; and, on his appearing in the audience
chamber, the prince made him sit down beside him, and begged him to
forgive the unjust treatment which his father had caused him to
undergo. He then told him how he had accidentally discovered that he
was still alive; and at last, placing the mysterious book before him,
said,
"Old man, if this book could make me the owner of all the treasures of
the world, I would not consent to possess it, since it only belongs to
me by injustice and violence."
On hearing these words, Hassan burst into tears.
"O God," he exclaimed, "all wisdom proceeds from Thee! Thou causest to
arise from the same soil the poisonous and the wholesome plant. Every
where good is placed by the side of evil. This prince, the support of
the feeble, the defender of the oppressed, who has conferred on me the
happiness of spending my remaining years in the light of day, is the
son of the tyrant who plunged Egypt in mourning, and who kept me for
forty years in a loathsome dungeon. Prince," added the old man,
addressing Mohammed, "what I refused to the wrath of your father, I
willingly grant to your virtues: this book contains the precepts of
the true science, and I bless Heaven that I have lived long enough to
teach it to you. I have often risked my life to become the master of
this wonderful book, which was the only article of value that I
brought from Aram, that city into which no man can enter who is not
assisted by Heaven."
The caliph embraced the old man, and, calling him his father, begged
him to relate what he had seen in the city of Aram.
"Prince," replied Hassan, "it is a long story, as long, nearly, as my
whole life."
He then proceeded as follows.
[Illustration: Story of the Enchanted Keys, p. 7.]
THE STORY OF HASSAN ABDALLAH.
I am the only son of one of the richest inhabitants of Egypt. My
father, who was a man of extensive knowledge, employed my youth in the
study of science; and at twenty years of age I was already honourably
mentioned among the ulemas, when my father bestowed a young maiden on
me as my wife, with eyes brilliant as the stars, and with a form
elegant and light as that of the gazelle. My nuptials were
magnificent, and my days flowed on in peace and happiness. I lived
thus for ten years, when at last this beautiful dream vanished. It
pleased Heaven to afflict me with every kind of misfortune: the plague
deprived me of my father; war destroyed my dear brothers; my house
fell a prey to the flames; my richly-laden ships were buried beneath
the waves. Reduced to misery and want, my only resource was in the
mercy of God and the compassion of the faithful whom I met while I
frequented the mosques. My sufferings, from my own wretched state of
poverty, and that of my wife and children, were cruel indeed. One day
when I had not received any charitable donations, my wife, weeping,
took some of my clothes, and gave them to me in order to sell them at
the bazaar. On the way thither I met an Arab of the desert, mounted on
a red camel. He greeted me, and said,
"Peace be with you, my brother! Can you tell me where the sheik Hassan
Abdallah, the son of El-Achaar, resides in the city?"
Being ashamed of my poverty, and thinking I was not known, I replied,
"There is no man at Cairo of that name."
"God is great!" exclaimed the Arab; "are you not Hassan Abdallah, and
can you send away your guest by concealing your name?"
Greatly confused, I then begged him to forgive me, and laid hold of
his hands to kiss them, which he would not permit me to do, and I then
accompanied him to my house. On the way there I was tormented by the
reflection that I had nothing to set before him; and when I reached
home I informed my wife of the meeting I had just had.
"The stranger is sent by God," said she; "and even the children's
bread shall be his. Go, sell the clothes which I gave you; buy some
food for our guest with the money, and if any thing should remain
over, we will partake of it ourselves."
In going out it was necessary that I should pass through the apartment
where the Arab was. As I concealed the clothes, he said to me, "My
brother, what have you got there hid under your cloak?"
I replied that it was my wife's dress, which I was carrying to the
tailor.
"Show it to me," he said. I showed it to him, blushing.
"O merciful God," he exclaimed, "you are going to sell it in order to
get money to enable you to be hospitable towards me! Stop, Hassan!
here are ten pieces of gold; spend them in buying what is needful for
our own wants and for those of your family."
I obeyed, and plenty and happiness seemed to revisit my abode. Every
day the Arab gave me the same sum, which, according to his orders, I
spent in the same way; and this continued for fifteen days. On the
sixteenth day my guest, after chatting on indifferent matters, said to
me, "Hassan, would you like to sell yourself to me?"
"My lord," I replied, "I am already yours by gratitude."
"No," he replied, "that is not what I mean; I wish to make you my
property, and you shall fix the price yourself."
Thinking he was joking, I replied, "The price of a freeman is one
thousand dinars if he is killed at a single blow; but if many wounds
are inflicted upon him, or if he should be cut in many pieces, the
price is then one thousand five hundred dinars."
"Very well," answered my guest, "I will pay you this last-mentioned
sum if you will consent to the bargain."
When I saw that he was speaking seriously, I asked for time in order
to consult my family.
"Do so," he replied, and then went out to look after some affairs in
the city.
When I related the strange proposal of my guest, my mother said, "What
can this man want to do with you?" The children all clung to me, and
wept. My wife, who was a wise and prudent woman, remarked,
"This detestable stranger wants, perhaps, to get back what he has
spent here. You have nothing but this wretched house, sell it, and
give him the money, but don't sell yourself."
I passed the rest of the day and the following night in reflection,
and was in a state of great uncertainty. With the sum offered by the
stranger I could at least secure bread for my family. But why wish to
purchase me? What could he intend to do? Before next morning, however,
I had come to a decision. I went to the Arab and said, "I am yours."
Untying his sash, he took out one thousand five hundred gold pieces,
and giving them to me, said, "Fear not, my brother, I have no designs
against either your life or your liberty; I only wish to secure a
faithful companion during a long journey which I am about to
undertake."
Overwhelmed with joy, I ran with the money to my wife and mother; but
they, without listening to my explanations, began weeping and crying
as if they were lamenting for the dead.
"It is the price of flesh and blood," they exclaimed; "neither we nor
our children will eat bread procured at such a cost!"
By dint of argument, however, I succeeded at length in subduing their
grief; and having embraced them, together with my children, I set out
to meet my new master.
By order of the Arab I purchased a camel renowned for its speed, at
the price of a hundred drachms; I filled our sacks with food
sufficient for a long period; and then, mounting our camels, we
proceeded on our journey.
We soon reached the desert. Here no traces of travellers were to be
seen, for the wind effaced them continually from the surface of the
moving sand. The Arab was guided in his course by indications known
only to himself. We travelled thus together for five days under a
burning sun; each day seemed longer to me than a night of suffering or
of fear. My master, who was of a lively disposition, kept up my
courage by tales which I remember even now with pleasure after forty
years of anguish; and you will forgive an old man for not being able
to resist the pleasure of relating some of them to you. The following
story, he said, had been recounted to him by the basket-maker himself,
a poor man whom he had found in prison, and whom he had charitably
found means to release.
THE STORY OF THE BASKET-MAKER.
I was born of poor and honest parents; and my father, who was a
basket-maker by trade, taught me to plait all kinds of baskets. So
long as I had only myself to care for, I lived tolerably well on the
produce of my labour; but when I reached twenty years of age, and took
a wife, who in a few years presented me with several children, my
gains proved insufficient to maintain my family. A basket-maker earns
but little; one day he gets a drachm, the next he may get two, or
perhaps only half a drachm. In this state of things I and my children
had often to endure the pangs of hunger.
One day it happened that I had just finished a large basket; it was
well and strongly made, and I hoped to obtain at least three drachms
for it. I took it to the bazaar and through all the streets, but no
purchaser appeared. Night came on and I went home. When my wife and
children saw me | 1,599.351252 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
[Illustration: LEONARDO DA VINCI]
Leonardo da Vinci
A PSYCHOSEXUAL STUDY OF AN
INFANTILE REMINISCENCE
BY
PROFESSOR DR. SIGMUND FREUD, LL.D.
(UNIVERSITY OF VIENNA)
TRANSLATED BY
A. A. BRILL, PH.B., M.D.
Lecturer in Psychoanalysis and Abnormal
Psychology, New York University
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY
1916
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY
MOFFAT, | 1,599.356917 |
2023-11-16 18:43:43.4284400 | 759 | 67 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/judithtrachtenb00lewigoog
JUDITH TRACHTENBERG
A Novel
By KARL EMIL FRANZOS
AUTHOR OF "FOR THE RIGHT" ETC.
TRANSLATED BY
(Mrs.) L. P. and C. T. LEWIS
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
1891
Copyright, 1891, by Harper & Brothers.
* * *
_All rights reserved_.
JUDITH TRACHTENBERG.
CHAPTER I.
About sixty years ago, during the reign of the Emperor Francis the
First, there lived in a small town in Eastern Galicia an excellent man,
who had been greatly favored by fortune. His name was Nathaniel
Trachtenberg; his occupation was that of a chandler. He had inherited
from his father a modest business, which he had increased by his energy
and perseverance, by adding to it the manufacture of wax candles, and
by the admirable quality of his goods. Possibly, also, by the wise
moderation he used in demanding payment, which had secured nearly all
the noble families of the country as his patrons.
His intellectual progress kept pace with his increase of riches. Richly
endowed by nature, he acquired, by his intercourse with those of
superior position and by the numerous journeys he made to the West for
business purposes, a higher degree of culture than was usual with his
co-religionists of that period. He spoke and wrote German fluently; he
read the Vienna papers regularly, and even occasionally a poet, such as
Schiller or Lessing.
But, no matter how widely his opinions might vary from those of his
less-cultivated co-religionists as to the aims and purposes of life, he
bound himself closely to them in matters of dress and style of living,
and not only conformed to every command of the Law, but carried out
every injunction of the rabbis with punctilious exactitude.
"You do not know the atmosphere we breathe," he was accustomed to say
to his progressive Jewish friends in Breslau and Vienna. "It does not
matter as to my opinion of the sinfulness of carrying a stick on the
Sabbath, but it is important to prove to them by the example of a man
they respect that one may read German books, talk with Christians in
correct German, and still be a pious Jew. Therefore it would be a sin
if my _talar_ were replaced by a German coat. Do you suppose, either,
it would bring me closer to the gentry? No, indeed. They would only
regard it as an impotent attempt to raise myself to their level. So we
better-educated Jews must remain as we are for the present, at least,
as regards externals." This was the result of serious conviction, he
always added; and how serious, he proved by the method of education
which he pursued with his two children, his wife having died while she
was still quite young.
There was a boy, Raphael, and a girl, Judith. The latter gave promise
of great beauty. Both received a careful education, in accordance with
the requirements of the age, from a tutor, one Herr Bergheimer, who had
been brought from Mayence by Trachtenberg. But their religious training
was | 1,599.44848 |
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Produced by Mary Glenn Krause, Jens Sadowski, the University
of Minnesota, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net. This book was produced from images
made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.
THE QUAKERS
PAST AND PRESENT
THE QUAKERS
PAST AND PRESENT
BY
DOROTHY M. RICHARDSON
"The Quaker religion... is something which
it is impossible to overpraise."
WILLIAM JAMES:
_The Varieties of Religious
Experience_
NEW YORK
DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY
214-220 EAST 23RD STREET
FOREWORD
The following chapters are primarily an attempt at showing the position
of the Quakers in the family to which they belong--the family of the
mystics.
In the second place comes a consideration of the method of worship and
of corporate living laid down by the founder of Quakerism, as best
calculated to foster mystical gifts and to strengthen in the community
as a whole that sense of the Divine, indwelling and accessible, to which
some few of his followers had already attained, and of which all those
he had gathered round him had a dawning apprehension.
The famous "peculiarities" of the Quakers fall into place as following
inevitably from their central belief.
The ebb and flow of that belief, as it is found embodied in the history
of the Society of Friends, has been dealt with as fully as space has
allowed.
My thanks are due to Mr. Norman Penney, F.S.A., F.R.Hist.S., Librarian
of the Friends' Reference Library, for a helpful revision of my
manuscript.
D. M. R.
LONDON,
1914.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE BIRTH OF QUAKERISM 1
II. THE SOCIETY OF FRIENDS 16
III. THE QUAKER CHURCH 33
IV. THE RETREAT OF QUAKERISM 52
V. QUAKERISM IN AMERICA 61
VI. QUAKERISM AND WOMEN 71
VII. THE PRESENT POSITION 81
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE 94
BIBLIOGRAPHY 94
NOTE 96
THE QUAKERS PAST AND PRESENT
CHAPTER I
THE BIRTH OF QUAKERISM
The Quakers appeared about a hundred years after the decentralization of
authority in theological science. The Reformers' dream of a remade
church had ended in a Europe where, over against an alienated parent,
four young Protestant communions disputed together as to the doctrinal
interpretation of the scriptures. Within these communions the goal
towards which the breaking away from the Roman centre had been an
unconscious step was already well in view. It was obvious that the
separated churches were helpless against the demands arising in their
midst for the right of individual interpretation where they themselves
drew such widely differing conclusions. The Bible, abroad amongst the
people for the first time, helped on the loosening of the hold of
stereotyped beliefs. Independent groups appeared in every direction.
In England, the first movement towards the goal of "religious liberty"
was made by a body of believers who declared that a national church was
against the will of God. Catholic in ideal, democratic in form, they set
their hope upon a world-wide Christendom of self-governing
congregations. They increased with great rapidity, suffered persecution,
martyrdom, and temporary dispersal.[1]
Following on this first challenge came the earliest stirring of a more
conservative catholicism. Fed by such minds as that of Nicholas Farrer,
grieving in scholarly seclusion over the ravages of the Protestantisms,
it found expression in Laud's effort to restore the broken continuity of
tradition in the English church, to reintroduce beauty into her
services, and, while preserving her identity as a developing national
body, to keep open a rearward window to the light of accumulated
experience and teaching. But hardly-won freedom saw popery in his every
act, and his final absolutism, his demand for executive power
independent of Parliament, wrecked the effort and cost him his life.
[Footnote 1: The Brownists; now represented in the Congregational
Union.]
These characteristic neo-Protestantisms were obscured at the moment of
the appearance of the Quakers by the opening in this country of the full
blossom of the Genevan theology. The fate of the Presbyterian system,
which covered England like a network, and had threatened during the
shifting policies of Charles's long struggle for absolute monarchy to
become the established church of England, was sealed, it is true, when
Cromwell's Independent army checked the proceedings of a Presbyterian
House of Commons; but the Calvinian reading of the scriptures had
prevailed over the popular imagination, and in the Protectorate Church
where Baptists, Independents, and Presbyterians held livings side by
side with the clergy of the Protestant Establishment, where the use of
the Prayer-Book was forbidden and the scriptures were at last supreme,
the predominant type of religious culture was what we have since learned
to call Puritanism. In 1648 Puritanism had reached its great moment. Its
poet[2] was growing to manhood, tortured by the uncertainty of election,
half-maddened by his vision of the doom hanging over a sin-stained
world.
But far away beneath the institutional confusions and doctrinal dilemmas
of this post-Reformation century fresh life was welling up. The
unsatisfied religious energy of the maturing Germanic peoples, groping
its own way home, had produced Boehme and his followers, and filled the
by-ways of Europe with mystical sects. Outwards from free Holland--whose
republic on a basis of religious toleration had been founded in
1579--spread the Anabaptists, Mennonites, and others. Coming to England,
they reinforced the native groups--the Baptists, Familists, and
Seekers--who were preaching personal religion up and down the country
under the protection of Cromwell's indulgence for "tender" consciences,
and found their characteristically English epitome and spokesman in
George Fox.
[Footnote 2: Bunyan was born in 1628, four years later than Fox.]
Born in an English village[3] of homely pious parents,[4] who were both
in sympathy with their thoughtful boy, his genius developed harmoniously
and early.
Until his twentieth year he worked with a shoemaker, who was also a
dealer in cattle and wool, and proved his capacity for business life.
Then a crisis came, brought about by an incident meeting him as he went
about his master's affairs. He had been sent on business to a fair, and
had come upon two friends, one of them a relative, who tried to draw him
into a bout of health-drinking. George, who had had his one glass, laid
down a groat and went home in a state of great disturbance, for he knew
both these men to be professors of religion. He grappled with the
difficulty at once. He spent the hours of that night in pacing up and
down his room, in prayer and crying out, in sitting still and
reflecting. In the light of the afternoon's incidents he saw and felt
for the first time the average daily life of the world about him, "how
young people go together into vanity, and old people into the earth,"
all that gave meaning to life for him had no existence in their lives,
even in the lives of professing Christians. He was thrown in on himself.
If God was not with those who professed him, where was He?
[Footnote 3: In 1624, at Drayton-in-the-Clay, in Leicestershire.]
[Footnote 4: His father, a weaver by trade, and known as "Righteous
Christer," is described by Fox as a man "with a seed of God in him"; his
mother, Mary Lago, as being "of the stock of the martyrs."]
The labours and gropings of the night simplified before the dawn came to
the single conviction that he must "forsake all, both young and old, and
keep out of all, and be a stranger unto all." There was no hesitating.
He went forth at once and wandered for four years up and down the
Midland counties seeking for light, for truth, for firm ground in the
quicksands of disintegrating faiths, for a common principle where men
seemed to pull every way at once. He sought all the "professors" of
every shade and listened to all, but would associate with none, shunning
those who sought him out: "I was afraid of them, for I was sensible they
did not possess what they professed." He went to hear the great
preachers of the day in London and elsewhere, but found no light in
them. Now and again amongst obscure groups to which hope drew him one
and another were struck by his sayings, and responded to him, but he
shrank from their approval. The clergy of different denominations in the
neighbourhood of his home, where he returned for a while in response to
the disquietude of his parents, could not understand his difficulties.
How should they? He was perfectly sound in every detail of the Calvinian
doctrine. They could make nothing of a distress so unlike that of other
pious young Puritans. Orthodox as he was, there is no sign in his
outpourings of any concern for his soul, not a word of fear, nor any
sense of sin, though he heartily acknowledges temptations, a divided
nature, "two thirsts." He begs the priests to tell him the meaning of
his troubled state--not as one doubting, but rather with the restiveness
of one under a bondage, keeping him from that which he knows to be
accessible.
One minister advised tobacco and psalm-singing, another physic and
bleeding. His family urged him to marry.
His distress grew, amounting sometimes to acute agony of mind: "As I
cannot declare the great misery I was in, it was so great and heavy upon
me, so neither can I set forth the mercies of God unto me in all my
misery." Brief intermissions there were when he was "brought into such a
joy that I thought I had been in Abraham's bosom."
But on the whole his wretchedness steadily increased. None could help.
The written word had ceased to comfort him. He wandered days and nights
in solitary places taking no food.
Illumination came at last--a series of convictions dawning in the mind
that truth cannot be found in outward things, and, finally, the moment
of release--the sense of which he tries to convey to us under the
symbolism of a voice making his heart leap for joy--leaving him remade
in a new world.
Two striking passages from his Journal may serve to illustrate this
period of his experience: "The Lord did gently lead me along, and did
let me see His love, which was endless and eternal, and surpasseth all
the knowledge that men have in the natural state, or can get by history
or books... and I was afraid of all company, for I saw them perfectly
where they were, through the love of God which let me see myself"; and,
again, as he struggles to express the change that had taken place for
him: "Now I was come up in spirit through the flaming sword into the
paradise of God. All things were new; and all the creation gave another
smell unto me than before beyond what words can utter."
Two years of intense life followed. He came back to the world with his
message for all men, all churches, with no new creed to preach, but to
call all men to see their creeds in the light of the living experience
which had first produced them, to live themselves in that light shining
pure and original within each one of them, the light which wrote the
scriptures and founded the churches; to refuse to be put off any longer
with "notions," mere doctrines, derivative testimonies obscuring the
immediate communication of life to the man himself.
This message--the message of the inner light of immediate inspiration,
of the existence in every man of some measure of the Spirit of God--the
Quakers laid, as it were, side by side with the doctrines of the
Puritanism amidst which they were born. They did not escape the absolute
dualism of the thought of their day. They believed man to be shut up in
sin, altogether evil, and they declared at the same time that there is
in every man that which will, if he yields to its guidance, lift him
above sin, is able to make him here and now free and sinless. The
essential irreconcilability of the two positions does not appear to have
troubled them.
This belief in the divine light within the individual soul was, of
course, nothing new. The Roman Church had taught it. Instruction as to
the conditions whereby it may have its way with a man was the end of her
less worldly labours.
The Protestants taught it; the acceptance of salvation, the birth of the
light in the darkness of the individual soul was the message of the
Book. But George Fox and his followers claimed that the measure of
divine life, nesting, as it were, within the life of each man, was
universal, was before churches and scriptures, and had always led
mankind. Yet it was not to be confused with the natural light of reason
of the Socinians and Deists, for the first step towards union with it
was a control of all creaturely activities, a total abandonment of each
and every claim of the surface intelligence--"notions," as the Quakers
called them--a process of retirement into the innermost region of being,
into "the light," "the seed," "the ground of the soul," "that which hath
convinced you."
The God of the Quakers, then, was no literary obsession coming to meet
them along the pages of history; no traditional immensity visiting man
once, and silent ever since, to be momentarily invoked from infinite
spatial distance by external means of grace; no "notion," no mere
metaphysical absolute, but a living process, a changing, changeless
absolute, a breath controlling all things, an amazing birth within the
soul. Tradition they valued as a record of God's dealings with man. The
Bible held for them no enfeebling spell. Their controversial writings
have, indeed, anticipated, as has recently been pointed out,[5] the
methods of the higher criticism; they touch on the synoptic problems;
they ask their biblicist opponents whether they are talking of original
autographs, transcribed copies, or translations. They rally them: "Who
was it that said to the Spirit of God, O Spirit, blow no more, inspire
no more men, make no more prophets from Ezra's days downward till
Christ, and from John's days downward for ever? But cease, be silent,
and subject thyself, as well as all evil spirits, to be tried by the
standard that's made up of some of the writings of some of those men
thou hast moved to write already; and let such and such of them as are
bound up in the bibles now used in England be the only means of
measuring all truth for ever."
[Footnote 5: William C. Braithwaite: _The Beginnings of Quakerism._
(Macmillan, 1912.)]
The Incarnation was to them the one instance of a perfect shining of the
light, a perfect realization of the fusion of human and divine, the full
indwelling of the Godhead, which was their goal. The incidents of that
life shone clear to them in the light of what went forward in themselves
in proportion as they struggled to live in the spirit.
But neither was this claim, the assertion of an immediate pathway to
reality within the man himself, anything new in the world. Each nation,
each great period of civilization, has produced individuals, or groups
separated by time and creed, but unanimous in their testimony as to its
existence.
The giants among them stand upon the highest peaks of human
civilization. Their art or method in debased or arrested forms is to be
found in every valley. They have been called "mystics," and it is to the
classical century of European mysticism, to the group (of which Tauler
was the mainstay) calling themselves the "Friends of God," that we must
go for an outbreak of mystical genius akin to that which took place in
seventeenth-century England. Both groups made war on the official
Christianity of their day, and strove to relate Christendom afresh to
its true source of vitality, to re-form the church on a spiritual basis.
The testimony, the end, and the means for the attainment of the end were
the same in both. The immense distinction between them arose from the
difference in the conditions under which the two ventures were made. The
fourteenth-century mystics opened their eyes in a congenial environment,
in a church whose symbolism, teaching, and ordinances, were a coherent
reflection of their own experiences, stood justified by their personal
knowledge of the "law" of spiritual development, the conditions of
advance in the way on which their feet were set.
They owed much to tradition, to their theological studies, to their
familiarity with the recorded experiences of holy men; they recognized
their church as the transmitter of this tradition, as the guardian of
saintly testimony on the subject of their art. They recognized her, not
as an end but as a means, not as a prison, but as a home for all the
human family, keeping open her doors, on the one hand, to the
unconverted, providing, on the other, a suitable medium, the right
atmosphere and opportunities, whereby pilgrims in the spiritual life
might develop, to their full, possibilities in advance of the common
measure of the group. They chid her, they exposed abuses, and called for
reforms; they challenged the "carnal conception" of the sacraments, and
denounced the loose lives of her dignitaries; but they remained in the
church.
The Quakers, on the contrary, appeared when few of those who were in
authority were able to understand what had arisen in their midst. Fox
brought his challenge by the wayside; untrammelled by tradition,
fearless in inexperience, he endowed all men with his own genius, and
called upon the whole world to join him in the venture of faith.
CHAPTER II
THE SOCIETY OF FRIENDS
I
When Fox came back to the world from his lonely wanderings, he had no
thought of setting up a church in opposition to, or in any sort of
competition with, existing churches. His message was for all,
worshipping under whatever name or form; his sole concern to reveal to
men their own wealth, to wean them to turn from words and ceremonials,
from all merely outward things, to seek first the inner reality. Many of
the Puritan leaders were brought by their contact with Fox to a more
vital attitude with regard to the faith in which they had been brought
up. Several of the magistrates before whom he and his followers were
continually being haled, unable after hours of examination and
discussion not only to find any cause of offence in these men, but
unable, also, to resist the appeal of their strength and sincerity,
espoused their cause with every degree of warmth, from whole-hearted
adherence to lifelong, unflagging interest and sympathy. But the general
attitude, from the panic-stricken behaviour of those who regarded the
Quakers as black magicians, incarnations of the Evil One, or Jesuits in
disguise, to the grave concern of the Calvinist divines, who saw in the
Quaker movement a profane attack upon the foundation-rock of Holy
Scripture, was one of fear--fear based, as is usual, upon
misunderstanding. A concise reasoned formulation of the Quaker
standpoint, though it may be picked out from the writings of Fox and the
early apologists, was to come, and then only imperfectly, when the
scholarly Robert Barclay joined the group; meanwhile, the sometimes
rather amorphous enthusiasm, the "mysterious meetings," the apocalyptic
claims and denunciations--meaningless to those who had no key--stood as
a barrier between the "children of the light" and the religious
fellowship of the Commonwealth church. Fear is clearly visible at the
root of the instant and savage persecution of the Quakers, not only by
the mob, but by official Calvinism, throughout the chapter of its power.
The keynote was struck by the local authorities at Nottingham, who
responded to Fox's plea for the Inner Light during a Sunday morning's
service in the parish church by putting him in prison. It is usually
maintained that his offence was brawling, but it is difficult to
reconcile this reading with the facts of the case. Theological
disputations were the most popular diversions of the day. There were no
newspapers, nor, in the modern sense of the word, either "politics" or
books; popular literature consisted largely of religious pamphlets;
amateur theologians abounded; the public meetings arousing the maximum
of enthusiasm were those gathered for the duels of well-known
controversialists; while speaking in church after the minister had
finished was not only recognized, but far from unusual. In this instance
the minister had preached from the text, "We have also a more sure word
of prophecy; whereunto ye do well that ye take heed, as unto a light
that shineth in a dark place, until the day dawn and the day star arise
in your hearts," and had developed his theme in the sense that the sure
word of prophecy was the record of the Scripture. Fox--whom we may
imagine already much the man William Penn later on described for us as
"no busybody or self-seeker, neither touchy nor critical... so meek,
contented, modest, easy, steady, tender, it was a pleasure to be in his
company.... I never saw him out of his place or not a match for every
service and occasion; for in all things he acquitted himself like a
man--yea, a strong man, a new and heavenly-minded man--civil beyond all
forms of breeding in his behaviour"--rose with his challenge, threw down
the gauntlet to biblicism, and declared that the Light was not the
Scriptures, but the Spirit of God....
But, as we have seen, religious England was not wholly Puritan. Fox's
world was waiting for him. From every denomination and every rank of
society the Children of the Light came forth. Very many--notably the
nuclear members of small independent groups--had reached the Quaker
experience before he came. The beliefs and customs which have since been
identified with the Society of Friends were already in existence in the
group of Separated Baptists at Mansfield in Nottingham, which formed in
face of the closed doors of official religion the centre of the little
Quaker church. The singleness of type, moreover, in the missionary work
of the early Quakers, extending, as it did, over the whole of
Christendom, carried on independently by widely differing
natures--"narrow" nonconformist ministers, prosperous business men, army
officers and privates, shepherds, cloth-makers, gentlewomen and domestic
servants, under every variety of circumstance, would be enough in itself
to reveal Fox as the child of his time. But as we watch the movement | 1,599.450609 |
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OBSERVATIONS
ON THE PRESENT STATE
OF THE
AFFAIRS
OF
THE RIVER PLATE.
BY
THOMAS BAINES.
"Malheur au siecle, temoin passif d'une lutte heroique, qui
croirait qu'on peut sans peril, comme sans penetration de
l'avenir, laisser immoler une nation."
CHATEAUBRIAND.
LIVERPOOL:
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED AT THE LIVERPOOL TIMES OFFICE,
CASTLE STREET.
1845.
OBSERVATIONS
ON
THE PRESENT STATE OF
THE AFFAIRS OF THE RIVER PLATE.
The destructive war which has now been waged for so many years, by the
Chief of the Province of Buenos Ayres against the Republic of Uruguay,
involves questions of so much importance to the commercial interests,
and to the national honour of England, that nothing can account for the
very slight attention which it has received from Parliament and the
press, except the fact that many of the principal considerations
connected with it have never yet been fully brought before the British
public. In order to supply this deficiency, and to show how much it
concerns the character of this country that this war should at once be
brought to a close in the only manner in which it can be ended; that is,
by the prompt and decided interference of the Governments of France and
England, I have thought that it might be useful to lay before the public
the following observations and documents, explanatory of the principles
involved in the war; of the conduct pursued by Mr. Mandeville, the
British Minister to the Argentine Confederation, at the most critical
period of its progress; and of the strong and rapidly-increasing
interest which this country, and more especially the port of Liverpool,
has in the preservation of the threatened independence of the Republic
of Uruguay.
Most of the readers of these remarks are no doubt aware that the
Province of the Banda Oriental, or eastern bank of the River Plate, was
first constituted an independent state, under the title of the Republic
of Uruguay, at the close of the war between the Argentine Confederation
and the Empire of Brazil, in the year 1828. This arrangement was in a
great measure brought about by the good offices of Lord Ponsonby, the
Ambassador of the British Government to the Court of Rio, and the result
of his negociations was so agreeable to the English Government, that
the peace thus concluded was made a subject of congratulation in the
speech from the throne in the year 1829. The principal object in forming
this new Republic was, to put an end to the destructive war between
Buenos Ayres and Brazil, originating in the claims put forward by both
these countries to the possession of the Province of the Banda Oriental.
The Brazilians, who had had possession of it for several years, were
naturally unwilling to have so warlike and powerful a state as the
Argentine Republic on their most vulnerable frontier, and the Argentines
were not less unwilling to have the Brazilian frontier pushed more than
a hundred leagues up the River Plate, and within the limits of the
ancient Viceroyalty of Paraguay, which had for ages been occupied by the
Spanish race. As the only effectual solution of these difficulties, the
English Government proposed that the Banda Oriental should be rendered
independent of both countries, and this, after some negociation, was
agreed to by all the parties concerned.
The primary object of the mediation of the English Government was the
re-establishment and preservation of peace and amity between two
nations, with both of which England had valuable commercial relations;
and this object has been completely gained by the arrangement then
effected. During the sixteen years which have elapsed since the treaty
was concluded, no serious difference has occurred between Brazil and the
Argentine Confederation, nor is any likely to occur so long as the
barrier of an independent state is interposed between them. It is only
during the last two years that serious discussions have arisen between
them, and these have originated in the fears of Brazil, lest the
successes of the Buenos Ayrean army, now before Monte Video, should be
such as to break down the barrier established by the Ponsonby treaty,
and again to bring the Buenos Ayreans on the frontiers of Rio Grande.
From apprehension of this event, the Brazilian Government has allowed
General Paz, with his military staff, to pass through its territory to
place himself at the head of the Correntino insurgents, who have risen
against Rosas, and made common cause with Monte Video; it has also
recalled Admiral Grenfell, its commander in the River Plate, as well as
its diplomatic agent at Monte Video, for engaging in an ill-timed
quarrel with the Monte Videan Government; and if the Buenos Ayrean army
should succeed in gaining possession of the city of Monte Video, it will
in all probability, whether backed or not by England and France, decide
to take part in the war, rather than allow General Rosas to succeed in
the designs which he now avows on the Republics of Uruguay and Paraguay,
the two bulwarks of the western provinces of the Brazilian empire.
Notwithstanding the recent victories of the Brazilian General, Baron
Caxias, over the rebels of Rio Grande do Sul, that province is still in
a very unsettled state--far too much so to be safely exposed to the
machinations of such dangerous neighbours as Generals Rosas and Oribe.
It may, therefore, be confidently expected, that if the great naval
powers do not interpose, the progress of events will again bring on a
war between Brazil, strengthened by the army of Uruguay, under General
Rivera, that of Corrientes under General Paz, and the forces of Paraguay
on one side; and Buenos Ayres on the other, backed by those other
provinces of the Argentine Confederation, which still follow the
fortunes of General Rosas.
What the result of such a war would be no one can predict, but its first
consequence would be another blockade of Buenos Ayres, by the Brazilian
fleet, its next the reinforcement of the garrison of Monte Video by a
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by The Internet Archive)
IMPRESSIONS
OF
AMERICA.
BY
OSCAR WILDE.
EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION,
BY STUART MASON.
Keystone Press, Sunderland.
1906.
This Edition consists of 500 Copies.
50 Copies have been printed on hand-made paper.
TO
WALTER LEDGER:
PIGNUS
AMICITIAE.
IMPRESSIONS.
I.
LE JARDIN.
The lily's withered chalice falls
Around its rod of dusty gold,
And from the beech trees on the wold
The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.
The gaudy leonine sunflower
Hangs black and barren on its stalk,
And down the windy garden walk
The dead leaves scatter,--hour by hour.
Pale privet-petals white as milk
Are blown into a snowy mass;
The roses lie upon the grass,
Like little shreds of crimson silk.
II.
LA MER.
A white mist drifts across the shrouds,
A wild moon in this wintry sky
Gleams like an angry lion's eye
Out of a mane of tawny clouds.
The muffled steersman at the wheel
Is but a shadow in the gloom;--
And in the throbbing engine room
Leap the long rods of polished steel.
The shattered storm has left its trace
Upon this huge and heaving dome,
For the thin threads of yellow foam
Float on the waves like ravelled lace.
Oscar Wilde.
PREFACE.
Oscar Wilde visited America in the year 1882. Interest in the AEsthetic
School, of which he was already the acknowledged master, had sometime
previously spread to the United States, and it is said that the
production of the Gilbert and Sullivan opera, "Patience,"[1] in which he
and his disciples were held up to ridicule, determined him to pay a
visit to the States to give some lectures explaining what he meant by
AEstheticism, hoping thereby to interest, and possibly to instruct and
elevate our transatlantic cousins.
He set sail on board the "Arizona" on Saturday, December 24th, 1881,
arriving in New York early in the following year. On landing he was
bombarded by journalists eager to interview the distinguished stranger.
"Punch," in its issue of January 14th, in a happy vein, parodied these
interviewers, the most amusing passage in which referred to "His
Glorious Past," wherein Wilde was made to say, "Precisely--I took the
Newdigate. Oh! no doubt, every year some man gets the Newdigate; but not
every year does Newdigate get an Oscar."
At Omaha, where, under the auspices of the Social Art Club, Wilde
delivered a lecture on "Decorative Art," he described his impressions
of many American houses as being "illy designed, decorated shabbily, and
in bad taste, filled with furniture that was not honestly made, and was
out of character." This statement gave rise to the following verses:--
What a shame and what a pity,
In the streets of London City
Mr. Wilde is seen no more.
Far from Piccadilly banished,
He to Omaha has vanished.
Horrid place, which swells ignore.
On his back a coat he beareth,
Such as Sir John Bennet weareth,
Made of velvet--strange array!
Legs Apollo might have sighed for,
Or great Hercules have died for,
His knee breeches now display.
Waving sunflower and lily,
He calls all the houses "illy
Decorated and designed."
For of taste they've not a tittle;
They may chew and they may whittle;
But they're all born colour-blind!
His lectures dealt almost exclusively with the subjects of Art and Dress
Reform. In the course of one lecture he remarked that the most
impressive room he had yet entered in America was the one in Camden Town
where he met Walt Whitman. It contained plenty of fresh air and
sunlight. On the table was a simple cruse of water. This led to a
parody, in the style of Whitman, describing an imaginary interview
between the two poets, which appeared in "The Century" a few months
later. Wilde is called Narcissus and Whitman Paumanokides.
Paumanokides:--
Who may this be?
This young man clad unusually with loose locks, languorous,
glidingly toward me advancing,
Toward the ceiling of my chamber his orbic and expressive eyeballs
uprolling,
and so on, to which Narcissus replies,
O clarion, from whose brazen throat,
Strange sounds across the seas are blown,
Where England, girt as with a moat,
A strong sea-lion sits alone!
Of the lectures which he delivered in America only one has been
preserved, namely that on the English Renaissance. This was his first
lecture, and it was delivered in New York on January 9th, 1882.
According to a contemporary account in the "New York Herald" a
distinguished and crowded audience assembled in Chickering Hall that
evening to listen to one who "was well worth seeing, his short breeches
and silk stockings showing to even better advantage upon the stage than
in the gilded drawing-rooms, where the young Apostle has heretofore been
seen in New York."[2]
On leaving the States in the "fall" of the year Wilde proceeded to
Canada and thence to Nova Scotia, arriving in Halifax in the second week
of October. Of his visit there we have no record except an amusing
interview described in a local paper a few days later. He was dressed in
a velvet jacket with an ordinary linen collar and neck tie and he wore
trousers. "Mr. Wilde," the interviewer states, "was communicative and
genial; he said he found Canada pleasant, but in answer to a question as
to whether European or American women were the more beautiful, he
dexterously evaded his querist."
As regards poetry he expressed his opinion that Poe was the greatest
American poet, and that Walt Whitman, if not a poet, was a man who
sounded a strong note, perhaps neither prose nor poetry, but something
of his own that was "grand, original and unique."
During his tour in America Wilde "happened to find" himself (as he has
himself described it), in Louisville, Kentucky. The subject he had
selected to speak on was the Mission of Art in the Nineteenth Century.
In the course of his lecture he had occasion to quote Keats' Sonnet on
Blue "as an example of the poet's delicate sense of colour-harmonies."
After the lecture there came round to see him "a lady of middle age,
with a sweet gentle manner and most musical voice," who introduced
herself as Mrs. Speed, the daughter of George Keats, and she invited the
lecturer to come and examine the Keats manuscripts in her possession.
Some months afterwards when lecturing in California he received a letter
from this lady asking him to accept the original manuscript of the
sonnet which he had quoted.
Mention must be made of Wilde's first play, a drama in blank verse
entitled "Vera, or the Nihilists." It had been arranged that, before his
departure for America, this play should be performed at the Adelphi
Theatre, London, with Mrs. Bernard Beere as the heroine, on Saturday,
December 17th, 1881, but a few weeks before the date fixed for the first
performance, the author decided to postpone the production "owing to the
state of political feeling in England."
On his return to England in 1883 Wilde started on a lecturing tour, the
first being to the Art Students of the Royal Academy at their Club in
Golden Square on June 30th. Ten days later he spoke at Prince's Hall on
his "Personal Impressions of America," and on subsequent occasions at
Margate, Ramsgate and Southampton. On Monday, July 30th he lectured at
Southport and on the following Thursday he went to Liverpool to welcome
Mrs. Langtry on her return from America, and the same afternoon he left
on his second visit to the States in order to superintend the rehearsals
of "Vera," which it had been arranged to produce at the Union Square
Theatre, New York, on August 20th following. The piece was not a
success--it was, indeed, the only failure Wilde had. However, his next
play, which he called his "Opus Secundum," also a blank verse tragedy,
had a successful run in America in 1891. This was "The Duchess of
Padua," played by Lawrence Barrett, under the title of "Guido Ferranti."
This has not been seen in England, nor is it even possible for Wilde's
admirers to read this early offspring of his pen, for only twenty copies
were printed for acting purposes in America and of these but one is
known to be in existence, in this country at least.
An authorised German translation was made by Max Meyerfeld and the first
performance took place at the German Theatre in Hamburg about a year
ago. An English version is advertised from a piratical publisher in
Paris but it is only a translation from the German back into English.
Towards the end of September 1883 Oscar Wilde returned to England and
immediately began "an all round lecturing tour," his first visit being
to Wandsworth Town Hall on Monday, September 24th, when he delivered to
an enthusiastic audience a lecture on his "Impressions of America,"
which is contained in the following pages. He was dressed, a London
paper of the time states, "in ordinary evening costume, and carried an
orange-coloured silk handkerchief in his breast. He spoke with great
fluency, in a voice now and then singularly musical, and only once or
twice made a scarcely perceptible reference to notes." The lecture was
under the auspices of a local Literary Society, and the principle
residents of the district turned out "en masse." The Chairman, the Rev.
John Park, in introducing the lecturer, said there were two reasons why
he was glad to welcome him, and he thought his own feelings would be
shared by the audience. They must all plead guilty to a feeling of
curiosity, he hoped a laudable one, to see and hear Mr. Wilde for his
own sake, and they were also glad to hear about America--a country which
many might regard as a kind of Elysium.
On March 5th in the following year Wilde lectured at the Crystal Palace
on his American experiences, and on April 26th he "preached his Gospel
in the East-end," when it is recorded that his audience was not only
delighted with his humour, but was "surprised at the excellent good
sense he talked." His subject was a plea in favour of "art for schools,"
and many of his remarks about the English system of elementary
education--with its insistence on "the population of places that no one
ever wants to go to," and its "familiarity with the lives of persons who
probably never existed"--were said to be quite worthy of Ruskin. A
contemporary account adds that Wilde "showed himself a pupil of Mr.
Ruskin's, too, in insisting on the importance of every child being
taught some handicraft, and in looking forward to the time when a boy
would rather look at a bird or even draw it than throw "his customary
stone!"
The British "gamin" has not made much progress in this respect during
the last twenty years!
His lectures on "Dress," with the newspaper correspondence which they
evoked, including some of Oscar Wilde's replies in his most
characteristic vein, must be reserved for a future volume.
STUART MASON.
Oxford, January 1906.
FOOTNOTES.
[1] First produced at the Opera Comique, April 23rd, 1881. Wilde was
burlesqued as Reginald Bunthorne, a Fleshly Poet.
[2] Wilde repeated this lecture throughout the States during his tour.
At Rochester, on February 7th, he met with a most disorderly reception
on the part of the College Students. Two days later Mr. Joaquin Miller,
of St. Louis, wrote to Wilde saying that he had "read with shame about
the behaviour of those ruffians." To this Wilde replied, "I thank you
for your chivalrous and courteous letter," and in the course of his
letter makes a more special attack on that critic whom he terms "the
itinerant libeller of New England."
IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA.
I fear I cannot picture America as altogether an Elysium--perhaps, from
the ordinary standpoint I know but little about the country. I cannot
give its latitude or longitude; I cannot compute the value of its dry
goods, and I have no very close acquaintance with its politics. These
are matters which may not interest you, and they certainly are not
interesting to me.
The first thing that struck me on landing in America was that if the
Americans are not the most well-dressed people in the world, they are
the most comfortably dressed. Men are seen there with the dreadful
chimney-pot hat, but there are very few hatless men; men wear the
shocking swallow-tail coat, but few are to be seen with no coat at all.
There is an air of comfort in the appearance of the people which is a
marked contrast to that seen in this country, where, too often, people
are seen in close contact with rags.
The next thing particularly noticeable is that everybody seems in a
hurry to catch a train. This is a state of things which is not
favourable to poetry or romance. Had Romeo or Juliet been in a constant
state of anxiety about trains, or had their minds been agitated by the
question of return-tickets, Shakespeare could not have given us those
lovely balcony scenes which are so full of poetry and pathos.
America is the noisiest country that ever existed. One is waked up in
the morning, not by the singing of the nightingale, but by the steam
whistle. It is surprising that the sound practical sense of the
Americans does not reduce this intolerable noise. All Art depends upon
exquisite and delicate sensibility, and such continual turmoil must
ultimately be destructive of the musical faculty.
There is not so much beauty to be found in American cities as in Oxford,
Cambridge, Salisbury or Winchester, where are lovely relics of a
beautiful age; but still there is a good deal of beauty to be seen in
them now and then, but only where the American has not attempted to
create it. Where the Americans have attempted to produce beauty they
have signally failed. A remarkable characteristic of the Americans is
the manner in which they have applied science to modern life.
This is apparent in the most cursory stroll through New York. In England
an inventor is regarded almost as a crazy man, and in too many instances
invention ends in disappointment and poverty. In America an inventor is
honoured, help is forthcoming, and the exercise of ingenuity, the
application of science to the work of man, is there the shortest road to
wealth. There is no country in the world where machinery is so lovely as
in America.
I have always wished to believe that the line of strength and the line
of beauty are one. That wish was realised when I contemplated American
machinery. It was not until I had seen the water-works at Chicago that I
realised the wonders of machinery; the rise and fall of the steel rods,
the symmetrical motion of the great wheels is the most beautifully
rhythmic thing I have ever seen.[3] One is impressed in America, but not
favourably impressed, by the inordinate size of everything. The country
seems to try to bully one into a belief in its power by its impressive
bigness.
I was disappointed with Niagara--most people must be disappointed with
Niagara. Every American bride is taken there, and the sight of the
stupendous waterfall must be one of the earliest, if not the keenest,
disappointments in American married life. One sees it under bad
conditions, very far away, the point of view not showing the splendour
of the water. To appreciate it really one has to see it from underneath
the fall, and to do that it is necessary to be dressed in a yellow
oil-skin, which is as ugly as a mackintosh--and I hope none of you ever
wears one. It is a consolation to know, however, that such an artist as
Madame Bernhardt has not only worn that yellow, ugly dress, but has been
photographed in it.
Perhaps the most beautiful part of America is the West, to reach which,
however, involves a journey by rail of six days, racing along tied to an
ugly tin-kettle of a steam engine. I found but poor consolation for this
journey in the fact that the boys who infest the cars and sell
everything that one can eat--or should not eat--were selling editions of
my poems vilely printed on a kind of grey blotting paper, for the low
price of ten cents.[4] Calling these boys on one side I told them that
though poets like to be popular they desire to be paid, and selling
editions of my poems without giving me a profit is dealing a blow at
literature which must have a disastrous effect on poetical aspirants.
The invariable reply that they made was that they themselves made a
profit out of the transaction and that was all they cared about.
It is a popular superstition that in America a visitor is invariably
addressed as "Stranger." I was never once addressed as "Stranger." When
I went to Texas I was called "Captain"; when I got to the centre of the
country I was addressed as "Colonel," and, on arriving at the borders of
Mexico, as "General." On the whole, however, "Sir," the old English
method of addressing people is the most common.
It is, perhaps, worth while to note that what many people call
Americanisms are really old English expressions which have lingered in
our colonies while they have been lost in our own country. Many people
imagine that the term "I guess," which is so common in America, is
purely an American expression, but it was used by John Locke in his work
on "The Understanding," just as we now use "I think."[5]
It is in the colonies, and not in the mother country, that the old life
of the country really exists. If one wants to realise what English
Puritanism is--not at its worst (when it is very bad), but at its best,
and then it is not very good--I do not think one can find much of it in
England, but much can be found about Boston and Massachusetts. We have
got rid of it. America still preserves it, to be, I hope, a short-lived
curiosity.
San Francisco is a really beautiful city. China Town, peopled by Chinese
labourers, is the most artistic town I have ever come across. The
people--strange, melancholy Orientals, whom many people would call
common, and they are certainly very poor--have determined that they will
have nothing about them that is not beautiful. In the Chinese
restaurant, where these navvies meet to have supper in the evening, I
found them drinking tea out of china cups as delicate as the petals of a
rose-leaf, whereas at the gaudy hotels I was supplied with a delf cup an
inch and a half thick. When the Chinese bill was presented it was made
out on rice paper, the account being done in Indian ink as fantastically
as if an artist had been etching little birds on a fan.
Salt Lake City contains only two buildings of note, the chief being the
Tabernacle, which is in the shape of a soup-kettle. It is decorated by
the only native artist, and he has treated religious subjects in the
naive spirit of the early Florentine painters, representing people of
our own day in the dress of the period side by side with people of
Biblical history who are clothed in some romantic costume.
The building next in importance is called the Amelia Palace, in honour
of one of Brigham Young's wives. When he died the present president of
the Mormons stood up in the Tabernacle and said that it had been
revealed to him that he was to have the Amelia Palace, and that on this
subject there | 1,599.45484 |
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Produced by David Clarke, JoAnn Greenwood and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
MORE TALES BY POLISH
AUTHORS
TALES BY POLISH AUTHORS.
Translated by ELSE BENECKE.
Crown 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. net.
"This is a book to be bought and read; it
cannot fail to be remembered.... The whole
book is full of passionate genius.... It is
delightfully translated."--_The Contemporary
Review._
OXFORD
B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD ST.
MORE TALES BY
POLISH AUTHORS
TRANSLATED BY
ELSE C. M. BENECKE
AND
MARIE BUSCH
OXFORD
B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD STREET
1916
NOTE
The translators' thanks are due to MM. Szymanski and Zeromski for
allowing their stories to appear in English; and to Mr. Nevill Forbes,
Reader in Russian in the University of Oxford, Mr. Retinger, and Mr.
Stefan Wolff, for granting permission on behalf of the three other
authors (or their representatives) whose works are included in this
volume; also to Miss Repszowa for much valuable help.
CONTENTS
PAGE
MACIEJ THE MAZUR. By Adam Szymanski 1
TWO PRAYERS. By Adam Szymanski 52
THE TRIAL. By W. St. Reymont 86
THE STRONGER SEX. By Stefan Zeromski 112
THE CHUKCHEE. By W. Sieroszewski 146
THE RETURNING WAVE. By Boleslaw Prus 186
POLISH PRONUNCIATION
cz = English _ch_.
sz = English _sh_.
l = English _w_.
o = English _o_ in "who."
a = French "on."
e = French _in_ as in "vin."
rz and z = French _j_ in "jour."
(rz and z after _k_, _p_, _t_, _ch_ = English _sh_.)
ch = Scotch _ch_ in "loch."
c = _ts_.
Pan = Mr.
Pani = Mrs.
Panna = Miss.
MACIEJ THE MAZUR
BY ADAM SZYMANSKI
After leaving Yakutsk I settled in X----, a miserable little town
farther up the Lena. The river is neither so cold nor so broad here,
but wilder and gloomier. Although the district is some thousands of
versts nearer the civilized world, it contains few colonies. The
country is rocky and mountainous, and the taiga[1] spreads over it in
all directions for hundreds and thousands of versts. It would
certainly be difficult to find a wilder or gloomier landscape in any
part of the world than the vast tract watered by the Lena in its upper
course, almost as far as Yakutsk itself. Taiga, gloomy, wild, and
inaccessible, taiga as dense as a wall, covers everything
here--mountains, ravines, plains, and caverns. Only here and there a
grey, rocky cliff, resembling the ruin of a huge monument, rises
against this dark background; now and then a vulture circles
majestically over the limitless wilderness, or its sole inhabitant, an
angry bear, is heard growling.
The few settlements to be found nestle along the rocky banks of the
Lena, which is the only highway in this as in all parts of the Yakutsk
district. Continual intercourse with Nature in her wildest moods has
made the people who live in these settlements so primitive that they
are known to the ploughmen in the broad valleys along the Upper Lena,
and to the Yakutsk shepherds, as "the Wolves."
The climate is very severe here, and, although the frosts are not as
sharp and continuous as in Yakutsk, this country, on account of being
the nearest to the Arctic regions, is exposed to the cruel Yakutsk
north wind. This is so violent that it even sweeps across to the
distant Ural Mountains.
At the influx of the great tributary of the Lena there is a large
basin; it was formed by the common agency of the two rivers, and
subsequently filled up with mud. This basin is surrounded on every
side by fairly high mountains, at times undulating, at times steep.
Its north-eastern outlet is enclosed by a very high and rocky range,
through which both rivers have made deep ravines. X----, the capital
of the district inhabited by the "Wolf-people," lies in this
north-eastern corner of the basin, partly on a small low rock now
separated from the main chain by the bed of the Lena, partly at the
foot of the rock between the two rivers. The high range of mountains
forming the opposite bank of the Lena rises into an enormous rocky
promontory almost facing the town. Flat at the top and overgrown by a
wood, the side towards the town stands up at a distance of several
hundred feet as a perpendicular wall planed smooth with ice, thus
narrowing the horizon still more. As though to increase the wildness
of the scenery presented by the mountains and rocks surrounding the
dark taiga, a fiendish kind of music is daily provided by the furious
gales--chiefly north--which prevail here continually, and bring the
early night frosts in summer, and ceaseless Yakutsk frosts and
snowstorms in winter. The gale, caught by the hills and resounding
from the rocks, repeats its varied echoes within the taiga, and fills
the whole place with such howling and moaning that it would be easy
for you to think you had come by mistake into the hunting-ground of
wolves or bears.
* * * * *
It was somewhere about the middle of November, a month to Christmas.
The gale was howling in a variety of voices, as usual, driving forward
clouds of dry snow and whirling them round in its mad dance. No one
would have turned a dog into the street. The "Wolf-people" hid
themselves in their houses, drinking large quantities of hot tea in
which they soaked barley or rye bread, while the real wolves provided
the accompaniment to the truly wolfish howling of the gale. I waited
for an hour to see if it would abate; however, as this was not the
case, I set out from the house, though unwillingly.
I had promised Stanislaw Swiatelki some days beforehand that I would
go to him one day in the course of the week to write his home letters
for him--"very important letters," as he said. It was now Saturday, so
I could postpone it no longer. Stanislaw was lame, and, on account of
both his lameness and his calling, he rarely left the house. He came
from the district of Cracow--from Wislica, as far as I recollect--and
prided himself on belonging to one of the oldest burgher families of
the Old Town, a family which, as far as fathers' and grandfathers'
memories could reach, had applied itself to the noble art of
shoemaking. Stanislaw, therefore, was also a shoemaker, the last in
his family; for although the family did not become extinct in him,
nevertheless, as he himself expressed it, "Divine Providence had
ordained" that he should not hand down his trade to his son.
"God has brought him up, sir, and it seems to have been His will that
the shoemaker Swiatelkis should come to an end in me," Stanislaw used
to say. He had a habit of talking quickly, as if he were rattling peas
on to a wall. Only at very rare moments, when something gave him
courage and no strangers were present, he would add: "Though His
judgments are past finding out.... What does it matter? Why, my
grandson will be a shoemaker!" He would then grow pale from having
expressed his secret thought, turn round quickly, as though looking for
something, shift uneasily, and--as I noticed sometimes--unconsciously
spit and whisper to himself: "Not in an evil hour be it spoken, Lord!"
thereby driving away the spell from his dearest wish.
He was of middle height, fair, but nearly grey, and had lost all his
teeth. He wore a beard, and had a broad, shapeless nose and large,
hollow eyes; it was difficult to say what kind of person he was as
long as he sat silent. But only let him move--which, notwithstanding
the inseparable stick, he always did hastily, not to say
feverishly--only let him pour out his quick words with a tongue moving
like a spinning-wheel, and no one who had ever seen a burgher of pure
Polish blood could fail to recognize him as a chip of the old block.
Stanislaw had not long carried on his trade in X----. Having scraped
together some money as foreman, he had started a small shop; but he
was chiefly famous in the little town as the one maker of good Polish
sausages. He had a house next door to the shop, consisting of one room
and a tiny kitchen. He did not keep a servant; a big peasant, known as
Maciej, prepared his meals and gave him companionship and efficient
protection. Hitherto, however, I had known very little of this man.
I did not often visit Swiatelki, and as a rule only when I wanted to
buy something. So we had chatted in the shop, and I had only seen
Maciej in passing. But I had noticed him as something unusually large.
He was, indeed, huge; not only tall, but, as rarely happens, broad in
proportion. It was this which gave his whole figure its special
characteristics, and made it seem imposing rather than tall.
A house calculated for ordinary people he found narrow. Furniture
standing far enough apart to suit the average man hampered Maciej. He
could not take two steps in the house without knocking against
something. He trod cautiously and very slowly, continually looking
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This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.
GENERAL GORDON:
SAINT AND SOLDIER.
BY
J. WARDLE, C.C.,
A PERSONAL FRIEND.
NOTTINGHAM:
HENRY B. SAXTON, KING STREET.
1904.
{The Author: p6.jpg}
PREFACE.
Nothing but the greatest possible pressure from my many kind friends who
have heard my lecture on "General Gordon: Saint and Soldier," who knew of
my intimacy with him, and had seen some of the letters referred to, would
have induced me to narrate this little story of a noble life. I am
greatly indebted to many friends, authors, and newspapers, for extracts
and incidents, etc., etc.; and to them I beg to offer my best thanks and
humble apology. This book is issued in the hope, that, with all its
imperfections, it may inspire the young men of our times to imitate the
Christ-like spirit and example of our illustrious and noble hero, C. G.
Gordon.
J. WARDLE.
THIS BRIEF STORY
OF A
NOBLE, SAINTLY AND HEROIC LIFE,
I DEDICATE WITH MUCH AFFECTION
TO MY SON,
JOSEPH GORDON WARDLE
"If I am asked, who is the greatest man? I answer, "the best." And if
I am requested to say, who is the best, I reply: "he that deserveth
most of his fellow creatures."
--_Sir William Jones_.
INDEX.
_Chapter_ I.--Introduction--Gordon's birth, parentage and school--His
first experience of warfare in the Crimea--His display of exceptional
soldierly qualities--The storming of Sebastopol and its fall.
_Chapter_ II.--Gordon assisting to lay down frontiers in Russia, Turkey
and Armenia--Gordon in China--Burning of the Summer Palace--Chinese
rebellion and its suppression.
_Chapter_ III.--Gordon at Manchester--My experiences with him--Ragged
School work--Amongst the poor, the old, the sick--Some of his letters to
me, showing his deep solicitude for the lads.
_Chapter_ IV.--Gordon's letters--Leaflet, &c.--His work at
Gravesend--Amongst his "Kings"--His call to foreign service, and leave
taking--The public regret.
_Chapter_ V.--His first appointment as Governor General of the Soudan--His
journey to, and his arrival at Khartoum--His many difficulties--His visit
to King John of Abyssinia, and resignation.
_Chapter_ VI.--Gordon's return to Egypt and welcome by the Khedive--Home
again--A second visit to China--Soudan very unsettled--The Madhi winning
battles--Hicks Pasha's army annihilated--Gordon sent for; agrees again to
go to Khartoum.
_Chapter_ VII.--Gordon's starting for Khartoum (2nd appointment)--His
arrival and reception--Khartoum surrounded--Letter from the Madhi to
Gordon--Gordon's reply--His many and severe trials in Khartoum.
_Chapter_ VIII.--Expedition of Lord Wolseley's to relieve Gordon--Terrible
marches in the desert--Battle of Abu-Klea--Colonel Burnaby killed--Awful
scenes--The Arabs break the British Square--Victory and march to
Mettemmeh.
_Ch | 1,599.551218 |
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Produced by Paul Haxo from page images generously made
available by the University of Toronto and the Internet
Archive.
A DUEL IN THE DARK.
_An original Farce,_
IN ONE ACT.
BY J. STIRLING COYNE,
AUTHOR OF
"_My Wife's Daughter_," "_Binks the Bagman_," "_Separate
Maintenance_," "_How to settle Accounts with your Laundress_," "_Did
you ever send your Wife to Camberwell_,"
_&c. &c. &c._
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND,
LONDON.
_First Performed at the Theatre Royal Haymarket,
On Saturday, January_ 31_st,_ 1852.
CHARACTERS.
MR. GREGORY GREENFINCH Mr. BUCKSTONE.
MRS. GREENFINCH }
COUNTESS DE RAMBUTEAU } Mrs. FITZWILLIAM.
CHARLEY BATES }
BETSY Mrs. CAULFIELD.
WAITER Mr. EDWARDS.
COSTUMES.
Mr. GREENFINCH.--Green coat, light blue trowsers, and French
travelling cap.
Mrs. GREENFINCH.--Fawn polka jacket, waistcoat and skirt.
COUNTESS DE RAMBUTEAU.--Loose travelling pelisse, bonnet and green
veil.
CHARLEY BATES.--Blue frock coat and white trowsers.
BETSY.--Travelling dress and servant's dress.
WAITER.--Gendarme suit.
SCENE _lies at a Hotel at Dieppe._
Time in Representation, 50 minutes.
A DUEL IN THE DARK!
SCENE.--_A handsomely furnished Apartment on the ground floor of a
Hotel at Dieppe. A French window at back opening on a garden. Door,
2 E. L. Door, 3 E. L. A large stove, L. between the two doors. Door,
2 E. R. Easy chair near door, R. Tables, R. and L. C. at back; bottle
of brandy with glasses on table, L. Chairs, &c. Two lighted candles
on._
_Enter GREENFINCH, carrying bandbox, large travelling cloak, carpet
bag and umbrella, L. 3 E._
GREEN. Well now this is something like an adventure. (_putting down
the umbrella and bandbox, R._) There's a romantic mystery attached to
me that I can't unravel, in fact I feel myself like a tangled
penn'orth of thread; the more I try to clear myself the more
complicated I become. Let me calmly consider my singular position.
(_throws the cloak on the easy chair, R. and places the carpet bag
beside it_) In the first place here I have arrived at the Hotel d'
Angleterre in Dieppe accompanied by the Countess de Rambuteau--a real
Countess! Poor Mrs. Greenfinch little dreams what a rake I am--but for
a long time I've been dying for an aristocratic flirtation--I have
looked at lovely women in the private boxes at the theatres--and have
run after carriages in the park--but all in vain, and now, startling
as the fact may seem, I have been for the last thirty hours the
travelling companion of a French Countess, and have shared her
post-chaise from Paris: when I say shared, I mean the Countess and her
maid took the inside and left me the outside, where I was exalted to
the dickey amongst a miscellaneous assortment of trunks and bandboxes,
by which I have been jolted and jammed till I haven't a bone in my
body without its particular ache. But the most extraordinary part of
the affair is that I have never yet seen the Countess's face, for she
has always concealed it from me beneath a thick veil. However that's
nothing, there's a secret sympathy by which I think I could discover a
pretty face under a piecrust. Hah! here she comes, and now for the
tender revelation--the soft confession--the blushing avowal--the--
_Enter MRS. GREENFINCH, 2 E. R., in a travelling dress closely veiled,
she carries in her hand a lady's walking basket._
Ah, my charming Countess, at length after a painful--I mean a
delightful journey--we have arrived in Dieppe, and now permit me to
gaze on those lovely features.
MRS. G. (_retires as he approaches_) No, no, _je ne permittez pas;_
nevare, not at all, Monsieur Grinfeench.
GREEN. Dear, Countess, take pity on me. (_aside_) What delightful
accents! She told me she could speak English fluently, and she does.
Am I never to see your face, dear Countess? Oh! have pity on me.
MRS. G. _Oui_, you sall ordere diner _toute de suite._
GREEN. Dinner? certainly, Countess.
_Exit 3 E. L._
BETSY. (_peeping in at door, R._) Is he gone, mum?
M | 1,599.852385 |
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MOTHER GOOSE FOR GROWN FOLKS
BY MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY
Illustrated By Augustus Hoppin
Boston
Houghton, Mifflin And Company
1883
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0006]
[Illustration: 0007]
[Illustration: 0009]
INTRODUCTORY.
|Somewhere in that uncertain "long ago,"
Whose dim and vague chronology is all
That elfin tales or nursery fables know,
Rose a rare spirit,--keen, and quick, and quaint,--
Whom by the title, whether fact or feint,
Mythic or real, Mother Goose we call.
Of Momus and Minerva sprang the birth
That gave the laughing oracle to earth:
A brimming bowl she bears, that, frothing
high
With sparkling nonsense, seemeth non-
sense all;
Till, the bright, floating syllabub blown by,
Lo, in its ruby splendor doth upshine
The crimson radiance of Olympian wine
By Pallas poured, in Jove's own banquet-
hall.
The world was but a baby when she came;
So to her songs it listened, and her name
Grew to a word of power, her voice a spell
With charm to soothe its infant wearying
well.
But, in a later and maturer age,
Developed to a dignity more sage,
Having its Shakspeares and its Words-
worths now,
Its Southeys and its Tennysons, to wear
A halo on the high and lordly brow,
Or poet-laurels in the waving hair;
Its Lowells, Whittiers, Longfellows, to sing
Ballads of beauty, like the notes of spring,
The wise and prudent ones to nursery use
Leave the dear lyrics of old Mother Goose.
Wisdom of babes,--the nursery Shak-
speare stilly--
Cackles she ever with the same good-will:
Uttering deep counsels in a foolish guise,
That come as warnings, even to the wise;
As when, of old, the martial city slept,
Unconscious of the wily foe that crept
Under the midnight, till the alarm was heard
Out from the mouth of Rome's plebeian
bird.
Full many a rare and subtile thing hath
she,
Undreamed of in the world's philosophy:
Toss-balls for children hath she humbly
rolled,
That shining jewels secretly enfold;
Sibylline leaves she casteth on the air,
Twisted in fool's-caps, blown unheeded by,
That, in their lines grotesque, albeit, bear
Words of grave truth, and signal prophecy;
And lurking satire, whose sharp lashes hit
A world of follies with their homely writ;
With here and there a roughly uttered hint,
That makes you wonder at the beauty
in't;
As if, along the wayside's dusty edge,
A hot-house flower had blossomed in a
hedge.
So, like brave Layard in old Nineveh,
Among the memories of ancient song,
As curious relics, I would fain bestir;
And gather, if it might be, into strong
And shapely show, some wealth of its
lost lore;
Fragments of Truth's own architecture,
strewed
In forms disjointed, whimsical, and rude,
That yet, to simpler vision, grandly stood
Complete, beneath the golden light of
BRAHMIC.
|If a great poet think he sings,
Or if the poem think it's sung,
They do but sport the scattered plumes
That Mother Goose aside hath flung.
Far or forgot to me is near:
Shakspeare and Punch are all the same;
The vanished thoughts do reappear,
And shape themselves to fun or fame.
They use my _quills_, and leave me out,
Oblivious that I wear the _wings_;
Or that a Goose has been about,
When every little gosling sings.
Strong men may strive for grander thought,
But, six times out of every seven,
My old philosophy hath taught
All they can master this side heaven.
LITTLE BOY BLUE.
"Little boy blue! come blow your horn!
The sheep in the meadow, the cows in the corn!
Where's little boy blue, that looks after the sheep?
He's under the hay-mow, fast asleep!"
|Of morals in novels, we've had not a few;
With now and then novel moralities too;
And we've weekly exhortings from pulpit
to pew;
But it strikes me,--and so it may chance
to strike you,--
Scarce any are better than "Little Boy
Blue."
For the veteran dame knows her business:
right well,
And her quaint admonitions unerringly
tell:
She strings a few odd, careless words in a
jingle,
And the sharp, latent truth fairly makes
your ears tingle.
"Azure-robed Youth!" she cries, "up to
thy post!
And watch, lest thy wealth be all scattered
and lost:
Silly thoughts are astray, beyond call of
the horn,
And passion breaks loose, and gets into the
corn!
Is this the way Conscience looks after her
sheep?
In the world's soothing shadow, gone sound-
ly asleep?"
Isn't _that_, now, a sermon? No lengthened
vexation
Of heads, and divisions, and argumenta-
tion,
But a straightforward leap to the sure ap-
plication;
And, though many a longer harangue is
forgot,
Of which careful reporters take notes on
the spot,
I think,--as the "Deacon" declared of his
"shay,"
Put together for lasting for ever and aye,--
A like immortality holding in view,
The old lady's discourse will undoubtedly
"dew"!
HICCOKY, DICCORY, DOCK.
"Hiccory, diccory, dock!
The mouse ran up the clock.
The clock struck one, and down she run:
Hiccory, diccory, dock!"
|She had her simple nest in a safe and cun-
ning place,
Away down in the quiet of the deep, old-
fashioned case.
A little crevice nibbled out led forth into
the world,
And overhead, on busy wheels, the hours
and minutes whirled.
High up in mystic glooms of space was
awful scenery
Of wires, and weights, and springs, and all
great Time's machinery;
But she had nought to do with these; a
blessed little mouse,
Whose only care beneath the sun was just
to keep her house.
For this was all she knew, or could; with-
out her, just the same
The earth's great centre drew the weight;
the pendulum went and came;
And days were born, and grew, and died;
and stroke by stroke were told
The hours by which the world and men
are ever growing old.
It suddenly occurred to her,--it struck her
all at once,--
That living among things of power, her-
self had been a dunce.
"Somebody winds the clock!" she cried
"Somebody comes and brings
An iron finger that feels through and fum-
bles at the springs;
"And then it happens; then the buzz is
stirred afar and near,
And the hour sounds, and everywhere the
great world stops to hear.
I don't think, after all, it seems so hard a
thing to do.
I know the way--I might run up and
make folks listen too."
She sprang upon the leaden weight; but
not the merest whit
Did all her added gravity avail to hurry it.
She clambered up the steady cord; it wav-
ered not a hair.
She got among the earnest wheels; they
knew not she was there.
She sat beside the silent bell; the patient
hammer lay
Waiting an unseen bidding for the word
that it should say.
Only a solemn whisper thrilled the cham-
bers of the clock,
And the mouse listened: "Hiccory! hie--
diccory! die--dock!"
Something was coming. She had hit the
ripeness of the time;
No tiny second was outreached by that ex-
ultant climb;
In no wise did the planet turn the faster to
the sun;
She only met the instant, but the great
clock sounded--"One!"
What then? Did she stand gloriously
among those central things,
Her eye upon the vibrant bell, her heel
upon the springs?
Was her soul grand in unison with that
resounding chime,
And her pulse-beat identical with the high
pulse of Time?
Ah, she was little! When the air first
shattered with that shock,
Down ran the mouse into her hole. "Hic,
diccory! die--dock!"
Too plain to be translated is the truth the
tale would show,
Small souls, in solemn upshot, had better
wait below.
BO-PEEP.
"Little Bo-Peep
Has lost her sheep,
And doesn't know where to find 'em;
Let 'em alone,
And they 'll come home,
And bring their tails behind 'em."
|Hope beckoned Youth, and bade him keep,
On Life's broad plain, his shining sheep,
And while along the sward they came,
He called them over, each by name;
This one was Friendship,--that was Health;
Another Love,--another Wealth;
One, fat, full-fleeced, was Social Station;
Another, stainless, Reputation;
In truth, a goodly flock of sheep,--
A goodly flock, but hard to keep.
Youth laid him down beside a fountain;
Hope spread his wings to scale a mountain;
And, somehow, Youth fell fast asleep,
And left his crook to tend the sheep:
No wonder, as the legend says,
They took to very crooked ways.
He woke--to hear a distant bleating,--
The faithless quadrupeds were fleeting!
Wealth vanished first, with stealthy tread,
Then Friendship followed--to be fed,--
And foolish Love was after led;
Fair Fame,--alas! some thievish scamp
Had marked him with his own black stamp!
And he, with Honor at his heels,
Was out of sight across the fields.
Health just hangs doubtful,--distant Hope
Looks backward from the mountain <DW72>,--
And Youth himself--no longer Youth--
Stands face to face with bitter Truth.
Yet let them go! 'T were all in vain
To linger here in faith to find 'em;
Forward!--nor pause to think of pain,--
Till somewhere, on a nobler plain,
A surer Hope shall lead the train
Of joys withheld to come again
With golden fleeces trailed behind 'em!
SOLOMON GRUNDY.
"Solomon Grundy
Born on Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Sick on Thursday,
Worse on Friday,
Dead on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday:
This was the end
Of Solomon Grundy."
So sings the unpretentious Muse
That guides the quill of Mother Goose,
And in one week of mortal strife
Presents the epitome of Life:
But down sits Billy Shakspeare next,
And, coolly taking up the text,
His thought pursues the trail of mine,
And, lo! the "Seven Ages" shine!
O world! O critics! _can't_ you see
How Shakspeare plagiarizes me?
And other bards will after come,
To echo in a later age,
"He lived,--he died: behold the sum,
The abstract of the historian's page"
Yet | 1,599.852462 |
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THE MISSING TIN BOX
OR
THE STOLEN RAILROAD BONDS.
BY _ARTHUR M. WINFIELD_
_Author of "Schooldays of Fred Harley," "Poor but Plucky," "By Pluck,
Not Luck," Etc., etc._
CHICAGO:
M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1897.
W. L. ALLISON CO.
CONTENTS.
I. The Missing Tin Box
II. A Brave Youth's Reward
III. A Serious Charge
IV. Hal Stands up for Himself
V. Hal Determines to Act
VI. A Blow in the Dark
VII | 1,599.853488 |
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E-text prepared by David T. Jones, Mardi Desjardins, Neanderthal, and the
Online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net)
from page images generously made available by Internet Archive
(https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/fablesronaldross00rossrich
FABLES
by
RONALD ROSS
OF WHICH COPIES TO THE NUMBER OF TWO HUNDRED AND
FIFTY ARE NOW PRIVATELY PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY
PRESS OF LIVERPOOL, ANNO DOMINI MCMVII, AND ARE
TO BE HAD OF THE AUTHOR AT THE UNIVERSITY AND
OF HENRY YOUNG AND SONS OF SOUTH CASTLE STREET,
LIVERPOOL, FOR TWO SHILLINGS AND SIX PENCE.
Entered at Stationers’ Hall
_For my Children_
. . . . . . . .
_These Fables were written in India
between the years_ 1880 _and_ 1890
_CONTENTS_
_AN EXPOSTULATION WITH TRUTH_
_ARIEL AND THE HIPPOPOTAMUS_
_THE FROG, THE FAIRY, AND THE MOON_
_THE TROLL AND THE MOUNTAIN_
_THE TOAD AND THE FAYS_
_THE PARSON AND THE ANGEL_
_PUCK AND THE CROCODILE_
_THE VIRTUOUS GOAT_
_THE TRUTH OF TRUTH_
_THE MAN, THE LION, AND THE FLY_
_ORPHEUS AND THE BUSY ONES_
_THE POET AND THE PENMAN_
_THE PITEOUS EWE_
_THE CONTEST OF BIRDS_
_ALASTOR_
_OCEAN AND THE ROCK_
_DEATH AND LOVE_
_CALYPSO TO ULYSSES_
_THE STAR AND THE SUN_
_THE POET’S RETIREMENT_
_An Expostulation with Truth_
_Uttered by the Well Meaning Poet_
Altho’ you live aloft so far,
Transcendent Goddess, in your star,
Pray, try to see us as we are.
Consider—and be more forgiving—
Life is not reasoning but believing,
And we must work to get our living.
Expound with logic most exact
And rightly marshal every fact—
D’you think we thank you for your act?
D’you think we’ve nothing else to do
But to distinguish false from true?—
We’re lawyers, doctors, parsons too.
But for our little fond delusions
We’d never come to our conclusions,
And then—just think of the confusions!
You pain us when you contradict.
Your presence would the less afflict
If you were not so very strict.
Dear Lady, take this sober view,
It matters little what is true—
The world is not the place for you.
I rede you therefore, go away;
Or, if you really mean to stay,
Let’s hear your views another day.
_Ariel and the Hippopotamus_
_Dedicated to Rural Magnates_
Fine Ariel, serf to Prospero,
Sped on the Great Meridian
For jetty pearls from Andaman
To make a chaplet to declare | 1,599.854678 |
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Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed.
Words printed in italics are marked with underlines: _italics_. Words
printed in bold are marked with tildes: ~bold~.
The Daily Telegraph
WAR BOOKS
THE BATTLES IN FLANDERS
The Daily Telegraph
WAR BOOKS
Cloth
1/-net each
Post free
1/3 each
~HOW THE WAR BEGAN~ By W. L. COURTNEY, LL.D., and J. M. KENNEDY
~THE FLEETS AT WAR~ By ARCHIBALD HURD
~THE CAMPAIGN OF SEDAN~ By GEORGE HOOPER
~THE CAMPAIGN ROUND LIEGE~ By J. M. KENNEDY
~IN THE FIRING LINE~ By A. ST. JOHN ADCOCK
~GREAT BATTLES OF THE WORLD~ By STEPHEN CRANE
~BRITISH REGIMENTS AT THE FRONT~
~THE RED CROSS IN WAR~ By Miss MARY FRANCES BILLINGTON
~FORTY YEARS AFTER~ The Story of the Franco-German War By H. C.
BAILEY With an Introduction by W. L. COURTNEY, LL.D.
~A SCRAP OF PAPER~ By E. J. DILLON
~HOW THE NATIONS WAGED WAR~ By J. M. KENNEDY
~AIR-CRAFT IN WAR~ By S. ERIC BRUCE
~FAMOUS FIGHTS OF INDIAN NATIVE REGIMENTS~ By REGINALD HODDER
~THE FIGHTING RETREAT TO PARIS~ By ROGER INGPEN
~THE FIRST CAMPAIGN IN RUSSIAN POLAND~ By P. C. STANDEN
~THE BATTLES OF THE RIVERS~ By EDMUND DANE
~FROM HELIGOLAND TO KEELING ISLAND~ By ARCHIBALD HURD
~THE SLAV NATIONS~ By SRGJAN PL. TUCIC
~SUBMARINES, MINES AND TORPEDOES~ By A. S. DOMVILLE-FIFE
~WITH THE R.A.M.C. AT THE FRONT~ By E. C. VIVIAN
~MOTOR TRANSPORTS IN WAR~ By HORACE WYATT
~HACKING THROUGH BELGIUM~ By EDMUND DANE
~WITH THE FRENCH EASTERN ARMY~
~THE GERMAN NAVY~ By ARCHIBALD HURD
_OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION_
PUBLISHED FOR THE DAILY TELEGRAPH
BY HODDER & STOUGHTON, WARWICK SQUARE,
LONDON, E.C.
THE BATTLES IN FLANDERS
FROM YPRES TO NEUVE CHAPELLE
BY
EDMUND DANE
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
MCMXV
PREFATORY NOTE
Ever since the middle of November last there has been on the West
front in the present war what many have called and considered a
"deadlock." In the account which follows of that part of the campaign
represented by the battles in Flanders the true character of the
great and brilliant military scheme by means of which, and against
apparently impossible odds, the Allied commanders succeeded in
reducing the main fighting forces of Germany to impotence, and in
defeating the purposes of the invasion, will, I hope, become clear.
The success or failure of that scheme depended upon the issue of the
Battle of Ypres. Not only was that great battle the most prolonged,
furious, and destructive clash of arms yet known, but upon it also,
for reasons which in fact disclose the real history of this struggle,
hung the issue of the War as a whole. No accident merely of a despot's
desires caused the fury and the terror of Ypres. It was the big bid of
Prussian Militarism for supremacy. Equally in the terrible and ghastly
defeat it there sustained Prussian Militarism faced its doom.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE CRISIS OF OCTOBER 9
II. HOW THE CRISIS WAS MET 20
III. THE EVE OF YPRES 34
IV. THE BATTLE OF YPRES--FIRST PHASE 44
V. THE BATTLE OF YPRES--SECOND PHASE 58
VI. THE BATTLE OF YPRES--THE CRISIS 81
VII. THE BATTLE OF YPRES--FINAL PHASE 104
VIII. THE BATTLE ON THE YSER 120
IX. THE WINTER CAMPAIGN 144
X. NEUVE CHAPELLE 169
CHAPTER I
THE CRISIS OF OCTOBER
At the beginning of October there had arisen in the Western | 1,600.048147 |
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[Illustration: Yours Sincerely,
Elizabeth Porter Gould.]
STRAY PEBBLES
FROM THE
SHORES OF THOUGHT
BY
ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD
BOSTON
PRESS OF T. O. METCALF & CO.
1892
COPYRIGHT 1892
BY
ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD
CONTENTS.
POEMS OF NATURE:
PAGE
To Walt Whitman 11
To Summer Hours 12
A True Vacation 13
A Question 14
To a Butterfly 16
In a Hammock 18
O rare, sweet summer day 20
An Old Man's Reverie 22
On Jefferson Hill 26
On Sugar Hill 28
At "Fairfield's," Wenham 29
Blossom-time 31
The Primrose 33
Joy, all Joy 35
Among the Pines 37
Conscious or Unconscious 39
POEMS OF LOVE:
Love's How and Why 43
Love's Guerdon 44
A Birthday Greeting 45
Three Kisses 48
If I were only sure 50
Absence 52
A Love Song 53
In Her Garden 55
Love's Wish 56
Is there anything purer 58
Longing 60
Young Love's Message 61
A Diary's Secret 63
A Monologue 65
A Priceless Gift 66
The Ocean's Moan 67
Love's Flower 70
Renunciation 71
Love Discrowned 74
A Widow's Heart Cry 76
Together 78
Shadowed Circles 80
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:
A Song of Success 85
The Under World 87
She Knows 88
At Pittsford, Vermont 90
Childhood's Days 92
An Answer 94
Where, What, Whence 96
Heroes 98
A Magdalen's Easter Cry 100
For the Anniversary of Mrs. Browning's Death 103
Robert Browning 105
To Neptune, in behalf of S. C. G. 107
To the <DW29>s growing on the grave of A. S. D. 109
A Broken Heart 111
My Release 113
The god of music 115
To Wilhelm Gericke 118
For E. T. F.
1.--After the birth of her son 119
2.--Upon the death of her son 121
To C. H. F. 123
An Anniversary Poem 126
A Comfort 128
An Anniversary 129
To Miss Elizabeth P. Peabody 131
At Life's Setting 133
Grandma Waiting 136
Does it Pay 144
Auxilium ab Alto 145
Limitations 147
The Muse of History 148
An Impromptu to G. H. T. 151
To Mrs. Partington 153
Lines for the Seventieth Birthday Anniversary of Walt
Whitman 156
SONNETS:
The Known God 161
To Phillips Brooks 163
At the "Porter Manse" 165
Our Lady of the Manse 167
To B. P. Shillaber 169
To Our Mary 171
A Birthday Remembrance 173
Josef Hofmann 175
After the Denial 177
Gethsemane 179
On Lake Memphremagog 181
Luke 23: 24 183
To Members of my Home Club 185
FOR MY LITTLE NEPHEWS AND NIECES:
Mamma's Lullaby 189
Warren's Song 190
Baby Mildred 192
Rosamond and Mildred 194
'Chilla 196
Childish Fancies 197
What little Bertram did 199
"Dear little Mac" 202
Willard and Florence on Mt. Wachusett 207
A little Brazilian 210
The little doubter 213
Our Kitty's Trick 217
A Message 220
POEMS OF NATURE.
TO WALT WHITMAN.
"I loafe and invite my soul."
And what do I feel?
An influx of life from the great central power
That generates beauty from seedling to flower.
"I loafe and invite my soul."
And what do I hear?
Original harmonies piercing the din
Of measureless tragedy, sorrow, and sin.
"I loafe and invite my soul."
And what do I see?
The temple of God in the perfected man
Revealing the wisdom and end of earth's plan.
_August, 1891._
TO SUMMER HOURS.
DAY.
Trip lightly, joyous hours,
While Day her heart reveals.
Such wealth from secret bowers
King Time himself ne'er steals.
O joy, King Time ne'er steals!
NIGHT.
Breathe gently, tireless hours,
While Night in beauty sleeps.
Hold back e'en softest showers,--
Enough that mortal weeps.
Ah me, that my heart weeps!
A TRUE VACATION.
IN A HAMMOCK.
"Cradled thus and wind caressed,"
Under the trees,
(Oh what ease.)
Nature full of joyous greeting;
Dancing, singing, naught secreting,
Ever glorious thoughts repeating--
Pause, O Time,
I'm satisfied!
Now all life
Is glorified!
_Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass._
A QUESTION.
Is life a farce?
Tell me, O breeze,
Bearing the perfume of flowers and trees,
While gaily decked birds
Pour forth their gladness in songs beyond words,
And cloudlets coquette in the fresh summer air
Rejoicing in everything being so fair--
Is life a farce?
How can it be, child,
When Nature at heart
Is but the great spirit of love and of art
Eternally saying, "I must God impart."
Is life a farce?
Tell me, O soul,
Struggling to act out humanity's whole
'Midst Error and Wrong,
And failure in sight of true victory's song;
With Wisdom and Virtue at times lost to view,
And love for the many lost in love for the few--
Is life a farce?
How can it be, child,
When humanity's heart
Is but the great spirit of love and of art
Eternally crying, "I must God impart."
TO A BUTTERFLY.
O butterfly, now prancing
Through the air,
So glad to share
The freedom of new living,
Come, tell me my heart's seeking.
Shall I too know
After earth's throe
Full freedom of my being?
Shall I, as you,
Through law as true,
Know life of fuller meaning?
O happy creature, dancing,
Is time too short
With pleasure fraught
For you to heed my seeking?
Ah, well, you've left me thinking:
If here on earth
A second birth
Can so transform a being,
Why may not I
In worlds on high
Be changed beyond earth's dreaming?
IN A HAMMOCK.
The rustling leaves above me,
The breezes sighing round me,
A network glimpse of bluest sky
To meet the upturned seeing eye,
The greenest lawn beneath me,
Loved flowers and birds to greet me,
A well-kept house of ancient days
To tell of human nature's ways,--
Oh happy, happy hour!
Whence comes all this to bless me,
The soft wind to caress me,
The life which does my strength renew
For purer visions of the true?
Alas! no one can tell me.
But, hush! let Nature lead me.
Let even wisest questions cease
While I breathe in such life and peace
This happy, happy hour.
_Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass._
O RARE, SWEET SUMMER DAY.
"The day is placid in its going,
To a lingering motion bound,
Like a river in its flowing--
Can there be a softer sound?"
--_Wordsworth._
O rare, sweet summer day,
Could'st thou not longer stay?
The soothing, whispering wind's caress
Was bliss to weary brain,
The songs of birds had power to bless
As in fair childhood's reign.
The tinted clouds were free from showers,
The sky was wondrous clear,
The precious incense of rare flowers
Made sweet the atmosphere;
The shimmering haze of mid-day hour
Was balm to restlessness,
While thought of silent hidden power
Was strength for helplessness--
O rare, sweet summer day,
Could'st thou not longer stay?
_Porter Manse._
AN OLD MAN'S REVERIE.
Blow breezes, fresh breezes, on Love's swiftest wing,
And bear her the message my heart dares to sing.
Pause not on the highways where gathers earth's dust,
Nor in the fair heavens, though cloudlets say must.
But blow through the valleys where flowers await
To give of their essence ere yielding to fate;
Or blow on the hill tops where atmospheres lie
Imbued with the health which no money can buy.
But fail not, O breezes, on Love's swiftest wing
| 1,600.049953 |
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Transcriber's Notes:
1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.
2. Passages in Gothic Bold are surrounded by +plus+ signs.
3. Other transcription notes appear at the end of this e-text.
[Illustration: _The Abduction._
Original Etching by Mercier.]
+The Mysteries of Paris.+
_ILLUSTRATED WITH ETCHINGS
BY MERCIER, BICKNELL, POITEAU,
AND ADRIAN MARCEL._
_BY EUGENE SUE_
_IN SIX VOLUMES
VOLUME IV._
_PRINTED FOR
FRANCIS A. NICCOLLS & CO.
BOSTON_
+Edition de Luxe+
_This edition is limited to one thousand copies,
of which this is_
No.____
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. RIGOLETTE'S FIRST SORROW 11
II. THE WILL 33
III. L'ILE DU RAVAGEUR 48
IV. THE FRESHWATER PIRATE 60
V. THE MOTHER AND SON 82
VI. FRANCOIS AND AMANDINE 101
VII. A LODGING-HOUSE 119
VIII. THE VICTIMS OF MISPLACED CONFIDENCE 132
IX. THE RUE DE CHAILLOT 156
X. THE COMTE DE SAINT-REMY 170
XI. THE INTERVIEW 185
XII. THE SEARCH 204
XIII. THE ADIEUX 226
XIV. RECOLLECTIONS 239
XV. THE BOATS 262
XVI. THE HAPPINESS OF MEETINGS 273
XVII. DOCTOR GRIFFON 298
XVIII. THE PORTRAIT 305
XIX. THE AGENT OF SAFETY 315
XX. THE CHOUETTE 321
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
THE ABDUCTION _Frontispiece_
THE BRIGAND DASHED AT HIS BROTHER 87
HE EXHIBITED SUCH FEROCIOUS JOY 168
WAS ABOUT TO EMBRACE HIS FATHER 199
THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS.
CHAPTER I.
RIGOLETTE'S FIRST SORROW.
Rigolette's apartment was still in all its extreme nicety; the large
silver watch placed over the mantelpiece, in a small boxwood stand,
denoted the hour of four. The severe cold weather having ceased, the
thrifty little needlewoman had not lighted her stove.
From the window, a corner of blue sky was scarcely perceptible over the
masses of irregularly built roofs, garrets, and tall chimneys, which
bounded the horizon on the other side of the street. Suddenly a sunbeam,
which, as it were, wandered for a moment between two high gables, came
for an instant to purple with its bright rays the windows of the young
girl's chamber.
Rigolette was at work, seated by her window; and the soft shadow of her
charming profile stood out from the transparent light of the glass as a
cameo of rosy whiteness on a silver ground. Brilliant hues played on her
jet black hair, twisted in a knot at the back of her head, and shaded
with a warm amber colour the ivory of her industrious little fingers,
which plied the needle with incomparable activity. The long folds of her
brown gown, confined at the waist by the bands of her green apron, half
concealed her straw-seated chair, and her pretty feet rested on the edge
of a stool before her.
Like a rich lord, who sometimes amuses himself in hiding the walls of a
cottage beneath splendid hangings, the setting sun for a moment lighted
up this little chamber with a thousand dazzling fires, throwing his
golden tints on the curtains of gray and green stuff, and making the
walnut-tree furniture glisten with brightness, and the dry-rubbed floor
look like heated copper; whilst it encircled in a wire-work of gold the
grisette's bird-cage. But, alas! in spite of the exciting splendour of
this sun-ray, the two canaries (male and female) flitted about uneasily,
and, contrary to their usual habit, did not sing a note. This was
because, contrary to her usual habit, Rigolette did not sing. The three
never warbled without one another; almost invariably the cheerful and
matin song of the latter called forth that of the birds, who, more lazy,
did not leave their nests as early as their mistress. Then there were
rivalries,--contentions of clear, sonorous, pearly, silvery notes, in
which the birds had not always the advantage.
Rigolette did not sing, because, for the first time in her life, she
experienced a sorrow. Up to this time, the sight of the misery of the
Morels had often affected her; but such sights are too familiar to the
poorer classes to cause them any very lasting melancholy. After having,
almost every day, succoured these unfortunates as far as was in her
power, sincerely wept with and for them, the young girl felt herself at
the same time moved and satisfied,--moved by their misfortunes, and
satisfied at having shown herself pitiful. But this was not a sorrow.
Rigolette's natural gaiety soon regained its empire; and then, without
egotism, but by a simple fact of comparison, she found herself so happy
in her little chamber, after leaving the horrible den of the Morels,
that her momentary sadness speedily disappeared.
This lightness of impression was so little affected by personal feeling,
that, by a mode of extremely delicate reasoning, the grisette considered
it almost a duty to aid those more unhappy than herself, that she might
thus unscrupulously enjoy an existence so very precarious and entirely
dependent on her labour, but which, compared with the fearful distress
of the lapidary's family, appeared to her almost luxurious.
"In order to sing without compunction, when we have near us persons so
much to be pitied," she said, naively, "we must have been as charitable
to them as possible."
Before we inform our reader the cause of Rigolette's first sorrow, we
are desirous to assure him, or her, completely as to the virtue of this
young girl. We are sorry to use the word virtue,--a serious, pompous,
solemn word, which almost always brings with it ideas of painful
sacrifice, of painful struggle against the passions, of austere
meditations on the final close of all things here below. Such was not
the virtue of Rigolette. She had neither deeply struggled nor meditated;
she had worked, and laughed, and sung. Her prudence, as she called it,
when speaking frankly and sincerely to Rodolph, was with her a question
of time,--she had not the leisure to be in love. Particularly lively,
industrious, and orderly, order, work, and gaiety had often, unknown to
herself, defended, sustained, saved her.
It may be deemed, perchance, that this morality is light, frivolous,
casual; but of what consequence is the cause, so that the effect
endures? Of what consequence are the directions of the roots of a plant,
provided the flower blooms pure, expanded, and full of perfume?
Apropos of our utopianisms, as to the encouragement, help, and
recompenses which society ought to grant to artisans remarkable for
their eminent social qualities, we have alluded to that protection of
virtue (one of the projects of the Emperor, by the way). Let us suppose
this admirable idea realised. One of the real philanthropists whom the
Emperor proposed to employ in searching after worth has discovered
Rigolette. Abandoned without advice, without aid, exposed to all the
perils of poverty, to all the seductions with which youth and beauty are
surrounded, this charming girl has remained pure; her honest,
hard-working life might serve for a model and example. Would not this
young creature deserve, not a mere recompense, not succour only, but
some impressive words of approbation and encouragement, which would give
her a consciousness of her own | 1,600.050888 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
RHYMES AND JINGLES
[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text was surrounded by _underscores_.]
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR:_
HANS BRINKER;
OR,
THE SILVER SKATES.
A STORY OF LIFE IN HOLLAND.
A New Edition, with Illustrations.
One vol, 12mo, cloth $1.50.
_Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers_,
SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, AND COMPANY 745 Broadway, New York.
[Illustration:
HOLLYHOCK, HOLLYHOCK, BEND FOR ME;
I WANT A CHEESE FOR MY DOLLY'S TEA.
]
RHYMES AND JINGLES
BY
MARY MAPES DODGE
AUTHOR OF "HANS BRINKER," ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, AND COMPANY
1875
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874,
BY SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, AND COMPANY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY
H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
TO
THE CHILDREN.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
ELFIN JACK 1
THE MAYOR OF SCUTTLETON 4
FIRE IN THE WINDOW 4
COUSIN JEREMY 5
THINKING ALOUD 6
"BYE, BABY, NIGHT IS COME" 8
SNOW 9
OH, WHERE ARE ALL THE GOOD LITTLE GIRLS? 9
CHRISTMAS BELLS 10
MY LADDIE 12
MARCH 12
GARDEN SONGS.
LITTLE GREEN HUMMER 14
GLUCK! GLUCK! 15
A LAD OF NANSOOK, A BALSAM-POD TOOK 16
I'D SEARCH THE WORLD OVER, FOR ONE FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER 16
FIND ME A STEM OF THE TIGER LILY 17
GOOD MISTRESS SUNDIAL 18
SOME ONE IN THE GARDEN 18
WIRE-LOCKS, CURLY-PATE, TANGLE, AND FLOSS 18
OLD BUM OF BUMBLEBY 19
UNDER THE WILLOW, OUT OF THE RAIN 19
LITTLE POLLY ALWAYS CLEVER 20
LIFT UP YOUR FACE, LITTLE DAISY! 21
I KNOW WHERE THERE'S A BEAUTIFUL SHOE 22
HOBBLEDY HOPS 23
BRIGHT LITTLE BUTTERCUP 24
THE ANTS 25
BURS 26
HOLLYHOCK, HOLLYHOCK, BEND FOR ME! 27
THE EVENING PRIMROSE 28
HO, DANDELION! MY LIGHTSOME FELLOW! 28
----------
SONG OF SUMMER 29
LITTLE BEGINNINGS 30
MOONEY AND BLACKY 31
THE MOON CAME LATE TO A LONESOME BOG 32
JOHNNY THE STOUT 32
A FARMER IN BUNGLETON HAD A COLT 34
THE DRINKING-PAN 35
THE SHREWD LAD OF COOLOO 36
THERE WAS A FINE YOUTH OF PIKE'S PEAK 36
STOCKING SONG ON CHRISTMAS EVE 37
IN TRUST 38
A SONG OF ST. NICHOLAS 39
FLOWERS 41
THE LITTLE MOTHER 43
AMONG THE ANIMALS 44
OLD DOCTOR PAFF 45
THE LITTLE GIRL WHO WOULDN'T EAT CRUSTS 46
POOR LITTLE TODDLEKINS 47
SONG OF THE DUCKS 49
THAT'S WHAT WE'D DO 50
LITTLE PIPKIN 52
AN APRIL MAIDEN 52
THERE'S A FRAGRANCE IN THE BLOSSOM 53
WAKE UP, BIRDIE! 54
THE DIFFERENCE (THREE OLD LADIES) 55
BILLY BOY 58
SHEPHERD JOHN 60
MY WEEK 62
BABY IN DREAMLAND 64
THANKSGIVING 66
BIRDIE'S BIRTHDAY 68
THE STAR FAMILY 69
AS I WAS GOING 70
TWO LITTLE FROGGIES 70
ONE AND ONE 72
BIRDIES WITH BROKEN WINGS 73
WILLIE'S LODGER 74
FOUR LITTLE PIGGIES BOUND FOR A FROLIC 76
SPINNING YOUR TOP 76
GOOD MORNING! 78
LADY BIRD AND DADDY LONGLEGS 79
WOULDN'T AND WOULD 80
NELL AND HER BIRD 82
THERE WAS AN OLD WEATHER-VANE 84
DUMPY DICKY 84
HAVE YOU HEARD THE NEWS, GOOD NEIGHBOR? 85
THE NEW SLATE 87
LITTLE POT SOON HOT 89
NELL'S NOTIONS 90
NEVER A NIGHT SO DARK AND DREAR 91
SNOW, SNOW, EVERYWHERE 92
SOME ONE WE CANNOT HEAR 93
A STRANGER IN THE PEW 93
THE QUEEN O' MAY 96
PUSSY'S CLASS 98
TWISTAN, TURNEM, LET ME SEE 100
WANDERING JOE 100
WHETHER FAIR, WHETHER FOUL 101
THE RATS 102
IN THE WOOD 106
COMB MUSIC 108
IN THE BASKET 110
COMING 110
THE DAINTY MISS ROSE 112
POOR LITTLE MOUSIE 115
WAITING FOR FATHER 117
WHAT SHALL I BUY? 118
RUT-A-TUT-TUTS 119
HALLOO, OLD SCUTTLE, WHERE'S YOUR COAL? 120
OH NO! 120
THE SANDMAN 122
TROUBLE IN THE GREENHOUSE 125
TEN KINDS 126
HAVE YOU APPLES, GOOD GROCER? 127
THE OLD WOMAN OF WIGG 128
THE BRAVE KNIGHT OF LORRAINE 128
THE OLD DOCTOR OF BRILLE 129
FAIRY TALES 130
OLD CAN AN' MUST 133
MOTHERLESS 133
OLD SIMON 137
THE LITTLE MOTE 138
WHEN I WAS LITTLE 138
WHAT MAKES BABY BRAVE AND BRIGHT? 139
THE ALPHABET 140
EARLY TO BED AND EARLY TO RISE 142
THE COOK'S LITTLE BOY 142
HARRY 144
THREE WAYS 145
TOM OF CLAPHAM 146
WHAT THEY SAY 146
ONE STEP, TWO STEP 147
MELONS 148
HOW MANY THINGS IN MY POCKET? 150
THE GALLANT OUTRIDERS 151
BUSY BEE! BUSY BEE! 153
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DREAMS & DUST
POEMS BY DON MARQUIS
TO
MY MOTHER
VIRGINIA WHITMORE MARQUIS
CONTENTS
PROEM
DAYLIGHT HUMORS
THIS IS ANOTHER DAY
APRIL SONG
THE EARTH, IT IS ALSO A STAR
THE NAME
THE BIRTH
A MOOD OF PAVLOWA
THE POOL
"THEY HAD NO POET"
NEW YORK
A HYMN
THE SINGER
WORDS ARE NOT GUNS
WITH THE SUBMARINES
NICHOLAS OF MONTENEGRO
DICKENS
A POLITICIAN
THE BAYONET
THE BUTCHERS AT PRAYER
SHADOWS
HAUNTED
A NIGHTMARE
THE MOTHER
IN THE BAYOU
THE SAILOR'S WIFE SPEAKS
HUNTED
A DREAM CHILD
ACROSS THE NIGHT
SEA CHANGES
THE TAVERN OF DESPAIR
COLORS AND SURFACES
A GOLDEN LAD
THE SAGE AND THE WOMAN
NEWS FROM BABYLON
A RHYME OF THE ROADS
THE LAND OF YESTERDAY
OCTOBER
CHANT OF THE CHANGING HOURS
DREAMS AND DUST
SELVES
THE WAGES
IN MARS, WHAT AVATAR?
THE GOD-MAKER, MAN
UNREST
THE PILTDOWN SKULL
THE SEEKER
THE AWAKENING
A SONG OF MEN
THE NOBLER LESSON
AT LAST
LYRICS
"KING PANDION, HE IS DEAD"
DAVID TO BATHSHEBA
THE JESTERS
"MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY"
THE TRIOLET
FROM THE BRIDGE
"PALADINS, PALADINS, YOUTH NOBLE-HEARTED"
"MY LANDS, NOT THINE"
TO A DANCING DOLL
LOWER NEW YORK--A STORM
AT SUNSET
A CHRISTMAS GIFT
SILVIA
THE EXPLORERS
EARLY AUTUMN
"TIME STEALS FROM LOVE"
THE RONDEAU
VISITORS
THE PARTING
AN OPEN FIRE
REALITIES
REALITIES
THE STRUGGLE
THE REBEL
THE CHILD AND THE MILL
"SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI"
THE COMRADE
ENVOI
PROEM
"SO LET THEM PASS, THESE SONGS OF MINE"
So let them pass, these songs of mine,
Into oblivion, nor repine;
Abandoned ruins of large schemes,
Dimmed lights adrift from nobler dreams,
Weak wings I sped on quests divine,
So let them pass, these songs of mine.
They soar, or sink ephemeral--
I care not greatly which befall!
For if no song I e'er had wrought,
Still have I loved and laughed and fought;
So let them pass, these songs of mine;
I sting too hot with life to whine!
Still shall I struggle, fail, aspire,
Lose | 1,600.150733 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing, Richard Hulse 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: THE DISOBEDIENT BOY. _Page 95_]
PRECEPTS IN PRACTICE.
[Illustration: OLD JONAS. _Page 140._]
_THOMAS NELSON AND SONS_,
LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK.
PRECEPTS IN PRACTICE;
OR,
_STORIES ILLUSTRATING THE PROVERBS_.
BY
A. L. O. E.,
AUTHOR OF “THE SILVER CASKET”, “THE ROBBERS’ CAVE,” ETC., ETC.
WITH THIRTY-NINE ENGRAVINGS
London:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
1887
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Preface.
Dear young friends (perhaps I may rather welcome some amongst you as
_old_ friends), I would once more gather you around me to listen to my
simple stories. I have in each one endeavoured to exemplify some truth
taught by the wise King Solomon, in the Book of Proverbs. Perhaps the
holy words, which I trust that many of you have already learned to love,
may be more forcibly imprinted on your minds, and you may apply them
more to your own conduct, when you see them illustrated by tales
describing such events as may happen to yourselves.
May the Giver of all good gifts make the choice of Solomon also yours;
may you, each and all, be endowed with that wisdom from on high which is
_more precious than rubies_; and may you find, as you proceed onward to
that better home to which Heavenly Wisdom would guide you, that _her
ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace_.
A. L. O. E.
Contents.
I. THE TWO SONS, 9
II. THE PRISONER RELEASED, 21
III. THE MOTHER’S RETURN, 34
IV. THE FRIEND IN NEED, 43
V. FORBIDDEN GROUND, 62
VI. CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE, 76
VII. THE GREAT PLAGUE, 89
VIII. THE GREEN VELVET DRESS, 99
IX. FALSE FRIENDS, 115
X. COURAGE AND CANDOUR, 129
XI. THE SAILOR’S RESOLVE, 146
XII. THE GIPSIES, 158
XIII. FRIENDS IN NEED, 173
XIV. THE OLD PAUPER, 190
XV. THE BEAUTIFUL VILLA, 203
List of Illustrations.
THE DISOBEDIENT BOY, _Frontispiece_
OLD JONAS, _Vignette_
THE FROZEN LAKE, 10
HARRY TENDING HIS MOTHER, 13
DR. MERTON AND PAUL, 16
THE FUNERAL, 18
MARIA AND MARY, 35
WATCHING FOR MOTHER, 38
GOING TO CHURCH, 44
ON A VISIT, 45
OLD WILL AYLMER, 46
SEEKING THE LORD, 57
LITTLE JOSEPH, 63
THE STREET STALL, 65
THE LAWN, 68
MRS. GRAHAM AND JOSEPH, 73
LUCY AND PRISCILLA, 78
THE TEACHER’S STORY, 92
THE PLAGUE IN LONDON, 94
JENNY IN THE STORM, 101
THE MESSAGE, 103
ALIE WATCHING THE CAT, 135
“POOR TABBY!” 136
ALIE AND THE GIPSY GIRL, 161
THE GIPSIES, 163
THE GIPSY’S APPROACH, 169
THE GREEN LANE, 174
THE OLD PAUPER, 191
MRS. WARNER AND JESSY, 206
PRECEPTS IN PRACTICE.
CHAPTER I.
THE TWO SONS.
“A wise son maketh a glad father: but a foolish man despiseth his
mother.”—PROV. xv. 20.
It was a clear, cold morning in December. Not a cloud was in the sky,
and the sun shone brightly, gilding the long icicles that hung from the
eaves, and gleaming on the frozen surface of the lake, as though he
would have melted them by his kindly smile. But the cold was too intense
for that; there was no softening of the ice; no drop hung like a tear
from the glittering icicles. Alas! that we should ever find in life
hearts colder and harder still, that even kindness fails to melt!
Many persons were skating over the lake—sometimes darting forward with
the swiftness of the wind, then making graceful curves to the right or
the left, and forming strange figures on the ice. And there were many
boys also enjoying themselves as much, although in a different
way—sliding along the slippery surface, and making the air ring with
their merry laughter.
[Illustration: THE FROZEN LAKE.]
One of the gayest of these last was a rosy-cheeked boy, who looked as
though care or sorrow had never traced a line on his face. He had just
made a very long slide, and stood flushed with the exercise to watch his
companions follow him on the glistening line, when Dr. Merton, a medical
man, who was taking his morning walk, and had come to the lake to see
the skating, lightly touched the boy on the shoulder.
“Paul Fane, is your mother better to-day?”
“Oh, she’s well enough—that’s to say, she’s always ailing,” replied the
boy carelessly, still keeping his eye upon the sliders.
“Did she sleep better last night?”
“Oh, really, why I don’t exactly know. I’ve not seen her yet this
morning.”
“Not seen her!” repeated Dr. Merton in surprise.
“Oh, sir, I knew that she’d be worrying me about my coming here upon the
ice. She’s so fidgety and frightened—she treats one like a child, and is
always fancying that there is danger when there is none;” and the boy
turned down his lip with a contemptuous expression.
“I should say that you are in danger now,” said Dr. Merton, very
gravely.
“How so? the ice is thick enough to roast an ox upon,” replied Paul,
striking it with his heel.
“In danger of the anger of that great Being who hath said, _Honour thy
father and thy mother_—in danger of much future pain and regret, when
the time for obeying that command shall be lost to you for ever.”
Paul’s cheek grew redder at these words. He felt half inclined to make
an insolent reply; but there was something in the doctor’s manner which
awed even his proud and unruly spirit.
“Where is your brother Harry?” inquired Dr. Merton.
“Oh, I suppose at home,” replied Paul bluffly, glad of any change in the
conversation; and still more glad was he when the gentleman turned away,
and left him to pursue his amusement.
And where was Harry on that bright, cheerful morning, while his brother
was enjoying himself upon the ice? In a little, dull, close room, with a
peevish invalid, the sunshine mostly shut out by the dark blinds, while
the sound of merry voices from without contrasted with the gloomy
stillness within. Harry glided about with a quiet step, trimmed the
fire, set on the kettle, prepared the gruel for his mother, and carried
it gently to the side of her bed. He arranged the pillows comfortably
for the sufferer, and tended her even as she had tended him in the days
of his helpless infancy. The fretfulness of the sick woman never moved
his patience. He remembered how often, when he was a babe, his cry had
broken her rest and disturbed her comfort. How could he do enough for
her who had given him life, and watched over him and loved him long,
long before he had been able even to make the small return of a grateful
look? Oh! what a holy thing is filial obedience! God commands it, God
has blessed it, and He will bless it for ever. He that disobeys or
neglects a parent is planting thorns for his own pillow, and they are
thorns that shall one day pierce him even to the soul.
[Illustration: HARRY TENDING HIS MOTHER.]
“Where is Paul?” said Mrs. Fane with uneasiness. “I am always anxious
about that dear boy. I do trust that he has not ventured upon the ice.”
“I believe, mother, that the ice has been considered safe, quite safe,
for the last three days.”
“You know nothing about the matter,” cried the fretful invalid. “I had a
cousin drowned once in that lake when every one said that there was no
danger. I have forbidden you both a thousand times to go near the ice;”
and she gave her son a look of displeasure, as though he had been the
one to break her command.
“Will you not take your gruel now?” said Harry, again drawing her
attention to it, and placing yet closer to her that which he had so
carefully made.
“I do not like it—it’s cold—it’s full of lumps; you never do anything
well!”
“I must try and improve,” said her son, struggling to look cheerful, but
feeling the task rather hard. “If you will not take this, shall I get
you a little tea?”
Mrs. Fane assented with a discontented air, and Harry instantly
proceeded to make some; while all the time that he was thus engaged his
poor mother continued in a tone of anxiety and sorrow to express her
fears for her elder son.
“Are you more comfortable now, dear mother?” said Harry, after she had
partaken of her nice cup of tea. Her only reply was a moan. “Can I do
anything else for you?—yes, I see; the top of that blind hangs loose,
and the light comes in on your eyes; I will set it right in a minute!”
and he jumped lightly on a chair to reach it.
His mother followed him with her eyes—her deep, sunken eyes. Gradually
the moisture gathered in them, as she looked at her dutiful son; for,
fretful and unreasonable towards him as illness might sometimes make
her, she yet dearly loved him, and felt his value. When he returned to
her side, these eyes were still fixed upon him; she feebly pressed his
hand, and murmured, “You are my comfort, Harry!”
And there was another Eye beholding with love that obedient and dutiful
child! He who was once subject to an earthly parent, who cared for her
even amid the agonies of the Cross—He looked approvingly down upon the
true-hearted boy, who was filling the post assigned him by his Lord—who
was letting his light shine in his home!
The red sun was setting before Paul returned; for, heedless of the fears
to which his absence might give rise, he had taken his noonday meal with
a neighbour. It was not that he did not really love his fond mother, but
he loved himself a great deal more. He had never chosen to consider
obedience as a sacred duty, and irreverence towards a parent as a sin.
He never dreamed of sacrificing his will to hers; and a smile or a kiss
to his mother, when he had been more than usually selfish or rude, had
hitherto been sufficient to quiet the boy’s conscience, and, as he said,
“make all right between them.” But wounds are not so easily healed, a
parent’s claims are not so easily set aside, and the hour had now come
when Paul was to feel the thorns which he had planted for himself.
[Illustration: DR. MERTON AND PAUL.]
“I shall have a precious scold from mother,” muttered the boy half
aloud, as he approached the door, “for going on the ice, and staying out
all day. I should like to know what is the use of a holiday, if I am not
to spend it as I like? I would rather be in school than moping away my
time at home like Harry! I wish that I were old enough to go and enlist,
and be out of hearing of mother’s endless chiding!”
“You will never hear it again,” said the solemn voice of one just
quitting the door as Paul came up to it. He started to see Dr. Merton.
“What is the matter?” cried Paul, a strange feeling of fear and awe
coming over his heart.
“Your poor mother, about two hours ago, was taken with an alarming fit—I
dare hardly give hopes that she will see the morning!”
Paul stayed to hear no more, but rushed into the house. One of the
neighbours was there, who had kindly offered to stay that night to help
Harry to nurse his dying parent. The young boy was now praying beside
her bed—praying for his mother on earth to his Father in heaven!
Paul went up to the bed, cold, trembling with his emotions. He gazed in
anguish on the altered features of one whose love he had so ill repaid.
Mrs. Fane lay unconscious of all that passed—unconscious of the bitter
tears shed by her sons. She no longer could rejoice in the affection of
the one, or be stung by the neglect of the other. Oh! what would not
Paul have given, as he hung over her now, for one forgiving look from
those closed eyes! What would he not have given to have heard those pale
lips speak, even though it had been but to chide! But his grief and his
fears now came too late—his mother never spoke again!
In a few days both the boys stood by the open grave, and no one who had
seen the sorrow of both, without being aware of the former circumstances
of their lives, would have known what different recollections filled
their hearts—like poison in the bleeding wound of one, soothing balm in
that of his brother! “My last act towards my mother was that of
disobedience—her last feeling towards | 1,600.250863 |
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Produced by Ron Swanson
THE MIDDLE PERIOD
_THE AMERICAN HISTORY SERIES_
THE MIDDLE PERIOD
1817-1858
BY
JOHN W. BURGESS, PH.D., LL.D.
PROFESSOR OF POLITICAL SCIENCE AND CONSTITUTIONAL LAW, AND DEAN OF THE
FACULTY OF POLITICAL SCIENCE, IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY IN THE CITY OF
NEW YORK
_WITH MAPS_
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
To the memory of my former teacher, colleague, and friend,
JULIUS HAWLEY SEELYE,
philosopher, theologian, statesman, and educator, this volume is
reverently and affectionately inscribed.
PREFACE
There is no more serious and delicate task in literature and morals
than that of writing the history of the United States from 1816 to
1860. The periods which precede this may be treated without fear of
arousing passion, prejudice, and resentment, and with little danger of
being misunderstood. Even the immaculateness of Washington may be
attacked without exciting anything worse than a sort of uncomfortable
admiration for the reckless courage of the assailant. But when we pass
the year 1820, and especially when we approach the year 1860, we find
ourselves in a different world. We find ourselves in the midst of the
ideas, the motives, and the occurrences which, and of the men who,
have, in large degree, produced the animosities, the friendships, and
the relations between parties and sections which prevail to-day.
Serious and delicate as the task is, however, the time has arrived
when it should be undertaken in a thoroughly impartial spirit. The
continued misunderstanding between the North and the South is an ever
present menace to the welfare of both sections and of the entire
nation. It makes it almost impossible to decide any question of our
politics upon its merits. It offers an almost insuperable obstacle to
the development of a national opinion upon the fundamental principles
of our polity. If we would clear up this confusion in the common
consciousness, we must do something to dispel this misunderstanding;
and I know of no means of accomplishing this, save the rewriting of
our history from 1816 to 1860, with an open mind and a willing spirit
to see and to represent truth and error, and right and wrong, without
regard to the men or the sections in whom or where they may appear.
I am by no means certain that I am able to do this. I am old enough to
have been a witness of the great struggle of 1861-65, and to have
participated, in a small way, in it. My early years were embittered by
the political hatreds which then prevailed. I learned before my
majority to regard secession as an abomination, and its chief cause,
slavery, as a great evil; and I cannot say that these feelings have
been much modified, if any at all, by longer experiences and maturer
thought. I have, therefore, undertaken this work with many misgivings.
Keenly conscious of my own prejudices, I have exerted my imagination
to the utmost to create a picture in my own mind of the environment of
those who held the opposite opinion upon these fundamental subjects,
and to appreciate the processes of their reasoning under the
influences of their own particular | 1,600.255026 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: A flower shot down amid the crowd. Page 19.]
*Latter-Day Sweethearts*
By
*MRS. BURTON HARRISON*
Author of
"A Bachelor Maid,"
"The Carlyles," "The Circle of a Century,"
"The Anglomaniacs," Etc.
"La Duchesse.--'L'amour est le fleau du monde. Tous
nos maux nous viennent de lui.'
"Le Docteur.--'C'est le seul qui les guerisse,"
--"_Le Duel_," _Henri Lavedan_.
Illustrated in Water-Colors by FRANK T. MERRILL
A. S. & T. HUNTER
SPECIAL EDITION,
UTICA, N. Y.
NEW YORK AND LONDON
THE AUTHORS AND NEWSPAPERS ASSOCIATION
1907
COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY
CONSTANCE BURTON HARRISON.
_Entered at Stationers' Hall._
_All Rights Reserved._
Composition and Electrotyping by
J. J. Little & Co.
Printed and bound by the
Plimpton Press, Norwood, Mass.
[Illustration: (Facsimile Page of Manuscript from LATTER-DAY
SWEETHEARTS)]
*LATTER-DAY
SWEETHEARTS*
*CHAPTER I*
In going aboard the "Baltic" that exceptionally fine October morning,
Miss Carstairs convinced herself that, of the people assembled to see
her off, no one could reasonably discern in her movement the suggestion
of a retreat. The commonplace of a sailing for the other side would not,
indeed, have met with the recognition of any attendance at the pier
among her set, save for her hint that she might remain abroad a year.
There had been a small rally on the part of a few friends who had
chanced to meet at a dinner overnight, to go down to the White Star
docks and say good-by to Helen Carstairs. Helen sincerely wished they
had not come, both because the ceremony proved a little flat, and
because, when she had time to think them over, she was not so sure they
were her friends.
But the main thing was that she had been able to withdraw, easily and
naturally, from a doubly trying situation. She had not wanted to go
abroad. All the novelty and sparkle had gone out of that business long
ago. She knew foreign travel from A to Z, and she loathed tables
d'hote, even more than the grim prospect of private meals with Miss
Bleecker in sitting-rooms redolent of departed food, insufficiently
atoned for by an encircling wilderness of gilding and red plush. The
very thought of a concierge with brass buttons lifting his cap to her
every time she crossed the hall, of hotel corridors decked with strange
foot gear upon which unmade bedrooms yawned, of cabs and galleries and
harpy dressmakers, of sights and fellow tourists, gave her a mental
qualm. But it was better than staying at home this winter in the big
house in Fifth Avenue where Mr. Carstairs had just brought a stepmother
for her, in the person of "that Mrs. Coxe."
There was apparently no valid reason for Helen's shuddering antipathy to
the lady, who had been the widow of a junior partner of her father, a
man whom Mr. Carstairs had "made," like many another beginning in his
employ.
Mr. Coxe had died two years before, of nervous overstrain, leaving this
flamboyantly handsome, youngish woman to profit by his gains. Helen had
always disliked having to ask the Coxes to dinner when her father's fiat
compelled her to preside over the dull banquets of certain
smartly-dressed women and weary, driven men, whom he assembled at
intervals around his board. She could not say what she objected to in
Mrs. Coxe; she thought it might be her giggle and her double chin. It
had been always a relief when one of these "business" dinners was over,
and she knew she would not have to do it soon again. When Mr. Carstairs
dined in return with the Coxes, they had him at some fashionable
restaurant, taking him afterward to the play. Mrs. Coxe had shown sense
enough for that! During the interregnum of Mrs. Coxe's mourning
following the demise of her exhausted lord, Mr. Carstairs had had the
yacht meet Helen and himself at Gibraltar, and cruised all that winter
in the Mediterranean.
That had been life abroad, Helen thought, with a throb of yearning! She
was very fond of her father, rather a stony image to most people, and
immensely proud of the way people looked up to his achievements in the
Street, the resistless rush of his business combinations, his massive
wealth, and his perfect imperturbability to newspaper cavil and attacks
by enemies. She had loved to be at the head of his establishment, and
to receive the clever and distinguished and notable people, foreign and
domestic, who accepted Mr. Carstairs' invitation to meet one another,
because they were clever and distinguished and notable, not because they
wanted to talk all the evening what they had talked all day.
When they had come home from their cruise, Helen spent the summer in
Newport, where her father rarely went. The yacht was his summer home,
he was wont to say; and Helen did not suspect how often that season the
noble "Sans Peur" had been anchored off the shores of a settlement in
Long Island where Mrs. Coxe was enjoying the seclusion of a shingled
villa with broad verandas set in a pocket handkerchief of lawn. Back
and forth flew the owner's steam launch between the "Sans Peur" and the
landing, and yet nobody told Helen. That autumn she had affairs of her
own to absorb her time and give her a sobering view of humanity. For
the first time in her life her father had vacated his throne as
masculine ruler of her thoughts. She had passed into the grip of a
strong, real passion for a man "nobody" knew.
That is to say, John Glynn was too hard at work to let himself be found
out. Helen had indulged in her affair with him almost unknown to her
acquaintances, most of whom regarded the foot of the ladder of wealth,
where he distinctly stood, as the one spot where dalliance in sentiment
was to be shunned. Her movements were hampered by the fact that,
although the daughter of a plutocrat, she had only a trifle of her own;
Mr. Carstairs having announced, with the insolent eccentricity of some
men of his stripe, that she should go dowerless to her husband, hoping
thus to protect her from fortune-seekers, foreign and native. So long
as she remained unmarried under his roof she was to enjoy great wealth
and the importance it confers. Until now Helen had not cared. Her brain
was clear, her head was cool, she had tastes and occupations that filled
every hour, and plenty of people who flocked around her, paying court to
the dispenser of liberal hospitalities.
Her love passage had ended in disaster, but exactly what had passed
between her and the unknown Glynn, no one was sufficiently intimate with
Helen to ascertain.
The marriage of her father with Mrs. Coxe had taken place in June, after
which Mr. Carstairs had withdrawn his apparent objections to Newport,
and blossomed out there as a villa resident of supreme importance. The
months of this but partially successful experiment on the part of the
new Mrs. Carstairs had been passed by Helen in suppressed misery. She
had gone into camp in the Adirondacks, had visited friends at Dark
Harbor, and welcomed with thankfulness the invitation to spend September
with a young couple of her acquaintance who had a house at Lenox,
filled, with the exception of one spare room, with assorted dogs.
Early in October her father, visibly inspired by the lady who no longer
giggled in Helen's presence, but had not lost her double chin, gave his
recalcitrant daughter "a good talking to." If she persisted in her
rebellious demeanor towards her stepmother, the more reprehensible
because reserved, she was at liberty to do one of two things, viz., take
a furnished house in town and engage Miss Bleecker, or somebody, to be
her chaperon; or else go where she liked, abroad.
Choosing the latter alternative, Helen had been considered fortunate in
securing for her companion the lady in question, who was certified by
her believers to be rarely disengaged. Miss Bleecker, in earlier days,
had given readings in New York drawing-rooms and elsewhere about the
country, until the gradual fading away of audiences had turned her
thoughts into the present more lucrative and less fatiguing channel of
genteelest occupation.
Nature had gifted her with an ephemerally imposing presence, large,
cold, projecting eyes, an authoritative voice and an excellent knowledge
of the art of dress. It was familiarly said that to see her come into a
room was a lesson to any girl; and her acquaintance with the ins and
outs of New York society and fond pride in the display of it, put the
dull lady beyond criticism as a general conversationalist.
The two travellers were attended by a French maid, closely modelled in
exterior upon previous employers of rank abroad, whose service she had
relinquished for the higher wage resulting from her American decadence
in social standing. Her large wad of suspiciously golden hair, frizzed
over the eyebrows, was a souvenir of a "Lady Reggie"; while the flat
waist, girdled low upon the hips of a portly person, was her best
tribute to the slim young Princess Bartolozzi who had had her two years
in Rome. This composite rendering of great ladies did not rob
Mademoiselle Eulalie of the coarse modelling of her features; but, on
the other hand, as Miss Bleecker said, she was safe from couriers, and
her packing was a dream.
When Helen went to the cabin de luxe secured by her father's secretary,
into which Miss Bleecker's room opened, she felt impatient with the
girls who followed her, exclaiming approvingly over its comforts; with
the maid who stood sentinel by her gold-fitted dressing-case; with Miss
Bleecker, who, in colloquy with a white-capped stewardess, was already
laying down the law as to their requirements on the voyage. She hurried
out again, encompassed by her friends, to gain the upper deck, where the
men of the visiting party, looking unanimously bored, awaited anxiously
the ringing of the last gong that should drive them from the ship. All
had been said that could be said on either side. Vague repetitions had
set in. Helen's eyes roved eagerly over the crowds on the pier below,
over the congested gangway. She was hoping to see her father,
and--perhaps, but improbably--one other. Late in the fray a brougham
rattled along the pier and drew up below. Helen recognized her father's
big brown horse and his steady coachman in sober livery, the down-town
outfit of the financier, who, below Fourteenth Street, was simplicity
itself. Mr. Carstairs, with a preoccupied air, got out and ascended the
gangway. The official in charge at the top of it, who would have barred
the way to a lesser man, smiled and waved the magnate into his
daughter's embraces. Everything insensibly yielded to the subtle power
of this ruler of the destinies of men. Helen, as she drew out of the
lax clasp of the paternal arm, felt a thrill of her old pride in him; a
sense of despair that she was nevermore to be his chosen companion for a
voyage; a sharp pang of resentment at the image of the absent interloper
of their peace.
"It was too good of you to find time to come, papa!" she exclaimed,
turning to nod to the secretary who accompanied him. "Who knows when we
shall be together again!"
"Yes, there is a board of directors waiting for me now," said Mr.
Carstairs abstractedly. "Of course, you will be all right, my dear.
Foster has seen to everything, and Miss Bleecker will--ah. Miss
Bleecker, here you are; glad to see you looking so fit for the voyage.
Nothing to speak of, though, a crossing in this monster. Wish I were
getting away myself. I'm off now, Helen, my dear. Wish you good luck
and a good time generally!"
"It won't be with you and the 'Sans Peur,' father," exclaimed the girl,
with filling eyes.
"Well, well, we did get along pretty well last cruise, didn't we? I was
to tell you," he added, lowering his tone, "that if you are in the humor
for it, in the Spring--in the humor, mind you, we'll be out, probably in
March, and take you and Miss Bleecker on at Villefranche, or anywhere
you like."
"Thank you, sir," said Helen, rigid in a moment, her eyes dried of
moisture.
"Think it over, my dear! You'll find it better worth while."
He kissed her again on the side of the cheek, missing her lips somehow,
and was gone. Helen hardly saw his spare figure in the topcoat that
seemed too large for it, so quickly the crowd closed behind him. She
was conscious of impatience with Foster, who stood there bowing in his
sleek importance as the millionaire's confidential man, extending his
dampish fingers for good-by. The party who had come to see her off
sprinkled their final farewells with a few banal last remarks and
disappeared. Miss Bleecker, serenely proud, took her station by the
taffrail in a place where no acquaintance or reporter could fail to note
her among the "well-known people sailing this morning." Helen was at
last alone.
Alone as she had never felt before, in her five-and-twenty years of
active, independent life. A gap in the double row of passengers
crowding to the rail forward gave her an opportunity. Slipping in, she
looked down upon upturned, ivory-tinted faces massed together like those
on a Chinese screen; at the windows of the company's rooms, also crowded
with gazers, but saw nobody she knew.
Already the mighty ship began to stir in her water-bed. When she ceased
motion again, Helen would be over three thousand miles from home, and
the memories of this last trying year. It seemed to her there was not
one soul ashore to care whether she went or stayed. Was this worth
living for, even as she had lived?
A voice smote upon her ear. It issued from a girl jammed in next to
her--a girl younger than herself, extremely pretty, flashily attired,
recklessly unconventional. Hers was what Helen recognized to be a
Southern voice, low of pitch and soft of cadence, but just now strained
to the utmost to make itself audible to a young man in the act of
forcing his way through the resistant crowd, to reach the edge of the
outer pier from which the ship was now swinging off. To further
accentuate her presence among the departing, the young lady was waving a
small American flag.
"Jo-oh-n! Oh! Mr. Glynn! Look up! Here I am! Up here!"
Helen started electrically, for it was _her_ John Glynn, and none other,
whom this unknown person was thus shamelessly appropriating! He, whom
she had been yearning to catch a glimpse of, who she was convinced must
know from the papers that she was sailing by this steamer. He, who she
had felt sure was in some hidden corner looking after her, although, by
her behest, they might not again hold speech one with the other!
"Got here only this minute. Best I could do!" shouted John Glynn back
to the stranger, a smile lighting his handsome, manly face.
"Never mind! I understand! Good-by!"
A flower shot down amid the crowd. Several men affected to jump for it,
but John Glynn caught it and put it in his coat. His gaze never left
Helen's neighbor; to her his eyes were upturned, his hat was waved. In
a flash, Miss Carstairs had drawn out of sight and fled within.
She found Miss Bleecker already extended upon the couch in her own
stateroom, taking tea, the door opened between, whilst Eulalie, kneeling
before steamer trunks and bags, was littering everything near-by with
luxurious belongings.
Helen accepted a cup of tea, changed her street costume for a long,
close-fitting brown ulster with a sable toque and boa, in which Eulalie
told her she was _parfaitement bien mise_; and, escaping again to the
deck, walked up and down a comparatively clear space until the "Baltic"
was well down the bay. Then, fairly tired, but unwilling to face Miss
Bleecker's chatter, she found a chair forward, where it was not likely
she would sit again during the voyage, and with a wisp of brown chiffon
drawn close over her face, abandoned herself to melancholy thought.
So this was the end of John Glynn's lamenting for her loss! She, not
he, had been faithful to the love they had shared so fondly for a little
while, in which she had no longer dared indulge with him. This was the
way he had accepted her decision that they must try to forget each
other, finally.
During the one week of their secret engagement she had felt immeasurable
happiness. But every moment of closer, contact with her young love, a
boy in world's knowledge beside herself, though of her own age in actual
years, convinced her of the fatal mistake she had made in believing she
could give up her present life for him, and clog his career by an early
marriage. So she had broken the bond ruthlessly, and her father had
never known of its existence. And his consolation so quickly found!
Helen's lip curled disdainfully. Some girl he had met in his
boarding-house; the kind of thing he had been accustomed to before Miss
Carstairs treated her jaded taste to his virile freshness and charming
looks, his masterful reliance upon himself, his willingness to take her,
poor or rich! The type of girl she had seen in the tumultuous moment
beside the rail was puzzling. Not a lady, according to her
artificialized standard, but having the frank assurance and belief in
herself that had attracted Helen to John Glynn, with a something of good
breeding underneath. Cheaply dressed, cheap mannered, perhaps, ignorant
of what Miss Carstairs considered elemental necessities of training, but
never vulgar.
But whatever the rival, the hurt was that Glynn cared for Helen no more,
while she cared just the same. What a fool she had been to believe that
masculine fidelity survives the blows of fate!
Masked in her brown veil, Helen sat in her corner, turning this bitter
morsel upon her tongue, her eyes vaguely resting upon the passing show
of passengers as they came straying up on deck to make the best of a
fine afternoon while getting out to sea. Impatiently casting aside her
unwelcome thoughts, she tried to interest herself in these people, to
speculate upon their identity, purpose, and personality, with the usual
rather poor returns, since a ship's company assembled at first view has
always the most depressing influence upon the looker-on. Beside her,
upon one of the rare seats of a liner that belong to nobody, she espied
a shabby little man, in an overcoat like a faded leaf, drop down
furtively, then seeing no one inclined to disturb him, relax his muscles
and, taking off an ancient, wide-brimmed felt hat, look about him with a
beaming smile, prepared for full enjoyment of the hour and scene.
Something in the artless buoyancy of his manner, his meek acceptance of
a modest place in life, his indifference to the considerations that
oftenest vex | 1,600.257863 |
2023-11-16 18:43:44.2379450 | 762 | 13 |
Produced by Don Lainson and Charles Aldarondo
AT LARGE
By Arthur Christopher Benson
Haec ego mecum
1908
Contents
I. THE SCENE
II. CONTENTMENT
III. FRIENDSHIP
IV. HUMOUR
V. TRAVEL
VI. SPECIALISM
VII. OUR LACK OF GREAT MEN
VIII. SHYNESS
IX. EQUALITY
X. THE DRAMATIC SENSE
XI. KELMSCOTT AND WILLIAM MORRIS
XII. A SPEECH DAY
XIII. LITERARY FINISH
XIV. A MIDSUMMER DAY'S DREAM
XV. SYMBOLS
XVI. OPTIMISM
XVII. JOY
XVIII. THE LOVE OF GOD
EPILOGUE
I. THE SCENE
Yes, of course it is an experiment! But it is made in corpore vili.
It is not irreparable, and there is no reason, more's the pity, why I
should not please myself. I will ask--it is a rhetorical question which
needs no answer--what is a hapless bachelor to do, who is professionally
occupied and tied down in a certain place for just half the year? What
is he to do with the other half? I cannot live on in my college rooms,
and I am not compelled to do so for economy. I have near relations and
many friends, at whose houses I should be made welcome. But I cannot be
like the wandering dove, who found no repose. I have a great love of my
independence and my liberty. I love my own fireside, my own chair, my
own books, my own way. It is little short of torture to have to conform
to the rules of other households, to fall in with other people's
arrangements, to throw my pen down when the gong sounds, to make myself
agreeable to fortuitous visitors, to be led whither I would not. I do
this, a very little, because I do not desire to lose touch with my kind;
but then my work is of a sort which brings me into close touch day after
day with all sorts of people, till I crave for recollection and repose;
the prospect of a round of visits is one that fairly unmans me. No doubt
it implies a certain want of vitality, but one does not increase one's
vitality by making overdrafts upon it; and then too I am a slave to my
pen, and the practice of authorship is inconsistent with paying visits.
Of course the obvious remedy is marriage; but one cannot marry from
prudence, or from a sense of duty, or even to increase the birth-rate,
which I am concerned to see is diminishing. I am, moreover, to be
perfectly frank, a transcendentalist on the subject of marriage. I know
that a happy marriage is the finest and noblest thing in the world, and
I would resign all the conveniences I possess with the utmost readiness
for it. But a great passion cannot be the result of reflection, or of
desire, or even of hope. One cannot argue oneself into it; one must be
carried away. "You have never let yourself go," says a wise and gentle
aunt, when I bemoan my unhappy fate. To which I reply that I have never
done anything else. I have lain down in streamlets | 1,600.257985 |
2023-11-16 18:43:44.3254320 | 178 | 56 |
Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
Strawberry Acres
By GRACE S. RICHMOND
1911
TO THE OWNER OF "GRASSLANDS"
CONTENTS
PART I.--FIVE MILES OUT
CHAPTER
I. Five Miles Out
II. Everybody Explores
III. The Apartment Overflows
IV. Arguments and Answers
V. Telephones and Tents
VI. In the Pine Grove
VII. Everybody is Satisfied
VIII. Problems and Hearts
IX. Max Compromises
X. Jack-O'-Lantern
PART II.--THE LANES AND THE ACRES
I. What's in a Name
II. In the Old Garden
III | 1,600.345472 |
2023-11-16 18:43:44.3271310 | 2,798 | 17 |
Produced by Brian Coe, Graeme Mackreth 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: ThePocketBooks]
[Illustration: ThePocketBooks]
THE GERMAN FLEET
_BEING THE COMPANION VOLUME TO "THE FLEETS AT WAR"
AND "FROM HELIGOLAND TO KEELING ISLAND."_
BY
ARCHIBALD HURD
AUTHOR (JOINT) OF "GERMAN SEA-POWER, ITS RISE, PROGRESS
AND ECONOMIC BASIS."
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
MCMXV
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION 7
I. PAST ASCENDENCY 19
II. THE FIRST GERMAN FLEET 26
III. GERMANY'S FLEET IN THE LAST CENTURY 51
IV. BRITISH INFLUENCE ON THE GERMAN NAVY 80
V. THE GERMAN NAVY ACTS 93
VI. GERMAN SHIPS, OFFICERS, AND MEN 142
VII. WILLIAM II. AND HIS NAVAL MINISTER 155
APPENDIX I.--GERMANY'S NAVAL POLICY 183
APPENDIX II.--BRITISH AND GERMAN SHIP-BUILDING
PROGRAMMES 189
INTRODUCTION
In the history of nations there is probably no chapter more fascinating
and arresting than that which records the rise and fall and subsequent
resurrection of German sea-power.
In our insular pride, conscious of our glorious naval heritage, we are
apt to forget that Germany had a maritime past, and that long before
the German Empire existed the German people attained pre-eminence in
oversea commerce and created for its protection fleets which exercised
commanding influence in northern waters.
It is an error, therefore, to regard Germany as an up-start naval
Power. The creation of her modern navy represented the revival
of ancient hopes and aspirations. To those ambitions, in their
unaggressive form, her neighbours would have taken little exception;
Germany had become a great commercial Power with colonies overseas, and
it was natural that she should desire to possess a navy corresponding
to her growing maritime interests and the place which she had already
won for herself in the sun.
The more closely the history of German sea-power is studied the more
apparent it must become, that it was not so much Germany's Navy
Acts, as the propaganda by which they were supported and the new and
aggressive spirit which her naval organisation brought into maritime
affairs that caused uneasiness throughout the world and eventually
created that feeling of antagonism which found expression after the
opening of war in August, 1914.
In the early part of 1913 I wrote, in collaboration with a friend who
possessed intimate knowledge of the foundations and the strength of the
German Empire, a history of the German naval movement,[1] particular
emphasis being laid on its economic basis. In the preparation of
the present volume I have drawn upon this former work. It has been
impossible, however, in the necessarily limited compass of one of
the _Daily Telegraph_ War Books, to deal with the economic basis
upon which the German Navy has been created. I believe that the
chapters in "German Sea-Power" with reference to this aspect of German
progress--for which my collaborator was responsible and of which,
therefore, I can speak without reserve--still constitute a unique
presentation of the condition of Germany on the eve of the outbreak of
war.
Much misconception exists as to the staying power of Germany. The
German Empire as an economic unit is not of mushroom growth. Those
readers who are sufficiently interested in the subject of the basis
of German vitality, will realise vividly by reference to "German
Sea-Power" the deep and well-laid foundations upon which not only the
German Navy, but the German Empire rest.
Whether this history should be regarded as the romance of the German
Navy or the tragedy of the German Navy must for the present remain an
open question. In everyday life many romances culminate in tragedy,
and the course of events in the present war suggest that the time may
be at hand when the German people will realise the series of errors
committed by their rulers in the upbuilding of German sea-power. Within
the past fifteen years it is calculated that about £300,000,000 has
been spent in the maintenance and expansion of the German Fleet, the
improvement of its bases, and the enlargement of the Kiel Canal. Much
of this money has been raised by loans. Those loans are still unpaid;
it was believed by a large section of the German people that Great
Britain, hampered by party politics and effete in all warlike pursuits,
would, after defeat, repay them. That hope must now be dead.
The German people, as the memorandum which accompanied the Navy Act
of 1900 reveals, were led to anticipate that the Fleet, created by
the sacrifice of so much treasure, would not only guarantee their
shores against aggression, but would give absolute protection to their
maritime and colonial interests, and would, eventually, pay for itself.
The time will come when they will recognise that from the first they
have been hoodwinked and deceived by those in authority over them. It
may be that German statesmen, and the Emperor himself, were themselves
deceived by the very brilliance of the dreams of world power which they
entertained and by the conception which they had formed of the lack of
virility, sagacity and prescience of those responsible for the fortunes
of other countries, and of Great Britain in particular.
German Navy Acts were passed in full confidence that during the period
when they were being carried into effect the rest of the world would
stand still, lost in admiration of Germany's culture and Germany's
power. The mass of the German people were unwilling converts to the
new gospel. They had to be convinced of the wisdom of the new policy.
For this purpose a Press Bureau was established. Throughout the
German States this organisation fostered, through the official and
semi-official Press, feelings of antagonism and hatred towards other
countries, and towards England and the United States especially,
because these two countries were Germany's most serious rivals in the
commercial markets of the world, and also possessed sea-power superior
to her own.
It is interesting to recall in proof of this dual aim of German policy
the remarks of von Edelsheim, a member of the German General Staff, in
a pamphlet entitled "Operationen Ubersee."[2]
The author, after first pointing out the possibility of invading
England, turned his attention to the United States.[3] His remarks are
so interesting in view of the activity of German agents on the other
side of the Atlantic after the outbreak of war, that it is perhaps
excusable to quote at some length this explanation by a member of the
German General Staff of how the German Fleet was to be used against the
United States as an extension of the power of the huge German Army.
"The possibility must be taken into account that the fleet of the
United States will at first not venture into battle, but that it will
withdraw into fortified harbours, in order to wait for a favourable
opportunity of achieving minor successes. Therefore it is clear that
naval action alone will not be decisive against the United States, but
that combined action of army and navy will be required. Considering
the great extent of the United States, the conquest of the country
by an army of invasion is not possible. But there is every reason
to believe that victorious enterprises on the Atlantic coast, and
the conquest of the most important arteries through which imports
and exports pass, will create such an unbearable state of affairs in
the whole country that the Government will readily offer acceptable
conditions in order to obtain peace.
"If Germany begins preparing a fleet of transports and troops for
landing purposes at the moment when the battle fleet steams out of our
harbours, we may conclude that operations on the American soil can
begin after about four weeks, and it cannot be doubted that the United
States will not be able to oppose to us within that time an army
equivalent to our own.
"At present the regular army of the United States amounts to 65,000
men, of whom only 30,000 could be disposed of. Of these at least
10,000 are required for watching the Indian territories and for
guarding the fortifications on the sea coast. Therefore only about
20,000 men of the regular army are ready for war. Besides, about
100,000 militia are in existence, of whom the larger part did not come
up when they were called out during the last war. Lastly, the militia
is not efficient; it is partly armed with muzzle-loaders, and its
training is worse than its armament.
"As an operation by surprise against America is impossible, on account
of the length of time during which transports are on the way, only
the landing can be affected by surprise. Nevertheless, stress must be
laid on the fact that the rapidity of the invasion will considerably
facilitate victory against the United States, owing to the absence of
methodical preparation for mobilization, owing to the inexperience of
the personnel, and owing to the weakness of the regular army.
"In order to occupy permanently a considerable part of the United
States, and to protect our lines of operation so as to enable us to
fight successfully against all the forces which that country, in
the course of time, can oppose to us, considerable forces would be
required. Such an operation would be greatly hampered by the fact
that it would require a second passage of the transport fleet in
order to ship the necessary troops that long distance. However, it
seems questionable whether it would be advantageous to occupy a great
stretch of country for a considerable time. The Americans will not
feel inclined to conclude peace because one or two provinces are
occupied by an army of invasion, but because of the enormous, material
losses which the whole country will suffer if the Atlantic harbour
towns, in which the threads of the whole prosperity of the United
States are concentrated, are torn away from them one after the other.
"Therefore the task of the fleet would be to undertake a series of
large landing operations, through which we are able to take several
of these important and wealthy towns within a brief space of time. By
interrupting their communications, by destroying all buildings serving
the State commerce and the defence, by taking away all material for
war and transport, and, lastly, by levying heavy contributions, we
should be able to inflict damage on the United States.
"For such enterprises a smaller military force will suffice.
Nevertheless, the American defence will find it difficult to undertake
a successful enterprise against that kind of warfare. Though an
extremely well-developed railway system enables them to concentrate
troops within a short time on the different points on the coast, the
concentration of the troops and the time which is lost until it is
recognised which of the many threatened points of landing will really
be utilised will, as a rule, make it possible for the army of invasion
to carry out its operation with success under the co-operation of
the fleet at the point chosen. The corps landed can either take
the offensive against gathering hostile forces or withdraw to the
transports in order to land at another place."
These declarations of German naval and military policy are of interest
as illustrating the character of the propaganda by which the naval
movement was encouraged. _The Navy was to give world-wide length of
reach to the supreme German Army, and enable Germany to dictate peace
to each and every nation, however distantly situated._ An appeal was
made to the lowest instincts of the German people. They were counselled
to create a great naval force on the understanding that the money
expended would by aggressive wars be repaid with interest and that,
as a result of combined naval and military operations, they would
extend the world power of the German Empire, and incidentally promote
Germany's maritime interests in all the oceans of the world.
Those who were responsible for the inflammatory speeches and articles
by which the interest of the German people in the naval movement was
excited, forgot the influence which these ebullitions would have upon
the policy of other Powers and upon their defensive preparations.
It was only after hostilities had broken out that the German people
realised what small results all their sacrifices had produced. By
the words, more than the acts, of those responsible for German naval
policy, the other Powers of the world had been forced to expand and
reorganise their naval forces. Germany had at great cost won for
herself the position of second greatest naval Power in the world, but
in doing so she had unconsciously forced up the strength of the British
Fleet and dragged in her path the United States, France, Italy, Japan,
Russia, and to a limited extent, but only to a limited extent, | 1,600.347171 |
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Illustration: The Fighter in the outdoor ring.
THE CROXLEY MASTER
A GREAT TALE OF THE PRIZE RING
BY
A. CONAN DOYLE
Illustration: The Fighter in the outdoor ring.
NEW YORK
McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
MCMVII
_Copyright, 1907, by McClure, Phillips & Co._
_THE CROXLEY MASTER_
I
Mr. Robert Montgomery was seated at his desk, his head upon his hands,
in a state of the blackest despondency. Before him was the open ledger
with the long columns of Dr. Oldacre's prescriptions. At his elbow lay
the wooden tray with the labels in various partitions, the cork box, the
lumps of twisted sealing-wax, while in front a rank of empty bottles
waited to be filled. But his spirits were too low for work. He sat in
silence, with his fine shoulders bowed and his head upon his hands.
Outside, through the grimy surgery window over a foreground of blackened
brick and slate, a line of enormous chimneys like Cyclopean pillars
upheld the lowering, dun-coloured cloud-bank. For six days in the week
they spouted smoke, but to-day the furnace fires were banked, for it was
Sunday. Sordid and polluting gloom hung over a district blighted and
blasted by the greed of man. There was nothing in the surroundings to
cheer a desponding soul, but it was more than his dismal environment
which weighed upon the medical assistant.
His trouble was deeper and more personal. The winter session was
approaching. He should be back again at the University completing the
last year which would give him his medical degree; but alas! he had not
the money with which to pay his class fees, nor could he imagine how he
could procure it. Sixty pounds were wanted to make his career, and it
might have been as many thousands for any chance there seemed to be of
his obtaining it.
He was roused from his black meditation by the entrance of Dr. Oldacre
himself, a large, clean-shaven, respectable man, with a prim manner and
an austere face. He had prospered exceedingly by the support of the
local Church interest, and the rule of his life was never by word or
action to run a risk of offending the sentiment which had made him. His
standard of respectability and of dignity was exceedingly high, and he
expected the same from his assistants. His appearance and words were
always vaguely benevolent. A sudden impulse came over the despondent
student. He would test the reality of this philanthropy.
"I beg your pardon, Dr. Oldacre," said he, rising from his chair; "I
have a great favour to ask of you."
The doctor's appearance was not encouraging. His mouth suddenly
tightened, and his eyes fell.
"Yes, Mr. Montgomery?"
"You are aware, sir, that I need only one more session to complete my
course."
"So you have told me."
"It is very important to me, sir."
"Naturally."
"The fees, Dr. Oldacre, would amount to about sixty pounds."
"I am afraid that my duties call me elsewhere, Mr. Montgomery."
"One moment, sir! I had hoped, sir, that perhaps, if I signed a paper
promising you interest upon your money, you would advance this sum to
me. I will pay you back, sir, I really will. Or, if you like, I will
work it off after I am qualified."
The doctor's lips had thinned into a narrow line. His eyes were raised
again, and sparkled indignantly.
"Your request is unreasonable, Mr. Montgomery. I am surprised that you
should have made it. Consider, sir, how many thousands of medical
students there are in this country. No doubt there are many of them who
have a difficulty in finding their fees. Am I to provide for them all?
Or why should I make an exception in your favour? I am grieved and
disappointed, Mr. Montgomery, that you should have put me into the
painful position of having to refuse you." He turned upon his heel, and
walked with offended dignity out of the surgery.
The student smiled bitterly, and turned to his work of making up the
morning prescriptions. It was poor and unworthy work--work which any
weakling might have done as well, and this was a man of exceptional
nerve and sinew. But, such as it was, it brought him his board and L1 a
week, enough to help him during the summer months and let him save a few
pounds towards his winter keep. But those class fees! Where were they to
come from? He could not save them out of his scanty wage. Dr. Oldacre
would not advance them. He saw no way of earning them. His brains were
fairly good, but brains of that quality were a drug in the market. He
only excelled in his strength; and where was he to find a customer for
that? But the ways of Fate are strange, and his customer was at hand.
"Look y'ere!" said a voice at the door.
Montgomery looked up, for the voice was a loud and rasping one. A young
man stood at the entrance--a stocky, bull-necked young miner, in tweed
Sunday clothes and an aggressive necktie. He was a sinister-looking
figure, with dark, insolent eyes, and the jaw and throat of a bulldog.
"Look y'ere!" said he again. "Why hast thou not sent t' medicine oop as
thy master ordered?"
Montgomery had become accustomed to the brutal frankness of the Northern
worker. At first it had enraged him, but after a time he had grown
callous to it, and accepted it as it was meant. But this was something
different. It was insolence--brutal, overbearing insolence, with
physical menace behind it.
"What name?" he asked coldly.
"Barton. Happen I may give thee cause to mind that name, yoong man. Mak'
oop t' wife's medicine this very moment, look ye, or it will be the
worse for thee."
Montgomery smiled. A pleasant sense of relief thrilled softly through
him. What blessed safety-valve was this through which his jangled nerves
might find some outlet. The provocation was so gross, the insult so
unprovoked, that he could have none of those qualms which take the edge
off a man's mettle. He finished sealing the bottle upon which he was
occupied, and he addressed it and placed it carefully in the rack.
"Look here!" said he turning round to the miner, "your medicine will be
made up in its turn and sent down to you. I don't allow folk in the
surgery. Wait outside in the waiting-room, if you wish to wait at all."
"Yoong man," said the miner, "thou's got to mak' t' wife's medicine
here, and now, and quick, while I wait and watch thee, or else happen
thou might need some medicine thysel' before all is over."
"I shouldn't advise you to fasten a quarrel upon me." Montgomery was
speaking in the hard, staccato voice of a man who is holding himself in
with difficulty. "You'll save trouble if you'll go quietly. If you don't
you'll be hurt. Ah, you would? Take it, then!"
The blows were almost simultaneous--a savage swing which whistled past
Montgomery's ear, and a straight drive which took the workman on the
chin. Luck was with the assistant. That single whizzing uppercut, and
the way in which it was delivered, warned him that he had a formidable
man to deal with. But if he had underrated his antagonist, his
antagonist had also underrated him, and had laid himself open to a fatal
blow.
The miner's head had come with a crash against the corner of the surgery
shelves, and he had dropped heavily onto the ground. There he lay with
his bandy legs drawn up and his hands thrown abroad, the blood trickling
over the surgery tiles.
"Had enough?" asked the assistant, breathing fiercely through his nose.
But no answer came. The man was insensible. And then the danger of his
position came upon Montgomery, and he turned as white as his antagonist.
A Sunday, the immaculate Dr. Oldacre with his pious connection, a savage
brawl with a patient; he would irretrievably lose his situation if the
facts came out. It was not much of a situation, but he could not get
another without a reference, and Oldacre might refuse him one. Without
money for his classes, and without a situation--what was to become of
him? It was absolute ruin.
But perhaps he could escape exposure after all. He seized his insensible
adversary, dragged him out into the centre of the room, loosened his
collar, and squeezed the surgery sponge over his face. He sat up at last
with a gasp and a scowl.
"Domn thee, thou's spoilt my necktie," said he, mopping up the water
from his breast.
"I'm sorry I hit you so hard," said Montgomery, apologetically.
"Thou hit me hard! I could stan' such fly-flappin' all day. 'Twas this
here press that cracked my pate for me, and thou art a looky man to be
able to boast as thou hast outed me. And now I'd be obliged to thee if
thou wilt give me t' wife's medicine."
Montgomery gladly made it up and handed it to the miner.
"You are weak still," said he. "Won't you stay awhile and rest?"
"T' wife wants her medicine," said the man, and lurched out at the door.
The assistant, looking after him, saw him rolling with an uncertain step
down the street, until a friend met him, and they walked on arm-in-arm.
The man seemed in his rough Northern fashion to bear no grudge, and so
Montgomery's fears left him. There was no reason why the doctor should
know anything about it. He wiped the blood from the floor, put the
surgery in order, and went on with his interrupted task, hoping that he
had come scathless out of a very dangerous business.
Yet all day he was aware of a sense of vague uneasiness, which sharpened
into dismay when, late in the afternoon, he was informed that three
gentlemen had called and were waiting for him in the surgery. A
coroner's inquest, a descent of detectives, an invasion of angry
relatives--all sorts of possibilities rose to scare him. With tense
nerves and a rigid face he went to meet his visitors.
They were a very singular trio. Each was known to him by sight; but what
on earth the three could be doing together, and, above all, what they
could expect from _him_, was a most inexplicable problem.
The first was Sorley Wilson, the son of the owner of the Nonpareil
Coalpit. He was a young blood of twenty, heir to a fortune, a keen
sportsman, and down for the Easter Vacation from Magdalene College. He
sat now upon the edge of the surgery table, looking in thoughtful
silence at Montgomery, and twisting the ends of his small, black, waxed
moustache.
The second was Purvis, the publican, owner of the chief beershop, and
well known as the local bookmaker. He was a coarse, clean-shaven man,
whose fiery face made a singular contrast with his ivory-white bald
head. He had shrewd, light-blue eyes with foxy lashes, and he also
leaned forward in silence from his chair, a fat, red hand upon either
knee, and stared critically at the young assistant.
So did the third visitor, Fawcett, the horsebreaker, who leaned back,
his long, thin legs, with their box-cloth riding-gaiters, thrust out in
front of him, tapping his protruding teeth with his riding-whip, with
anxious thought in every line of his rugged, bony face. Publican,
exquisite, and horsebreaker were all three equally silent, equally
earnest, and equally critical. Montgomery, seated in the midst of them,
looked from one to the other.
"Well, gentlemen?" he observed, but no answer came.
The position was embarrassing.
"No," said the horsebreaker, at last. "No. It's off. It's nowt."
"Stand oop, lad; let's see thee standin'." It was the publican who
spoke.
Montgomery obeyed. He would learn all about it, no doubt, if he were
patient. He stood up and turned slowly round, as if in front of his
tailor.
"It's off! It's off!" cried the horsebreaker. "Why, mon, the Master
would break him over his knee."
"Oh, that behanged for a yarn | 1,600.347441 |
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OUR BIRD COMRADES
By
LEANDER S. KEYSER
Author of "Birddom," "In Bird Land,"
and "Birds of the Rockies," etc.
[Frontispiece: American Sparrow-hawk]
Rand, McNally & Company
Chicago New York London
Copyright, 1907
by Rand, McNally & Co.
The Rand-McNally Press
Chicago
_To
ALL WHO LOVE THE BIRDS FOR THEIR
OWN SAKES,
who desire to cultivate comradeship with them in books
and in the field, and who will study them
with the glass and without the gun._
BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION
To know the birds intimately, to interpret their lives in all their
varied conditions, one must get close to them. For the purpose of
accomplishing this object the author of this volume has gone to their
haunts day after day and watched them persistently at not a little cost
of time, effort, and money. While the limits of a single volume do not
permit him to present all of his observations, it is hoped that those
here offered will be satisfactory as far as they go, and that the
reader will be able to glean from these pages some new as well as
interesting facts relative to bird life.
The writer has had another purpose in view in preparing this book: He
wishes to inspire others, especially the young, to use their eyes and
ears in the study of the enchanting volume of Nature. This object, he
believes, will be best accomplished by furnishing concrete examples of
what may be achieved by earnest research. For purposes of stimulus an
ounce of example is worth a pound of precept. If another sees you and
me doing a thing joyfully, earnestly, we need scarcely say to him, "Go
thou and do likewise."
There is not much in the book that is technical, yet it aims at
scientific accuracy in all of its statements, no bird being described
whose status in the avian system has not been determined. If strange
exploits are sometimes recited, the author has simply to say that he
has been veracious in all of his statements, and that all the stories
are "true bird stories." The author modestly believes that it will not
be found uninteresting to nature lovers in general.
Much of the material included in this volume has previously appeared in
various periodicals, to the publishers of which the writer would hereby
make grateful acknowledgment for their courtesy in waiving their
copyright privileges. A number of the journals are given due credit
elsewhere in the book.
THE AUTHOR.
_THE TABLE OF CONTENTS_
THE PREFACE
THE ILLUSTRATIONS
BEGINNING THE STUDY
MAKING NEW FRIENDS
WILDWOOD MINSTRELS
CHICKADEE WAYS
THE NUTHATCH FAMILY
A FEATHERED PARASITE
A BLUE CANNIBAL
A HANDSOME SCISSORSTAIL
AN ALPINE ROSY FINCH
HAPPENINGS BY THE WAY
ODDS AND ENDS
WAYSIDE OBSERVATIONS
TROUBLE AMONG THE BIRDS
A BIRD'S EDUCATION
ARE BIRDS SINGERS OR WHISTLERS?
BIRD FLIGHT
A BIRD'S FOOT
_THE ILLUSTRATIONS_
AMERICAN SPARROW-HAWK......... _Frontispiece_
CHIPPING SPARROW
YELLOW WARBLER
CHICKADEE
NUTHATCH
BLUE JAY
PEWEE, OR PHOEBE
SONG SPARROW
CARDINAL
WHITE-EYED VIREO
BALTIMORE ORIOLE
BOB-WHITE, OR QUAIL
ROBIN
MEADOW LARK
BARN SWALLOW
SPOTTED SANDPIPER, OR "PEET-WEET"
BEGINNING THE STUDY
Why should not people ride natural history hobbies as well as other
kinds of hobbies? Almost all persons become interested in some special
study, recreation, or pastime, and their choice is not always as
profitable as the selection of a specific branch of nature lore would
be. The writer confesses that he would rather pursue a bright, lilting
bird or butterfly than a bounding tennis-ball or football, and he finds
the chase every whit as exciting and the knowledge gained of more
permanent value; and he says this without in anywise intending to
discountenance healthful games and athletic exercises, but simply to
express a preference. What could be more fascinating, for instance,
than for a young person--or an older person, either, for that
matter--to spend his leisure in trying to identify every bird in his
neighborhood? As a result of such an attempt he would doubtless become
so interested in the study of his bird neighbors that he would resolve
to learn all he could about their charming habits.
How may one study the birds intelligently? That is a question every
beginner will want to have answered. When I began my bird studies I
spent much valuable time in simply trying to learn the _modus
operandi_, and while I do not consider the time thus spent entirely
wasted, still I am anxious to save my readers as much needless effort
as possible. This I shall do by showing them how they may begin at
once to form an acquaintance with the various families and species of
birds.
It goes without saying that, to become a successful nature student, one
must have good eyes, strong limbs, nimble feet, and, above all, an
alert mind. People who lack these qualities, especially the last, will
not be likely to pursue the noble science of ornithology. The stupid
sort will prefer to drowse in the shade, and the light-minded will care
only for the gay round of social pleasures. Any bright and earnest
person, however, can in good time become an expert student of the
feathered creation, provided only that he feels a genuine interest in
such pursuit. No one, let it be repeated, can study nature
successfully in a dull, perfunctory spirit. Here, as in religion, one
must have the baptism of fire, the temper of devotion.
In the study of birds it must be admitted that men and boys have some
advantage over their cousins of the gentler sex. Men folk may ramble
pretty much where they please without danger, whereas the freedom of
women folk in this respect is somewhat restricted. However, the
engaging works of Mrs. Olive Thorne Miller, of Mrs. Florence M. Bailey,
and of many others prove that women are not debarred from outdoor
studies, and that in some ways they may even have an advantage over
men; they are not so ambitious to cover a wide territory, to penetrate
to out-of-the-way haunts, or to roll up a long "list," and they are
therefore apt to make more intimate studies of the common species, thus
getting into the very heart of the bird's life. A man's observations
may embrace a wider range, and he may add more species to the science
of ornithology than his sister, but she will be likely to discover
facts about the commonest fowl that he will overlook. The study of
birds, therefore, offers a fascinating field for girls and women as
well as for their brothers.
What tools are needed for acquiring bird lore? To begin at the
beginning, let me ask: Who would expect to study the plants and flowers
without a botany? or the rocks and fossils and the general structure of
the earth without a reliable work on geology? or the planets and stars
without a treatise on astronomy? So, if you desire a knowledge of
ornithology, you will need what is known as a bird "key," or "manual,"
or "handbook"--that is, a scientific work that shows how the birds have
been classified, with accurate descriptions of all the families,
genera, species, subspecies, and varieties, together with the common
and scientific names of all the species and brief accounts of their
ranges and general habits. When you have found a plant or a flower
| 1,600.353216 |
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Produced by Jan-Fabian Humann, 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)
Transcriber's note: Table of Contents created by Transcriber and placed
into the Public Domain.
CONTENTS
Preface 3
The Country and Its Resources 5
The Gold Region 24
Advice to the Miner 33
Towns of California, and What Relates to Them 49
The Harbor of San Francisco 55
Directions for Entering the Harbor of San Francisco 55
Regulations for the Harbor and Port of San Francisco 56
The Towns of California (_continued_) 57
Errata 61
CALIFORNIA
AS IT IS, AND AS IT MAY BE,
OR,
A GUIDE TO THE GOLD REGION.
BY F. P. WIERZBICKI, M. D.
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA.
FIRST EDITION.
**
SAN FRANCISCO:
PRINTED BY WASHINGTON BARTLETT,
NO. 8, CLAY STREET.
1849.
COPY RIGHT SECURED.
PREFACE.
The residence of several years in the country together with his
familiarity with its whole extent, not excluding the Gold Region in
which he passed more than four months rambling over its mountains,
and even crossing the Sierra Nevada to the verge of the great Western
Desert, give the writer of these pages a degree of confidence in the
belief that by presenting this work to the public, notwithstanding the
numerous books that have already appeared upon the subject, he supplies
the desideratum so much needed at this moment, and renders justice to
California that of late suffered a little in her reputation by the
indiscretion of some of her friends.
THE AUTHOR.
SAN FRANCISCO, SEPT. 30, 1849.
CALIFORNIA.
THE COUNTRY AND ITS RESOURCES.
The country lying between the _Sierra Nevada_ and the Pacific Ocean,
and bounded at the north, though somewhat indefinitely, by the Oregon
Territory, and at the South by the Lower California, confined by
the late treaty of the two neighboring Republics to the line three
miles south of San Diego, is known as Upper California, a country
now engrossing the attention of the civilized world with its future
importance. There is no other instance known in history where a country
just emerging so to say, from obscurity, immediately acquired such
complicated and multifarious relations, not only to the nation of whose
territory it is only a small portion, but to the whole civilized world,
as California has. In view of these various relations, we propose here
to consider the subject of Upper California.
Before California can answer all those expectations, the realization of
which the world with good reason looks for, an increase of population
must be secured for her. To effect which it will not be very difficult,
if to its natural advantages, the government of the Union will add its
efforts to promote by every legislative and administrative measure the
influx of new settlers. But in all its proceedings, liberality should
be its motto, and none of that miserly policy that is afraid of losing
an acre from its lands or a dollar from its treasury.
California holds in its bosom resources that no other country can
boast of comprised in so small a territory--its mineral wealth, its
agricultural capacity, its geographical position, conspire to make it
in time one of the most favored lands. And it will lie in the power of
the government either to accelerate or <DW44> the unfolding of its
future importance. When considered in point of mineral productions,
if allowed to be developed by capitalists, California is capable of
becoming an important centre of the commerce of the Pacific. Here
we find in the neighborhood of the Clear Lake, about a hundred and
twenty-five miles north of Sonoma, Lead, Copper, Sulpher and Saltpetre;
on the South side of San Francisco Bay, Silver-mines have been found
in the vicinity of Pueblo de San Jose; Quicksilver mines which are
pronounced to be richer than those of Spain, are already being worked
to a great profit in the same region; Coal strata have been also found
in the coast range of mountains near Santa Cruz, in the neighborhood
of the Mission of San Luis Obispo, and near San Diego. California Coal
seems to be in the intermediate state between the anthracite and the
bituminous; it is not as hard as the former nor so soft as the latter;
it burns more easily than the first, and does not give out so smoky and
unpleasant a flame as the second; it ignites easily and burns with a
very pleasant flame without much smoke. Iron is scattered through the
mountains of the country, and we have no doubt that a workable mine | 1,600.354907 |
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HERE AND HEREAFTER
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
LINDLEY KAYS
THE GIFTED FAMILY
THE EXILES OF FALOO
HERE AND
HEREAFTER
BY
BARRY PAIN
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published in 1911_
CONTENTS
PAGE
MALA 1
THE FEAST AND THE RECKONING 39
POST-MORTEM 57
THE GIRL WITH THE BEAUTIFUL HAIR 65
THE WIDOWER 74
THE UNFINISHED GAME 83
SPARKLING BURGUNDY 104
THE ACT OF HEROISM 120
SOME NOTES ON CYRUS VERD 137
THE FOUR-FINGERED HAND 152
THE TOWER 162
THE FUTILITY OF WILLIAM PENARDEN 175
THE PATHOS OF THE COMMONPLACE 188
THE NIGHT OF GLORY 209
AN IDYLL OF THE SEA 222
THE MAGIC RINGS 230
THE UNSEEN POWER 243
A BRISK ENGAGEMENT 259
HASHEESH 276
THE GARDENER 288
THE SCENT 300
HERE AND HEREAFTER
MALA
I
It was Saturday night at the end of a hard week. I was just finishing my
dinner when I was told that a man wished to see me at once in the
surgery. The name, Tarn, was unknown to me.
I found a fair-haired man of thirty in a faded and frayed suit of
mustard-colour, holding in his hand a broken straw hat. His face was
rather fat and roundish; his build powerful but paunchy. The colour of
face and hands showed open-air life and work. His manner was slow,
apathetic, heavy. His speech was slow too, but it was the speech of an
educated man, and the voice was curiously gentle.
"My wife's ill, doctor. Can you come?"
"I can. What's the matter with her, Mr Tarn?"
He explained. I do not regard child-bearing as illness, and told him so.
I told him further that he ought to have made his arrangements and to
have engaged a doctor and nurse beforehand.
"In her own country they do not regard it as illness either. The women
there do not have doctor or nurse. She did not wish it. But, however,
as she seemed to suffer--"
"Well, well. We'll get on. Where do you live?"
"Felonsdene."
"Eight miles away and right up on the downs. Phew! Can I get my car
there?"
"Most of the way at any rate--we could always walk the rest."
"We'll chance it. I'll bring the car round. Shan't keep you a minute, Mr
Tarn."
I kept him rather longer than that. There were the lamps to see to, and
I had directions to give to my servants. I did not take my driver with
me. He had been at work since eight in the morning. When I re-entered
the surgery I found Tarn still standing in just the same pose and place,
as if he had not moved a hair's-breadth since I left him.
"Ready now," I said, as I picked up my bag.
He took out a pinch of sovereigns from his waistcoat-pocket, seven or
eight of them.
"Your fee, doctor," he said.
"That can wait until I've done my work. Come along. Shall I lend you an
overcoat?"
He thanked me but refused it, saying that he was used to all weathers.
The night was fairly warm too. He sat beside me on the front seat. The
first six miles were easy enough along a good road, and I talked to him
as I drove. I omit the professional part of our conversation--the
questions which a doctor would naturally put on such an occasion.
"So your wife's a foreigner," I said. "What nationality?"
"She is a woman of colour--a negress."
It is true that all <DW52> people inspire me with a feeling of
physical repulsion, and equally true that I can set all feelings of
repulsion aside when there is work to be done.
"Ah!" I said. "And you live up at Felonsdene. To tell the truth, I
didn't know anybody lived there. I remember the place--came on it two
years ago or more when I was roaming over the downs. There was a
farm-house all in ruins--and, let me see, was there a cottage? I didn't
come upon anybody living there then. I remember that, because I was
thirsty after my walk and couldn't get a drink."
"There was no one there then, and there is no cottage. We came last
year. Part of the farm-house has been repaired."
"Well, you've struck about the loneliest spot in England. Who's your
landlord?"
"Eh? It's mine--I bought it. Two acres and the farm-house. Had trouble
to get it--a deal of trouble."
"And who's with your wife now?" I asked.
"Nobody. She's alone in the house."
"Well, that's not right," I said.
"We have no servants--do everything ourselves. The nearest house is a
farmer's at Sandene, three miles away, and we've had no dealings with
him. It couldn't be helped, and--she's different, you know. I was not
long in coming to you. I caught the mail-cart as soon as I reached the
road, and got a lift."
"Still, I'm thinking--how am I to get on?"
"You'll find I can do anything a woman can do, and do it better. I am
more intelligent and I have no nerves. You must pull up at the next
gate, doctor. We strike across the downs there."
We had done the six miles, mostly up hill, in twenty-one minutes. Now we
turned through the gate, along a turf track deeply rutted. Luckily the
weather had been dry for the last fortnight. We crawled up to the top of
the crest and then along it for a mile. I saw lights ahead in a hollow
below. A dog barked savagely.
"That Felonsdene?" I asked.
"That's it. The descent is bad."
When I got to it I found that it was very bad. I stopped the engines.
"If we break our necks we shan't be much use," I said. "I'll leave the
car here. There's nobody to run away with it."
"Shall we take a lamp?" he asked.
"Better."
He picked up my bag, unhitched one lamp, and extinguished the other,
while I spread the rug over the seats. His ordinary slowness was
deceptive. When he was actually doing something he was remarkably quick
without being hurried. He was quick too in seeing a mechanical
device--that was clear from the way he handled the lamps. We began the
brief descent, and the dog barked more furiously than ever.
"Is that dog loose?" I asked, as we neared the house.
"Yes," he said. "But he's educated. He'd kill a stranger who came alone;
he won't touch you."
He gave a whistle and the barking stopped. The dog, an enormous black
retriever, came running towards us; his eyes in the lamplight had a
liquid trustfulness.
"Heel," said Tarn sharply, and the dog paced quietly behind him, taking
no notice of me whatever.
We went through a yard surrounded by a wall of rough stone. By the light
of the lamp I saw that the wall had been mended in places. There was a
rough shed on the left, with crates and packing-cases under it. The
front door was flush with the wall of the house. It was unlocked, and
when Tarn opened it a bright light streamed out. Within was a small
square hall, and I noticed that the light was incandescent gas.
Tarn saw that I had noticed it. "I put in a gas-plant," he said. "Will
you come this way?"
He took me into a great living-room. I should think it was about forty
feet by twenty. There was a big open fireplace at the further end of the
room. The floor was flagged, without rugs or carpets. The walls were the
same inside as out, rough stone and mortar; there were three small
windows high up in the walls. The windows were newly glazed, the walls
had been repaired. There was very little furniture--three wooden windsor
chairs, a couple of deal tables, and some cupboards made from
packing-cases. There was no attempt at ornament or decoration of any
kind, and there was no disorder. The scanty furniture was precisely
arranged, nothing was left lying about, and everything was scrupulously
clean. The timbers of the pointed roof seemed to me to be new. The room
was very brightly lit, with more gas jets (of the cheapest description)
than were needed.
What struck me most was the smell of the place--a smoky, greenish,
sub-acid, slightly aromatic smell. I wondered if it could come from the
great logs that smouldered in the fireplace, before which the retriever
now stretched himself.
"Queer smell here," I said. "What is it?"
"It comes," he said, "from the smoke of juniper leaves."
"You don't burn those in the fireplace, do you?"
"No. I--I don't think you'd understand."
The words were said gently, almost sadly, without offensive intention.
But they annoyed me a little--I did not like to be told by this
scarecrow that I could not understand.
"Very well," I said. "Now then, where's your wife?"
He pointed to a door at the further end of the room, on the right of the
fireplace. "Through there," he said. "I--I don't know if you speak
French."
"I do."
"Mala speaks French more easily than English. She lived for many years
in Paris--was born there. You'll find in that room the things a chemist
in Helmstone thought might be wanted. If you need anything else, or want
my help in any way, I shall be here."
"Good," I said, and passed through the door he had indicated.
I must remember that I am not writing for doctors. All I need say of the
case is that it was a good thing Tarn fetched me. It was a case where
the intervention of a medical man was imperatively necessary. Otherwise
all went perfectly well. The child was born in a little more than an
hour after my arrival, a girl, healthy and vigorous, and as black as the
ace of spades. Tarn did all that was required of him perfectly--quickly,
but without noise or hurry, and with great intelligence.
Mala, his wife, seemed to me to be very young. She was a girl of
splendid physique; her face, like the face of every negress, repelled
me. She showed affection for her child, and expressed her intention of
nursing it herself, of which she seemed capable. This was all
natural--more natural than normal unfortunately--but all the time I was
conscious that I was attending a woman of morbid psychology. When I left
her asleep, it was to join a man of morbid psychology in the great
living-room.
"All well?" asked Tarn, as I entered.
"Quite. Both asleep." My body was tired, and I dare say I ought to have
been sleepy myself, but my mind was awake and alert. The unusual nature
of the experience may account for it. I sat down and gave him some
instructions and advice about his wife, to which he paid close
attention.
"Must you come here again?" he asked. I thought it a question that might
have been better expressed.
"Yes," I said. "I don't want to pile up the visits, but I must do what's
wanted."
"I didn't mean that. I meant that unless you were coming again in any
case, I should have to make arrangements for fetching you if the need
arose."
I laughed. "Arrangements? Well, you've nobody to send but yourself?"
"There's the dog."
"But he doesn't know where I live."
"I was meaning to teach him that to-morrow. I'd better do it in any
case--one never knows what may happen." He sighed profoundly.
"Teach him to fetch the doctor--eh? He must be a clever beggar. What do
you call him?"
"He has no name. He's not a pet. You must take some refreshment before
you go. Whisky?"
"Ah, a drop of whisky and a biscuit would be rather welcome. Thanks."
He brought out a jar of whisky, a gasogen of soda-water, and some large
hard biscuits in their native tin.
"To your daughter's health," I said, as I raised my glass.
He suddenly put his glass down. "Farce," he said savagely. "But it's all
farce--this--this fuss, She's born to die, isn't she? It's the common
lot. She's hauled out of nothing by blind Chance, to be tossed back into
nothing by blind Chance. Drink the health of the seaweed that the tide
throws up on the shore and the tide sucks back again? No! Not I!"
The whole thing had been so strange that this outbreak did not
particularly astonish me. "You'd be a happier man, Mr Tarn, and a more
sensible man, if you would simply accept Nature as you find it. You
can't alter it and you can't understand it. You're beating your head
against a wall."
This ragged fellow took on an air of superiority that annoyed me. "Yes,
yes," he said. "I've heard all that--and so often. It's the point of
view of ordinary materialistic science. You are not a religious man."
"Certainly," I said, "I don't pretend that I know what I do not know.
Nor am I fool enough, Mr Tarn, to complain of what from insufficient
data I am unable to understand. Put in other words, I am neither an
orthodox believer nor an atheist. Do I understand that you are a
religious man yourself?"
"The religion of Mala and her people is mine."
"Really? You turn the tables on the missionaries. Well, the theological
discussion is interesting but it is often interminable; and I have work
to do to-morrow. I must be getting on."
"I will come with you as far as the car. But first, doctor, the dog must
learn that you are welcome here and that he is never to harm you. Call
him and give him a bit of biscuit."
I called him. He looked up from his place before the fire but did not
move. Then Tarn made a movement with his hand, and the dog got up, shook
himself, and walked slowly towards me. He went all round me, sniffing. I
held out the biscuit to him, and he looked away to his master and
whined. Tarn nodded, and the dog immediately took the food from my hand.
"Yes," said Tarn, as if answering what I was thinking, "he has never
been allowed to take food from any hand but mine. He will never forget
you. You can come here at any hour of the day or night now with perfect
safety. It's--it's the freedom of the city."
As Tarn climbed with me up to the car, he spoke again on the subject of
my fee. "I suppose I should not have offered it in advance," he said.
"But it occurred to me that, as I never think about clothes, I looked
very poor, and that the place where I have chosen to live also looked
very poor. And you did not know me. As a matter of fact, I am bothered
with far more money than I want."
"Ah!" I laughed. "I could do with a little worry of that sort."
As he fixed up the lamps he thanked me warmly for what I had done for
Mala, and asked what time he might expect me on the morrow. I opened my
pocket-book and looked at it by the light of the lamp. "Well, I've a
light day to-morrow, barring accidents. I shall be here some time in the
afternoon."
The drive home was accomplished without incident. I ran the car into the
coach-house and went straight to bed. But for more than an hour I could
not get to sleep. I was haunted by that man and his negress wife,
building theories about them, trying to account for them. Just as I was
dropping off I was awakened again by a smell of bitter smoke in my
nostrils--the smell of burning juniper leaves. Then I recognised that
the smell was a memory-illusion, and fell asleep in real earnest.
II
I got back from my Sunday morning round before one. Helmstone was rather
full of visitors that day, and there were many cars before the big hotel
in the Queen's Road. As my man was driving slowly through the traffic I
saw, a hundred yards away, Tarn striding along, in the same shabby
clothes, with his retriever at his heel. He turned down a side-street,
and I saw no more of him. On inquiry I found that he had not called at
my house. He had merely been there, as he said, to give the dog his
lesson.
I am a bachelor. I lunched alone on cold beef and beer, and I read the
_Lancet_. I intended to remain materialistic and scientific, and not to
be infected by that air of mystery and morbidity which seemed to hang
round Tarn and his negress wife at Felonsdene. I had not been in
practice for ten years without coming on strange occurrences before, and
they had all lost their strangeness when the facts had been filled in.
My after-luncheon visit to Felonsdene was of course professional, but if
I had any chance I meant to satisfy an ordinary lay curiosity as well.
I drove myself, and the track across the downs looked worse in daylight
than it had done by night. Still it seemed reasonable to suppose that
what the car had done then it could do now. I could see more clearly now
what had been done in the way of repairs to that ruined and
long-deserted farm-house. The pointed roof over the big room where I had
sat the night before had been mended and made weather-tight. The
chimney-stack was new, and so were the window-casements. Adjoining the
big room was a building of irregular shape that might possibly have
contained three or four other rooms, roofed with new corrugated iron.
One or two outbuildings looked as if they had been newly constructed
from old materials. But that part of the farm-house which had originally
been two-storied had been left quite untouched. Half the roof of it was
down, the windows were without glass, and one saw through them the
broken stairs and torn wall-paper peeling off and flapping in the brisk
March breeze. On the grass-field beyond the court-yard two good Alderney
cows were grazing. Most of the land looked neglected; but Tarn had no
help and had everything to do himself. An orchard of stunted and
miserable-looking fruit trees was sheltered by a dip of the land from
north and east.
The dog barked furiously when he heard my car, and before I began the
climb down to the farm-house I picked up two or three flints with intent
to use them if he went for me. But all signs of hostility vanished when
he saw me. He did not leap and gambol for joy, but he thrust his nose
into my hand and then walked just in front of me, wagging his tail, and
looking back from time to time to see that I understood and was
following him.
He led the way across the court-yard, through the open outer door, and
across the hall to the door of the big room. He scratched at the door.
From impatience I knocked and entered.
Tarn had fallen asleep before the fire in one of the windsor chairs. He
was just rousing himself as I entered. He had taken off his coat and his
heavy boots and wore felt slippers that had a home-made look. From the
table beside him it appeared that he had lunched frugally on whisky,
milk and hard biscuits.
"Sorry I was asleep," he said. "But the dog knew."
"Ah!" I said. "You'd a long walk this morning. I saw you at Helmstone."
"Yes. I told you."
"You should have come into my house for a rest. How's your wife getting
on--had a good night?"
"It seems so. She has slept a long time. So has the child. I will find
out if she will see you." He passed into the inner room.
If she had expressed any disinclination to see me I should have been
extremely angry; also, I might have thought it right to disregard the
disinclination. But Tarn reappeared almost directly and asked me to go
in
I found that all was going as well as possible both with her and with
the child. She really was a splendid animal, unhurt either by excessive
work or--as many modern mothers are--by a rotten fashionable life. With
me she was reticent, almost sullen in manner; yet she seemed docile and
had carried out my orders. The only difficulty was, as I had expected,
to get her to remain in bed. With her child she showed white teeth in
ecstasies of maternal joy. Before I had finished with her I heard the
rain pattering on the iron roof of her room.
I went back into the great living-room. It was rather dark there, for
the sky was heavily clouded and the windows, placed high up, gave but
little light. The table had been cleared, and Tarn was not there. I sat
down to wait for him, and the dog got up from the fire and came over to
me and laid his head on my knee. He was an enormous and very powerful
brute, as much retriever as anything, but evidently with another strain
in his composition. I felt quite safe with him now, talked to him and
patted him--attentions which he received gravely, without resistance but
without any signs of pleasure.
Presently Tarn came in from outside. His hair was wet with the rain.
"I've taken up a tarpaulin," he said, "and thrown it over your car,
doctor."
"That's very good of you," I said. "I was just doubting if that rug of
mine would be enough."
"It comes down heavily. You must remain here awhile, unless you have
other patients whom you must see at once."
"No," I said. "This finishes my work for to-day, I hope. I always try to
arrange for Sunday afternoon free, and I'm glad to accept your
hospitality. No juniper smoke to-day."
"There has been--no occasion." He went on quickly to inquire about his
wife and child. He was not a man who showed his emotions much, but he
certainly left me with the impression that he was fond and proud of the
child. He asked several questions about her as he went round the room,
lighting the gas-jets. Then we sat before the log fire and lit our
pipes.
"One's a little surprised to find gas in a place like this," I said.
"It makes less work than lamps. When one tries to be independent and do
the work oneself that's a consideration. Besides, it gives more light,
and people who live alone as we do need plenty of light. I'm afraid it
must all seem rather puzzling."
"Well," I said, "I don't want to be curious."
"And I don't want to puzzle anybody, nor to enlighten anybody either.
Still, you've done much for us--Mala says she would have died but for
you. If you care for a very simple story you can have it."
"Just as you like," I said. "But I should imagine that your story would
be interesting."
"I do not think so. A little more than a year ago I was in Paris. Mala
was also there. I met her through a friend of mine. I brought her to
England and married her. You know how such a marriage is regarded
here--how a woman of colour is regarded in any case. Very well,
Felonsdene was a place where we could live to ourselves."
He stopped, as if there had been no more to say.
"So far," I said, "you have told me precisely what one might have
conjectured. How did it all happen? What were you doing in Paris--and
Mala? Who was the friend? How did it come about?"
He spoke slowly, more to himself, as it seemed, than to me. "My friend
was an English Catholic, an ex-priest, a religious man like myself. His
mind gave way, and he is shut up in an asylum now. He took me to see
Mala. Night after night. Sometimes it was miraculous--and sometimes
nothing. When the performance went badly, the uncle beat her. We could
stop that because it was only a question of money. I remember it
all--settled after midnight at a _cafe_ where we drank absinthe--the
uncle with arms too long and very prognathous, like a dressed-up ape,
pouncing on the bank-notes with hairy fingers and counting aloud in
French, very bad French, not like Mala's. He was very old--a hundred
years, he said--he cannot have been her uncle really. A great-uncle
perhaps. He was not a religious man at all. He kept patting the pocket
where the bank-notes were. We put him in a fiacre, because he was drunk.
We were out of Paris that night--my friend, and Mala, and myself. Next
morning we crossed the Channel, and next night there was a riot at the
theatre because Mala did not appear. Did I say where we went in England?
I am not used to speaking so much, and it confuses me."
I was afraid he would stop again. "I don't think you mentioned the exact
name," I said.
"Wilsing, my friend's own place. High walls, and lonely gardens, but too
many servants--they all looked questions at us. Gardeners would touch
their caps and look round after we had passed--you can imagine it. It
was while we were at Wilsing that I married Mala. And shortly afterwards | 1,600.354913 |
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Produced by David Widger
LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI
BY MARK TWAIN
Part 7.
Chapter 31 A Thumb-print and What Came of It
WE were approaching Napoleon, Arkansas. So I began to think about my
errand there. Time, noonday; and bright and sunny. This was bad--not
best, anyway; for mine was not (preferably) a noonday kind of errand.
The more I thought, the more that fact pushed itself upon me--now in one
form, now in another. Finally, it took the form of a distinct question:
is it good common sense to do the errand in daytime, when, by a little
sacrifice of comfort and inclination, you can have night for it, and no
inquisitive eyes around. This settled it. Plain question and plain
answer make the shortest road out of most perplexities.
I got my friends into my stateroom, and said I was sorry to create
annoyance and disappointment, but that upon reflection it really seemed
best that we put our luggage ashore and stop over at Napoleon. Their
disapproval was prompt and loud; their language mutinous. Their main
argument was one which has always been the first to come to the surface,
in such cases, since the beginning of time: 'But you decided and AGREED
to stick to this boat, etc.; as if, having determined to do an unwise
thing, one is thereby bound to go ahead and make TWO unwise things of
it, by carrying out that determination.
I tried various mollifying tactics upon them, with reasonably good
success: under which encouragement, I increased my efforts; and, to show
them that I had not created this annoying errand, and was in no way to
blame for it, I presently drifted into its history--substantially as
follows:
Toward the end of last year, I spent a few months in Munich, Bavaria. In
November I was living in Fraulein Dahlweiner's PENSION, 1a, Karlstrasse;
but my working quarters were a mile from there, in the house of a widow
who supported herself by taking lodgers. She and her two young children
used to drop in every morning and talk German to me--by request. One
day, during a ramble about the city, I visited one of the two
establishments where the Government keeps and watches corpses until the
doctors decide that they are permanently dead, and not in a trance
state. It was a grisly place, that spacious room. There were thirty-six
corpses of adults in sight, stretched on their backs on slightly slanted
boards, in three long rows--all of them with wax-white, rigid faces, and
all of them wrapped in white shrouds. Along the sides of the room were
deep alcoves, like bay windows; and in each of these lay several marble-
visaged babes, utterly hidden and buried under banks of fresh flowers,
all but their faces and crossed hands. Around a finger of each of these
fifty still forms, both great and small, was a ring; and from the ring a
wire led to the ceiling, and thence to a bell in a watch-room yonder,
where, day and night, a watchman sits always alert and ready to spring
to the aid of any of that pallid company who, waking out of death, shall
make a movement--for any, even the slightest, movement will twitch the
wire and ring that fearful bell. I imagined myself a death-sentinel
drowsing there alone, far in the dragging watches of some wailing, gusty
night, and having in a twinkling all my body stricken to quivering jelly
by the sudden clamor of that awful summons! So I inquired about this
thing; asked what resulted usually? if the watchman died, and the
restored corpse came and did what it could to make his last moments
easy. But I was rebuked for trying to feed an idle and frivolous
curiosity in so solemn and so mournful a place; and went my way with a
humbled crest.
Next morning I was telling the widow my adventure, when she exclaimed--
| 1,600.44546 |
2023-11-16 18:43:44.4290640 | 2,690 | 11 |
Produced by Barbara Kosker, Bryan Ness and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from scans of public domain works at the
University of Michigan\'s Making of America collection.)
[Illustration: A West Highland Ox
The Property of Mr. Elliott of East Ham Essex.]
THE
AMERICAN REFORMED
CATTLE DOCTOR;
CONTAINING
THE NECESSARY INFORMATION
FOR
PRESERVING THE HEALTH AND CURING THE DISEASES
OF
OXEN, COWS, SHEEP, AND SWINE,
WITH
A GREAT VARIETY OF ORIGINAL RECIPES,
AND
VALUABLE INFORMATION IN REFERENCE TO
FARM AND DAIRY MANAGEMENT;
WHEREBY
EVERY MAN CAN BE HIS OWN CATTLE DOCTOR.
THE PRINCIPLES TAUGHT IN THIS WORK ARE, THAT ALL MEDICATION
SHALL BE SUBSERVIENT TO NATURE; THAT ALL MEDICINAL AGENTS
MUST BE SANATIVE IN THEIR OPERATION, AND ADMINISTERED WITH
A VIEW OF AIDING THE VITAL POWERS, INSTEAD OF DEPRESSING,
AS HERETOFORE, WITH THE LANCET AND POISON.
BY
G. H. DADD, M. D., VETERINARY PRACTITIONER,
AUTHOR OF "ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY OF THE HORSE."
BOSTON:
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY,
110 WASHINGTON STREET.
1851.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
G. H. DADD, M. D.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the
District of Massachusetts.
STEREOTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION, 9
CATTLE.
Importance of supplying Cattle with pure Water, 15
Remarks on feeding Cattle, 17
The Barn and Feeding Byre, 21
Milking, 24
Knowledge of Agricultural and Animal Chemistry
important to Farmers, 25
On Breeding, 30
The Bull, 34
Value of Different Breeds of Cows, 35
Method of preparing Rennet, as practised in England, 36
Making Cheese, 37
Gloucester Cheese, 38
Chester Cheese, 39
Stilton Cheese, 40
Dunlop Cheese, 41
Green Cheese, 42
Making Butter, 44
Washing Butter, 45
Coloring Butter, 46
Description of the Organs of Digestion in Cattle, 47
Respiration and Structure of the Lungs, 53
Circulation of the Blood, 54
The Heart viewed externally, 55
Remarks on Blood-letting, 58
Efforts of Nature to remove Disease, 67
Proverbs of the Veterinary Reformers, 70
An Inquiry concerning the Souls of Brutes, 72
The Reformed Practice--Synoptical View of the
Prominent Systems of Medicine, 75
Creed of the Reformers, 79
True Principles, 80
Inflammation, 88
Remarks, showing that very little is known of the
Nature and Treatment of Disease, 94
Nature, Treatment, and Causes of Disease in Cattle, 105
Pleuro-Pneumonia, 107
Locked-Jaw, 115
Inflammatory Diseases, 121
Inflammation of the Stomach, (Gastritis,) 121
Inflammation of the Lungs, (Pneumonia,) 122
Inflammation of the Bowels, (Enteritis.--Inflammation
of the Fibro-Muscular Coat of the Intestines,) 124
Inflammation of the Peritoneal Coat of the Intestines,
(Peritonitis,) 125
Inflammation of the Kidneys, (Nephritis,) 125
Inflammation of the Bladder, (Cystitis,) 126
Inflammation of the Womb, 126
Inflammation of the Brain, (Phrenitis,) 127
Inflammation of the Eye, 128
Inflammation of the Liver, (Hepatitis,) 128
Jaundice, or Yellows, 130
Diseases of the Mucous Surface, 132
Catarrh, or Hoose, 133
Epidemic Catarrh, 134
Malignant Epidemic, (Murrain,) 135
Diarrhoea, (Looseness of the Bowels,) 136
Dysentery, 138
Scouring Rot, 139
Disease of the Ear, 140
Serous Membranes, 140
Dropsy, 141
Hoove, or "Blasting," 144
Joint Murrain, 147
Black Quarter, 149
Open Joint, 151
Swellings of Joints, 152
Sprain of the Fetlock, 153
Strain of the Hip, 154
Foul in the Foot, 154
Red Water, 157
Black Water, 160
Thick Urine, 160
Rheumatism, 161
Blain, 162
Thrush, 163
Black Tongue, 163
Inflammation of the Throat and its Appendages, 163
Bronchitis, 164
Inflammation of Glands, 164
Loss of Cud, 166
Colic, 166
Spasmodic Colic, 167
Constipation, 168
Falling down of the Fundament, 171
Calving, 171
Embryotomy, 175
Falling of the Calf-Bed, or Womb, 176
Garget, 177
Sore Teats, 178
Chapped Teats and Chafed Udder, 178
Fever, 178
Milk or Puerperal Fever, 182
Inflammatory Fever, 183
Typhus Fever, 186
Horn Ail in Cattle, 189
Abortion in Cows, 191
Cow-Pox, 194
Mange, 195
Hide-bound, 196
Lice, 196
Importance of keeping the Skin of Animals in a
Healthy State, 197
Spaying Cows, 201
Operation of Spaying, 204
SHEEP.
Preliminary Remarks, 209
Staggers, 219
Foot Rot, 220
Rot, 221
Epilepsy, 222
Red Water, 223
Cachexy, or General Debility, 224
Loss of Appetite, 224
Foundering, (Rheumatism,) 224
Ticks, 225
Scab, or Itch, 225
Diarrhoea, 227
Dysentery, 227
Constipation, or Stretches, 228
Scours, 230
Dizziness, 231
Jaundice, 232
Inflammation of the Kidneys, 232
Worms, 233
Diseases of the Stomach from eating Poisonous Plants, 233
Sore Nipples, 234
Fractures, 234
Common Catarrh and Epidemic Influenza, 235
Castrating Lambs, 236
Nature of Sheep, 237
The Ram, 238
Leaping, 239
Argyleshire Breeders, 239
Fattening Sheep, 240
Improvement in Sheep, 244
Description of the Different Breeds of Sheep, 249
Teeswater Breed, 249
Lincolnshire Breed, 250
Dishley Breed, 250
Cotswold Breed, 250
Romney Marsh Breed, 251
Devonshire Breed, 251
Dorsetshire Breed, 251
Wiltshire Breed, 252
South Down Breed, 252
Herdwick Breed, 253
Cheviot Breed, 253
Merino Breed, 253
Welsh Sheep, 254
SWINE.
Preliminary Remarks, 255
Natural History of the Hog, 259
Generalities, 262
General Debility, or Emaciation, 263
Epilepsy, or Fits, 264
Rheumatism, 264
Measles, 265
Ophthalmia, 266
Vermin, 266
Red Eruption, 267
Dropsy, 267
Catarrh, 267
Colic, 268
Diarrhoea, 268
Frenzy, 268
Jaundice, 269
Soreness of the Feet, 269
Spaying, 270
Various Breeds of Swine, 271
Berkshire Breed, 271
Hampshire Breed, 271
Shropshire Breed, 272
Chinese Breed, 272
Boars and Sows for Breeding, 272
Rearing Pigs, 273
Fattening Hogs, 275
Method of Curing Swine's Flesh, 277
APPENDIX.
On the Action of Medicines, 279
Clysters, 281
Forms of Clysters, 283
Infusions, 286
Antispasmodics, 287
Fomentations, 287
Mucilages, 289
Washes, 289
Physic for Cattle, 290
Mild Physic for Cattle, 291
Poultices, 292
Styptics, to arrest Bleeding, 296
Absorbents, 296
Forms of Absorbents, 297
VETERINARY MATERIA MEDICA, embracing a List of the
various Remedies used by the Author of this Work
in the Practice of Medicine on Cattle, Sheep,
and Swine, 299
General Remarks on Medicines, 312
Properties of Plants, 315
Potato, 316
TREATMENT OF DISEASE IN DOGS--Preliminary Remarks, 323
Distemper, 325
Fits, 326
Worms, 327
Mange, 328
Internal Abscess of the Ear, 329
Ulceration of the Ear, 329
Inflammation of the Bowels, 329
Inflammation of the Bladder, 330
Asthma, 331
Piles, 331
Dropsy, 332
Sore Throat, 332
| 1,600.449104 |
2023-11-16 18:43:44.4332240 | 6,278 | 44 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
In the Whirl of the Rising, by Bertram Mitford.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
IN THE WHIRL OF THE RISING, BY BERTRAM MITFORD.
PROLOGUE.
"You coward!"
The word cut crisply and sharp through the clear frosty air, lashing and
keen as the wind that stirred the crystal-spangled pines, and the
musical ring of skate-blades upon the ice-bound surface of the mere.
She who uttered it stood, her flower-like face and deep blue eyes all
a-quiver with contemptuous disgust. He to whom it was addressed,
started, blenched ever so slightly, his countenance immediately resuming
its mask of bronze impassibility. Those who heard it echoed it,
secretly or in deep and angry mutter, the while proceeding with their
task--to wit, the restoring of animation to a very nearly drowned human
being, rescued, at infinite risk, from the treacherous spring hole which
had let him through the surface of the ice.
"Say it again," was the answer. "It is such a kind and pleasant thing
to hear, coming from you. So just, too. Do say it again."
"I will say it again," went on the first speaker; and, exasperated by
the bitter sneering tone of the other, her voice rang out high and
clear, "You coward!"
Piers Lamont's dark face took on a change, but it expressed a sneer as
certain retrospective pictures rose before his mental gaze. Such
indeed, in his case, drew the sting of about the most stinging epithet
that lips can frame; yet, remembering that the lips then framing it were
those of the girl with whom he was passionately in love, and to whom he
had recently become engaged, it seemed to hurt.
"Say something. Oh, do say something!" she went on, speaking quickly.
"The boy might have been drowned, and very nearly was, while you stood,
with your hands in your pockets, looking on."
"If your people see fit to throw open the mere to the rabble, the rabble
must take care of itself," he answered. "I daresay I can risk my life,
with an adequate motive. That--isn't one."
The words, audible to many of the bystanders, the contemptuous tone, and
nod of the head in the direction of the ever-increasing group on the
bank, deepened the prevailing indignation. Angry murmurs arose, and
some "booing." Perhaps the presence of the Squire's daughter alone
restrained this demonstration from taking a more active form of
hostility; or it may even have been a something in the hard, bronzed
face and firm build of the man who had just been publicly dubbed
"coward."
"For shame!" hotly retorted the girl. "I have no wish to talk to you
any more, or ever again. Please go."
He made no reply. Lifting his hat ceremoniously he turned away. A few
yards' glide brought him to the bank. He sat down, deliberately removed
his skates, lit a cigar, then started upon his way; the no-longer
restrained jeers which followed him falling upon his ears with no other
effect than to cause him to congratulate himself upon having given
others the opportunity of performing the feat from which he had
refrained.
The subject of all this disturbance was showing signs of restoration to
life and consciousness. Seen in the midst of the gaping--and for the
most part useless--crowd which hemmed him in, he was an urchin of about
thirteen or fourteen, with a debased type of countenance wherein the
characteristics of the worst phase of guttersnipe--low cunning,
predatoriness, boundless impudence, and aggressive brutality--showed
more than incipient. Such a countenance was it, indeed, as to suggest
that the rescue of its owner from a watery death went far to prove the
truth of a certain homely proverb relating to hanging and drowning. And
now, gazing upon it, Violet Courtland was conscious of an unpleasant
truth in those last words spoken by her _fiance_. She was forced to own
to herself that the saving of this life assuredly was not worth the
risking of his. Yet she had implored him to do something towards the
rescue, and he had done nothing. He had replied that there was nothing
to be done; had stood, calmly looking on while others had risked their
lives, he fearing for his. Yes, _fearing_. It looked like that.
And yet--and yet! She knew but little of his past, except what he had
told her. She had taken him on trust. He had led something of an
adventurous life in wild parts of Africa. Two or three times, under
pressure, he had told of an adventurous incident, wherein assuredly he
himself had not played a coward's part. Yet the recollection so far
from clearing him in her estimation produced a contrary effect, and her
lips curled as she decided that he had merely been bragging on these
occasions; that if the events had happened at all they must have
happened to somebody else. For, when all was said and done, he had
shown himself a coward in her sight. Her hastily formed judgment
stood--if anything--stronger than before. And--she was engaged to marry
a coward!
With a sad sinking of heart she left the spot, and, avoiding all escort
or companionship, took her way homeward alone. The short winter
afternoon was waning, and a red afterglow was already fast fading into
the grey of dusk. Against it the chimney stacks of Courtland Hall stood
silhouetted blackly, while farther down, among the leafless and frost
spangled tree-tops, the old church-tower stood square and massive.
It was Christmas Eve, and now the bells in the tower rang out in sudden
and tuneful chime, flinging their merry peal far and wide over leafless
woodland and frozen meadow. They blended, too, with the ring of belated
blades on the ice-bound mere behind, and the sound of voices mellowed by
distance. To this girl, now hurrying along the field path, her little
skates dangling from her wrist, but for the events of the last half-hour
how sweet and hallowed and homelike it would all have been; glorified,
too, by the presence of _one_! Now, anger, disgust, contempt filled her
mind; and her heart was aching and sore with the void of an ideal cast
out.
One was there as she struck into the garden path leading up to the
terrace. He was pacing up and down smoking a cigar.
"Well?" he said, turning suddenly upon her. "Well, and have you had
time to reconsider your very hastily expressed opinion?"
"It was not hastily expressed. It was deliberate," she replied quickly.
"I have no words for a coward. I said that before."
"Yes, you said that before--for the amusement of a mob of grunting
yokels, and an odd social equal or two. And now you repeat it. Very
well. Think what you please. It is utterly immaterial to me now and
henceforward. I will not even say good-bye."
He walked away from her in the other direction, while she passed on. A
half impulse was upon her to linger, to offer him an opportunity of
explanation. Somehow there was that about his personality which seemed
to belie her judgment upon him. But pride, perversity, superficiality
of the deductive faculty, triumphed. She passed on without a word.
The hour was dark for Piers Lamont--dark indeed. He was a hardened man,
and a strong-willed one, but now he needed all his hardness, all his
strength. He had loved this girl passionately and almost at first
sight, secretly and at a distance for some time before accident had
brought about their engagement, now a matter of three months' duration.
And she had returned his love in full, or had seemed to, until this
disastrous afternoon. And now his sense of justice was cruelly
outraged, and that he felt as if he could never forgive. Moreover, his
was one of those natures to which an occurrence of this kind was like
chipping a piece out of a perfect and valuable vase or statue. The
piece may be restored, but, however skilfully such be done, the rift
remains, the object is no longer perfect. It is probable that at that
moment he felt more bitterly towards Violet than she did towards him,
which is saying a great deal. He had been rudely thrown out of his
fool's paradise, and with grim resolution he must accept the position
and live down the loss. But the flower-like face, and the deep blue
eyes which had brimmed up at him with love, and the soft, wavy brown
hair which had pillowed against his breast in restful trust--could he
ever tear the recollection from his mind? Pest take those jangling
Christmas bells though, cleaving the night with their mockery of peace
and good-will!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Here, Violet. What the dickens is the meaning of this?" said her
father, an hour or two later, as he met her going upstairs to dress for
dinner. "Here's Lamont cleared at a moment's notice, without the
civility even to say good-bye. Leaves this,"--holding out an open
letter--"saying he's been called away on urgent business--a qualified
lie you know, because no one does business on Christmas Day, and it's
nearly that now--and won't be able to return; may have to go abroad
immediately; and all the stock balderdash men write under the
circumstances; though how they imagine anybody is going to be such an
idiot as to believe them, I can't make out. Now, _you_ are at the back
of all this. Had a row?"
"Oh, I don't care to talk about it," she said, with a movement as though
to pass on.
"But you must care to talk about it, my dear girl; at any rate for my
satisfaction. You had to consult me, didn't you, in order to bring
about this engagement? and now if you've thrown the man over--and it
looks deucedly as if you had--I've a right to know why. Here--come in
here."
Squire Courtland was by no means of the type usually described as "one
of the old school," except in so far that he was very much master in his
own house. For the rest, he prided himself on being exceedingly
up-to-date--and his estimate of woman was almost savage in its cynicism.
Between himself and Violet there was an utter lack of sympathy;
resulting, now that she was grown up, in an occasional and very
unpleasant passage of arms.
"If I've thrown the man over!" quoted Violet angrily, when they were
alone in her father's own private `den,' "of course you are sure to take
his part."
"I must know what `his part' is before taking it or not. You women
always expect us to hang a man first and try him afterwards; or rather
to hang him on your sweet evidence alone, and not try him at all."
"Oh, father, please don't talk to me in that horrid tone," restraining
with vast effort the paroxysm of sobbing which threatened, and which she
knew would only irritate him. "I am not feeling so extra happy, I can
tell you."
"Well, get it over then. What has Lamont done?"
"I can't marry a coward."
"Eh? A coward? Lamont? Have you taken leave of your senses, girl?"
"Well, listen. You shall hear," she said crisply. And then she gave
him an account of the whole affair.
"Is that all?" he said when she had done.
"All?"
"Yes. All?"
"Yes, it is. I don't see what more there could be. I urged him to try
and save the boy, and he refused. Refused!"
"And, by the Lord, he was right!" cried the Squire. "The answer he gave
you was absolutely the right one, my child. If it had been yourself
you'd have seen how he'd have gone in, but for a man of Lamont's strong
common-sense to go and throw away his life for a gallows' brat that has
only been fished out of the mere to be hanged later on in due course--
why, I'm glad he's justified the good opinion I had of him."
"Then, father, you think he was justified in refusing to save life under
any circumstances?" said Violet, very white and hard. There was no fear
of her breaking down now. The fact of her father siding so entirely
with her cast-off lover was as a tonic. It hardened and braced her.
"Certainly I do. He gave you the right answer, and on your own showing
you insulted him--taking advantage of being a woman--several times over,
for the fun of a squalid rabble that I am fool enough to allow to come
and disport themselves on my property; but I'll have them all cleared
off tomorrow. Coward, indeed! Lamont a coward! No--no. That won't
do. I know men too well for that."
"Then he was a brute instead," retorted Violet, lashing herself into
additional anger, as a dismal misgiving assailed her that she might have
made a hideous and lifelong error of judgment. "A coldblooded,
calculating brute, and that's just as bad."
"I don't fancy you'll get many to agree with you as to the last, my
dear. Any man would rather be a brute than a coward," said the Squire
sneeringly. "And every man is a brute in the eyes of a woman if he
doesn't lie down flat and let her waltz over him, or fetch and carry,
and cringe like a well-trained water-spaniel. Well, that's neither here
nor there. You've been engaged to a strong, level-headed, sensible
man--one of the most sensible I've ever known--and you've publicly
insulted him and thrown him over for no adequate cause whatever, I
suppose if ever I see him again I shall have to apologise to him for the
way he's been treated."
Violet could hardly contain herself throughout this peroration.
"Apologise to him?" she flashed. "Good Heavens! if the man went down on
his knees to me, after what has happened, I wouldn't look at him."
"Well, you're not likely to get the chance. Lamont is no such imbecile
as to embark on any silliness of that kind. You've had such a chance as
you'll never get again, and you'll live to regret it, mark me."
The girl went from her father's presence in a whirlwind of passion,
but--it was mixed. Inwardly she raged against him for not sympathising
with--not applauding her action. He had thrown another light upon the
matter; hard, cynical, even brutal, but--still another light. And the
sting lay in his last words. She would live to regret it, he had said.
Why, she regretted it already.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE MOPANI FOREST.
The man could hardly drag one step behind the other. He could hardly
drag by the bridle the tottering horse, of which the same held good.
His brain was giddy and his eyes wearied with the unvarying vista on
every hand, the straight stems of the mopani forest, enclosing him; a
still and ghastly wilderness devoid of bird or animal life. He stumbled
forward, his lips blue and cracked, his tongue swollen, his throat on
fire; and in his mind was blank and utter despair, for he knew that he
was in the heart of a waterless tract, extending for about a hundred
miles, and for over forty hours no drop of moisture of any sort had
passed his lips. Forty hours of wandering in the driest, most
thirst-inspiring region in the world!
He had made a bad start. There had been festivities at Fort Pagadi the
night before, to celebrate the Jameson Raid and drink the health of its
leaders. In these he had participated to the full--very much to the
full. He had started at daybreak with a native guide, a headache, and a
thirst which a brace of long and early brandies-and-sodas had failed
entirely to quench. He had started, too, with another concomitant
incidental to these latter--a very bad temper, to wit; wherefore, the
native guide proving irritatingly dull of comprehension, he leaned from
the saddle and cuffed him; which proceeding that aboriginal resented by
decamping on the first opportunity.
Then he should have gone back, but he did not. He took short cuts
instead. This was the more idiotic as he was rather new to the country,
to this actual section of it entirely so. In short, it is hardly
surprising that in the logical result he should have found himself
lost--irretrievably `turned round'; and now, after two days and a night
of wandering to and fro, and round and round, in futile, frantic efforts
to extricate himself from that fatal net, here he was hardly able to
drag himself or his horse four hundred yards farther, the nearest water
being anything between thirty and fifty miles away.
The scant shade of the mopani foliage afforded little protection from
the sun, and even if it had, the oven-like atmosphere engendered by the
burnt, cracked soil would have neutralised such. He had tried climbing
trees in order to try and get some sort of bearings. As well might a
swimmer in mid-ocean rise to the crest of a wave, hoping to descry a
landmark. The smooth, regular expanse of bluish-grey leafage stretched
away unbroken, in whatever direction he might turn his eager despairing
gaze; and he had got stung by ants, and had wasted a deal of much needed
vitality in the effort. That was all, and now he had not even the
strength to climb half a tree if his life had depended upon it. Even an
unlooked-for stumble on the part of the horse he was leading dragged him
flat on his back, jerking at the same time the bridle from his hand.
"Come here, you infernal loathly brute!" he snarled, making an effort to
recover the rein. But for some reason, instinct perhaps, the horse
backed away, just keeping beyond reach.
He glared at the animal with hatred, not altogether unreasonable. For
when he had been travelling about four hours, and was uneasily beginning
to realise that he was lost, he had unslung his vulcanite water-bottle--
which nobody travelling up-country should ever be without--and had
placed it on the ground while off-saddling. But something had startled
the stupid brute, which in its blundering, foolish plunges had put its
foot clean through that indispensable receptacle, of course shattering
it like an eggshell, and spilling every drop of the contents on the
thirsty, sucking soil. He had intended, when the worst came to the
worst, to kill the animal, and assuage his torturing thirst with the
draught of its blood; and the worst _had_ come to the worst.
Some instinct must have lurked within that stupid brain, for now neither
cursing nor coaxing, tried alternately, would induce the horse to come
within reach. Exhausted as it was, it would still slue round, jerking
the bridle away with every attempt to seize it. Once, in desperation,
he seized a stirrup leather, hoping to gain the saddle that way, and
recover the bridle-rein, only to result in a nasty fall against a mopani
stem.
Hideous and thick were the curses which oozed from the swollen lips of
the despairing man, as he saw even this last chance of life--loathsome,
revolting as it was--reft from him. He had no firearms; his six-shooter
he had left for repairs at Fort Pagadi, and not being able to find the
smith at the early hour of his start, with characteristic impatience he
had come on without it: otherwise the difficulty would have been settled
then and there. But as he resumed his stumbling way, the horse,
apparently appreciating human companionship in that wild solitude,
continued to follow him, though persistently defying all effort to
secure it.
He glanced upward. The sun was throwing long rays now along the
tree-tops. Another night would soon be here, bringing with it, however,
no abatement of heat and thirst and torment--Ah! h!
The deep-drawn, raucous sigh that escaped the man can hardly be
conveyed. In front the trees were thinning. There was light beyond.
The road, of course! He had reached the road again, which he should
never have left. There it would be hard but that some traveller or
transport rider should find him, even if he had not the strength to drag
himself on to the nearest human habitation.
With renewed strength, which he thought had left him for ever, he
hurried forward. The line of light grew lighter. The trees ended. No
road was this, but a stony dry _sluit_. It would run a torrent after a
thunderstorm, but this was not the time of thunderstorms, wherefore now
it was as dry as the hard rock that constituted its bed. The wretched
wanderer uttered an exclamation that was half groan, half curse, but was
expressive of the very acme of human despair.
He turned again to try and coax his horse within catching distance. But
this time the animal threw up its head, snorted, and, with an energy he
had not thought it still to possess, turned and trotted off into the
depths of the mopani, its head in the air, and the bridle-rein swinging
clear of the ground. With another awful curse the man fell forward on
the baking earth, and lay, half in, half out of the line of trees which
ended at the _sluit_.
He lay motionless. The sun was off the opening, fortunately for him, or
its terrible focussed rays, falling on the back of his neck, would have
ended his allotted time then and there. But--what was this? On the
line of his track, moving towards him, shadows were stealing--two of
them.
Shadows? They were like such, as they flitted from tree to tree--two
evil-looking Makalaka--with their glistening bodies naked save for a
skin _mutya_ and a collar of wooden beads, with their smooth, shaven
heads and broad noses and glistening eyeballs. And now each gripped
more tightly an assegai and a native axe, as nearer and nearer, like
gliding demons, they stole noiselessly upon the prostrate and exhausted
white man.
The latter had not been so completely alone as he had supposed. Yard
upon yard, mile upon mile, his footsteps had been dogged by these
human--or hardly human--sleuth-hounds. Their ghoul-like exultation when
they had discovered another lost white man, within what was to them as
its web is to a spider, had known no bounds. _Another_! Yes. For more
than one traveller had disappeared already within that trackless
thirst-belt, never to be heard of again either in life or death.
To these, and such as these, this unfathomable tract of thirst-land was
nothing. To the whisky-and-soda drinking Englishman, with his
artificial wants, and general lack of resource and utter deficiency in
the bump of locality, it was, as in the case of the one lying here, a
tomb. To the lithe, serpentine savage, whose draught of water, and mess
of coarse _impupu_, or mealie porridge--when he could get it--it was a
joke. These two had learned this, and had turned it to account, even as
they were about to turn it to account again. They had been on the spoor
of the wanderer from the very first, with hardly more to eat or drink
than he. But then, they had not started after spending a night toasting
the Jameson Raid.
Now they looked at each other, and there was a complete inventory in
each devilish glance. Summed up, it read: A suit of clothes; item a
shirt, boots; item a revolver and a knife--which he was too exhausted
and which they would not give him time to use; item a watch and chain--
tradeable at some distant time and place; certainly some money--
available immediately. The horse, too. They need not trouble about it
now. They would find it easily enough afterwards, and then what a
feast! Of a truth their Snake was favourable to them again!
There lay the victim--there lay the prey. Gliding like evil wood-demons
from the edge of the trees they were over him now. One more glance
exchanged. Each had got his role. The doomed man lay still, with eyes
closed, and a churn of froth at the corners of the swollen lips. One
slowly raised his axe to bring it down on the skull. The other gripped
aloft his assegai. Both could not miss, and it was as well to provide
against contingencies--when--
The fiend with the axe leapt high in the air, falling backward, then
leaping half up again and performing a series of wondrous gyrations,--
this simultaneously with a sharp crack from the cover opposite, on the
farther side of the _sluit_,--shot fair and square and neatly through
the head. The fiend with the assegai knew better than to waste time
unprofitably by completing his stroke. He whirled round as on a pivot,
darting within the friendly trees with the rapidity of a startled snake.
But futilely. For one infinitesimal fraction of a second, Time decreed
that that gliding, dark body should be in line with a certain slit-like
vista in the mopani stems, and--Crack!--again. The second miscreant
dropped, like a walking-stick you let fall on the pavement, and lay face
downwards, arms outspread, motionless as his intended victim.
Then there was silence again in the mopani forest, where lay three
motionless human bodies; dead silence, for--hours, it seemed. No; it
was only minutes.
From among the trees lining the opposite side of the dry _sluit_, out of
the burnt-up grass there now arose the figure of a man--a white man. He
carried a.303 magazine rifle in his left hand, and a revolver of
business-like size was slung round him in a holster. He was rather tall
than not, and loose hung; but from the moment he put down his foot to
step forth from his cover, you could discern a sinewy elasticity of
frame which it would take any two men's share of fatigue to overcome.
His face was peculiar. Grey-bearded and high-nosed, it conveyed the
impression of chronic whimsicality, especially just now, puckered with
the chuckle which was convulsing its owner. But there was a steely
clearness in the blue eyes, glancing straight from under the broad
hat-brim, that you would rather not face looking at you from behind the
sights of a rifle.
This curiously effective specimen of a guardian angel lounged across to | 1,600.453264 |
2023-11-16 18:43:44.5296270 | 1,403 | 9 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, 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)
ROYALTY
IN ALL AGES
[Illustration: text decoration]
T. F. THISELTON-DYER, M.A. OXON.
[Illustration: QUEEN ELIZABETH]
ROYALTY
IN ALL AGES
The Amusements, Eccentricities, Accomplishments,
Superstitions, and
Frolics of the Kings and
Queens of Europe
BY
T. F. THISELTON-DYER, M.A. OXON.
_WITH SIX ETCHED PORTRAITS FROM
CONTEMPORARY ENGRAVINGS_
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO, LTD.
NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
MDCCCCIII
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press
PREFACE
It has been remarked that to write of the private and domestic acts of
monarchs while still alive savours of scandal and bad taste, but when
dead their traits of character, however strange and eccentric they may
have been in their lifetime, at once become matter of history. Adopting
this rule, we have confined ourselves in the present work to dealing
with royalty in the past; and, in a field so wide, we have, as far as
possible, endeavoured to make each chapter concise and representative of
the subject treated. The following pages, whilst illustrating the
marvellous versatility of royalty, when seriously analysed tend to show
how vastly superior the latter-day sovereigns have been when compared
with those of earlier times, many of whose extraordinary freaks and
vagaries as much degraded the throne, as the refined and cultivated
tastes of her late Majesty Queen Victoria elevated and beautified it.
T. F. THISELTON-DYER.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. ROYALTY AT PLAY 1
II. FREAKS OF ROYALTY 10
III. ROYAL REVELRY 37
IV. ROYAL EPICURES 57
V. CURIOUS FADS OF ROYALTY 85
VI. DANCING MONARCHS 99
VII. ROYAL HOBBIES 120
VIII. THE ROYAL HUNT 135
IX. ROYAL MASQUES AND MASQUERADES 152
X. ROYALTY IN DISGUISE 168
XI. ROYAL GAMESTERS 184
XII. ROYALTY ON THE TURF 204
XIII. ROYAL SPORTS AND PASTIMES 223
XIV. COURT DWARFS 239
XV. ROYAL PETS 247
XVI. ROYAL JOKES AND HUMOUR 264
XVII. ROYALTY AND FASHION 288
XVIII. ROYALTY WHIPT AND MARRIED BY PROXY 306
XIX. COURT JESTERS AND FOOLS 313
XX. ROYALTY AND THE DRAMA 334
XXI. ROYAL AUTHORS 357
XXII. ROYAL MUSICIANS 376
XXIII. SUPERSTITIONS OF ROYALTY 395
INDEX 433
LIST OF ETCHED PORTRAITS
QUEEN ELIZABETH _Frontispiece_
EDWARD I. _To face page_ 46
EDWARD III. ” 136
CHARLES II. ” 210
CHARLES IX., KING OF FRANCE ” 240
LOUIS XIV. ” 348
ROYALTY
CHAPTER I
ROYALTY AT PLAY
The great Mogul Emperor was a chess player, and was generous enough to
rejoice when he was beaten by one of his courtiers, which was the exact
reverse of Philip II. of Spain, who, when a Spanish grandee had won
every game in which he had played against the King, could not conceal
his vexation. Whereupon the skilful but injudicious player, returning
home, said to his family: “My children, we have nothing more to do at
Court. There we must henceforth expect no favour; the King is offended
because I have won of him every game of chess.” Napoleon did not like
defeat even at chess, for, if he perceived his antagonist gaining upon
him, he would with one hasty movement sweep board and pieces off the
table on to the ground.
In some cases, however, if we are to believe the traditions of history,
chess has been responsible for some serious fracas. Thus a story is told
of William the Conqueror, how when a young man he was invited to the
Court of the French king, and during his stay there was one day engaged
at chess with the King’s eldest son, when a dispute arose concerning a
certain move. William, annoyed at a certain remark made by his
antagonist, struck him with the chess-board, which “obliged him to make
a precipitate retreat from France to avoid the consequences of so rash
an act.”
A similar anecdote is told of John, the youngest son of Henry II., who
quarrelled over the chess-board with one Fulco Guarine, a Shropshire
nobleman, receiving such a blow as almost to kill him. John did not
easily forget the affront, and long after his accession to the throne
showed his resentment by keeping him from the possession of Whittington
Castle, to which he was the rightful heir. It is also said that Henry
was engaged at chess when the deputies from Rouen informed him that the
city was besieged by Philip, King of France; but he would not listen to
their news until he had finished his game. A curious accident happened
to Edward I. when he was playing at chess at Windsor, for, on suddenly
rising from the game, the next moment the centre stone of the groined
ceiling fell on the very spot where he had been sitting, an escape which
he | 1,600.549667 |
2023-11-16 18:43:44.6326830 | 3,271 | 18 |
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.
Sidenotes are shown in brackets. Superscripts are shown with ^ marks.
Typographical errors are listed at the end of the e-text.
The usual disclaimers apply. Do not try this at home.]
* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *
A boke or coun-
seill against the disease
commonly called the
sweate or swea-
tyng sicknesse
made by Jhon Caius
doctour in phisicke
uery necessary for everye
personne and much requi-
site to be had in the handes
of al sortes, for their better
instruction, preparation and
defence, against the soub-
dein comyng, and fear-
ful assaultyng of the
same disease
1552
TO THE RIGHTE HONOURABLE
WILLIAM EARLE OF PENBROKE, LORDE
HARBERT OF CARDIFE, KNIGHT OF THE HONOUR-
ABLE ORDRE OF THE GARTER, AND PRESIDENT OF
THE KYNGES HIGHNES COUNSEILL IN
THE MARCHES OF WALES:
JHON CAIUS WISHETH
HELTH AND HONOUR.
In the fereful tyme of the sweate (ryghte honourable) many
resorted vnto me for counseil, among whome some beinge my frendes
& aquaintance, desired me to write vnto them some litle counseil
howe to gouerne themselues therin: saiyng also that I should do
a greate pleasure to all my frendes and contrimen, if I would
deuise at my laisure some thing, whiche from tyme to tyme might
remaine, wherto men might in such cases haue a recourse &
present refuge at all nedes, as then they had none. At whose
requeste, at that tyme I wrate diuerse counseiles so shortly as
I could for the present necessite, whiche they bothe vsed and
dyd geue abrode to many others, & further appoynted in my self
to fulfill (for so much as laye in me) the other parte of their
honest request for the time to come. The whiche the better to
execute and brynge to passe, I spared not to go to all those
that sente for me, bothe poore, and riche, day and night. And
that not only to do them that ease that I could, & to instructe
them for their recouery: but to note also throughly, the cases
and circumstaunces of the disease in diuerse persons, and to
vnderstande the nature and causes of the same fully, for so much
as might be. Therefore as I noted, so I wrate as laisure then
serued, and finished one boke in Englishe, onely for Englishe men
not lerned, one other in latine for men of lerninge more at
large, and generally for the help of them which hereafter should
haue nede, either in this or other countreis, that they may lerne
by our harmes. This I had thoughte to haue set furth before
christmas, & to haue geuen to your lordshippe at new-yeres (3)
tide, but that diuerse other businesses letted me. Neuertheles
that which then coulde not be done cometh not now out of season,
although it be neuer so simple, so it may do ease hereafter,
which as I trust this shal, so for good wil I geue
and dedicate it vnto your good Lordshippe, trustyng the
same will take this with as good a mind, as I
geue it to your honour, whiche our Lorde
preserue and graunt long
to continue.
At London the first of Aprill.
1552.
The boke of Jhon Caius
against the sweatyng sicknes.
Man beyng borne not for his owne vse and commoditie alone, but
also for the common benefite of many, (as reason wil and al good
authoures write) he whiche in this world is worthy to lyue,
ought al wayes to haue his hole minde and intente geuen to
profite others. Whiche thynge to shewe in effecte in my selfe,
although by fortune some waies I haue ben letted, yet by that
whiche fortune cannot debarre, some waies again I haue declared.
For after certein yeres beyng at cambrige, I of the age of XX.
yeres, partly for mine exercise and profe what I coulde do, but
chefely for certein of my very frendes, dyd translate out of
Latine into Englishe certein workes, hauyng nothynge els so good
to gratifie theim w^t. Wherof one of _S. Chrysostome de modo
orandi deum_, that is, of y^e manner (4) to praye to god, I sent
to one my frende then beyng in the courte. One other, a woorke
of _Erasmus de vera theologia_, the true and redy waye to reade
the scripture, I dyd geue to Maister Augustine Stiwarde Alderman
of Norwiche, not in the ful as the authore made it, but
abbreuiate for his only purpose to whome I sent it, Leuyng out
many subtile thinges, made rather for great & learned diuines,
then for others. The thirde was the paraphrase of the same
Erasmus vpon the Epistle of S. Jude, whiche I translated at the
requeste of one other my deare frende.
These I did in Englishe the rather because at that tyme men ware
not so geuen all to Englishe, but that they dyd fauoure &
maynteine good learning conteined in tongues & sciences, and did
also study and apply diligently the same them selues. Therfore I
thought no hurte done. Sence y^t tyme diuerse other thynges I
haue written, but with entente neuer more to write in the
Englishe tongue, partly because the commoditie of that which is
so written, passeth not the compasse of Englande, but remaineth
enclosed within the seas, and partly because I thought that
labours so taken should be halfe loste among them whiche sette
not by learnyng. Thirdly for that I thought it beste to auoide
the iudgement of the multitude, from whome in maters of learnyng
a man shalbe forced to dissente, in disprouyng that whiche they
most approue, & approuyng that whiche they moste disalowe.
Fourthly for that the common settyng furthe and printing of euery
foolishe thyng in englishe, both of phisicke vnperfectly, and
other matters vndiscretly diminishe the grace of thynges learned
set furth in thesame. But chiefely, because I wolde geue none
example or comforte to my countrie men, (whom I wolde to be now,
as here tofore they haue bene, comparable in learnyng to men of
other countries) to stonde onely in the Englishe tongue, but to
leaue the simplicite of thesame, and to procede further in (5)
many and diuerse knoweleges bothe in tongues and sciences at
home and in vniuersities, to the adournyng of the common welthe,
better seruice of their kyng, & great pleasure and commodite of
their owne selues, to what kinde of life so euer they shold
applie them. Therfore whatsoeuer sence that tyme I minded to
write, I wrate y^e same either in greke or latine. As firste of
all certein commentaries vpon certein bokes of William
framingham, maister of art in Cambrige, a man ot great witte,
memorie, diligence and learnyng, brought vp in thesame scholes
in Englande that I was, euer from his beginnyng vntil his death.
Of the which bokes, ij. of _continentia_ (or continence) wer in
prose, y^e reste in metre or verse of diuerse kindes. One a
comforte for a blinde man, entitled _ad Aemilianum caecum
consolatio_, one other _Ecpyrosis, seu incendium sodomorum_, the
burnyng of Sodome. The thirde _Laurentius_, expressyng the
tormentes of Saincte Laurence. The fourthe, _Idololatria_,
Idolatrie, not after the trade and veine of scripture (wherein
he was also very well exercised) but conformable to scripture
and after the ciuile and humane learnyng, declaryng them to
worshippe _Mars_, that warre, or fight: _Venus_, that lyue
incontinently: _Pluto_, that folowe riches couetousely; and so
forth through all vices vsed in his time. The fiueth boke
_Arete_, vertue: the sixth, Epigrammes, conteined in two bokes,
whiche by an epistle of his owne hand before y^e boke yet
remainyng, he dedicated vnto me, purposyng to haue done many
more prety thynges, but that cruell death preuented, and toke him
away wher he and I was borne at Norwiche, in the yere of our
Lord M.d.xxxvij. the xxix. daie of September, beynge then of the
age of xxv. yeres, vij. Monethes, and vj. daies, a greate losse
of so notable a yonge man. These workes at his death he willed
to comme to my handes, by (6) which occasion after I had viewed
them, and perceiued them ful of al kyndes of learnyng, thinkyng
them no workes for all men to vnderstande with out helpe, but such
as were wel sene in all sortes of authours: I endeuoured my
selfe partely for the helpe of others, & partly for mine owne
exercise, to declare vpon theim the profite of my studie in
ciuile and humane learnynge, and to haue before mine eyes as in
a worke (which was alwaies my delyght) how muche I had profited
in the same. Thys so done, I ioyned euery of my commentaries to
euery of hys saied bokes, faier written by Nicolas Pergate puple
to the saied Maister Framyngham, myndyng after the iudgement of
learned men had in thesame, to haue set theim furthe in prynte,
if it had ben so thought good to theim. For whyche cause, at my
departynge into Italie, I put an Epistle before theym
dedicatorye to the right Reuerend father in God Thomas Thirlbye,
now Bishoppe of Norwiche, because thesame maister Framyngham
loued hym aboue others. He after my departure deliuered the
bokes to the reuerende father in god Jhon Skippe, late bishop of
Hereforde, then to D. Thirtle, tutor to the sayd maister
framyngham, from him to syr Richard Morisine, now ambassadoure for
y^e kinges maiestie with themperour, then to D. Tailour Deane of
Lincolne, and syr Thomas Smithe, secretarie after to y^e kynges
Maiestie, all great learned men. From these to others they wente,
among whome the bokes died, (as I suppose,) or els be closely
kept, that after my death they may be setfurthe in the names of
them which now haue them, as their workes. Howe soeuer it be,
well I knowe that at my returne out of Italie (after vj. yeres
continuance ther) into England, I coulde neuer vnderstand wher
they wer, although I bothe diligently and desirousely sought
them. After these I translated out of Greke into Latine a litle
boke of _Nicephorus_, declarynge howe a man maye in praiynge
confesse hym selfe, which after I dyd geue vnto Jhon Grome
bacheler in arte, (7) a yong man | 1,600.652723 |
2023-11-16 18:43:44.7254750 | 2,156 | 85 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Web Archive (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scans provided by the Internet Archive,
https://archive.org/details/delawareorruined01jame
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
EDINBURGH
PRINTED BY M. AITKEN, 1, ST JAMES's SQUARE.
DELAWARE;
OR
THE RUINED FAMILY.
A TALE.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR ROBERT CADELL, EDINBURGH;
AND WHITTAKER & CO., LONDON.
MDCCCXXXIII.
PREFACE.
Not many years ago, as the writer of this work was returning on
horseback to Castellamare, from a visit to the Lactarian Hills, he
overtook, just under the chestnut trees on the <DW72>, which every one
who has visited that part of Italy must remember, two gentlemen with
their guide, who were on their way home after some expedition of a
kind similar to his own.
As the indefinable something told him at once that they were
Englishmen, he turned, as usual under such circumstances, to examine
them more critically in passing, and in one of them recollected a
person whom he had met more than once in London. He hesitated whether
he should claim the acquaintance; as, when he had before seen him, the
traveller had appeared to great disadvantage. A man of rank and
fortune, flattered, caressed, single, and set at, he had borne a sort
of sneering indifference on his countenance, which certainly did not
recommend him to a person who neither sought his friendship nor feared
his contempt. A few traits, indeed, had casually appeared, which
seemed to betray a better spirit beneath this kind of supercilious
exterior; but still the impression was unfavourable.
All hesitation, however, was put an end to by a bow and friendly
recognition on the part of the other; and either because the
annoyances of the society in which he had formerly been met, were now
removed, or because a general improvement had worked itself in his
demeanour and character, his tone was so different, and his aspect so
prepossessing, that all feelings of dislike were soon done away. He
instantly made his "dear, new-found friend" acquainted with his
companion; and informing him that he had left his wife and sister at
the Albergo Reale, invited him to join their party for the evening.
This was accordingly done, and now--having ridden the third person
long enough, as it is the roughest going horse in the stable--I will,
with the reader's permission, do the next ten miles on the first
person singular.
The acquaintance which was there renewed soon went on to intimacy; and
as I found that the party which I had met with, consisted of an odd
number, the unfortunate fifth being an old gentleman, who required
some one more of his own age than his four relations to converse with,
I ventured to propose myself as their companion in a visit to some
places in the neighbourhood, and as their cicerone to Pæstum. The
proposal was accepted; and, strange enough to say, our companionship,
which had commenced so suddenly, did not end till those I may now
boldly call my friends returned to England, nearly a year after,
leaving me to stupify at Lauzanne.
Amongst the many pleasures which I derived from their society in
Italy, none was greater than that which some account of their
preceding adventures gave me. This was first obtained in a casual
manner, by hearing continual reference made amongst themselves to
particular circumstances. "Do you remember, Henry, such and such an
event? Does not that put you in mind of this, that, or the other?" was
continually ringing in my ears; and thus I gathered part ere the whole
was continuously related to me. At length, I obtained a complete
narrative; and though it was told with many a gay and happy jest, and
many a reference to details which would not amuse the world in
general, I could not help thinking that the public might find it
nearly as interesting as it proved to me.
In the same sort of gossiping anecdotical style in which I received
it, I have here, with full permission, put down the whole story. In
what tongue under the sun I have written it, I do not very well know,
though the language I intended to employ is a sort of jargon, based
upon Anglo-Saxon, with a superstructure of the Norman corruption of
French, propped up by bad Latin, and having the vacancies supplied by
Greek. Taking it for granted, that into this refuge for destitute
tongues, any houseless stranger would be welcome, whenever I was not
able to find readily a word or expression to my purpose, I have either
made one for myself, or stolen one from the first language at hand;
and as this has been done in all ages, I make no apology for it here.
I have reason, however, to believe that I have more sins to answer for
amongst the technical terms, and other more important matters. My
worthy lawyer, Mr. W----, tells me that my law is not sound; that,
instead of _indicted_ I should have said _arraigned_; instead of
_action_ I should have used the word _process_--or the reverse, I
forget which. My gallant friend, Captain D----, has taken much pains
to explain to me the difference between a _yawl_ and a _Peter boat_,
and has utterly confounded me with a definition of _clinker built_;
and my noble friend. Lord A----, declares that I have certainly
painted both his foibles and his adventures in somewhat strong
colours; but if, by so doing, I make a better book of it--why, let it
pass.
For all this I apologize to the public in general, acknowledging that
I am neither lawyer nor physician, soldier nor sailor, scholar nor
philosopher, nor what the cant of a former day denominated a man of
wit about town. Whoever reads the book, will see all this at a glance;
but I trust they will also see that I have not drawn from things of
marble, but from flesh and blood.
To one portion of his Britannic Majesty's subjects I have particularly
to apologize. Since this book went to the press, I have discovered,
from Cary's Road-Book, that there is a real village, or hamlet, or
town, called Emberton; and I hereby most solemnly declare, that, in
fixing upon that name as the scene of my chief adventures, I believed
I was employing an entirely fictitious title, and did so for the sole
purpose of concealing the real place at which some of the events
occurred. Let it be remembered, therefore, by all persons who have
seen, heard, or known any thing of the village, town, or hamlet of
Emberton, that, in writing this book, I did not know that such a place
did truly exist, and that nothing herein contained, is in any way to
be understood or construed to apply to the real place called Emberton
or its inhabitants, referring solely to a different spot in a
different county, which shall, by the reader's good leave, be
nameless.
Innerleithen,
25_th May_, 1833.
DELAWARE;
OR,
THE RUINED FAMILY.
CHAPTER I.
Most cities are hateful; and, without any disposition to "babble about
green fields," it must be owned that each is more or less detestable.
Nevertheless, amongst them all, there is none to be compared as a
whole to London;--none which comprehends within itself, from various
causes, so much of the sublime in every sort. Whether we consider its
giant immensity of expanse--the wonderful intricacy of its internal
structure--the miraculous harmony of its discrepant parts--the grand
amalgamation of its different orders, classes, states, pursuits,
professions--the mighty aggregate of hopes, wishes, endeavours, joys,
successes, fears, pangs, disappointments, crimes, and punishments,
that it contains--its relative influence on the world at large--or the
vehement pulse with which that "mighty heart" sends the flood of
circulation through this beautiful land--we shall find that that most
wonderful microcosm well deserves the epithet _sublime_.
To view it rightly--if we wish to view it with the eye of a
philosopher--we should choose perhaps the hour which is chosen by the
most magnificent and extraordinary of modern poets, and gaze upon it
when the sun is just beginning to pour his first red beams through the
dim and loaded air, when that vast desert of brick and mortar, that
interminable wilderness of spires and chimneys, looks more wide, and
endless, and solemn, than when the eye is distracted by the myriads of
mites that creep about it in the risen day.
It may be asked, perhaps, who is there that ever saw it at that hour,
except the red-armed housemaid, washing the morning step, and letting
in the industrious thief, to steal the greatcoats from the hall; or
the dull muffin-man, who goes tinkling his early bell through the
misty streets of the wintry morning? Granted, that neither of
these--nor the sellers of early purl--nor the venders of saloop and
cocoa--nor Covent Garden market-women--nor the late returners from the
_finish_--nor he who starts up from the doorway, where he has passed
the wretched | 1,600.745515 |
2023-11-16 18:43:44.7343260 | 763 | 35 |
Produced by David Widger
SONGS OF THE ROAD
By Arthur Conan Doyle
Contents
I. NARRATIVE VERSES AND SONGS
SONGS OF THE ROAD
A HYMN OF EMPIRE
SIR NIGEL'S SONG
THE ARAB STEED
A POST-IMPRESSIONIST
EMPIRE BUILDERS
THE GROOM'S ENCORE
THE BAY HORSE
THE OUTCASTS
THE END
1902-1909
THE WANDERER {1}
BENDY'S SERMON
II. PHILOSOPHIC VERSES
COMPENSATION
THE BANNER OF PROGRESS
HOPE
RELIGIO MEDICI
MAN'S LIMITATION
MIND AND MATTER
DARKNESS
III MISCELLANEOUS VERSES
A WOMAN'S LOVE
BY THE NORTH SEA
DECEMBER'S SNOW
SHAKESPEARE'S EXPOSTULATION
THE EMPIRE
A VOYAGE
THE ORPHANAGE
SEXAGENARIUS LOQUITUR
NIGHT VOICES
THE MESSAGE
THE ECHO
ADVICE TO A YOUNG AUTHOR
A LILT OF THE ROAD
SONGS OF THE ROAD
By Arthur Conan Doyle
Garden City New York
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1911
J. C. D.
THIS-AND-ALL
February, 1911
FOREWORD
If it were not for the hillocks
You'd think little of the hills;
The rivers would seem tiny
If it were not for the rills.
If you never saw the brushwood
You would under-rate the trees;
And so you see the purpose
Of such little rhymes as these.
Crowborough
1911
I. NARRATIVE VERSES AND SONGS
[1]
SONGS OF THE ROAD
A HYMN OF EMPIRE
(Coronation Year, 1911)
[3]
God save England, blessed by Fate,
So old, yet ever young:
The acorn isle from which the great
Imperial oak has sprung!
And God guard Scotland's kindly soil,
The land of stream and glen,
The granite mother that has bred
A breed of granite men!
God save Wales, from Snowdon's vales
To Severn's silver strand!
[4] For all the grace of that old race
Still haunts the Celtic land.
And, dear old Ireland, God save you,
And heal the wounds of old,
For every grief you ever knew
May joy come fifty-fold!
Set Thy guard over us,
May Thy shield cover us,
Enfold and uphold us
On land and on sea!
From the palm to the pine,
From the snow to the line,
Brothers together
And children of Thee.
Thy blessing, Lord, on Canada,
Young giant of the West,
[5] Still upward lay her broadening way,
And may her feet be blessed!
And Africa, whose hero breeds
Are blending into one,
Grant that she tread the path which leads
To holy unison.
May God protect Australia,
Set in her Southern Sea!
Though far thou art, it cannot part
Thy brother folks from thee.
And you, the Land | 1,600.754366 |
2023-11-16 18:43:44.7343830 | 1,404 | 8 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page Scan Source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=zzhMAAAAcAAJ
ORVILLE COLLEGE.
A STORY.
BY
MRS. HENRY WOOD,
AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," ETC.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION_.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1861
_The Right of Translation is reserved_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. In the Plantation.
II. The New Boy.
III. Hard and Obstinate as Nails.
IV. Sir Simon Orville's Offered Reward.
V. Mother Butter's Lodgings.
VI. Mr. Gall abroad.
VII. Mr. Lamb improves his Mind in Private.
VIII. A Loss.
IX. Christmas Day.
X. A Man in a Blaze.
XI. Only the Heat!
XII. In the Shop in Oxford Street.
XIII. If the Boys had but seen!
XIV. Over the Water.
XV. Dick's Bath.
XVI. The Duel.
XVII. Mr. Leek in Convulsions.
XVIII. Told at Last.
XIX. A Visitor for Sir Simon.
XX. As if Ill Luck followed him.
XXI. The Outbreak.
XXII. Before the Examiners.
XXIII. Falling from a Pinnacle.
XXIV. In the Quadrangle.
XXV. Very Peacefully.
XXVI. The End.
ORVILLE COLLEGE.
CHAPTER I.
In the Plantation.
The glowing sunset of a September evening was shining on the fair
grounds around Orville College, lighting up the scene of stir and
bustle invariably presented on the return of the boys to their studies
after the periodical holidays. A large, comfortable-looking, and very
irregular building was this college. But a moderate-sized house
originally, it had been added to here, and enlarged there, and raised
yonder, at different times as necessity required, and with regard to
convenience only, not to uniformity of architecture. The whole was of
red brick, save the little chapel jutting out at one end; _that_ was
of white brick, with black divisional strokes, as if the architect had
a mind to make some distinction by way of reverence. The Head Master's
house faced the lawn and the wide gravel carriage-drive that encircled
it; the school apartments, ending in the chapel, were built on the
house's left; the sleeping-rooms and domestic offices were on its
right. It was only a private college--in fact, a school--founded many
years ago by a Dr. Orville, and called after him; but it gradually
became renowned in the world, and was now of the very first order of
private colleges.
Situated near London, in the large and unoccupied tracts of land lying
between the north and the west districts, when the college was first
erected, nothing could be seen near it but green fields. It was in a
degree isolated still, but time had wrought its natural changes; a few
gentlemen's houses had grown up around, and a colony of small shops
came with them. The latest improvement, or innovation, whichever you
like to call it, had been a little brick railway station, and the
rushing, thundering trains, which seemed to be always passing, would
occasionally condescend to halt, and pick up or set down the Orville
travellers. In want of a name, when the houses spoken of began to
spring up, it had called itself Orville Green--which was as good a
name for the little suburb as any other.
Dr. Brabazon, the head master, stood at the door to receive his coming
guests. It had been more consistent possibly with the reserve and
dignity of a head master, to have ensconced himself in a state-chair
within the walls of his drawing-room or library, and given the boys a
gracious bow as each introduced himself. Not so the doctor. He was the
most simple-mannered man in the world--as these large-hearted and
large-minded men are apt to be,--and he stood at the hall door, or
went to it perpetually, with a hearty smile and outstretched hands for
each fresh arrival. A portly, genial man he, of near sixty years, with
an upright line of secret care on his brow that sat ill upon it, as if
it had no business there.
The boys on this occasion came up, as was usual, to the front, or
doctor's entrance; not to their own entrance near the chapel. The
number of students altogether did not exceed a hundred. About forty of
these were resident at the head master's; the rest--or nearly the
rest--were accommodated at the houses of other of the masters, and a
very few--eight or ten at the most--attended as outdoor pupils, their
friends living near. No difference whatever was made in the education,
but these last were somewhat looked down upon by the rest of the boys.
They arrived variously; some driven from town in their fathers'
handsome carriages, some in cabs, some used the new rail and walked
from thence, some had come by omnibus. Dr. Brabazon received all
alike, with the same genial smile, the same cordial grasp of the hand.
He liked all to make their appearance on the eve of school, that the
roll might be written and called: the actual business beginning on the
morrow.
A pair of beautiful long-tailed ponies, drawing a low four-wheeled
open carriage, came round the gravel sweep with a quiet dash. The
driver was a well-grown youth, who had entered his eighteenth year. He
had high, prominent features of an aquiline cast, and large sleepy
blue eyes: a handsome face, certainly, but spoilt by its look of
pride. His attention during his short drive--for they had not come
far--had been absorbed by his ponies and by his own self-importance as
he drove them. It was one of the senior boys, Albert Loftus. By his
side sat another of the seniors, a cousin, Raymond Trace, a
quiet-looking youth of no particular complexion, and his light eyes
rather sunk | 1,600.754423 |
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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)
[Illustration: The Lark’s Nest.]
MORE TALES
OF THE BIRDS
BY
W. WARDE FOWLER
AUTHOR OF “A YEAR WITH THE BIRDS,” ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED BY FRANCES L. FULLER_
_London_
MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1902
_All rights reserved_
Richard Clay and Sons, Limited,
LONDON AND BUNGAY.
TO
A. A. E. F.
IN MEMORY OF PLEASANT DAYS
IN THE SUNNY SUMMER
OF 1901
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. The Lark’s Nest 1
II. The Sorrows of a House Martin 24
III. The Sandpipers 51
IV. The Last of the Barons 79
V. Downs and Dungeons 104
VI. Doctor and Mrs. Jackson 130
VII. A Lucky Magpie 147
VIII. Selina’s Starling 185
IX. Too Much of a Good Thing 204
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Lark’s Nest _Frontispiece_.
The Sorrows of a House Martin _To face page_ 24
The Sandpipers ” 52
The Last of the Barons ” 80
Downs and Dungeons ” 104
Doctor and Mrs. Jackson ” 131
A Lucky Magpie ” 148
Selina’s Starling ” 186
MORE TALES OF THE BIRDS
THE LARK’S NEST
A STORY OF A BATTLE
I
It was close upon Midsummer Day, but it was not midsummer weather. A
mist rose from moist fields, and hung over the whole countryside as if
it were November; the June of 1815 was wet and chill, as June so often
is. And as the mist hung over the land, so a certain sense of doubt and
anxiety hung over the hearts of man and beast and bird. War was in the
air as well as mist; and everything wanted warmth and peace to help it
to carry out its appointed work; to cheer it with a feeling of the
fragrance of life.
The moisture and the chilliness did not prevent the Skylark from taking
a flight now and then into the air, and singing to his wife as she sat
on the nest below; indeed, he rose sometimes so high that she could
hardly hear his voice, and then the anxious feeling got the better of
her. When he came down she would tell him of it, and remind him how dear
to her that music was. “Come with me this once,” he said at last in
reply. “Come, and leave the eggs for a little while. Above the mist the
sun is shining, and the real world is up there to-day. You can dry
yourself up there in the warmth, and you can fancy how bad it is for all
the creatures that have no wings to fly with. And there are such numbers
of them about to-day—such long lines of men and horses! Come and feel
the sun and see the sights.”
He rose again into the air and began to sing; and she, getting wearily
off the nest, followed him upwards. They passed through the mist and out
into the glorious sunshine; and as they hung on the air with fluttering
wings and tails bent downwards, singing and still gently rising, the sun
at last conquered the fog to the right of them, and they saw the great
high road covered with a long column of horsemen, whose arms and
trappings flashed with the sudden light. They were moving southward at a
trot as quick as cavalry can keep up when riding in a body together; and
behind them at a short interval came cannon and waggons rumbling slowly
along, the drivers’ whips cracking constantly as if there were great
need of hurry. Then came a column of infantry marching at a quickstep
without music, all intent on business, none falling out of the ranks;
they wore coats of bright scarlet, which set off young and sturdy
frames. And then, just as an officer, with dripping plume and cloak
hanging loosely about him, turned his horse into the wet fields and
galloped heavily past the infantry in the road, the mist closed over
them again, and the Larks could see nothing more.
But along the line of the road, to north as well as south, they could
hear the rumbling of wheels and the heavy tramp of men marching,
deadened as all these sounds were by the mud of the road and by the
dense air. Nay, far away to the southward there were other sounds in the
air—sounds deep and strange, as if | 1,600.847372 |
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Produced by Alan Light. HTML version by Al Haines.
Renascence and Other Poems
by
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Contents:
Renascence
All I could see from where I stood
Interim
The room is full of you!--As I came in
The Suicide
"Curse thee, Life, I will live with thee no more!
God's World
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Afternoon on a Hill
I will be the gladdest thing
Sorrow
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Tavern
I'll keep a little tavern
Ashes of Life
Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
The Little Ghost
I knew her for a little ghost
Kin to Sorrow
Am I kin to Sorrow,
Three Songs of Shattering
I
The first rose on my rose-tree
II
Let the little birds sing;
III
All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!
The Shroud
Death, I say, my heart is bowed
The Dream
Love, if I weep it will not matter,
Indifference
I said,--for Love was laggard, O, Love was slow to come,--
Witch-Wife
She is neither pink nor pale,
Blight
Hard seeds of hate I planted
When the Year Grows Old
I cannot but remember
Sonnets
I
Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,--no,
II
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
III
Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring,
IV
Not in this chamber only at my birth--
V
If I should learn, in some quite casual way,
VI Bluebeard
This door you might not open, and you did;
Renascence and Other Poems
Renascence
All I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked another way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I'd started from;
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood.
Over these things I could not see;
These were the things that bounded me;
And I could touch them with my hand,
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
And all at once things seemed so small
My breath came short, and scarce at all.
But, sure, the sky is big, I said;
Miles and miles above my head;
So here upon my back I'll lie
And look my fill into the sky.
And so I looked, and, after all,
The sky was not so very tall.
The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,
And--sure enough!--I see the top!
The sky, I thought, is not so grand;
I'most could touch it with my hand!
And reaching up my hand to try,
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
I screamed, and--lo!--Infinity
Came down and settled over me;
Forced back my scream into my chest,
Bent back my arm upon my breast,
And, pressing of the Undefined
The definition on my mind,
Held up before my eyes a glass
Through which my shrinking sight did pass
Until it seemed I must behold
Immensity made manifold;
Whispered to me a word whose sound
Deafened the air for worlds around,
And brought unmuffled to my ears
The gossiping of friendly spheres,
The creaking of the tented sky,
The ticking of Eternity.
I saw and heard, and knew at last
The How and Why of all things, past,
And present, and forevermore.
The Universe, cleft to the core,
Lay open to my probing sense
That, sick'ning, I would fain pluck thence
But could not,--nay! But needs must suck
At the great wound, and could not pluck
My lips away till I had drawn
All venom out.--Ah, fearful pawn!
For my omniscience paid I toll
In infinite remorse of soul.
All sin was of my sinning, all
Atoning mine, and mine the gall
Of all regret. Mine was the weight
Of every brooded wrong, the hate
That stood behind each envious thrust,
Mine every greed, mine every lust.
And all the while for every grief,
Each suffering, I craved relief
With individual desire,--
Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire
About a thousand people crawl;
Perished with each,--then mourned for all!
A man was starving in Capri;
He moved his eyes and looked at me;
I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
And knew his hunger as my own.
I saw at sea a great fog bank
Between two ships that struck and sank;
A thousand screams the heavens smote;
And every scream tore through my throat.
No hurt I did not feel, no death
That was not mine; mine each last breath
That, crying, met an answering cry
From the compassion that was I.
All suffering mine, and mine its rod;
Mine, pity like the pity of God.
Ah, awful weight! Infinity
Pressed down upon the finite Me!
My anguished spirit, like a bird,
Beating against my lips I heard;
Yet lay the weight so close about
There was no room for it without.
And so beneath the weight lay I
And suffered death, but could not die.
Long had I lain thus, craving death,
When quietly the earth beneath
Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
At last had grown the crushing weight,
Into the earth I sank till I
Full six feet under ground did lie,
And sank no more,--there is no weight
Can follow here, however great.
From off my breast I felt it roll,
And as it went my tortured soul
Burst forth and fled in such a gust
That all about me swirled the dust.
Deep in the earth I rested now;
Cool is its hand upon the brow
And soft its breast beneath the head
Of one who is so gladly dead.
And all at once, and over all
The pitying rain began to fall;
I lay and heard each pattering hoof
Upon my lowly, thatched roof,
And seemed to love the sound far more
Than ever I had done before.
For rain it hath a friendly sound
To one who's six feet underground;
And scarce the friendly voice or face:
A grave is such a quiet place.
The rain, I said, is kind to come
And speak to me in my new home.
I would I were alive again
To kiss the fingers of the rain,
To drink into my eyes the shine
Of every slanting silver line,
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
For soon the shower will be done,
And then the broad face of the sun
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
Until the world with answering mirth
Shakes joyously, and each round drop
Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.
How can I bear it; buried here,
While overhead the sky grows clear
And blue again after the storm?
O, multi-colored, multiform,
Beloved beauty over me,
That I shall never, never see
Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,
That I shall never more behold!
Sleeping your myriad mag | 1,600.852219 |
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available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 46098-h.htm or 46098-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/innameoflibertys00johniala
IN THE NAME OF LIBERTY
[Illustration: BARABANT SURPRISES NICOLE]
IN THE NAME OF LIBERTY
A Story of the Terror
by
OWEN JOHNSON
Author of "Arrows of the Almighty"
O Liberty! Liberty! how many crimes are committed
in thy name! _Madame Roland_
[Illustration]
New York
The Century Co.
1905
Copyright, 1905, by
The Century Co.
Published January, 1905
The Devinne Press
TO
MY FATHER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I IN SEARCH OF THE REVOLUTION 3
II A RESCUE FROM ARISTOCRATS 14
III CITOYENNE NICOLE 30
IV BREWINGS OF THE STORM 54
V THE TAKING OF THE TUILERIES 74
VI THE HEART OF A WOMAN 92
VII THE FEAR OF HAPPINESS 104
VIII THE MOTHER OF LOUISON 116
IX THE TURN OF JAVOGUES 127
X A TRIUMPH OF INSTINCT 140
XI THE MAN WITH THE LANTERN 155
XII THE MASSACRE OF THE PRISONS 165
XIII DOSSONVILLE IN PERIL 176
XIV GOURSAC AS ACCUSER 188
XV LOVE, LIFE, AND DEATH 200
PART II
(One Year Later)
I FAMINE 211
II DOSSONVILLE EARNS A KISS 224
III WAITING FOR BREAD 235
IV SIMON LAJO | 1,600.854355 |
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produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
STORIES AND PICTURES
BY
ISAAC LOEB PEREZ
TRANSLATED FROM THE YIDDISH BY
HELENA FRANK
[Illustration: colophon]
PHILADELPHIA
THE JEWISH PUBLICATION SOCIETY OF AMERICA
1906
COPYRIGHT, 1906,
BY THE JEWISH PUBLICATION SOCIETY OF AMERICA
PREFACE
My heartfelt thanks are due to all those who, directly or indirectly,
have helped in the preparation of this book of translations; among the
former, to Professor Israel Abrahams, for invaluable help and advice at
various junctures; and to Mr. B. B., for his detailed and scholarly
explanations of difficult passages--explanations to which, fearing to
overload a story-book with notes, I have done scant justice.
The sympathetic reader who wishes for information concerning the author
of these tales will find it in Professor Wiener's "History of Yiddish
Literature in the Nineteenth Century," together with much that will help
him to a better appreciation of their drift.
To fully understand any one of them, we should need to know intimately
the life of the Russian Jews who figure in their pages, and to be
familiar with the lore of the Talmud and the Kabbalah, which colors
their talk as the superstitions of Slav or Celtic lands color the talk
of their respective peasants.
A Yiddish writer once told me, he feared these tales would be too
_tief-juedisch_ (intensely Jewish) for Gentile readers; and even in the
case of the Jewish English-reading public, the "East (of Europe) is
East, and West is West."
Perez, however, is a distinctly modern writer, and his views and
sympathies are of the widest.
He was born in 1855, and these stories were all written, quite broadly
speaking, between 1875 and 1900. They were all published in Russia,
under the censorship--a fact to be borne in mind when reading such pages
as "Travel-Pictures" (which, by the way, is not a story at all), "In the
Post-Chaise," and others.
We may hope that conditions of life such as are depicted in "The Dead
Town" will soon belong entirely to history. It is for those who have
seen to tell us whether or not the picture is correct.
The future of Yiddish in a Free Russia is hard to tell. There are some
who consider its early disappearance by no means a certainty. However
that may be, it is at present the only language by which the masses of
the Russian Jews can be reached, and Perez's words of 1894, in which he
urges the educated writers to remember this fact, have lost none of
their interest:
"Nowadays everyone must work for his own, must plough and sow his
own particular plot of land, although, or rather _because_ we
believe that the future will represent one universal store, whither
shall be carried all the corn of all the harvests....
"We do not wish to desert the flag of universal humanity.
"We do not wish to sow the weeds of Chauvinism, the thorns of
fanaticism, the tares of scholastic philosophy.
"We want to pull up the weeds by the roots, to cut down the briars,
to burn the tares, and to sow the pure grain of human ideas, human
feelings, and knowledge.
"We will break up our bit of land, and plough and sow, because we
firmly believe that some day there will be a great common store,
out of which all the hungry will be fed alike.
"We believe that storm and wind and rain will have an end, that a
day is coming when earth shall yield her increase, and heaven give
warmth and light!
"And we do not wish _our_ people, in the day of harvest, to stand
apart, weeping for misspent years, while the rest make holiday,
forced to beg, with shame, for bread that was earned by the sweat
and toil of others.
"We want to bring a few sheaves to the store as well as they; we
want to be husbandmen also."
Whenever, in the course of translation, I have come across a Yiddish
proverb or idiomatic expression of which I knew an English equivalent, I
have used the latter without hesitation. To avoid tiresome
circumlocutions, some of the more important Yiddish words (most of them
Hebrew) have been preserved in the translation. A list of them with
brief explanations will be found on page 453. Nevertheless footnotes had
to be resorted to in particular cases.
To conclude: I have frequently, in this preface, used the words "was"
and "were," because I do not know what kaleidoscopic changes may not
have taken place in Russo-Jewish life since these tales were written.
But they are all, with exception of the legend "The Image," tales of the
middle or the end of the nineteenth century, and chiefly the latter.
HELENA FRANK
January, 1906
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE 5
I. IF NOT HIGHER 13
II. DOMESTIC HAPPINESS 21
III. IN THE POST-CHAISE 29
IV. THE NEW TUNE 53
V. MARRIED 59
VI. THE SEVENTH CANDLE OF BLESSING 89
VII. THE WIDOW 95
VIII. THE MESSENGER 101
IX. WHAT IS THE SOUL? 117
X. IN TIME OF PESTILENCE 135
XI. BONTZYE SHWEIG 171
XII. THE DEAD TOWN 185
XIII. T<sub>HE</sub> DAYS OF THE MESSIAH 201
XIV. KABBALISTS 213
XV. TRAVEL-PICTURES
PREFACE 223
TRUST 224
ONLY GO! 226
WHAT SHOULD A JEWESS NEED? 229
NO. 42 231
THE MASKIL 237
THE RABBI OF TISHEWITZ 241
TALES THAT ARE TOLD 245
A LITTLE BOY 256
THE YARTSEFF RABBI 259
LYASHTZOF 265
THE FIRST ATTEMPT 266
THE SECOND ATTEMPT 271
AT THE SHOCHET'S 272
THE REBBITZIN OF SKUL 276
INSURED 280
THE FIRE 284
THE EMIGRANT 289
THE MADMAN 291
MISERY 294
THE LAMED WOFNIK 295
THE INFORMER 299
XVI. THE OUTCAST 307
XVII. A CHAT 313
XVIII. THE PIKE 321
XIX. THE FAST 329
XX. THE WOMAN MISTRESS HANNAH 337
XXI. IN THE POND 385
XXII. THE CHANUKAH LIGHT 391
XXIII. THE POOR LITTLE BOY 401
XXIV. UNDERGROUND 417
XXV. BETWEEN TWO MOUNTAINS 429
XXVI. THE IMAGE 449
GLOSSARY 453
I
IF NOT HIGHER
And the Rebbe of Nemirov, every Friday morning early at Sliches-time,
disappeared, melted into thin air! He was not to be found anywhere,
either in the synagogue or in the two houses-of-study, or worshipping in
some Minyan, and most certainly not at home. His door stood open, people
went in and out as they pleased--no one ever stole anything from the
Rebbe--but there was not a soul in the house.
Where can the Rebbe be?
Where _should_ he be, if not in heaven?
Is it likely a Rebbe should have no affairs on hand with the Solemn Days
so near?
Jews (no evil eye!) need a livelihood, peace, health, successful
match-makings, they wish to be good and | 1,600.945878 |
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Produced by Amy E. Zelmer
WILLIAM HARVEY AND THE DISCOVERY OF THE CIRCULATION OF THE BLOOD
By Thomas H. Huxley
[1]
I DESIRE this evening to give you some account of the life and labours
of a very noble Englishman--William Harvey.
William Harvey was born in the year 1578, and as he lived until the year
1657, he very nearly attained the age of 80. He was the son of a small
landowner in Kent, who was sufficiently wealthy to send this, his eldest
son, to the University of Cambridge; while he embarked the others in
mercantile pursuits, in which they all, as time passed on, attained
riches.
William Harvey, after pursuing his education at Cambridge, and taking
his degree there, thought it was advisable--and justly thought so, in
the then state of University education--to proceed to Italy, which
at that time was one of the great centres of intellectual activity in
Europe, as all friends of freedom hope it will become again, sooner or
later. In those days the University of Padua had a great renown;
and Harvey went there and studied under a man who was then very
famous--Fabricius of Aquapendente. On his return to England, Harvey
became a member of the College of Physicians in London, and entered into
practice; and, I suppose, as an indispensable step thereto, proceeded
to marry. He very soon became one of the most eminent members of the
profession in London; and, about the year 1616, he was elected by the
College of Physicians their Professor of Anatomy. It was while Harvey
held this office that he made public that great discovery of the
circulation of the blood and the movements of the heart, the nature of
which I shall endeavour by-and-by to explain to you at length. Shortly
afterwards, Charles the First having succeeded to the throne in 1625,
Harvey became one of the king's physicians; and it is much to the credit
of the unfortunate monarch--who, whatever his faults may have been,
was one of the few English monarchs who have shown a taste for art and
science--that Harvey became his attached and devoted friend as well
as servant; and that the king, on the other hand, did all he could to
advance Harvey's investigations. But, as you know, evil times came on;
and Harvey, after the fortunes of his royal master were broken,
being then a man of somewhat advanced years--over 60 years of age, in
fact--retired to the society of his brothers in and near London, and
among them pursued his studies until the day of his death. Harvey's
career is a life which offers no salient points of interest to the
biographer. It was a life devoted to study and investigation; and it
was a life the devotion of which was amply rewarded, as I shall have
occasion to point out to you, by its results.
Harvey, by the diversity, the variety, and the thoroughness of his
investigations, was enabled to give an entirely new direction to at
least two branches--and two of the most important branches--of what
now-a-days we call Biological Science. On the one hand, he founded
all our modern physiology by the discovery of the exact nature of the
motions of the heart, and of the course in which the blood is propelled
through the body; and, on the other, he laid the foundation of that
study of development which has been so much advanced | 1,600.948166 |
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[Transcriber's Note: Every effort has been made to replicate this
text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant
spellings and other inconsistencies. Text that has been changed to
correct an obvious error is noted at the end of this ebook.]
CROSSING THE PLAINS
DAYS OF '57
A NARRATIVE OF EARLY EMIGRANT TRAVEL
TO CALIFORNIA BY THE
OX-TEAM METHOD
BY
WM. AUDLEY MAXWELL
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY
WM AUDLEY MAXWELL
SUNSET PUBLISHING HOUSE
SAN FRANCISCO MCMXV
[Illustration: "They started flight" (See page 119.)]
CONTENTS
PAGE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS VI
FOREWORD VII
CHAPTER I. Forsaking the Old, in Quest of the New. First
Camp. Fording the Platte 1
CHAPTER II. Laramie Fashions and Sioux Etiquette. A Trophy.
Chimney Rock. A Solitary Emigrant. Jests and Jingles 13
CHAPTER III. Lost in the Black Hills. Devil's Gate. Why a
Mountain Sheep Did Not Wink. Green River Ferry 31
CHAPTER IV. Disquieting Rumors of Redmen. Consolidation for
Safety. The Poisonous Humboldt 49
CHAPTER V. The Holloway Massacre 62
CHAPTER VI. Origin of "Piker." Before the Era of Canned Good
and Kodaks. Morning Routine. Typical Bivouac.
Sociability Entrained. The Flooded Camp. Hope Sustains
Patience 76
CHAPTER VII. Tangled by a Tornado. Lost the Pace but Kept the
Cow. Human Oddities. Night Guards. Wolf Serenades.
Awe of the Wilderness. A Stampede 97
CHAPTER VIII. Disaster Overtakes the Wood Family 116
CHAPTER IX. Mysterious Visitors. Extra Sentinels. An Anxious
Night 123
CHAPTER X. Challenge to Battle 133
CHAPTER XI. Sagebrush Justice 144
CHAPTER XII. Night Travel. Arid Wastes to Limpid Waters 160
CHAPTER XIII. Into the Settlements. Halt 170
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"They started flight" Frontispiece
"Fording the Platte consumed one entire day" 11
"Wo-haw-Buck" 14
"From our coign of vantage we continued to shoot" 21
Chimney Rock 22
"One melody that he sang from the heart" 27
"Hauled the delinquent out" 30
"The wagons were lowered through the crevice" 38
Bone-writing 57
"With hand upraised in supplication, yielded to the impulse
to flee" 67
Jerry Bush, 1914 72
Nancy Holloway, 1857 74
The Author, twenty years after 100
A Coyote Serenade 109
"Van Diveer's advantage was slight but sufficient" 136
"A sip from the barrel cost fifty cents" 146
"'Stop,' shouted the Judge" 156
"'Melican man dig gold" 173
Pack-mule route to placer diggings 175
FOREWORD
Diligent inquiry has failed to disclose the existence of an authentic
and comprehensive narrative of a _pioneer_ journey across the plains.
With the exception of some improbable yarns and disconnected incidents
relating to the earlier experiences, the subject has been treated
mainly from the standpoint of people who traveled westward at a time
when the real hardships and perils of the trip were much less than
those encountered in the fifties.
A very large proportion of the people now residing in the Far West are
descendants of emigrants who came by the precarious means afforded by
ox-team conveyances. For some three-score years the younger
generations have heard from the lips of their ancestors enough of
that wonderful pilgrimage to create among them a widespread demand for
a complete and typical narrative.
This story consists of facts, with the real names of the actors in the
drama. The events, gay, grave and tragic, are according to indelible
recollections of eye-witnesses, including those of
THE AUTHOR.
W. A. M.,
_Ukiah, California, 1915._
CROSSING THE PLAINS
DAYS OF '57
CHAPTER I.
FORSAKING THE OLD IN QUEST OF THE NEW. FIRST CAMP. FORDING THE PLATTE.
We left the west bank of the Missouri River on May 17, 1857. Our
objective point was Sonoma County, California.
The company consisted of thirty-seven persons, including several
families, and some others; the individuals ranging in years from
middle age to babies: eleven men, ten women and sixteen minors; the
eldest of the party forty-nine, the most youthful, a boy two months
old the day we started. Most of these were persons who had resided for
a time at least not far from the starting point, but not all were
natives of that section, some having emigrated from Indiana, Kentucky,
Tennessee and Virginia.
We were outfitted with eight wagons, about thirty yoke of oxen, fifty
head of extra steers and cows, and ten or twelve saddle ponies and
mules.
The vehicles were light, well-built farm wagons, arranged and fitted
for economy of space and weight. Most of the wagons were without
brakes, seats or springs. The axles were of wood, which, in case of
their breaking, could be repaired en route. Chains were used for
deadlocking the wheels while moving down steep places.
No lines or halters of any kind were used on the oxen for guiding
them, these animals being managed entirely by use of the ox-whip and
the "ox-word." The whip was a braided leathern lash, six to eight feet
long, the most approved stock for which was a hickory sapling, as long
as the lash, and on the extremity of the lash was a strip of
buckskin, for a "cracker," which, when snapped by a practiced driver,
produced a sound like the report of a pistol. The purpose of the whip
was well understood by the trained oxen, and that implement enabled a
skillful driver to regulate the course of a wagon almost as accurately
as if the team were of horses, with the reins in the hands of an
expert jehu.
An emigrant wagon such as described, provided with an oval top cover
of white ducking, with "flaps" in front and a "puckering-string" at
the rear, came to be known in those days as a "prairie schooner;" and
a string of them, drawn out in single file in the daily travel, was a
"train." Trains following one another along the same new pathway were
sometimes strung out for hundreds of miles, with spaces of a few
hundred yards to several miles between, and were many weeks passing a
given point.
Our commissary wagon was supplied with flour, bacon, coffee, tea,
sugar, rice, salt, and so forth; rations estimated to last for five or
six months, if necessary; also medical supplies, and whatever else we
could carry to meet the probable necessities and the possible
casualties of the journey; with the view of traveling tediously but
patiently over a country of roadless plains and mountains, crossing
deserts and fording rivers; meanwhile cooking, eating and sleeping on
the ground as we should find it from day to day.
The culinary implements occupied a compartment of their own in a
wagon, consisting of such kettles, long-handled frying-pans and
sheet-iron coffee pots as could be used on a camp-fire, with table
articles almost all of tin. Those who attempted to carry the more
friable articles, owing to the thumps and falls to which these were
subjected, found themselves short in supply of utensils long before
the journey ended. I have seen a man and wife drinking coffee from
one small tin pan, their china and delftware having been left in
fragments to decorate the desert wayside.
We had some tents, but they were little used, after we learned how to
do without them, excepting in cases of inclement weather, of which
there was very little, especially in the latter part of the trip.
During the great rush of immigration into California subsequent to
1849, from soon after the discovery of gold until this time, the usual
date at which the annual emigrants started from the settlement borders
along the Missouri River was April 15th to May 1st. The Spring of 1857
was late, and we did not pull out until May 17th, when the prairie
grass was grown sufficiently to afford feed for the stock, and summer
weather was assured.
At that time the boundary line between the "States" and the "Plains"
was the Missouri River. We crossed that river at a point about
half-way between St. Joseph and Council Bluffs, where the village of
Brownville was the nucleus of a first settlement of white people on
the Nebraska side. There the river was a half-mile wide. The crossing
was effected by means of an old-fashioned ferryboat or scow, propelled
by a small, stern-wheeled steamer. Two days were consumed in
transporting our party and equipment across the stream; but one wagon
and a few of the people and animals being taken at each trip of the
ferryboat and steamer.
From the landing we passed up the west shore twenty miles, seeing
occasionally a rude cabin or a foundation of logs, indicating the
intention of pre-empters. This brought us to the town of Nebraska
City, then a beginning of a dozen or twenty houses, on the west bank.
Omaha was not yet on the map; although where that thriving city now
stands there existed then a settlement of something over one hundred
persons.
From Nebraska City we bore off northwesterly, separating ourselves
from civilization, and thereafter saw no more evidence of the white
man's purpose to occupy the country over which we traveled.
There was before us the sky-bound stretch of undulating prairie,
spreading far and wide, like a vast field of young, growing grain, its
monotony relieved only by occasional clumps of small trees, indicating
the presence of springs or small water-courses.
Other companies or trains, from many parts of the country, especially
the Middle States, were crossing the Missouri at various points
between St. Louis and Council Bluffs; most of them converging
eventually into one general route, as they got out on the journey.
It is perhaps impossible to convey a clear understanding of the
emotions experienced by one starting on such a trip; leaving friends
and the familiar surroundings of what had been home, to face a siege
of travel over thousands of miles of wilderness, so little known and
fraught with so much of hardship and peril.
The earlier emigrants, gold-hunters, men only--men of such stuff as
pioneers usually are made of--carried visions of picking up fortunes
in the California gold mines and soon returning to their former
haunts. But those who were going now felt that they were burning all
bridges behind them; that all they had was with them, and they were
going to stay.
Formerly we had heard that California was good only for its gold
mines; that it was a country of rocks, crags and deserts; where it
rained ceaselessly during half of the year and not at all in the other
half.[1] But later we had been told that in the valleys there was land
on which crops of wheat could be grown, and that cattle raising was
good, on the broad acres of wild oats everywhere in the "cow
counties." It was told us also that there were strips of redwood
forest along the coast, and these trees, a hundred to several hundred
feet in height, could be split into boards ten to twenty feet long,
for building purposes; and that this material was to be had by anybody
for the taking. Some said that the Spanish padres, at their missions
in several localities near the Pacific shore, had planted small
vineyards of what had come | 1,600.95416 |
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[Illustration]
[Illustration: _Painting by N. M. Price._ FIRST WALPURGIS NIGHT.
"Through the night-gloom lead and follow
In and out each rocky hollow."]
A DAY WITH FELIX
MENDELSSOHN
BARTHOLDY
BY GEORGE SAMPSON
HODDER & STOUGHTON
_In the same Series._
_Beethoven._
_Schubert._
A DAY WITH MENDELSSOHN.
During the year 1840 I visited Leipzig with letters of introduction from
Herr Klingemann of the Hanoverian Legation in London. I was a singer,
young, enthusiastic, and eager--as some singers unfortunately are
not--to be a musician as well. Klingemann had many friends among the
famous German composers, because of his personal charm, and because his
simple verses had provided them with excellent material for the sweet
little songs the Germans love so well. I need scarcely say that the man
I most desired to meet in Leipzig was Mendelssohn; and so, armed
with Klingemann's letter, I eagerly went to his residence--a quiet,
well-appointed house near the Promenade. I was admitted without delay,
and shown into the composer's room. It was plainly a musician's
work-room, yet it had a note of elegance that surprised me. Musicians
are not a tidy race; but here there was none of the admired disorder
that one instinctively associates with an artist's sanctum. There was no
litter. The well-used pianoforte could be approached without circuitous
negotiation of a rampart of books and papers, and the chairs were free
from encumbrances. On a table stood some large sketch-books, one open
at a page containing an excellent landscape drawing; and other spirited
sketches hung framed upon the walls. The abundant music paper was perhaps
the most strangely tidy feature of the room, for the exquisitely neat
notation that covered it suggested the work of a careful copyist rather
than the original hand of a composer. I could not refrain from looking
at one piece. It was a very short and very simple Adagio cantabile in
the Key of F for a solo pianoforte. It appealed at once to me as a
singer, for its quiet, unaffected melody seemed made to be sung rather
than to be played. The "cantabile" of its heading was superfluous--it
was a Song without Words, evidently one of a new set, for I knew it was
none of the old. But the sound of a footstep startled me and I guiltily
replaced the sheet. The door opened, and I was warmly greeted in
excellent English by the man who entered. I had no need to be told that
it was Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy himself.
Nature is strangely freakish in her choice of instruments for noble
purposes. Sometimes the delicate spirit of creative genius is housed in
a veritable tenement of clay, so that what is within seems ever at war
with what is without. At times the antagonism is more dreadful still,
and the artist-soul is sent to dwell in the body of a beast, coarse
in speech and habit, ignorant and dull in mind, vile and unclean in
thought. But sometimes Nature is generous, and makes the body itself an
expression of the informing spirit. Mendelssohn was one of these almost
rare instances. In him, artist and man were like a beautiful picture
appropriately framed. He was then thirty-one. In figure he was slim and
rather below the middle height, and he moved with the easy grace of
an accomplished dancer. Masses of long dark hair crowned his finely
chiselled face; but what I noticed first and last was the pair of
lustrous, dark brown eyes that glowed and dilated with every deep
emotion. He had the quiet, assured manner of a master; yet I was not so
instantly conscious of that, as of an air of reverence and benignity,
which, combined with the somewhat Oriental tendency of feature and
colour, made his whole personality suggest that of a young poet-prophet
of Israel.
"So," he said, his English gaining piquancy from his slight lisp, "you
come from England--from dear England. I love your country greatly. It
has fog, and it is dark, too, for the sun forgets to shine at times;
but it is beautiful--like a picture, and when it smiles, what land is
sweeter?"
"You have many admirers in England, sir," I replied; "perhaps I may
rather say you have many friends there."
"Yes," he said, with a bright smile, "call them friends, for I am a
friend to all England. Even in the glowing sun of Italy I have thought
with pleasure of your dear, smoky London, which seems to wrap itself
round one like a friendly cloak. It was England that gave me my first
recognition as a serious musician, when Berlin was merely inclined to
think that I was an interesting young prodigy with musical gifts that
were very amusing in a young person of means."
"You have seen much of England, have you not, sir?" I asked.
"A great deal," he replied, "and of Scotland and Wales, too. I have
heard the Highland pipers in Edinburgh, and I have stood in Queen Mary's
tragic palace of Holyrood. Yes, and I have been among the beautiful
hills that the great Sir Walter has described so wonderfully."
"And," I added, "music-lovers do not need to be told that you have also
penetrated
'The silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.'"
"Ah!" he said, smiling, "you like my Overture, then?"
I hastened to assure him that I admired it greatly; and he continued,
with glowing eyes: "What a wonder is the Fingal's Cave--that vast
cathedral of the seas, with its dark, lapping waters within, and the
brightness of the gleaming waves outside!"
Almost instinctively he sat down at the piano, and began to play, as
if his feelings must express themselves in tones rather than words. His
playing was most remarkable for its orchestral quality. Unsuspected
power lay in those delicate hands, for at will they seemed able to draw
from the piano a full orchestral volume, and | 1,601.046748 |
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The Irish Ecclesiastical Record
Volume 1.
November, 1864
CONTENTS
The Holy See And The Liberty Of The Irish Church At The Beginning Of The
Present Century.
I. From Mgr. Brancadoro to Father Concanen, O.P., Agent at Rome for the
Irish Bishops. Dalla Propaganda. 7 Agosto, 1801.
II. From the same to the same. Dalla Propaganda, 25 Settembre, 1805.
A Recent Protestant View Of The Church Of The Middle Ages.
The Mss. Remains Of Professor O'Curry In The Catholic University. No. II.
The Destiny Of The Irish Race.
Liturgical Questions. (_From M. Bouix's __"__Revue des Sciences
Ecclesiastiques__"_).
Documents.
I. Condemnation Of Dr. Froschammer's Works.
II. Decree Of The Congregation Of Rites.
Notices Of Books.
Footnotes
THE HOLY SEE AND THE LIBERTY OF THE IRISH CHURCH AT THE BEGINNING OF THE
PRESENT CENTURY.
All students of Irish Catholic affairs must feel, at every moment, that we
are at a great loss for a collection of ecclesiastical documents connected
with our Church. The past misfortunes of Ireland explain the origin of
this want. During the persecutions of Elizabeth, of James the First, and
Cromwell, our ancient manuscripts, and the archives of our convents and
monasteries, were ruthlessly destroyed. At a later period, whilst the
penal laws were in full operation, it was dangerous to preserve official
ecclesiastical papers, lest they should be construed by the bigotry and
ignorance of our enemies into proofs of sedition or treason. Since liberty
began to dawn on our country, things have undergone a beneficial change,
and recently great efforts have been made to rescue and preserve from
destruction every remaining fragment of our ancient history, and every
document calculated to throw light on the annals of our Church. We are
anxious to cooeperate in this good work, and we shall feel deeply grateful
to our friends if they forward to us any official ecclesiastical papers,
either ancient or modern, that it may be desirable to preserve. Receiving
such papers casually, we cannot insert them in the RECORD in chronological
order, but by aid of an Index, to be published at the end of each volume,
the future historian will be able to avail himself of them for his
purposes | 1,601.051851 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Veronika Redfern 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]
[Illustration: Painted by F. Winterhalter.]
H.M.G. Majesty, Victoria, Queen of Great Britain,
IN THE ROBES OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER.
DAGUERREOTYPED BY THOMPSON,
From the Portrait in possession of Geo. P. Burnham;
PRESENTED TO HIM BY HER MAJESTY, THE QUEEN, IN 1853
[See Letter, page 130.]
THE HISTORY
OF
THE HEN FEVER.
A Humorous Record.
BY
GEO. P. BURNHAM.
[Illustration]
In one Volume.--Illustrated
BOSTON:
JAMES FRENCH AND COMPANY.
NEW YORK: J.C. DERBY.
PHILADELPHIA: T.B. PETERSON.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by
GEORGE P. BURNHAM,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
STEREOTYPED BY
HOBART & ROBBINS,
New England Type and Stereotype Foundery,
BOSTON.
GEO. C. RAND, PRINTER, 3 CORNHILL.
TO THE
Amateurs, Fanciers, and Breeders
OF
POULTRY,
THE SUCCESSFUL AND UNFORTUNATE DEALERS,
THROUGHOUT THE UNITED STATES;
AND
THE VICTIMS OF MISPLACED CONFIDENCE IN
THE HEN TRADE, GENERALLY,
I DEDICATE
This Volume.
PREFACE.
In preparing the following pages, I have had the opportunity to inform
myself pretty accurately regarding the ramifications of the subject upon
which I have written herein; and I have endeavored to avoid setting down
"aught in malice" in this "_History of the_ HEN FEVER" in the United
States.
I have followed this extraordinary _mania_ from its incipient stages to
its final death, or its _cure_, as the reader may elect to term its
conclusion. The first symptoms of the fever were exhibited in my own
house at Roxbury, Mass., early in the summer of 1849. From that time
down to the opening of 1855 (or rather to the winter of 1854), I have
been rather intimately connected with the movement, if common report
speaks correctly; and I believe I have seen as much of the tricks of
this trade as one usually meets with in the course of a single natural
life.
Now that the most serious effects of this (for six years) alarming
epidemic have passed away from among us, and when "the people" who have
been called upon to pay the cost of its support, and for the burial of
its victims, can look back upon the scenes that have in that period
transpired with a disposition cooled by experience, I have thought that
a volume like this might prove acceptable to the hundreds and thousands
of those who once "took an interest in the hen trade,"--who _may_ have
been mortally wounded, or haply who have escaped with only a broken
wing; and who will not object to learn how the thing has been done, and
"who threw the bricks"!
If my readers shall be edified and amused with the perusal of this work
as much as I have been in recalling these past scenes while writing it,
I am content that I have not thrown the powder away. I have written it
in perfect good-nature, with the design to gratify its readers, and to
offend no man living.
And trusting that _all_ will be pleased who may devote an hour to its
pages, while at the same time I indulge the hope that _none_ will feel
aggrieved by its tone, or its text, I submit this book to the public.
Respectfully,
GEO. P. BURNHAM.
RUSSET HOUSE, _Melrose_, 1855.
CONTENTS.
Chapter Page
I. PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS OF THE DISEASE, 9
II. THE "COCHIN-CHINAS." BUBBLE NUMBER ONE, 14
III. THE FIRST FOWL SHOW IN BOSTON, 21
IV. HOW "POULTRY-BOOKS" ARE MADE, 26
V. THREATENING INDICATIONS, 32
VI. THE EPIDEMIC SPREADING, 37
VII. ALARMING DEMONSTRATIONS, 41
VIII. THE FEVER WORKING, 47
IX. THE SECOND POULTRY SHOW IN BOSTON, 52
X. THE MUTUAL ADMIRATION SOCIETY'S SECOND SHOW, 58
XI. PROGRESS OF THE MALADY, 65
XII. MY CORRESPONDENCE, 70
XIII. THE OTHER SIDE OF THE QUESTION, 85
XIV. "BOTHER'EM POOTRUMS." BUBBLE NUMBER TWO, 90
XV. ADVERTISING EXTRAORDINARY, 98
XVI. HEIGHT OF THE FEVER, 104
XVII. RUNNING IT INTO THE GROUND, 111
XVIII. ONE OF THE FINAL KICKS, 119
XIX. THE FOURTH FOWL SHOW IN BOSTON, 124
XX. PRESENT TO QUEEN VICTORIA, 129
XXI. EXPERIMENTS OF AMATEURS, 137
XXII. TRUE HISTORY OF "FANNY FERN," 147
XXIII. CONVALESCENCE, 155
XXIV. AN EXPENSIVE BUSINESS, 160
XXV. THE GREAT PAGODA HEN, 165
XXVI. "POLICY THE BEST HONESTY," 176
XXVII. A GENUINE HUMBUG, 182
XXVIII. BARNUM IN THE FIELD, 190
XXIX. FIRST "NATIONAL" POULTRY SHOW IN NEW YORK, 198
XXX. BARNUM'S INNATE DIFFIDENCE, 204
XXXI. A SUPPRESSED SPEECH, 213
XXXII. A "CONFIDENCE" MAN, 220
XXXIII. THE ESSENCE OF HUMBUG, 224
XXXIV. A TRUMP CARD, 229
XXXV. "HOLD YOUR HORSES," 237
XXXVI. TRICKS OF THE TRADE, 243
XXXVII. FINAL DEATH-THROES, 252
XXXVIII. THE PORTE-MONNAIE I OWE 'EM COMPANY, 259
XXXIX. A SATISFACTORY PEDIGREE, 263
XL. DOING THE GENTEEL THING, 273
XLI. THE FATE OF THE "MODEL" SHANGHAES, 279
XLII. AN EMPHATIC CLINCHER, 288
XLIII. "STAND FROM UNDER," 294
XLIV. BURSTING OF THE BUBBLE, 302
XLV. THE DEAD AND WOUNDED, 307
XLVI. A MOURNFUL PROCESSION, 312
XLVII. MY SHANGHAE DINNER, 318
THE HISTORY OF THE HEN FEVER.
CHAPTER I.
PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS OF THE DISEASE.
I was sitting, one afternoon, in the summer of 1849, in my little
parlor, at Roxbury, conversing with a friend, leisurely, when he
suddenly rose, and passing to the rear window of the room, remarked to
me, with considerable enthusiasm,
"What a splendid lot of fowls you have, B----! Upon my word, those are
very fine indeed,--do you know it?"
I had then been breeding poultry (for my own amusement) many years; and
the specimens I chanced at that time to possess were rather even in
color, and of good size; but were only such as any one might have
had--bred from the common stock of the country--who had taken the same
pains that I did with mine.
There were perhaps a dozen birds, at the time, in the rear yard, and my
friend (_then_, but who subsequently passed to a competitor, and
eventually turned into a sharp but harmless enemy) was greatly delighted
with them, as I saw from his enthusiastic conversation, and his
laudation of their merits.
I am not very fast, perhaps, to appreciate the drift of a man's motives
in casual conversation,--and then, again, it may be that I am "not so
slow" to comprehend certain matters as I might be! At all events, I have
sometimes flattered myself that, on occasions like this, I can "see as
far into a millstone as can he who picks it;" and so I listened to my
friend, heard all he had to say, and made up my mind accordingly, before
he left me.
"I tell you, B----, those are handsome chickens," he insisted. "I've got
a fine lot, myself. You keep but one variety, I notice. I've got 'em
_all_."
"All what?" I inquired.
"O, all kinds--all kinds. The Chinese, and the Malays, and the Gypsies,
and the Chittaprats, and the Wang Hongs, and the Yankee Games, and
Bengallers, and Cropple-crowns, and Creepers, and Top-knots, and Gold
Pheasants, and Buff Dorkings, and English Games, and Black Spanish and
Bantams,--and I've several _new breeds_ too, I have made myself, by
crossing and mixing, _in the last year_, which beat the world for beauty
and size, and excellence of quality."
"Indeed!" I exclaimed. "So you have made several new _breeds_ during
_one_ year's crossing, eh? That _is_ remarkable, doctor, certainly. I
have never been able yet to accomplish so extraordinary a feat, myself,"
I added.
"Well, _I_ have," said the doctor,--and probably, as he was a practising
physician of several years' experience, he knew how this reversion of
nature's law could be accomplished. I didn't.
"Yes," he continued; "I have made a breed I call the 'Plymouth
Rocks,'--superb birds, and great layers. The--a--'Yankee
Games,'--regular knock-'em-downs,--rather fight than eat, any time; and
never flinch from the puncture of steel. Indeed, _so_ plucky are these
fowls, that I think they rather _like_ to be cut up than
otherwise,--alive, I mean. Then, I've another breed I've made--the
'Bengal Mountain Games.' These _are_ smashers--never yield, and are
magnificent in color. Then I have the '_Fawn- Dorkings_,' too;
and several other fancy breeds, that I've fixed up; and fancy poultry is
going to sell well in the next three years, you may be sure. Come and
see my stock, B----, won't you? And I'll send you anything you want from
it, with pleasure."
I was then the editor of a weekly paper in Boston. I accepted my
friend's kind invitation, and travelled forty miles and back to examine
his poultry. It looked well--_very_ well; the arrangement of his houses,
&c., was good, and I was gratified with the show of stock, and with his
politeness. But he was an enthusiast; and I saw this at the outset. And
though I heard all he had to say, I could not, for the life of me,
comprehend how it was that he could have decided upon the astounding
merits of all these different _breeds_ of fowls in so short a space of
time--to wit, by the crossings in a single year! But that was his
affair, not mine. He was getting his fancy poultry ready for the market;
and he repeated, "It will _sell_, by and by."
And I believe it did, too! The doctor was right in _this_ particular.
He informed me that he intended to exhibit several specimens of his
fowls, shortly, in Boston; and soon afterwards I met with an
advertisement in one of the agricultural weeklies, signed by my friend
the doctor, the substance of which was as follows:
NOTICE.--I will exhibit, at _Quincy Market_, Boston, in a few days,
sample pairs of my fowls, of the following pure breeds; namely,
Cochin-China, Yellow Shanghae, Black Spanish, Fawn-
Dorkings, Plymouth Rocks, White Dorkings, Wild Indian, Malays,
Golden Hamburgs, Black Polands, Games, &c. &c; and I shall be happy
to see the stock of other fanciers, at the above place, to compare
notes, etc. etc.
The above was the substance of the "notice" referred to; and the doctor,
coming to Boston shortly after, called upon me. I showed him the
impropriety of this movement at once, and suggested that some spot
other than Quincy Market should be chosen for the proposed
exhibition,--in which I would join, provided an appropriate place should
be selected.
After talking the matter over again, application was made to an
agricultural warehouse in Ann-street, or Blackstone-street, I believe;
the keepers of which saw the advantages that must accrue to themselves
by such a show (which would necessarily draw together a great many
strangers, out of whom they might subsequently make customers); but, at
my suggestion, this very stupid plan was abandoned--even after the
advertisements were circulated that such an exhibition would come off
there.
Upon final consideration it was determined that the first Exhibition of
Fancy Poultry in the United States of America should take place in
November, 1849, at the _Public Garden_, Boston.
CHAPTER II.
THE "CO | 1,601.053361 |
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[Illustration]
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 822
NEW YORK, October 3, 1891
Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XXXII, No. 822.
Scientific American established 1845
Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.
Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. ANTHROPOLOGY.--The Study of Mankind.--A review of Prof.
Max Muller's recent address before the British Association. 13141
II. CHEMISTRY.--Standards and Methods for the Polarimetric
Estimation of Sugars.--A U.S. internal revenue report on
the titular subject.--2 illustrations. 13138
The Formation of Starch in Leaves.--An interesting
examination into the physiological _role_ of leaves.--1
illustration. 13138
The Water Molecule.--By A. GANSWINDT.--A very interesting
contribution to structural chemistry. 13137
III. CIVIL ENGINEERING.--Demolition of Rocks under Water
without Explosives.--Lobnitz System.--By EDWARD S.
CRAWLEY.--A method of removing rocks by combined
dredging and ramming as applied on the Suez Canal.--3
illustrations. 13128
IV. ELECTRICITY.--Electrical Standards.--The English Board of
Trade commission's standards of electrical measurements. 13129
The London-Paris Telephone.--By W.H. PREECE,
F.R.S.--Details of the telephone between London and
Paris and its remarkable success.--6 illustrations. 13131
The Manufacture of Phosphorus by Electricity.--A new
industry based on dynamic electricity.--Full details. 13132
The Two or Three Phase Alternating Current Systems.--By
CARL HERING.--A new industrial development in electricity
fully described and graphically developed.--15
illustrations. 13130
V. GEOGRAPHY AND EXPLORATION.--The Grand Falls of
Labrador.--The Bowdoin College exploring expedition and
its adventures and discoveries in Labrador. 13140
VI. MECHANICAL ENGINEERING.--Improved Changeable Speed
Gearing.--An ingenious method of obtaining different speeds
at will from a single driving shaft.--2 illustrations. 13129
Progress in Engineering.--Notes on the progress of the last
decade. 13129
VII. MEDICINE AND HYGIENE.--Eyesight.--Its Care during Infancy
and Youth.--By L. WEBSTER FOX, M.D.--A very timely
article on the preservation of sight and its deterioration
among civilized people. 13135
The Use of Compressed Air in Conjunction with Medicinal
Solutions in the Treatment of Nervous and Mental
Affections.--By J. LEONARD CORNING.--The enhancement of
the effects of remedies by subsequent application of
compressed air. 13134
VIII. MINERALOGY.--A Gem-Bearing Granite Vein in Western
Connecticut.--By L.P. GRATACAP.--A most interesting
mineral fissure yielding mica and gems recently opened. 13141
IX. NATURAL HISTORY.--Ants.--By RUTH WARD KAHN.--An
interesting presentation of the economy of ants. 13140
X. NAVAL ENGINEERING.--Armor Plating on Battleships--France
and Great Britain.--A comparison of the protective systems
of the French and English navies.--5 illustrations. 13127
The Redoutable.--An important member of the French
Mediterranean fleet described and illustrated.--1
illustration. 13127
XI. TECHNOLOGY.--New Bleaching Apparatus.--A newly invented
apparatus for bleaching pulp.--2 illustrations. 13133
* * * * *
THE REDOUTABLE.
The central battery and barbette ship Redoutable, illustrated this
week, forms part of the French Mediterranean squadron, and although
launched as early as 1876 is still one of its most powerful ships.
Below are some of the principal dimensions and particulars of this
ironclad:
Length 318 ft. 2 in.
Beam 64 " 8 "
Draught 25 " 6 "
Displacement 9200 tons.
Crew 706 officers and men.
[Illustration: THE FRENCH CENTRAL BATTERY IRONCLAD REDOUTABLE.]
The Redoutable is built partly of iron and partly of steel and is
similar in many respects to the ironclads Devastation and Courbet of
the same fleet, although rather smaller. She is completely belted with
14 in. armor, with a 15 in. backing, and has the central battery
armored with plates of 91/2 in. in thickness.
The engines are two in number, horizontal, and of the compound two
cylinder type, developing a horse power of 6,071, which on the trial
trip gave a speed of 14.66 knots per hour. Five hundred and ten tons
of coal are carried in the bunkers, which at a speed of 10 knots
should enable the ship to make a voyage of 2,800 knots. Torpedo
defense netting is fitted, and there are three masts with military
tops carrying Hotchkiss revolver machine guns.
The offensive power of the ship consists of seven breechloading rifled
guns of 27 centimeters (10.63 in.), and weighing 24 tons each, six
breechloading rifled guns of 14 centimeters (5.51 in.), and
quick-firing and machine guns of the Hotchkiss systems. There are in
addition four torpedo discharge tubes, two on each side of the ship.
The positions of the guns are as follows: Four of 27 centimeters in
the central battery, two on each broadside; three 27 centimeter guns
on the upper deck in barbettes, one on each side amidships, and one
aft. The 14 centimeter guns are in various positions on the
broadsides, and the machine guns are fitted on deck, on the bridges,
and in the military tops, four of them also being mounted on what is
rather a novelty in naval construction, a gallery running round the
outside of the funnel, which was fitted when the ship was under
repairs some months ago.
There are three electric light projectors, one forward on the upper
deck, one on the bridge just forward of the funnel, and one in the
mizzen top.--_Engineering._
* * * * *
ARMOR PLATING ON BATTLESHIPS: FRANCE AND GREAT BRITAIN.
The visit of the French squadron under Admiral Gervais to England has
revived in many a nautical mind the recollection of that oft-repeated
controversy as to the relative advantages of armored belts and
citadels. Now that a typical French battleship of the belted class has
been brought so prominently to our notice, it may not be considered an
inappropriate season to dwell shortly upon the various idiosyncrasies
of thought which have produced, in our two nations, types of war
vessels differing so materially from each other as to their protective
features. In order to facilitate a study of these features, the
accompanying sketch has been prepared, which shows at a glance the
relative quantities of armored surface that afford protection to the
Nile, the Camperdown, the Marceau, the Royal Sovereign, and the Dupuy
de Lome; the first three of these vessels having been actually present
at the review on the 21st of August and the two others having been
selected as the latest efforts of shipbuilding skill in France and
Great Britain. Nothing but the armored surface in each several class
is shown, the same scale having been adhered to in all cases.
[Illustration: Armored Surface for Various Ships]
Two impressions cannot fail to be made upon our minds, both as to
French and British armor plate disposition. These two impressions, as
regards Great Britain, point to the Royal Sovereign as embodying the
idea of two protected stations with a narrow and partial connecting
belt; and to the Nile as embodying the idea of a vast and absolutely
protected raft. For France, we have the Marceau as representing the
wholly belted type with four disconnected but protected stations; and
the Dupuy de Lome, in which the armor plating is thinned out to a
substance of only 4 in., so as entirely to cover the sides of the
vessel down to 5 ft, below the water line; this thickness of plating
being regarded as sufficient to break up upon its surface the dreaded
melinite or guncotton shell, but permitting the passage of
armor-piercing projectiles right through from side to side; provision
being made to prevent damage from these latter to engines and vitals
by means of double-armored decks below, with a belt of cellulose
between them. Thus, as we have explained, two prominent ideas are
present in the disposition of armor upon the battleships of Great
Britain, as well as in that of the battleships of France. But, while
in our country these two ideas follow one another in the natural
sequence of development, from the Inflexible to the Royal Sovereign,
the citadel being gradually extended into two redoubts, and space
being left between the redoubts for an auxiliary battery--this latter
being, however, singularly placed above the armored belt, and _not
within its shelter_--in France, on the other hand, we find the second
idea to be a new departure altogether in armored protection, or rather
to be a return to the original thought which produced the Gloire and
vessels of her class. In point of fact, while we have always clung to
the armored citadel, France has discarded the belt altogether, and
gone in for speed and light armor, as well as for a much lighter class
of armament. Time alone, and the circumstances of actual warfare, can
prove which nation has adopted the wisest alternative.
A glance at the engraving will show the striking contrast between the
existing service types as to armored surface. The Marceau appears
absolutely naked by the side of the solidly armed citadel of the Nile.
The contrast between the future types will be, of course, still more
striking, for the reasons given in the last paragraph. But while
remarking upon the paucity of heavy plating as exhibited in the
service French battleships, we would say one word for the angle at
which it is placed. The receding sides of the great vessels of France
give two very important attributes in their favor. In the first place,
a much broader platform at the water line is afforded to secure
steadiness of the ship and stable equilibrium, and the angle at which
the armor rests is so great as to present a very oblique surface to
the impact of projectiles. The trajectory of modern rifled guns is so
exceedingly flat that the angle of descent of the shot or shell is
practically _nil_. Were the sides of the Royal Sovereign to fall back
like those of the Marceau or Magenta, we seriously doubt whether any
projectile, however pointed, would effect penetration at all. We
conclude, then, that a comparison of the Marceau with the Nile as
regards protective features is so incontestably in favor of the
latter, that they cannot be classed together for a moment. In speed,
moreover, though this is not a point under consideration, the Nile has
the advantage. It is impossible, however, to avoid the conviction that
the Dupuy de Lome would be a most powerful and disagreeable enemy for
either of the eight great ironclads of Great Britain now building to
encounter on service. The Hood and Royal Sovereign have many
vulnerable points. At any position outside of the dark and light
portions of armor plate indicated in our drawing, they could
be hulled with impunity with the | 1,601.14584 |
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[Illustration: (Front Cover)]
Glacier NATIONAL PARK [MONTANA]
_American Section_ WATERTON-GLACIER
INTERNATIONAL PEACE PARK
United States Department of the Interior
_Harold L. Ickes, Secretary_
NATIONAL PARK SERVICE
_Arno B. Cammerer, Director_
[Illustration]
UNITED STATES
GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE
WASHINGTON: 1937
RULES AND REGULATIONS
Briefed
The Park Regulations are designed for the protection of the natural
beauties as well as for the comfort and convenience of visitors. The
complete regulations may be seen at the office of the superintendent
and at ranger stations. The following synopsis of the rules and
regulations is for the general guidance of visitors, who are requested
to assist in the administration of the park by observing them.
=_Fires._=--Fires are the greatest menace to the forests of Glacier
National Park. Build camp fires only when necessary and at designated
places. Know that they are out before you leave them. Be sure your
cigarette, cigar, pipe ashes, and matches are out before you throw them
away. During periods of high fire hazard, camp fires are not permitted
at nondesignated camp grounds.
=_Camps._=--Camping is restricted to designated campgrounds. Burn all
combustible garbage in your camp fire; place tin cans and unburnable
residue in garbage cans. There is plenty of pure water; be sure to get
it. Visitors must not contaminate water-sheds or water supplies.
=_Natural features._=--The destruction, injury, or disturbance in any
way of the trees, flowers, birds, or animals is prohibited. Dead and
fallen wood may be used for firewood. Picking wild flowers and removing
plants are prohibited.
=_Bears._=--It is prohibited and dangerous to feed the bears. Do not
leave foodstuffs in an unattended car or camp, for the bear will break
into and damage your car or camp equipment to secure food. Suspend
foodstuffs in a box, well out of their reach, or place in the care of
the camp tender.
=_Dogs and cats._=--When in the park, dogs and cats must be kept under
leash, crated, or under restrictive control of the owner at all times.
=_Fishing._=--No license for fishing in the park is required. Use of
live bait is prohibited. Ten fish (none under 6 inches) per day, per
person fishing is the usual limit; however, in some lakes the limit is
5 fish per day and in others it is 20. Visitors should contact the
nearest district ranger to ascertain the fish limits in the lakes. The
possession of more than 2 days' catch by any person at any one time
shall be construed as a violation of the regulations.
=_Traffic._=--Speed regulations: 15 miles per hour on sharp curves and
through residential districts; 35 miles per hour on the straightaway.
Keep gears enmeshed and out of free wheeling on long grades. Keep
cutout closed. Drive carefully at all times. Secure automobile permit,
fee $1.
=_Rangers._=--The rangers are here to assist and advise you as well as
to enforce the regulations. When in doubt consult a ranger.
FOREST FIRES
Forest Fires are a terrible and ever-present menace. There are
thousands of acres of burned forests in Glacier National Park. Most of
these "ghosts of forests" are hideous proofs of some person's criminal
carelessness or ignorance.
Build camp fires only at designated camp sites. At times of high
winds or exceptionally dry spell, build no fires outside, except in
stoves provided at the free auto camps. At times of extreme hazard,
it is necessary to restrict smoking to hotel and camp areas. Guests
entering the park are so informed, and prohibitory notices are posted
everywhere. Smoking on the highway, on trails, and elsewhere in the
park is forbidden at such times. During the dry period, permits to
build fires at any camp sites other than in auto camps must be procured
in advance from the district ranger.
Be absolutely sure that your camp fire is extinguished before you leave
it, even for a few minutes.
Do not rely upon dirt thrown on it for complete extinction.
_Drown_ it completely with water.
Drop that lighted cigar or cigarette on the trail and step on it.
Do the same with every match that is lighted.
_Extreme caution is demanded at all times._
Anyone responsible for a forest fire will be prosecuted to the full
extent of the law.
_If you discover a forest fire, report it to the nearest ranger
station or hotel._
Events OF HISTORICAL IMPORTANCE
The heart of a territory so vast it was measured not in miles but
degrees, the site of Glacier National Park was indicated as terra
incognita or unexplored on most maps even as late as the dawn of the
present century. To its mountain fastness had come first the solitary
fur trader, the trapper, and the missionary; after them followed the
hunter, the pioneer, and the explorer; in the nineties were drawn the
prospector, the miner, and the picturesque trader of our last frontier;
today, the region beckons the scientist, the lover of the out-of-doors,
and the searcher for beauty. Throughout its days, beginning with the
Lewis and Clark Expedition, the Glacier country has been a lodestone
for the scientist, attracted from every corner of the earth by
the combination of natural wonder and beauty to be found here.
A chronological list of important events in the park's history
follows:
--------+-----------------------------------------------------------------
1804-5 | Lewis and Clark Expedition. Meriwether Lewis reached a
| point 40 miles east of the present park. Chief Mountain
| was indicated as King Mountain on the expedition map.
|
1810 | First definitely known crossing of Marias Pass by white man.
|
1846 | Hugh Monroe, known to the Indians as Rising Wolf,
| visited and named St. Mary Lake.
|
1853 | Cutbank Pass over the Continental Divide was crossed by
| A. W. Tinkham, engineer of exploration party with Isaac
| I. Stevens, Governor of Washington Territory. Tinkham
| was in search of the present Marias Pass, described to
| Governor Stevens by Little Dog, the Blackfeet chieftain.
|
1854 | James Doty explored the eastern base of the range and
| camped on lower St. Mary Lake from May 28 to June 6.
|
1855 | Area now in park east of Continental Divide allotted as
| hunting grounds to the Blackfeet by treaty.
|
1872 | International boundary survey authorized which fixed the
| location of the present north boundary of the park.
|
1882-83 | Prof. Raphael Pumpelly made explorations in the region.
|
1885 | George Bird Grinnell made the first of many trips to the region.
|
1889 | J. F. Stevens explored Marias Pass as location of railroad line.
|
1891 | Great Northern Railroad built through Marias Pass.
|
1895 | Purchase of territory east of Continental Divide from the
| Blackfeet Indians for $1,500,000, to be thrown open to
| prospectors and miners.
|
1901 | George Bird Grinnell published an article in Century Magazine
| which first called attention to the exceptional grandeur
| and beauty of the region and need for its conservation.
|
1910 | Bill creating Glacier National Park was signed by President
| Taft on May 11. Maj. W. R. Logan became first superintendent.
|
1932 | Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park dedicated.
|
1933 | Going-to-the-Sun Highway opened to travel throughout its
| length.
|
1934 | Franklin D. Roosevelt first President to visit Glacier National
| Park.
--------+-----------------------------------------------------------------
Contents
_Page_
International Peace Park 1
How to Reach Glacier Park 3
By Rail 3
By Automobile 3
By Airplane 3
Centers of Interest 3
Glacier Park Station 3
Two Medicine 4
Cutbank 6
Red Eagle 6
St. Mary and Sun Camp 6
Many Glacier Region 8
Belly River Valley, Waterton Lake, and Goathaunt 11
Flattop Mountain and Granite Park 13
Logan Pass 14
Avalanche Camp 14
Lake McDonald 15
Sperry Chalets 16
Belton 16
What to Do and See 17
Fishing 17
Hiking and Mountain Climbing 18
Popular trails 21
Swimming 22
Camping out 22
Photography 22
Park Highway System 22
How to Dress 23
Accommodations 24
Saddle-Horse Trips 25
All-Expense Tours by Bus 26
Transportation 27
Launches and Rowboats 28
Administration 28
Naturalist Service 29
Automobile Campgrounds 29
Post Offices 29
Miscellaneous 29
The Park's Geologic Story 30
Flora and Fauna 34
Ideal Place to See American Indians 34
References 37
Government Publications 40
[Illustration: _Photo by Hileman._ KINNERLY PEAK FROM KINTLA LAKE]
GLACIER _National Park_
SEASON JUNE 15 TO SEPTEMBER 15
Glacier National Park, in the Rocky Mountains of northwestern Montana,
established by act of Congress May 11, 1910, contains 981,681 acres, or
1,534 square miles, of the finest mountain country in America. Nestled
among the higher peaks are more than 60 glaciers and 200 beautiful
lakes. During the summer months it is possible to visit most of the
glaciers and many of the lakes with relatively little difficulty.
Horseback and foot trails penetrate almost all sections of the park.
Conveniently located trail camps, operated at a reasonable cost, make
it possible for visitors to enjoy the mountain scenery without having
to carry food and camping equipment. Many travelers hike or ride
through the mountains for days at a time, resting each evening at one
of these high mountain camps. The glaciers found in the park are among
the few in the United States which are easily accessible.
INTERNATIONAL PEACE PARK
The Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park was established in 1932
by Presidential proclamation, as authorized by the Congress of the
United States and the Canadian Parliament.
At the dedication exercises in June of that year, the following message
from the President of the United States was read:
The dedication of the Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park
is a further gesture of the good will that has so long blessed
our relations with our Canadian neighbors, and I am gratified by
the hope and the faith that it will forever be an appropriate
symbol of permanent peace and friendship.
In the administration of these areas each component part of the Peace
Park retains its nationality and individuality and functions as it did
before the union.
[Illustration: _Copyright, Hileman._ WATERTON LAKE--THE INTERNATIONAL
PEACE LAKE]
HOW TO REACH GLACIER PARK
BY RAIL
The park entrances are on the main transcontinental line of the Great
Northern Railway. Glacier Park Station, Mont., the eastern entrance, is
1,081 miles west of St. Paul, a ride of 30 hours. Belton, Mont., the
western entrance, is 637 miles east of Seattle, a ride of 20 hours.
For information regarding railroad fares, service, etc., apply to
railroad ticket agents or address A. J. Dickinson, passenger-traffic
manager, Great Northern Railway, St. Paul, Minn.
A regular bus schedule is maintained by the Glacier Park Transport Co.
to accommodate persons arriving by rail.
BY AUTOMOBILE
Glacier National Park may be reached by motorists over a number of
well-marked automobile roads. The park approach roads connect with
several transcontinental highways. From both the east and west sides
automobile roads run north and connect with the road system in Canada,
and motorists may continue over these roads to the Canadian national
parks. Glacier National Park is the western terminus of the Custer
Battlefield Highway.
A fee of $1 is charged for a permit to operate an automobile in Glacier
Park. This permit allows reentry into the park at any time during the
current season. Maximum speed limit in the park is 30 miles per hour.
On mountain climbs and winding roads, utmost care in driving is
demanded. All cautionary signs must be observed.
BY AIRPLANE
Fast de luxe airplane service is available by Northwest Airlines to
Missoula, Mont., and Spokane, Wash., as is transportation via United
Air Lines, from the east and west coasts to Spokane. National Park
Airlines has a service from Salt Lake City, Utah, to Great Falls, Mont.
CENTERS OF INTEREST
GLACIER PARK STATION
Glacier Park on the Great Northern Railway is the eastern entrance to
the park. It is located on the Great Plains, near the base of Glacier's
Rockies. It is on U S 2, which traverses from the east through northern
Montana along the southern boundary of the park to Belton, the western
entrance, and on to the Pacific coast. Glacier Park is also the southern
terminus of the Blackfeet Highway which parallels the eastern boundary
of the park and connects with the Alberta highway system. It is the
southern end of the Inside Trail to Two Medicine, Cutbank, Red Eagle,
and Sun Camp.
The commodious Glacier Park Hotel, several lesser hotels, auto camps,
stores, an auxiliary park office, a Government fish hatchery, a post
office and other structures are located here. The village gives a
fine touch of western life, with Indians, cowboys, and picturesque
characters contributing to its color. An encampment of Blackfeet is
on Midvale Creek; these Indians sing, dance, and tell stories every
evening at the hotel.
TWO MEDICINE
Two Medicine presents a turquoise mountain lake surrounded by majestic
forest-covered peaks separated by deep glaciated valleys. A road leads
into it from the Blackfeet Highway and ends at the chalets near the
foot of Two Medicine Lake. Across the water rises Sinopah Mountain,
while to the north sweep upward the gray-green <DW72>s of Rising Wolf
to terminate in purple-red argillites and snow banks. One of the most
inviting camp sites of the park is immediately below the outlet of the
lake, not far from the chalets | 1,601.154973 |
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Internet Archive)
[Illustration]
OUTINGS
AT ODD TIMES
BY
CHARLES C. ABBOTT, M. D.
AUTHOR OF A NATURALIST’S RAMBLES ABOUT HOME,
DAYS OUT OF DOORS, ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1890
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1890,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFATORY.
-------
Nature, and Books about it.
Often, during a long and dusty walk in midsummer, I have chanced
suddenly upon a wayside spring, and stooping drank directly from the
bosom of Mother Earth. Filled with the pleasant recollections of such
moments, how tame is all other tipple, even though the crystal is a
marvel of art, with “beady bubbles winking at the brim”!
So, too, I find it with matters of graver import. I would that no one
should aid me in gathering my stores, but with my own hands I would
delve at the fountain-head. The spirit of such an aim is a spur to
youth, but becomes a source of amusement rather than a more serious
matter in our maturer years. I am more than willing now to take nature
at second hand. But is this safe? How far can we trust another’s eyes,
ears, and sense of touch and smell? There are critics scattered as
thickly as motes in a sunbeam, veritable know-alls, who shriek “Beware!”
when nature is reported; but, for all this, outdoor books are very
tempting to a host of people, and in the long run educate rather than
misinform. That ever two naturalists should wholly agree, after careful
study of an animal, is not probable. There will be the same differences
as exist between two translations of the same book. What a crow, a
mouse, or a gorgeous cluster of blooming lotus is to me, these will
never be to another; but, because of this, do not persist that your
neighbor is blind, deaf, or stupid. I recently had a horse ask me to let
down the bars; to another it would have been merely the meaningless fact
that the horse neighed.
Having an outdoor book in hand, when and how should it be read? It is no
doubt very tempting to think of a shady nook, or babbling bro | 1,601.155311 |
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THE LOST HEIR
BY G. A. HENTY
AUTHOR OF "STURDY AND STRONG," "RUJUB, THE JUGGLER," "BY ENGLAND'S AID,"
ETC., ETC.
THE MERSHON COMPANY
RAHWAY, N. J.
NEW YORK
CONTENTS.
I. A BRAVE ACTION 1
II. IN THE SOUTH SEAS 14
III. A DEAF GIRL 27
IV. THE GYPSY 40
V. A GAMBLING DEN 52
VI. JOHN SIMCOE 65
VII. JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEND 77
VIII. GENERAL MATHIESON'S SEIZURE 90
IX. A STRANGE ILLNESS 102
X. TWO HEAVY BLOWS 112
XI. A STARTLING WILL 124
XII. DR. LEEDS SPEAKS 137
XIII. NETTA VISITS STOWMARKET 150
XIV. AN ADVERTISEMENT 164
XV. VERY BAD NEWS 176
XVI. A FRESH CLEW 193
XVII. NETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY 206
XVIII. DOWN IN THE MARSHES 220
XIX. A PARTIAL SUCCESS 233
XX. A DINNER PARTY 247
XXI. A BOX AT THE OPERA 262
XXII. NEARING THE GOAL 274
XXIII. WALTER 287
XXIV. A NEW BARGE 301
XXV. A CRUSHING EXPOSURE 316
XXVI. A LETTER FROM ABROAD 329
[Illustration: SIMCOE RAN IN WITH HIS KNIFE AND ATTACKED THE TIGER.
_--Page 4._]
THE LOST HEIR.
CHAPTER I.
A BRAVE ACTION.
A number of soldiers were standing in the road near the bungalow of
Brigadier-General Mathieson, the officer in command of the force in the
cantonments of Benares and the surrounding district.
"They are coming now, I think," one sergeant said to another. "It is a
bad business. They say the General is terribly hurt, and it was thought
better to bring him and the other fellow who was mixed up in it down in
doolies. I heard Captain Harvey say in the orderly-room that they have
arranged relays of bearers every five miles all the way down. He is a
good fellow is the General, and we should all miss him. He is not one of
the sort who has everything comfortable himself and don't care a rap how
the soldiers get on: he sees to the comfort of everyone and spends his
money freely, too. He don't seem to care what he lays out in making the
quarters of the married men comfortable, and in getting any amount of
ice for the hospital, and extra punkawallahs in the barrack rooms during
the hot season. He goes out and sees to everything himself. Why, on the
march I have known him, when all the doolies were full, give up his own
horse to a man who had fallen out. He has had bad luck too; lost his
wife years ago by cholera, and he has got no one to care for but his
girl. She was only a few months old when her mother died. Of course she
was sent off to England, and has been there ever since. He must be a
rich man, besides his pay and allowances; but it aint every rich man who
spends his money as he does. There won't be a dry eye in the cantonment
if he goes under."
"How was it the other man got hurt?"
"Well, I hear that the tiger sprang on to the General's elephant and
seized him by the leg. They both went off together, and the brute
shifted its hold to the shoulder, and carried him into the jungle; then
the other fellow slipped off his elephant and ran after the tiger. He
got badly mauled too; but he killed the brute and saved the General's
life."
"By Jove! that was a plucky thing. Who was he?"
"Why, he was the chap who was walking backwards and forwards with the
General when the band was playing yesterday evening. Several of the men
remarked how like he was to you, Sanderson. I noticed it, too. There
certainly was a strong likeness."
"Yes, some of the fellows were saying so," Sanderson replied. "He passed
close to me, and I saw that he was about my height and build, but of
course I did not notice the likeness; a man does not know his own face
much. Anyhow, he only sees his full face, and doesn't know how he looks
sideways. He is a civilian, isn't he?"
"Yes, I believe so; I know that the General is putting him up at his
quarters. He has been here about a week. I think he is some man from
England, traveling, I suppose, to see the world. I heard the Adjutant
speak of him as Mr. Simcoe when he was talking about the affair."
"Of course they will take him to the General's bungalow?"
"No; he is going to the next. Major Walker is away on leave, and the
doctor says that it is better that they should be in different
bungalows, because then if one gets delirious and noisy he won't disturb
the other. Dr. Hunter is going to take up his quarters there to look
after him, with his own servants and a couple of hospital orderlies."
By this time several officers were gathered at the entrance to the
General's bungalow, two mounted troopers having brought in the news a
few minutes before that the doolies were within a mile.
They came along now, each carried by four men, maintaining a swift but
smooth and steady pace, and abstaining from the monotonous chant usually
kept up. A doctor was riding by the side of the doolies, and two mounted
orderlies with baskets containing ice and surgical dressings rode fifty
paces in the rear. The curtains of the doolies had been removed to allow
of a free passage of air, and mosquito curtains hung round to prevent
insects annoying the sufferers.
There was a low murmur of sympathy from the soldiers as the doolies
passed them, and many a muttered "God bless you, sir, and bring you
through it all right." Then, as the injured men were carried into the
two bungalows, most of the soldiers strolled off, some, however,
remaining near in hopes of getting a favorable report from an orderly or
servant. A group of officers remained under the shade of a tree near
until the surgeon who had ridden in with the doolies came out.
"What is the report, McManus?" one of them asked, as he approached.
"There is no change since I sent off my report last night," he said.
"The General is very badly hurt; I certainly should not like to give an
opinion at present whether he will get over it or not. If he does it
will be a very narrow shave. He was insensible till we lifted him into
the doolie at eight o'clock yesterday evening, when the motion seemed to
rouse him a little, and he just opened his eyes; and each time we
changed bearers he has had a little ice between his lips, and a drink of
lime juice and water with a dash of brandy in it. He has known me each
time, and whispered a word or two, asking after the other."
"And how is he?"
"I have no doubt that he will do; that is, of course, if fever does not
set in badly. His wounds are not so severe as the General's, and he is a
much younger man, and, as I should say, with a good constitution. If
there is no complication he ought to be about again in a month's time.
He is perfectly sensible. Let him lie quiet for a day or two; after that
it would be as well if some of you who have met him at the General's
would drop in occasionally for a short chat with him; but of course we
must wait to see if there is going to be much fever."
"And did it happen as they say, doctor? The dispatch told us very little
beyond the fact that the General was thrown from his elephant, just as
the tiger sprang, and that it seized him and carried him into the
jungle; that Simcoe slipped off his pad and ran in and attacked the
tiger; that he saved the General's life and killed the animal, but is
sadly hurt himself."
"That is about it, except that he did not kill the tiger. Metcalf,
Colvin, and Smith all ran in, and firing together knocked it over stone
dead. It was an extraordinarily plucky action of Simcoe, for he had
emptied his rifle, and had nothing but it and a knife when he ran in."
"You don't say so! By Jove! that was an extraordinary act of pluck; one
would almost say of madness, if he hadn't succeeded in drawing the brute
off Mathieson, and so gaining time for the others to come up. It was a
miracle that he wasn't killed. Well, we shall not have quite so easy a
time of it for a bit. Of course Murdock, as senior officer, will take
command of the brigade, but he won't be half as considerate for our
comfort as Mathieson has been. He is rather a scoffer at what he calls
new-fangled ways, and he will be as likely to march the men out in the
heat of the day as at five in the morning."
The two sergeants who had been talking walked back together to their
quarters. Both of them were on the brigade staff. Sanderson was the
Paymaster's clerk, Nichol worked in the orderly-room. At the sergeants'
mess the conversation naturally turned on the tiger hunt and its
consequences.
"I have been in some tough fights," one of the older men said, "and I
don't know that I ever felt badly scared--one hasn't time to think of
that when one is at work--but to rush in against a wounded tiger with
nothing but an empty gun and a hunting-knife is not the sort of job
that I should like to tackle. It makes one's blood run cold to think of
it. I consider that everyone in the brigade ought to subscribe a day's
pay to get something to give that man, as a token of our admiration for
his pluck and of our gratitude for his having saved General Mathieson's
life."
There was a general expression of approval at the idea. Then Sanderson
said:
"I think it is a thing that ought to be done, but it is not for us to
begin it. If we hear of anything of that sort done by the officers, two
or three of us might go up and say that it was the general wish among
the non-coms. and men to take a share in it; but it would never do for
us to begin."
"That is right enough; the officers certainly would not like such a
thing to begin from below. We had better wait and see whether there is
any movement that way. I dare say that it will depend a great deal on
whether the General gets over it or not."
The opportunity did not come. At the end of five weeks Mr. Simcoe was
well enough to travel by easy stages down to the coast, acting upon the
advice that he should, for the present, give up all idea of making a
tour through India, and had better take a sea voyage to Australia or the
Cape, or, better still, take his passage home at once. Had the day and
hour of his leaving been known, there was not a white soldier in the
cantonments who would not have turned out to give him a hearty cheer,
but although going on well the doctor said | 1,601.347183 |
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Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines.
MRS. WIGGS OF THE CABBAGE PATCH
BY
ALICE CALDWELL HEGAN
NEW YORK.. MCMII
Copyright, 1901, by
THIS LITTLE STORY IS
LOVINGLY DEDICATED
TO MY MOTHER, WHO
FOR YEARS HAS BEEN
THE GOOD ANGEL OF
"THE CABBAGE PATCH"
CONTENTS
MRS. WIGGS'S PHILOSOPHY
WAYS AND MEANS
THE "CHRISTMAS LADY"
THE ANNEXATION OF CUBY
A REMINISCENCE
A THEATER PARTY
"MR. BOB"
MRS. WIGGS AT HOME
HOW SPRING CAME TO THE CABBAGE PATCH
AU | 1,601.353324 |
2023-11-16 18:43:45.3347210 | 1,550 | 16 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
LIBRARY OF THE
WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE
ANCIENT AND MODERN
CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER
EDITOR
HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE LUCIA GILBERT RUNKLE
GEORGE HENRY WARNER
ASSOCIATE EDITORS
Connoisseur Edition
VOL. XVI.
NEW YORK
THE INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY
Connoisseur Edition
LIMITED TO FIVE HUNDRED COPIES IN HALF RUSSIA
_No_. ..........
Copyright, 1896, by
R. S. PEALE AND J. A. HILL
_All rights reserved_
THE ADVISORY COUNCIL
CRAWFORD H. TOY, A. M., LL. D.,
Professor of Hebrew, HARVARD UNIVERSITY, Cambridge, Mass.
THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY, LL. D., L. H. D.,
Professor of English in the Sheffield Scientific School of
YALE UNIVERSITY, New Haven, Conn.
WILLIAM M. SLOANE, PH. D., L. H. D.,
Professor of History and Political Science,
PRINCETON UNIVERSITY, Princeton, N. J.
BRANDER MATTHEWS, A. M., LL. B.,
Professor of Literature, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, New York City.
JAMES B. ANGELL, LL. D.,
President of the UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN, Ann Arbor, Mich.
WILLARD FISKE, A. M., PH. D.,
Late Professor of the Germanic and Scandinavian Languages
and Literatures, CORNELL UNIVERSITY, Ithaca, N. Y.
EDWARD S. HOLDEN, A. M., LL. D.,
Director of the Lick Observatory, and Astronomer,
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, Berkeley, Cal.
ALCEE FORTIER, LIT. D.,
Professor of the Romance Languages,
TULANE UNIVERSITY, New Orleans, La.
WILLIAM P. TRENT, M. A.,
Dean of the Department of Arts and Sciences, and Professor of
English and History, UNIVERSITY OF THE SOUTH, Sewanee, Tenn.
PAUL SHOREY, PH. D.,
Professor of Greek and Latin Literature,
UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO, Chicago, Ill.
WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL. D.,
United States Commissioner of Education,
BUREAU OF EDUCATION, Washington, D. C.
MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, A. M., LL. D.,
Professor of Literature in the
CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA, Washington, D. C.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
VOL. XVI
LIVED PAGE
AULUS GELLIUS Second Century A.D. 6253
From 'Attic Nights': Origin, and Plan of the Book;
The Vestal Virgins; The Secrets of the Senate;
Plutarch and his Slave; Discussion on One of
Solon's Laws; The Nature of Sight; Earliest
Libraries; Realistic Acting; The Athlete's End
GESTA ROMANORUM 6261
Theodosius the Emperoure
Moralite
Ancelmus the Emperour
Moralite
How an Anchoress was Tempted by the Devil
EDWARD GIBBON 1737-1794 6271
BY W. E. H. LECKY
Zenobia
Foundation of Constantinople
Character of Constantine
Death of Julian
Fall of Rome
Silk
Mahomet's Death and Character
The Alexandrian Library
Final Ruin of Rome
All from the 'Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire'
WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT 1836- 6333
Captain Reece
The Yarn of the Nancy Bell
The Bishop of Rum-ti-foo
Gentle Alice Brown
The Captain and the Mermaids
All from the 'Bab Ballads'
RICHARD WATSON GILDER 1844- 6347
Two Songs from 'The New Day'
"Rose-Dark the Solemn Sunset"
The Celestial Passion
Non Sine Dolore
On the Life Mask of Abraham Lincoln
From 'The Great Remembrance'
GIUSEPPE GIUSTI 1809-1850 6355
Lullaby ('Gingillino')
The Steam Guillotine
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE 1809- 6359
Macaulay ('Gleanings of Past Years')
EDWIN LAWRENCE GODKIN 1831- 6373
The Duty of Criticism in a Democracy ('Problems of
Modern Democracy')
GOETHE 1749-1832 6385
BY EDWARD DOWDEN
From 'Faust,' Shelley's Translation
Scenes from 'Faust', Bayard Taylor's Translation
Mignon's Love and Longing ('Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship')
Wilhelm Meister's Introduction to Shakespeare (same)
Wilhelm Meister's Analysis of Hamlet (same)
The Indenture (same)
The Harper's Songs (same)
Mignon's Song (same)
Philina's Song (same)
Prometheus
Wanderer's Night Songs
The Elfin-King
From 'The Wanderer's Storm Song'
The Godlike
Solitude
Ergo Bibamus!
Alexis and Dora
Maxims and Reflections
Nature
NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL 1809-1852 6455
BY ISABEL F. HAPGOOD
From 'The Inspector'
Old-Fashioned Gentry ('Mirgorod')
CARLO GOLDONI 1707-1793 6475
BY WILLIAM CRANSTON LAWTON
First Love and Parting ('Memoirs of Carlo Goldoni')
The Origin of Masks in the Italian Comedy (same)
Purists and Pedantry (same)
A Poet's Old Age (same)
The Cafe
MEIR AARON GOLDSCHMIDT 1819-1887 6493
Assar and Mirjam ('Love Stories from Many Countries')
OLIVER GOLDSMITH 1728-1774 6501
BY CHARLES MILLS GAYLEY
The Vicar's Family Become Ambitious ('The Vicar of Wakefield')
New Misfortunes: But Offenses are Easily Pardoned Where
There is Love at Bottom (same)
Pictures from 'The Deserted Village | 1,601.354761 |
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E-text prepared by Shaun Pinder, Christian Boissonnas, 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 in color.
See 50387-h.htm or 50387-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50387/50387-h/50387-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50387/50387-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/texicancoolidged00coolrich
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
[++] indicates a caption added by the transcriber.
(Example: [Illustration: [++] Decorative Image.])
THE TEXICAN
* * * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
HIDDEN WATER. With four illustrations in color by Maynard Dixon.
Crown 8vo. $1.35 net.
A. C. McCLURG & CO., Publishers
CHICAGO
* * * * * *
[Illustration: The calf was like its mother, but she, on account of her
brand and ear-marks, held the entire attention of the Texan
[Chapter IV]]
THE TEXICAN
by
DANE COOLIDGE
Author of "Hidden Water"
With Illustrations in Color by Maynard Dixon
[Illustration: [++] Decorative image.]
Chicago
A. C. Mcclurg & Co.
1911
Copyright
A. C. McClurg & Co.
1911
Published September, 1911
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England
Press of the Vail Company
Coshocton, U. S. A.
TO MY OLD FRIEND
DANE COOLIDGE
WHO HAS STAYED WITH ME THROUGH ALL MY TROUBLES
THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY
THE AUTHOR
"Oh, out from old Missouri
I set me forth to roam
Indicted by a jury
For toling hawgs from home.
"With faithful Buck and Crowder
I crossed the Western plains
Then turned them loose in the Cow-Country
And waited for my gains.
"And now I'm called a Cattle King
With herds on many a stream—
And all from the natural increase
Of that faithful old ox-team."
_The Song of Good-Eye._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I VERDE CROSSING 11
II GOOD EYE, THE MAVERICK KING 22
III THE DOUBLE CROSS 32
IV THE SHOW-DOWN 46
V LOST DOG CAÑON 60
VI "THE VOICE OF REASON" 74
VII THE REVOLUTION 90
VIII THE DAY AFTER 105
IX DEATH AND TAXES 123
X STAMPEDED 142
XI THE CATTLE WAR 156
XII MOUNTAIN LAW 173
XIII WELCOME HOME 183
XIV THE KANGAROO COURT 196
XV THE REVOLUTION IN FACT 216
XVI BACK TO NATURE 238
XVII THE POWER OF THE PRESS 255
XVIII THE LAW'S DELAY 278
XIX THE LAST CHANCE 295
XX THE LAW AND THE EVIDENCE 318
XXI NEVER AGAIN 355
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
The calf was like its mother, but she, on
account of her brand and ear-marks, held
the entire attention of the Texan _Frontispiece_
Pecos's ever-ready pistol was out and balanced
in his hand 56
As the rout went by Angy saw Pecos, tied to his
horse, his arms bound tight to his sides 188
"You _will_ turn this jail into a hog-waller,
will you?" he demanded 250
She laid a brown hand against the bars as if in
protest and motioned him nearer the screen 312
THE TEXICAN
CHAPTER I
VERDE CROSSING
The languid quiet of midday lay upon the little road-house that stood
guard by Verde Crossing. Old Crit and his wild Texas cowboys had left
the corral at dawn, riding out mysteriously with their running irons in
their chaps; the dogs had crawled under José Garcia's house and gone
to sleep; to the north the Tonto trail stretched away vacant and only
the brawling of the Verde as it rushed over the rocky ford suggested
the savage struggle that was going on in the | 1,601.446254 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=OBstAAAAYAAJ&dq
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS VOLUME
* * * * *
TWO POWERFUL ROMANCES
BY WILHELMINE VON HILLERN.
I.
ONLY A GIRL.
FROM THE GERMAN, BY MRS. A. L. WISTER.
_12mo. Fine Cloth. $2_.
"This is a charming work, charmingly written, and no one who reads it
can lay it down without feeling impressed with the superior talent of
its gifted author."
II.
BY HIS OWN MIGHT.
FROM THE GERMAN, BY M.S.
_12mo. Fine Cloth. $2_.
"A story of intense interest, well wrought."--_Boston Commonwealth_.
* * *
For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by mail, postpaid, on
receipt of the price by
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., Publishers,
_715 and 717 Market St., Philadelphia_.
[Illustration: WILHELMINE VON HILLERN.]
A TWOFOLD LIFE.
BY
WILHELMINE VON HILLERN,
AUTHOR OF "ONLY A GIRL," "BY HIS OWN MIGHT," ETC.
* * *
It is not what the world is to _us_, but what we are to the world, that
is the measure of our happiness.
* * *
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN
By M. S.,
TRANSLATOR OF "BY HIS OWN MIGHT."
* * *
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
1873.
* * * * *
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
* * * * *
TO
MY HONORED AND BELOVED MOTHER,
CHARLOTTE BIRCH-PFEIFFER.
TO YOU, DEAR MOTHER BELONGS THIS FIRST PRODUCT OF AN ASPIRATION YOU
AWOKE, AND, IN LOYAL UNION WITH MY BELOVED FATHER, AIDED BY
YOUR POWERFUL EXAMPLE TO DEVELOP. RECEIVE IT AS A
FAINT TOKEN OF GRATITUDE FOR A LOVE WHICH
A WHOLE LIFE WOULD NOT BE
SUFFICIENT TO REPAY.
THE AUTHORESS.
CONTENTS.
I.--Mental Strife.
II.--Dual Apparitions.
III.--From Falsehood to Falsehood.
IV.--A Guardian Angel.
V.--Master and Pupil.
VI.--The Prison Fairy.
VII.--An Aristocrat.
VIII.--In the Prison.
IX.--Fraulein Veronica von Albin.
X.--Progress.
XI.--A New Life.
XII.--The Search for a Wife.
XIII.--A Sacrifice.
XIV.--Churchyard Blossoms.
XV.--A Royal Marriage.
XVI.--The Two Betrothed Brides.
XVII.--Insn | 1,601.452364 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Martin Mayer, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
[Transcribers’ notes are placed after the text.]
[Illustration: CARL DISCOVERS THE INDIAN HORSE THIEVES.]
CARL
THE TRAILER
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON
AUTHOR OF “THE GUNBOAT SERIES,” “ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES,”
“WAR SERIES,” ETC.
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.,
PHILADELPHIA,
CHICAGO, TORONTO.
COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. GETTING READY FOR THE HUNT, 1
II. CARL, THE TRAILER, 14
III. THE GHOST DANCE, 27
IV. THE SOLITARY HORSEMAN, 40
V. REINFORCEMENTS, 53
VI. DISPATCHES, 65
VII. GOING IN, 78
VIII. COMING OUT, 91
IX. STILL IN THE SADDLE, 104
X. THE SQUAWMAN’S PROPOSITION, 116
XI. THE INDIAN POLICEMAN, 129
XII. MORE COURIERS, 142
XIII. THE END OF SITTING BULL, 155
XIV. AN INTERVIEW IN THE WOODS, 170
XV. FIVE YEARS BEFORE, 182
XVI. WHAT CLAUDE KNEW, 195
XVII. THE PLAN DISCUSSED, 207
XVIII. “THEY’RE IN THE OFFICE!” 220
XIX. A TALK WITH HIS UNCLE, 233
XX. A NEW PLAN, 245
XXI. THE TRIP TO ST. LOUIS, 258
XXII. A SURPRISE, 270
XXIII. CLAUDE VISITS THE POOL ROOM, 285
XXIV. A HARD FIGHT, 298
XXV. A BLOW FOR NOTHING, 310
XXVI. THE NEW SCOUT, 323
XXVII. OFF TO THE FRONT, 329
XXVIII. GETTING READY FOR THE FIGHT, 342
XXIX. THE BATTLE OF WOUNDED KNEE, 354
XXX. OFF FOR HOME, 367
XXXI. CONCLUSION, 381
List of Illustrations
Illustration Page
Carl discovers the Indian horse thieves. _frontispiece_
Carl captured by the squawman. 118
The Robbers foiled. 234
All their labor for nothing. 308
CARL, THE TRAILER.
CHAPTER I.
GETTING READY FOR THE HUNT.
“So you are nearly out of fresh meat, are you? Do your men get that way
often?”
“Yes, sir. These Pawnee scouts can’t eat like white men. When they have
any fresh meat on hand they eat all they can, and when it is gone they
look to us for more.”
“Well, I suppose I shall have to send an officer out after some. I
think I will try Lieutenant Parker. He has been a pretty good young
officer since he has been out here, and perhaps it will do him some
good to get a little exercise. Orderly, send Parker here.”
This conversation took place between Col. Dodge, the commander of
a small fort situated on the outskirts of the Standing Rock Agency,
and his commissary, who had come in to report the condition of the
garrison in regard to supplies. There was plenty of everything except
fresh meat, and their Pawnee scouts were already grumbling over their
diminished supply. Their commander must send out and get some more.
Game of all kinds was abundant a short distance back in the mountains,
but it was a little dangerous to send a body of troops out there.
Something out of the usual order of things had happened within a few
miles of Fort Scott, and there was every indication that Sitting
Bull, who had settled down at Standing Rock Agency since he came from
Canada, was trying to set his braves against the whites and drive them
from the country. The thing which started this trouble was the Ghost
Dance—something more of which we shall hear further on.
The orderly disappeared, and presently a quick step sounded in the
hall, the door opened, and Lieutenant Parker entered.
It was no wonder that this young officer had proved himself a good
soldier, for he came from West Point, and it was plain that he could
not be otherwise. To begin with, he was handsome above most men of his
rank, with a well-knit figure, and eyes that looked straight into your
own when he was speaking to you. He stood among the first five in his
class, and upon graduation received his appointment to the —th Cavalry
at Fort Scott. Of course he found army life dull, compared with the
life he had led at the Point, but that made no difference to him. If he
lived he would in process of time become a major-general, and that was
what he was working for. He first saluted the colonel, then removed his
cap and waited for him to speak.
“Well, Parker, you find this army life slow, don’t you?” said he.
“Sometimes, sir,” said the lieutenant with a smile. “One does not get
much chance to stir around.”
“You know the reason for it, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir. Sitting Bull is going to make trouble.”
“He has not made any trouble yet, and I propose to send you out in the
presence of all his warriors.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Parker.
Most young officers would have opened their eyes when they heard this,
but it did not seem to affect Lieutenant Parker one way or the other.
He knew his commander had some good reason for it, and with that he was
satisfied.
“Yes,” continued the colonel, “I propose to give you command of a dozen
men, including a sergeant, two corporals, two wagons and a guide, and
send you into the mountains after some fresh meat. We got some only a
little while ago, but the Pawnee scouts have eaten it all up.”
Lieutenant Parker grew interested at once. He was a pretty fair shot
for a boy of his age, and had brought his Winchester from the States,
together with a fine horse that his father had given him; but he put
his rifle upon some pegs in his room, and there it had remained ever
since he had been at the fort. He looked at it once in a while and said
to his room-mate:
“That Winchester can rust itself out before I will have a chance to use
it. I was in hopes I should have a chance to try it on a buffalo before
this time.”
“It seems to me that you have not read the papers very closely,” said
Lieutenant Randolph, “or you would have found out that the buffalo have
all but disappeared. There is only one small herd left, and they are in
Yellowstone Park, where they are protected by law.”
“But there are antelope on the plains,” said Parker.
“Yes, and maybe you will have a chance at them by the time old Sitting
Bull gets over his antics. It won’t do for a small company of men to go
out on the plains now. The Sioux are too active.”
“Well, the colonel knows best,” said Parker with a sigh. “I have asked
him twice to let me go out but he has always refused me, and now I
shall not ask him again.”
But now the colonel seemed to have thought better of it, and was going
to send him out to try his skill on some of the big game that was
always to be found in the foothills. He was delighted to hear it, and
his delight showed itself in his face.
“Do you think you can get some meat for us?” asked the colonel with a
smile. “You appear to think that you are going to have an easy time of
it.”
“No, sir; I suppose we shall have a hard time in getting what we want;
but if you can give me a guide who will show me where the game is, I
believe I will have some for you when I come back.”
“How will Carl, the Trailer, do you?”
“I don’t know, sir. I have often seen him about the fort, but have
never spoken to him.”
“We will put two boys at the head of the expedition, and see how they
will come out with the captain who went out two weeks ago,” said the
colonel, turning to his commissary. “Sit down, Parker. Orderly, tell
Carl, the Trailer, that I want to see him.”
The orderly opened the door and went out, and Lieutenant Parker took
the chair toward which the colonel waved his hand. While they were
waiting for the guide the officer proceeded to give his subordinate
some instructions in regard to the way he was to conduct himself in
case the Sioux molested him. Of course he could not expect, with the
few men that the colonel was going to give him, to stand against the
whole body of the Sioux, but he could run, holding a tight rein in
the meantime, until he came to a clear spot free from gullies and
underbrush, and there he could dismount his command and make the best
fight possible. If he wasn’t back at the fort in a week a company would
be sent out to look for him; but suppose he was found dead and scalped?
Lieutenant Parker thought of this, but his ardor did not abate in the
least. He had come out on the plains to take just such risks as this,
and he supposed that it was the orders every young officer received
when he was about to encounter the Indians for the first time. But he
did not believe that the Sioux were going to get after him. They had
enough to do with the Ghost Dance to prevent them paying attention to
anything else.
“But I hope they will keep clear of you until you come back,” said the
colonel. “The first thing you do, go to work and fill up one of those
wagons with game and send it to the fort with six men, commanded by the
corporal. He knows the way and won’t get lost. After that, you stay
with the other six men until you fill up the other wagon, and then come
home yourself.”
Just then another step was heard in the hall, and the door opened to
admit Carl, the Trailer. Parker told himself that he was glad that Carl
was going with him as guide, for he would have opportunity to talk to
him, and perhaps he might find out where he got that curious name.
Carl was young in years—he did not look to be a day older than
Lieutenant Parker—and the years of toil and hardship he had seen on
the plains, if indeed he had seen any of them, did not mar his face as
they had that of older scouts. He was as straight as an arrow, bore a
frank and honest face, and his blue eyes, as he turned them from one
to another of the occupants of the room, did not express the least
surprise that he had been called upon to go on a dangerous mission. He
supposed that the colonel wished to send him to Standing Rock Agency
with dispatches, and he was ready to take them. It was something that
he had frequently been called upon to do, and he had always returned
in safety. He did not look like a plainsman, for he was dressed in a
suit of moleskin, as fine a pair of boots as money could buy, and a
sombrero, which he removed as he entered the room.
“Here I am, colonel,” said he cheerily, “and all ready to go on to Fort
Yates, if necessary. What do you want of me?”
“Are you acquainted with Lieutenant Parker?” asked the colonel in reply.
“I have seen him, but I don’t know him,” answered the guide.
“Well, here he is. Lieutenant, this is Carl, the Trailer, the name by
which you will probably know him, but his name is Preston.”
The lieutenant got up from his chair and extended his hand to the
guide, but was not very well pleased with the reception he met. Carl
took his hand, gave it a little squeeze and dropped it, and then turned
his face toward the colonel and waited for him to go on and explain
what he wanted done. There were two things about it, Lieutenant Parker
told himself: Carl was not favorably impressed with his appearance;
and, furthermore, he could not have been raised in that country all his
life, for he used as fine language as he did himself.
“Carl, I want you to guide twelve men to the foothills and get some
fresh meat for us,” continued the colonel.
At this the guide turned again and gave the lieutenant a good looking
over. It seemed to be the first time that he had taken a fair view
of him. He surveyed him all over, from his boots to his head, gazed
straight into his eyes for a moment, and then turned his attention to
the colonel again.
“Do you think the lieutenant will do?” asked the officer.
“Oh, yes; provided a grizzly don’t get after him and tear him up,”
replied the guide with indifference.
“But you must not let a grizzly do that. If you start now you can
easily reach Lost River, can’t you? Very well. You may get ready,
and the commissary will find the wagons and mules for you and twelve
hunters. Be sure you pick out the best shots in the command.”
The commissary and the guide went out, and Parker was alone with the
colonel. The officer looked into the lieutenant’s face as he took
his chair again, and could not repress a smile at the expression of
disappointment he saw there.
“Well, Parker, what do you think of Carl, the Trailer?” he asked.
“I think more of him than he does of me, sir,” replied the lieutenant.
“He doesn’t hold me in very high estimation as a hunter.”
“Neither do I,” said the colonel.
Parker did not know what reply to make to this. He looked at the
colonel, and then his gaze wandered down to the floor.
“You must do something to prove yourself a good shot and a man who
can bag game every time he sees it,” continued the officer. “Do your
part of the work faithfully | 1,601.4535 |
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Produced by David Widger
RICHARD CARVEL
By Winston Churchill
CONTENTS OF THE COMPLETE BOOK
Volume 1.
I. Lionel Carvel, of Carvel Hall
II. Some Memories of Childhood
III. Caught by the Tide
IV. Grafton would heal an Old Breach
V. "If Ladies be but Young and Fair"
VI. I first suffer for the Cause
VII. Grafton has his Chance
Volume 2.
VIII. Over the Wall
IX. Under False Colours
X. The Red in the Carvel Blood
XI. A Festival and a Parting
XII. News from a Far Country
Volume 3.
XIII. Mr. Allen shows his Hand
XIV. The Volte Coupe
XV. Of which the Rector has the Worst
XVI. In which Some Things are made Clear
XVII. South River
XVIII. The Black Moll
Volume 4.
XIX. A Man of Destiny
XX. A Sad Home-coming
XXI. The Gardener's Cottage
XXII. On the Road
XXIII. London Town
XXIV. Castle Yard
XXV. The Rescue
Volume 5.
XXVI. The Part Horatio played
XXVII. In which I am sore tempted
XXVIII. Arlington Street
XXIX. I meet a very Great Young Man
XXX. A Conspiracy
XXXI. "Upstairs into the World"
XXXII. Lady Tankerville's Drum-major
XXXIII. Drury Lane
Volume 6.
XXXIV. His Grace makes Advances
XXXV. In which my Lord Baltimore appears
XXXVI. A Glimpse of Mr. Garrick
XXXVII. The Serpentine
XXXVIII. In which I am roundly brought to task
XXXIX. Holland House
XL. Vauxhall
XLI. The Wilderness
Volume 7.
XLII. My Friends are proven
XLIII. Annapolis once more
XLIV. Noblesse Oblige
XLV. The House of Memories
XLVI. Gordon's Pride
XLVII. Visitors
XLVIII. Multum in Parvo
XLIX. Liberty loses a Friend
Volume 8.
L. Farewell to Gordon's
LI. How an Idle Prophecy came to pass
LII. How the Gardener's Son fought the Serapis
LIII. In which I make Some Discoveries
LIV. More Discoveries.
LV. The Love of a Maid for a Man
LVI. How Good came out of Evil
LVII. I come to my Own again
FOREWORD
My sons and daughters have tried to persuade me to remodel these memoirs
of my grandfather into a latter-day romance. But I have thought it wiser
to leave them as he wrote them. Albeit they contain some details not of
interest to the general public, to my notion it is such imperfections as
these which lend to them the reality they bear. Certain it is, when
reading them, I live his life over again.
Needless to say, Mr. Richard Carvel never intended them for publication.
His first apology would be for his Scotch, and his only defence is that
he was not a Scotchman.
The lively capital which once reflected the wit and fashion of Europe has
fallen into decay. The silent streets no more echo with the rumble of
coaches and gay chariots, and grass grows where busy merchants trod.
Stately ball-rooms, where beauty once reigned, are cold and empty and
mildewed, and halls, where laughter rang, are silent. Time was when
every wide-throated chimney poured forth its cloud of smoke, when every
andiron held a generous log,--andirons which are now gone to decorate Mr.
Centennial's home in New York or lie with a tag in the window of some
curio shop. The mantel, carved in delicate wreaths, is boarded up, and
an unsightly stove mocks the gilded ceiling. Children romp in that room
with the silver door-knobs, where my master and his lady were wont to sit
at cards in silk and brocade, while liveried blacks entered on tiptoe.
No marble Cupids or tall Dianas fill the niches in the staircase, and the
mahogany board, round which has been gathered many a famous toast and
wit, is gone from the dining room.
But Mr. Carvel's town house in Annapolis stands to-day, with its
neighbours, a mournful relic of a glory that is past.
DANIEL CLAPSADDLE CARVEL.
CALVERT HOUSE, PENNSYLVANIA,
December 21, 1876.
RICHARD CARVEL
CHAPTER I
LIONEL CARVEL, OF CARVEL HALL
Lionel Carvel, Esq., of Carvel Hall, in the county of Queen Anne, was no
inconsiderable man in his Lordship's province of Maryland, and indeed he
was not unknown in the colonial capitals from Williamsburg to Boston.
When his ships arrived out, in May or June, they made a goodly showing at
the wharves, and his captains were ever shrewd men of judgment who
sniffed a Frenchman on the horizon, so that none of the Carvel tobacco
ever went, in that way, to gladden a Gallic heart. Mr. Carvel's acres
were both rich and broad, and his house wide for the stranger who might
seek its shelter, as with God's help so it ever shall be. It has yet to
be said of the Carvels that their guests are hurried away, or that one,
by reason of his worldly goods or position, shall be more welcome than
another.
I take no shame in the pride with which I write of my grandfather, albeit
he took the part of his Majesty and Parliament against the Colonies. He
was no palavering turncoat, like my Uncle Grafton, to cry "God save the
King!" again when an English fleet sailed up the bay. Mr. Carvel's hand
was large and his heart was large, and he was respected and even loved by
the patriots as a man above paltry subterfuge. He was born at Carvel
Hall in the year of our Lord 1696, when the house was, I am told, but a
small dwelling. It was his father, George Carvel, my great-grandsire,
reared the present house in the year 1720, of brick brought from England
as ballast for the empty ships; he added on, in the years following, the
wide wings containing the ball-room, and the banquet-hall, and the large
library at the eastern end, and the offices. But it was my grandfather
who built the great stables and the kennels where he kept his beagles and
his fleeter hounds. He dearly loved the saddle and the chase, and taught
me to love them too. Many the sharp winter day I have followed the fox
with him over two counties, and lain that night, and a week after,
forsooth, at the plantation of some kind friend who was only too glad to
receive us. Often, too, have we stood together from early morning until
dark night, waist deep, on the duck points, I with a fowling-piece I was
all but too young to carry, and brought back a hundred red-heads or
canvas-backs in our bags. He went with unfailing regularity to the races
at Annapolis or Chestertown or Marlborough, often to see his own horses
run, where the coaches of the gentry were fifty and sixty around the
course; where a <DW64>, or a hogshead of tobacco, or a pipe of Madeira was
often staked at a single throw. Those times, my children, are not ours,
and I thought it not strange that Mr. Carvel should delight in a good
main between two cocks, or a bull-baiting, or a breaking of heads at the
Chestertown fair, where he went to show his cattle and fling a guinea
into the ring for the winner.
But it must not be thought that Lionel Carvel, your ancestor, was wholly
unlettered because he was a sportsman, though it must be confessed that
books occupied him only when the weather compelled, or when on his back
with the gout. At times he would fain have me read to him as he lay in
his great four-post bed with the flowered counterpane, from the
Spectator, stopping me now and anon at some awakened memory of his youth.
He never forgave Mr. Addison for killing stout, old Sir Roger de
Coverley, and would never listen to the butler's account of his death.
Mr. Carvel, too, had walked in Gray's Inn Gardens and met adventure at
Fox Hall, and seen the great Marlborough himself. He had a fondness for
Mr. Congreve's Comedies, many of which he had seen acted; and was partial
to Mr. Gay's Trivia, which brought him many a recollection. He would
also listen to Pope. But of the more modern poetry I think Mr. Gray's
Elegy pleased him best. He would laugh over Swift's gall and wormwood,
and would never be brought by my mother to acknowledge the defects in the
Dean's character. Why? He had once met the Dean in a London
drawing-room, when my grandfather was a young spark at Christ Church,
Oxford. He never tired of relating that interview. The hostess was a
very great lady indeed, and actually stood waiting for a word with his
Reverence, whose whim it was rather to talk to the young provincial. He
was a forbidding figure, in his black gown and periwig, so my grandfather
said, with a piercing blue eye and shaggy brow. He made the mighty to
come to him, while young Carvel stood between laughter and fear of the
great lady's displeasure.
"I knew of your father," said the Dean, "before he went to the colonies.
He had done better at home, sir. He was a man of parts."
"He has done indifferently well in Maryland, sir," said Mr. Carvel,
making his bow.
"He hath gained wealth, forsooth," says the Dean, wrathfully, "and might
have had both wealth and fame had his love for King James not turned his
head. I have heard much of the colonies, and have read that doggerel
'Sot Weed Factor' which tells of the gluttonous life of ease you lead in
your own province. You can have no men of mark from such conditions, Mr.
Carvel. Tell me," he adds contemptuously, "is genius honoured among
you?"
"Faith, it is honoured, your Reverence," said my grandfather, "but never
encouraged."
This answer so pleased the Dean that he bade Mr. Carvel dine with him
next day at Button's Coffee House, where they drank mulled wine and old
sack, for which young Mr. Carvel paid. On which occasion his Reverence
endeavoured to persuade the young man to remain in England, and even
went so far as to promise his influence to obtain him preferment. But
Mr. Carvel chose rather (wisely or not, who can judge?) to come back to
Carvel Hall and to the lands of which he was to be master, and to play
the country squire and provincial magnate rather than follow the varying
fortunes of a political party at home. And he was a man much looked up
to in the province before the Revolution, and sat at the council board of
his Excellency the Governor, as his father had done before him, and
represented the crown in more matters than one when the French and
savages were upon our frontiers.
Although a lover of good cheer, Mr. Carvel was never intemperate. To the
end of his days he enjoyed his bottle after dinner, nay, could scarce get
along without it; and mixed a punch or a posset as well as any in our
colony. He chose a good London-brewed ale or porter, | 1,601.652455 |
2023-11-16 18:43:45.6330610 | 3,615 | 7 |
Produced by Dianne Bean
ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES
By Hans Christian Andersen
CONTENTS
The Emperor's New Clothes
The Swineherd
The Real Princess
The Shoes of Fortune
The Fir Tree
The Snow Queen
The Leap-Frog
The Elderbush
The Bell
The Old House
The Happy Family
The Story of a Mother
The False Collar
The Shadow
The Little Match Girl
The Dream of Little Tuk
The Naughty Boy
The Red Shoes
THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES
Many years ago, there was an Emperor, who was so excessively fond of
new clothes, that he spent all his money in dress. He did not trouble
himself in the least about his soldiers; nor did he care to go either to
the theatre or the chase, except for the opportunities then afforded him
for displaying his new clothes. He had a different suit for each hour of
the day; and as of any other king or emperor, one is accustomed to say,
"he is sitting in council," it was always said of him, "The Emperor is
sitting in his wardrobe."
Time passed merrily in the large town which was his capital; strangers
arrived every day at the court. One day, two rogues, calling themselves
weavers, made their appearance. They gave out that they knew how to
weave stuffs of the most beautiful colors and elaborate patterns, the
clothes manufactured from which should have the wonderful property of
remaining invisible to everyone who was unfit for the office he held, or
who was extraordinarily simple in character.
"These must, indeed, be splendid clothes!" thought the Emperor. "Had I
such a suit, I might at once find out what men in my realms are unfit
for their office, and also be able to distinguish the wise from the
foolish! This stuff must be woven for me immediately." And he caused
large sums of money to be given to both the weavers in order that they
might begin their work directly.
So the two pretended weavers set up two looms, and affected to work very
busily, though in reality they did nothing at all. They asked for the
most delicate silk and the purest gold thread; put both into their own
knapsacks; and then continued their pretended work at the empty looms
until late at night.
"I should like to know how the weavers are getting on with my cloth,"
said the Emperor to himself, after some little time had elapsed; he was,
however, rather embarrassed, when he remembered that a simpleton, or
one unfit for his office, would be unable to see the manufacture. To be
sure, he thought he had nothing to risk in his own person; but yet, he
would prefer sending somebody else, to bring him intelligence about the
weavers, and their work, before he troubled himself in the affair. All
the people throughout the city had heard of the wonderful property the
cloth was to possess; and all were anxious to learn how wise, or how
ignorant, their neighbors might prove to be.
"I will send my faithful old minister to the weavers," said the Emperor
at last, after some deliberation, "he will be best able to see how the
cloth looks; for he is a man of sense, and no one can be more suitable
for his office than he is."
So the faithful old minister went into the hall, where the knaves were
working with all their might, at their empty looms. "What can be the
meaning of this?" thought the old man, opening his eyes very wide. "I
cannot discover the least bit of thread on the looms." However, he did
not express his thoughts aloud.
The impostors requested him very courteously to be so good as to come
nearer their looms; and then asked him whether the design pleased
him, and whether the colors were not very beautiful; at the same time
pointing to the empty frames. The poor old minister looked and looked,
he could not discover anything on the looms, for a very good reason,
viz: there was nothing there. "What!" thought he again. "Is it possible
that I am a simpleton? I have never thought so myself; and no one must
know it now if I am so. Can it be, that I am unfit for my office? No,
that must not be said either. I will never confess that I could not see
the stuff."
"Well, Sir Minister!" said one of the knaves, still pretending to work.
"You do not say whether the stuff pleases you."
"Oh, it is excellent!" replied the old minister, looking at the loom
through his spectacles. "This pattern, and the colors, yes, I will tell
the Emperor without delay, how very beautiful I think them."
"We shall be much obliged to you," said the impostors, and then they
named the different colors and described the pattern of the pretended
stuff. The old minister listened attentively to their words, in order
that he might repeat them to the Emperor; and then the knaves asked for
more silk and gold, saying that it was necessary to complete what
they had begun. However, they put all that was given them into their
knapsacks; and continued to work with as much apparent diligence as
before at their empty looms.
The Emperor now sent another officer of his court to see how the men
were getting on, and to ascertain whether the cloth would soon be
ready. It was just the same with this gentleman as with the minister;
he surveyed the looms on all sides, but could see nothing at all but the
empty frames.
"Does not the stuff appear as beautiful to you, as it did to my lord the
minister?" asked the impostors of the Emperor's second ambassador; at
the same time making the same gestures as before, and talking of the
design and colors which were not there.
"I certainly am not stupid!" thought the messenger. "It must be, that I
am not fit for my good, profitable office! That is very odd; however, no
one shall know anything about it." And accordingly he praised the stuff
he could not see, and declared that he was delighted with both colors
and patterns. "Indeed, please your Imperial Majesty," said he to his
sovereign when he returned, "the cloth which the weavers are preparing
is extraordinarily magnificent."
The whole city was talking of the splendid cloth which the Emperor had
ordered to be woven at his own expense.
And now the Emperor himself wished to see the costly manufacture, while
it was still in the loom. Accompanied by a select number of officers of
the court, among whom were the two honest men who had already admired
the cloth, he went to the crafty impostors, who, as soon as they were
aware of the Emperor's approach, went on working more diligently than
ever; although they still did not pass a single thread through the
looms.
"Is not the work absolutely magnificent?" said the two officers of the
crown, already mentioned. "If your Majesty will only be pleased to look
at it! What a splendid design! What glorious colors!" and at the same
time they pointed to the empty frames; for they imagined that everyone
else could see this exquisite piece of workmanship.
"How is this?" said the Emperor to himself. "I can see nothing! This
is indeed a terrible affair! Am I a simpleton, or am I unfit to be an
Emperor? That would be the worst thing that could happen--Oh! the cloth
is charming," said he, aloud. "It has my complete approbation." And he
smiled most graciously, and looked closely at the empty looms; for on no
account would he say that he could not see what two of the officers of
his court had praised so much. All his retinue now strained their eyes,
hoping to discover something on the looms, but they could see no more
than the others; nevertheless, they all exclaimed, "Oh, how beautiful!"
and advised his majesty to have some new clothes made from this splendid
material, for the approaching procession. "Magnificent! Charming!
Excellent!" resounded on all sides; and everyone was uncommonly gay. The
Emperor shared in the general satisfaction; and presented the impostors
with the riband of an order of knighthood, to be worn in their
button-holes, and the title of "Gentlemen Weavers."
The rogues sat up the whole of the night before the day on which the
procession was to take place, and had sixteen lights burning, so that
everyone might see how anxious they were to finish the Emperor's new
suit. They pretended to roll the cloth off the looms; cut the air with
their scissors; and sewed with needles without any thread in them.
"See!" cried they, at last. "The Emperor's new clothes are ready!"
And now the Emperor, with all the grandees of his court, came to the
weavers; and the rogues raised their arms, as if in the act of holding
something up, saying, "Here are your Majesty's trousers! Here is the
scarf! Here is the mantle! The whole suit is as light as a cobweb;
one might fancy one has nothing at all on, when dressed in it; that,
however, is the great virtue of this delicate cloth."
"Yes indeed!" said all the courtiers, although not one of them could see
anything of this exquisite manufacture.
"If your Imperial Majesty will be graciously pleased to take off your
clothes, we will fit on the new suit, in front of the looking glass."
The Emperor was accordingly undressed, and the rogues pretended to
array him in his new suit; the Emperor turning round, from side to side,
before the looking glass.
"How splendid his Majesty looks in his new clothes, and how well they
fit!" everyone cried out. "What a design! What colors! These are indeed
royal robes!"
"The canopy which is to be borne over your Majesty, in the procession,
is waiting," announced the chief master of the ceremonies.
"I am quite ready," answered the Emperor. "Do my new clothes fit well?"
asked he, turning himself round again before the looking glass, in order
that he might appear to be examining his handsome suit.
The lords of the bedchamber, who were to carry his Majesty's train felt
about on the ground, as if they were lifting up the ends of the mantle;
and pretended to be carrying something; for they would by no means
betray anything like simplicity, or unfitness for their office.
So now the Emperor walked under his high canopy in the midst of the
procession, through the streets of his capital; and all the people
standing by, and those at the windows, cried out, "Oh! How beautiful
are our Emperor's new clothes! What a magnificent train there is to
the mantle; and how gracefully the scarf hangs!" in short, no one would
allow that he could not see these much-admired clothes; because, in
doing so, he would have declared himself either a simpleton or unfit
for his office. Certainly, none of the Emperor's various suits, had ever
made so great an impression, as these invisible ones.
"But the Emperor has nothing at all on!" said a little child.
"Listen to the voice of innocence!" exclaimed his father; and what the
child had said was whispered from one to another.
"But he has nothing at all on!" at last cried out all the people.
The Emperor was vexed, for he knew that the people were right; but he
thought the procession must go on now! And the lords of the bedchamber
took greater pains than ever, to appear holding up a train, although, in
reality, there was no train to hold.
THE SWINEHERD
There was once a poor Prince, who had a kingdom. His kingdom was very
small, but still quite large enough to marry upon; and he wished to
marry.
It was certainly rather cool of him to say to the Emperor's daughter,
"Will you have me?" But so he did; for his name was renowned far and
wide; and there were a hundred princesses who would have answered,
"Yes!" and "Thank you kindly." We shall see what this princess said.
Listen!
It happened that where the Prince's father lay buried, there grew a rose
tree--a most beautiful rose tree, which blossomed only once in every
five years, and even then bore only one flower, but that was a rose!
It smelt so sweet that all cares and sorrows were forgotten by him who
inhaled its fragrance.
And furthermore, the Prince had a nightingale, who could sing in such a
manner that it seemed as though all sweet melodies dwelt in her little
throat. So the Princess was to have the rose, and the nightingale; and
they were accordingly put into large silver caskets, and sent to her.
The Emperor had them brought into a large hall, where the Princess was
playing at "Visiting," with the ladies of the court; and when she saw
the caskets with the presents, she clapped her hands for joy.
"Ah, if it were but a little pussy-cat!" said she; but the rose tree,
with its beautiful rose came to view.
"Oh, how prettily it is made!" said all the court ladies.
"It is more than pretty," said the Emperor, "it is charming!"
But the Princess touched it, and was almost ready to cry.
"Fie, papa!" said she. "It is not made at all, it is natural!"
"Let us see what is in the other casket, before we get into a bad
humor," said the Emperor. So the nightingale came forth and sang so
delightfully that at first no one could say anything ill-humored of her.
"Superbe! Charmant!" exclaimed the ladies; for they all used to chatter
French, each one worse than her neighbor.
"How much the bird reminds me of the musical box that belonged to our
blessed Empress," said an old knight. "Oh yes! These are the same tones,
the same execution."
"Yes! yes!" said the Emperor, and he wept like a child at the
remembrance.
"I will still hope that it is not a real bird," said the Princess.
"Yes, it is a real bird," said those who had brought it. "Well then let
the bird fly," said the Princess; and she positively refused to see the
Prince.
However, he was not to be discouraged; he daubed his face over brown and
black; pulled his cap over his ears, and knocked at the door.
"Good day to my lord, the Emperor!" said he. "Can I have employment at
the palace?"
"Why, yes," said the Emperor. "I want some one to take care of the pigs,
for we have a great many of them."
So the Prince was appointed "Imperial Swineherd." He had a dirty little
room close by the pigsty; and there he sat the whole day, and worked. By
the evening he had made a pretty little kitchen-pot. Little bells were
hung all round it; and when the pot was boiling, these bells tinkled in
the most charming manner, and played the old melody,
"Ach! du lieber Augustin,
Alles ist weg, weg, weg!"*
* "Ah! dear Augustine!
All is gone, gone, gone!"
But what was still more curious, whoever held his finger in the smoke of
the kitchen-pot, immediately smelt all the dishes that were cooking on
every hearth in the city--this, you see, was something quite different
from the rose.
Now the Princess happened to walk that way; and when she heard the tune,
she stood quite still, and seemed pleased; for she could play "Lieber
Augustine"; it was the only piece she knew; and she played it with one
finger.
"Why there is my piece," said the Princess. "That swineherd must
certainly have been well educated! Go in and ask him the price of the
instrument."
So one of the court-ladies must run in; however, she drew on wooden
slippers first.
"What will you take for the kitchen-pot?" said the lady.
"I will have ten kisses from the Princess," said the swineherd.
"Yes, indeed!" said the lady.
"I cannot sell it for less," rejoined the swineherd.
"He is an impudent fellow!" said the Princess, and she walked on; but
when she had gone a little way, the bells tinkled so prettily
"Ach! du lieber Augustin,
Alles ist | 1,601.653101 |
2023-11-16 18:43:45.7273950 | 2,891 | 11 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire. This book was produced from
scanned images of public domain material from the Google
Print archive.
[Illustration: "THIS IS THE MOST BLESSED OF ALL YOUR
CONTRADICTIONS"--_Page 267_]
A CHAIN
OF EVIDENCE
_BY_
CAROLYN WELLS
AUTHOR OF "THE GOLD BAG," "THE CLUB"
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY
GAYLE HOSKINS
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA & LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1912
COPYRIGHT, 1907
BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1912
BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE GIRL ACROSS THE HALL 7
II. THE TRAGEDY 18
III. JANET PEMBROKE 30
IV. DOCTOR POST'S DISCOVERY 41
V. SEVERAL CLUES 52
VI. THE INQUEST BEGINS 63
VII. I GIVE EVIDENCE 75
VIII. AN AWFUL IMPLICATION 88
IX. GEORGE LAWRENCE 103
X. PERSON OR PERSONS UNKNOWN 118
XI. THE CHAINED DOOR 130
XII. JANET IS OUR GUEST 144
XIII. JANET IS MYSTERIOUS 160
XIV. MRS. ALTONSTALL 173
XV. WHO IS J. S.? 186
XVI. LEROY ARRIVES ON THE SCENE 201
XVII. CAN LEROY BE GUILTY? 214
XVIII. THE ROOMS IN WASHINGTON SQUARE 227
XIX. A TALK WITH JANET 239
XX. THE INITIALED HANDKERCHIEF 251
XXI. FLEMING STONE 264
XXII. A CALL ON MISS WARING 282
XXIII. LAWRENCE'S STATEMENT 295
XXIV. THE CHAIN OF EVIDENCE 306
I
THE GIRL ACROSS THE HALL
I do hate changes, but when my sister Laura, who keeps house for me,
determined to move further uptown, I really had no choice in the matter
but to acquiesce. I am a bachelor of long standing, and it's my opinion
that the way to manage women is simply to humor their whims, and since
Laura's husband died I've been rather more indulgent to her than before.
Any way, the chief thing to have in one's household is peace, and I
found I secured that easily enough by letting Laura do just as she
liked; and as in return she kept my home comfortable and pleasant for
me, I considered that honors were even. Therefore, when she decided we
would move, I made no serious objection.
At least, not in advance. Had I known what apartment-hunting meant I
should have refused to leave our Gramercy Park home.
But "Uptown" and "West Side" represented to Laura the Mecca of her
desires, and I unsuspectingly agreed to her plans.
Then the campaign began.
Early every morning Laura scanned the papers for new advertisements.
Later every morning she visited agents, and then spent the rest of the
day inspecting apartments.
Then evenings were devoted to summing up the experiences of the day and
preparing to start afresh on the morrow.
She was untiring in her efforts; always hopeful, and indeed positive
that she would yet find the one apartment that combined all possible
advantages and possessed no objectionable features.
At first I went with her on her expeditions, but I soon saw the futility
of this, and, in a sudden access of independence, I declared I would
have no more to do with the search. She might hunt as long as she chose;
she might decide upon whatever home she chose; but it must be without my
advice or assistance. I expressed myself as perfectly willing to live in
the home she selected, but I refused to trail round in search of it.
Being convinced of my determination, my sister accepted the situation
and continued the search by herself.
But evenings I was called upon as an advisory board, to hear the result
of the day's work and to express an opinion. According to Laura it
required a careful balancing of location and conveniences, of
neighborhood and modern improvements before the momentous question
should be decided.
Does an extra bathroom equal one block further west? Is an onyx-lined
entrance greater than a buttoned hall-boy? Are palms in the hall worth
more than a red velvet hand-rail with tassels?
These were the questions that racked her soul, and, sympathetically,
mine.
Then the name. Laura declared that the name was perhaps the most
important factor after all. A name that could stand alone at the top of
one's letter paper, without the support of a street number, was indeed
an achievement. But, strangely enough, such a name proved to be a very
expensive proposition, and Laura put it aside with a resigned sigh.
Who does name the things, anyway? Not the man who invents the names of
the Pullman cars, for they are of quite a different sort.
Well, it all made conversation, if nothing more.
"I wish you would express a preference, Otis," Laura would say, and then
I would obligingly do so, being careful to prefer the one I knew was not
her choice. I did this from the kindest of motives, in order to give the
dear girl the opportunity which I knew she wanted, to argue against my
selection, and in favor of her own.
Then I ended by being persuaded to her way of thinking, and that settled
the matter for that time.
"Of course," she would say, "if you're never going to marry, but always
live with me, you ought to have some say in the selection of our home."
"I don't expect to marry," I returned; "that is, I have no intention of
such a thing at present. But you never can tell. The only reason I'm not
married is because I've never seen the woman I wanted to make my wife.
But I may yet do so. I rather fancy that if I ever fall in love, it will
be at first sight, and very desperately. Then I shall marry, and hunt an
apartment of my own."
"H'm," said my sister, "you seem to have a sublime assurance that the
lady will accept you at first sight."
"If she doesn't, I have confidence in my powers of persuasion. But as I
haven't seen her yet, you may as well go ahead with your plans for the
continuation of the happy and comfortable home you make for me."
Whereupon she patted me on the shoulder, and remarked that I was a dear
old goose, and that some young woman was missing the chance of her life
in not acquiring me for a husband!
At last Laura decided, regarding our home, that location was the thing
after all, and she gave up much in the way of red velvet and buttons,
for the sake of living on one of the blocks sanctioned by those who
know.
She decided on the Hammersleigh; in the early sixties, and not too far
from the river.
Though not large, the Hammersleigh was one of the most attractive of the
moderate-priced apartment houses in New York City. It had a dignified,
almost an imposing entrance, and though the hall porter was elevator boy
as well, the service was rarely complained of.
Of course dwellers in an apartment house are not supposed to know their
fellow-tenants on the same floor, any more than occupants of a
brown-stone front are supposed to be acquainted with their next-door
neighbors. But even so, I couldn't help feeling an interest which almost
amounted to curiosity concerning the young lady who lived in the
apartment across the hall from our own in the Hammersleigh.
I had seen her only at a few chance meetings in the elevator or in the
entrance hall, and in certain respects her demeanor was peculiar.
Of course I knew the young lady's name. She was Miss Janet Pembroke, and
she lived with an old uncle whom I had never seen. Although we had been
in the Hammersleigh but two weeks, Laura had learned a few facts
concerning the old gentleman. It seems he was Miss Pembroke's
great-uncle, and, although very wealthy, was of a miserly disposition
and a fierce temper. He was an invalid of some sort, and never left the
apartment; but it was said that his ugly disposition and tyrannical ways
made his niece's life a burden to her. Indeed, I myself, as I passed
their door, often heard the old ogre's voice raised in tones of
vituperation and abuse; and my sister declared that she was not
surprised that the previous tenants had vacated our apartment, for the
old man's shrill voice sometimes even penetrated the thick walls.
However, Laura, too, felt an interest in Miss Pembroke, and hoped that
after a time she might make her acquaintance.
The girl was perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two, of a brunette type, and,
though slender, was not at all fragile-looking. Her large, dark eyes had
a pathetic expression, but except for this her appearance was haughty,
proud, and exceedingly reserved. She had never so much as glanced at
Mrs. Mulford or myself with the least hint of personal interest. To be
sure, I had no reason to expect such a thing, but the truth is, I felt
sorry for the girl, who must certainly lead a hard life with that
dreadful old man.
Laura informed me that there was no one else in the Pembroke household
except one servant, a young <DW52> woman.
I had seen Miss Pembroke perhaps not more than a half-dozen times, and I
had already observed this: if I chanced to see her as she came out of
her own door or descended in the elevator, she was apparently nervously
excited. Her cheeks were flushed and her expression was one of utter
exasperation, as if she had been tried almost beyond endurance. If, on
the other hand, I saw her as she was returning from a walk or an errand,
her face was calm and serene--not smiling, but with a patient, resigned
look, as of one who had her emotions under control. At either time she
was beautiful. Indeed, I scarcely know which aspect seemed to me more
attractive: the quivering glow of righteous indignation or the brave
calm of enforced cheerfulness.
Nor had I any right to consider her attractive in either case. It is not
for a man to think too personally about a woman he has never met.
But I had never before seen a face that so plainly, yet so
unconsciously, showed passing emotions, and it fascinated me.
Aside from Miss Pembroke's beauty, she must be, I decided, possessed of
great strength of character and great depth of feeling.
But beyond all doubt the girl was not happy, and though this was not my
affair, it vaguely troubled me.
I admitted to myself, I even admitted to Laura, that I felt compassion
for this young woman who seemed to be so ill-treated; but my sister
advised me not to waste my sympathy too easily, for it was her opinion
that the young woman was quite capable of taking care of herself, and
that in all probability she held her own against her poor old uncle.
"I don't see why you assume a poor old uncle," I said, "when you know
how he berates her."
"Yes, but how do I know what she may do to deserve it? Those dark eyes
show a smouldering fire that seems to me quite capable of breaking into
flame. I rather fancy Miss Pembroke can hold her own against any verbal
onslaught of her uncle."
"Then I'm glad she can," I declared; "as she has to stand such unjust
tyranny, I hope she has sufficient self-assertion to resent it. I'd
rather like to see that girl in a towering rage; she must look
stunning!"
"Otis," said my sister, smiling, "you're becoming altogether too deeply
interested in Miss Pembroke's appearance. She is a good-looking girl,
but not at all the kind we want to know."
"And why not, pray?" I inquired, suddenly irritated at my sister's tone.
"I think she is quite of our own class."
"Oh, gracious, yes! I didn't mean that. But she is so haughty and moody,
and I'm sure she's of a most intractable disposition. Otis, that girl is
deceitful, take my word for it. I've seen her oftener than you have, and
I've heard her talk."
"You have! Where?"
"Oh, just a few words now and then--in the elevator perhaps; and one day
she was talking to the agent who lives on the first floor of the
apartment. _Tumultuous_ is the only word to describe her."
"H'm; she must be of a | 1,601.747435 |
2023-11-16 18:43:45.7296560 | 4,594 | 11 |
Produced by Andre Boutin-Maloney
BETWEEN FRIENDS
By Robert W. Chambers
1914
I
Like a man who reenters a closed and darkened house and lies down; lying
there, remains conscious of sunlight outside, of bird-calls, and the
breeze in the trees, so had Drene entered into the obscurity of himself.
Through the chambers of his brain the twilit corridors where cringed his
bruised and disfigured soul, there nothing stirring except the automatic
pulses which never cease.
Sometimes, when the sky itself crashes earthward and the world lies in
ruins from horizon to horizon, life goes on.
The things that men live through--and live!
But no doubt Death was too busy elsewhere to attend to Drene.
He had become very lean by the time it was all over. Gray glinted on his
temples; gray softened his sandy mustache: youth was finished as far as
he was concerned.
An odd idea persisted in his mind that it had been winter for many
years. And the world thawed out very slowly for him.
But broken trees leaf out, and hewed roots sprout; and what he had so
long mistaken for wintry ashes now gleamed warmly like the orange
and gold of early autumn. After a while he began to go about more or
less--little excursions from the dim privacy of mind and soul--and he
found the sun not very gray; and a south wind blowing in the world once
more.
Quair and Guilder were in the studio that day on business; Drene
continued to modify his composition in accordance with Guilder's
suggestions; Quair, always curious concerning Drene, was becoming slyly
impudent.
"And listen to me, Guilder. What the devil's a woman between friends?"
argued Quair, with a malicious side glance at Drene. "You take my best
girl away from me--"
"But I don't," remarked his partner dryly.
"For the sake of argument, you do. What happens? Do I raise hell? No. I
merely thank you. Why? Because I don't want her if you can get her away.
That," he added, with satisfaction, "is philosophy. Isn't it, Drene?"
Guilder intervened pleasantly:
"I don't think Drene is particularly interested in philosophy. I'm sure
I'm not. Shut up, please."
Drene, gravely annoyed, continued to pinch bits of modeling wax out of a
round tin box, and to stick them all over the sketch he was modifying.
Now and then he gave a twirl to the top of his working table, which
revolved with a rusty squeak.
"If you two unusually intelligent gentlemen ask me what good a woman the
world--" began Quair.
"But we don't," interrupted Guilder, in the temperate voice peculiar to
his negative character.
"Anyway," insisted Quair, "here's what I think of 'em--"
"My model, yonder," said Drene, a slight shrug of contempt, "happens
to be feminine, and may also be human. Be decent enough to defer the
development of your rather tiresome theory."
The girl on the model-stand laughed outright at the rebuke, stretched
her limbs and body, and relaxed, launching a questioning glance at
Drene.
"All right; rest a bit," said the sculptor, smearing the bit of wax he
was pinching over the sketch before him.
He gave another twirl or two to the table, wiped his bony fingers on
a handful of cotton waste, picked up his empty pipe, and blew into the
stem, reflectively.
Quair, one of the associated architects of the new opera, who had been
born a gentleman and looked the perfect bounder, sauntered over to
examine the sketch. He was still red from the rebuke he had invited.
Guilder, his senior colleague, got up from the lounge and walked over
also. Drene fitted the sketch into the roughly designed group, where it
belonged, and stood aside, sucking meditatively on his empty pipe.
After a silence:
"It's all right," said Guilder.
Quair remarked that the group seemed to lack flamboyancy. It is true,
however, that, except for Guilder's habitual restraint, the celebrated
firm of architects was inclined to express themselves flamboyantly, and
to interpret Renaissance in terms of Baroque.
"She's some girl," added Quair, looking at the lithe, modeled figure,
and then half turning to include the model, who had seated herself on
the lounge, and was now gazing with interest at the composition sketched
in by Drene for the facade of the new opera.
"Carpeaux and his eternal group--it's the murderous but inevitable
standard of comparison," mused Drene, with a whimsical glance at the
photograph on the wall.
"Carpeaux has nothing on this young lady," insisted Quair flippantly;
and he pivoted on his heel and sat down beside the model. Once or twice
the two others, consulting before the wax group, heard the girl's light,
untroubled laughter behind their backs gaily responsive to Quair's
wit. Perhaps Quair's inheritance had been humor, but to some it seemed
perilously akin to mother-wit.
The pockets of Guilder's loose, ill-fitting clothes bulged with linen
tracings and rolls of blue-prints. He and Drene consulted over these for
a while, semi-conscious of Quair's bantering voice and the girl's easily
provoked laughter behind them. And, finally:
"All right, Guilder," said Drene briefly. And the firm of celebrated
architects prepared to evacuate the studio--Quair exhibiting symptoms of
incipient skylarking, in which he was said to be at his best.
"Drop in on me at the office some time," he suggested to the youthful
model, in a gracious tone born of absolute self-satisfaction.
"For luncheon or dinner?" retorted the girl, with smiling audacity.
"You may stay to breakfast also--"
"Oh, come on," drawled Guilder, taking his colleague's elbow.
The sculptor yawned as Quair went out: then he closed the door then
celebrated firm of architects, and wandered back rather aimlessly.
For a while he stood by the great window, watching the pigeons on
neighboring roof. Presently he returned to his table, withdrew the
dancing figure with its graceful, wide flung arms, set it upon the
squeaky revolving table once more, and studied it, yawning at intervals.
The girl got up from the sofa behind him, went to the model-stand, and
mounted it. For a few moments she was busy adjusting her feet to the
chalk marks and blocks. Finally she took the pose. She always seemed
inclined to be more or less vocal while Drene worked; her voice, if
untrained, was untroubled. Her singing had never bothered Drene, nor,
until the last few days, had he even particularly noticed her blithe
trilling--as a man a field, preoccupied, is scarcely aware of the wild
birds' gay irrelevancy along the way.
He happened to notice it now, and a thought passed through his mind that
the country must be very lovely in the mild spring sunshine.
As he worked, the brief visualization of young grass and the faint blue
of skies, evoked, perhaps, by the girl's careless singing, made for his
dull concentration subtly pleasant environment.
"May I rest?" she asked at length.
"Certainly, if it's necessary."
"I've brought my lunch. It's twelve," she explained.
He glanced at her absently, rolling a morsel of wax; then, with slight
irritation which ended in a shrug, he motioned her to descend.
After all, girls, like birds, were eternally eating. Except for that,
and incessant preening, existence meant nothing more important to either
species.
He had been busy for a few moments with the group when she said
something to him, and he looked around from his abstraction. She was
holding out toward him a chicken sandwich.
When his mind came back from wool gathering, he curtly declined the
offer, and, as an afterthought, bestowed upon her a wholly mechanical
smile, in recognition of a generosity not welcome.
"Why don't you ever eat luncheon?" she asked.
"Why should I?" he replied, preoccupied.
"It's bad for you not to. Besides, you are growing thin."
"Is that your final conclusion concerning me, Cecile?" he asked,
absently.
"Won't you please take this sandwich?"
Her outstretched arm more than what she said arrested his drifting
attention again.
"Why the devil do you want me to eat?" he inquired, fishing out his
empty pipe and filling it.
"You smoke too much. It's bad for you. It will do very queer things to
the lining of your stomach if you smoke your luncheon instead of eating
it."
He yawned.
"Is that so?" he said.
"Certainly it's so. Please take this sandwich."
He stood looking at the outstretched arm, thinking of other things and
the girl sprang to her feet, caught his hand, opened the fingers, placed
the sandwich on the palm, then, with a short laugh as though slightly
disconcerted by her own audacity, she snatched the pipe from his left
hand and tossed it upon the table. When she had reseated herself on
the lounge beside her pasteboard box of luncheon, she became even more
uncertain concerning the result of what she had done, and began to view
with rising alarm the steady gray eyes that were so silently inspecting
her.
But after a moment Drene walked over to the sofa, seated himself,
curiously scrutinized the sandwich which lay across the palm of his
hand, then gravely tasted it.
"This will doubtless give me indigestion," he remarked. "Why, Cecile, do
you squander your wages on nourishment for me?"
"It cost only five cents."
"But why present five cents to me?" "I gave ten to a beggar this
morning."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"Was he grateful?"
"He seemed to be."
"This sandwich is excellent; but if I feel the worse for it, I'll not be
very grateful to you." But he continued eating.
"'The woman tempted me,'" she quoted, glancing at him sideways.
After a moment's survey of her:
"You're one of those bright, saucy, pretty, inexplicable things that
throng this town and occasionally flit through this profession--aren't
you?"
"Am I?"
"Yes. Nobody looks for anything except mediocrity; you're one of the
surprises. Nobody expects you; nobody can account for you, but you
appear now and then, here and there, anywhere, even everywhere--a pretty
sparkle against the gray monotony of life, a momentary flash like a
golden moat afloat in sunshine--and what then?"
She laughed.
"What then? What becomes of you? Where do you go? What do you turn
into?"
"I don't know."
"You go somewhere, don't you? You change into something, don't you? What
happens to you, petite Cigale?"
"When?"
"When the sunshine is turned off and the snow comes."
"I don't know, Mr. Drene." She broke her chocolate cake into halves and
laid one on his knee.
"Thanks for further temptation," he said grimly.
"You are welcome. It's good, isn't it?"
"Excellent. Adam liked the apple, too. But it raised hell with him."
She laughed, shot a direct glance at him, and began to nibble her cake,
with her eyes still fixed on him.
Once or twice he encountered her gaze but his own always wandered
absently elsewhere.
"You think a great deal, don't you?" she remarked.
"Don't you?"
"I try not to--too much."
"What?" he asked, swallowing the last morsel of cake.
She shrugged her shoulders:
"What's the advantage of thinking?"
He considered her reply for a moment, her blue and rather childish
eyes, and the very pure oval of her face. Then his attention flagged as
usual--was wandering--when she sighed, very lightly, so that he scarcely
heard it--merely noticed it sufficiently to conclude that, as usual,
there was the inevitable hard luck story afloat in her vicinity, and
that he lacked the interest to listen to it.
"Thinking," she said, "is a luxury to a tranquil mind and a punishment
to a troubled one. So I try not to."
It was a moment or two before it occurred to him that the girl had
uttered an unconscious epigram.
"It sounded like somebody--probably Montaigne. Was it?" he inquired.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Oh. Then it wasn't. You're a funny little girl, aren't you?"
"Yes, rather."
"On purpose?"
"Yes, sometimes."
He looked into her very clear eyes, now brightly blue with intelligent
perception of his not too civil badinage.
"And sometimes," he went on, "you're funny when you don't intend to be."
"You are, too, Mr. Drene."
"What?"
"Didn't you know it?"
A dull color tinted his cheek bones.
"No," he said, "I didn't know it."
"But you are. For instance, you don't walk; you stalk. You do what
novelists make their gloomy heroes do--you stride. It's rather funny."
"Really. And do you find my movements comic?"
She was a trifle scared, now, but she laughed her breathless, youthful
laugh:
"You are really very dramatic--a perfect story-book man. But, you know,
sometimes they are funny when the author doesn't intend them to be....
Please don't be angry."
Why the impudence of a model should have irritated him he was at a
loss to understand--unless there lurked under that impudence a trace of
unflattering truth.
As he sat looking at her, all at once, and in an unexpected flash of
self-illumination, he realized that habit had made of him an actor; that
for a while--a long while--a space of time he could not at the moment
conveniently compute--he had been playing a role merely because he had
become accustomed to it.
Disaster had cast him for a part. For a long while he had been that
part. Now he was still playing it from sheer force of habit. His tragedy
had really become only the shadow of a memory. Already he had emerged
from that shadow into the everyday outer world. But he had forgotten
that he still wore a somber makeup and costume which in the sunshine
might appear grotesque. No wonder the world thought him funny.
Glancing up from a perplexed and chagrined meditation he caught her
eye--and found it penitent, troubled, and anxious.
"You're quite right," he said, smiling easily and naturally; "I am
unintentionally funny. And I really didn't know it--didn't suspect
it--until this moment."
"Oh," she said quickly. "I didn't mean--I know you are often unhappy--"
"Nonsense!"
"You are! Anybody can see--and you really do not seem to be very old,
either--when you smile--"
"I'm not very old," he said, amused. "I'm not unhappy, either. If I ever
was, the truth is that I've almost forgotten by this time what it was
all about--"
"A woman," she quoted, "between friends"--and checked herself,
frightened that she had dared interpret Quair's malice.
He changed countenance at that; the dull red of anger clouded his
visage.
"Oh," she faltered, "I was not saucy, only sorry.... I have been sorry
for you so long--"
"Who intimated to you that a woman ever played any part in my career?"
"It's generally supposed. I don't know anything more than that. But I've
been--sorry. Love is a very dreadful thing," she said under her breath.
"Is it?" he asked, controlling a sudden desire to laugh.
"Don't you think so?"
"I have not thought of it that way, recently.... I haven't thought
about it at all--for some years.... Have you?" he added, trying to speak
gravely.
"Oh, yes. I have thought of it," she admitted.
"And you conclude it to be a rather dreadful business?"
"Yes, it is."
"How?"
"Oh, I don't know. A girl usually loves the wrong man. To be poor is
always bad enough, but to be in love, too, is really very dreadful. It
usually finishes us--you know."
"Are you in love?" he inquired, managing to repress his amusement.
"I could be. I know that much." She went to the sink, turned on the
water, washed her hands, and stood with dripping fingers looking about
for a towel.
"I'll get you one," he said. When he brought it, she laughed and held
out her hands to be dried.
"Do you think you are a Sultana?" he inquired, draping the towel across
her outstretched arms and leaving it there.
"I thought perhaps you'd dry them," she said sweetly.
"Not in the business," he remarked; and lighted his pipe.
Her hands were her particular beauty, soft and snowy. She was much in
demand among painters, and had posed many times for pictures of the
Virgin, her hands usually resting against her breast.
Now she bestowed great care upon them, thoroughly drying each separate,
slender finger. Then she pushed back the heavy masses of her hair--"a
miracle of silk and sunshine," as Quair had whispered to her. That same
hair, also, was very popular among painters.
It was her figure that fascinated sculptors.
"Are you ready?" grunted Drene. Work presently recommenced.
She was entirely accustomed to praise from men, for her general
attractiveness, for various separate features in what really was an
unusually lovely ensemble.
She was also accustomed to flattery, to importunity, to the ordinary
variety of masculine solicitation; to the revelation of genuine feeling,
too, in its various modes of expression--sentimental, explosive,
insinuating--the entire gamut.
She had remained, however, untouched; curious and amused, perhaps, yet
quite satisfied, so far, to be amused; and entirely content with her own
curiosity.
She coquetted when she thought it safe; learned many things she had
not suspected; was more cautious afterwards, but still, at intervals,
ventured to use her attractiveness as a natural lure, as an excuse, as
a reason, as a weapon, when the probable consequences threatened no
embarrassment or unpleasantness for her.
She was much liked, much admired, much attempted, and entirely
untempted.
When the Make-up Club gave its annual play depicting the foibles of
artists and writers in the public eye, Cecile White was always cast for
a role which included singing and dancing.
On and off for the last year or two she had posed for Drene, had
dropped into his studio to lounge about when he had no need of her
professionally, and when she had half an hour of idleness confronting
her.
As she stood there now on the model stand, gazing dreamily from his busy
hands to his lean, intent features, it occurred to her that this day
had not been a sample of their usual humdrum relations. From the
very beginning of their business relations he had remained merely her
employer, self-centered, darkly absorbed in his work, or, when not
working, bored and often yawning. She had never come to know him any
better than when she first laid eyes on him.
Always she had been a little interested in him, a little afraid,
sometimes venturing an innocent audacity, out of sheer curiosity
concerning the effect on him. But never had she succeeded in stirring
him to any expression of personal feeling in regard to herself, one way
or the other.
Probably he had no personal feeling concerning her. It seemed odd to
her; model and master thrown alone together, day after day, usually
became friends in some degree. But there had been nothing at all of
camaraderie in their relationship, only a colorless, professional
sans-gene, the informality of intimacy without the kindly essence of
personal interest on his part.
He paid her wages promptly; said good morning when she came, and
good night when she went; answered her questions when she asked them
seriously; relapsed into indifference or into a lazy and not too civil
badinage when she provoked him to it; and that was all.
He never complimented her, never praised her; yet he must have thought
her a good model, or he would not have continued to send for her.
"Do you think me pretty?" she had asked one day, saucily invading one of
his yawning silences.
"I think you're pretty good," he replied, "as a model. You'd be quite
perfect if you were also deaf and dumb | 1,601.749696 |
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SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE
A NOVEL
By Upton Sinclair
Author Of "The Jungle," Etc., Etc.
London
SOME PRESS NOTICES
"The importance of the theme cannot be doubted, and no one hitherto
ignorant of the ravages of the evil and therefore, by implication, in
need of being convinced can refuse general agreement with Mr. Sinclair
upon the question as he argues it. The character that matters most is
very much alive and most entertaining."--_The Times._
"Very severe and courageous. It would, indeed, be difficult to deny
or extenuate the appalling truth of Mr. Sinclair's indictment."-- _The
Nation._
"There is not a man nor a grown woman who would not be better for
reading Sylvia's Marriage."--_The Globe_
"Those who found Sylvia charming on her first appearance will find her
as beautiful and fascinating as ever."--_The Pall Mall_.
"A novel that frankly is devoted to the illustration of the dangers
that society runs through the marriage of unsound men with unsuspecting
women. The time has gone by when any objection was likely to be taken to
a perfectly clean discussion of a nasty subject."--_T.P.'s Weekly._
CONTENTS
BOOK I SYLVIA AS WIFE
BOOK II SYLVIA AS MOTHER
BOOK III SYLVIA AS REBEL
SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE
BOOK I. SYLVIA AS WIFE
1. I am telling the story of Sylvia Castleman. I should prefer to tell
it without mention of myself; but it was written in the book of fate
that I should be a decisive factor in her life, and so her story
pre-supposes mine. I imagine the impatience of a reader, who is promised
a heroine out of a romantic and picturesque "society" world, and
finds himself beginning with the autobiography of a farmer's wife on a
solitary homestead in Manitoba. But then I remember that Sylvia found
me interesting. Putting myself in her place, remembering her eager
questions and her exclamations, I am able to see myself as a heroine of
fiction.
I was to Sylvia a new and miraculous thing, a self-made woman. I must
have been the first "common" person she had ever known intimately. She
had seen us afar off, and wondered vaguely about us, consoling herself
with the reflection that we probably did not know enough to be unhappy
over our sad lot in life. But here I was, actually a soul like herself;
and it happened that I knew more than she did, and of things she
desperately needed to know. So all the luxury, power and prestige that
had been given to Sylvia Castleman seemed as nothing beside Mary Abbott,
with her modern attitude and her common-sense.
My girlhood was spent upon a farm in Iowa. My father had eight children,
and he drank. Sometimes he struck me; and so it came about that at
the age of seventeen I ran away with a boy of twenty who worked upon
a neighbour's farm. I wanted a home of my own, and Tom had some money
saved up. We journeyed to Manitoba, and took out a homestead, where I
spent the next twenty years of my life in a hand-to-hand struggle with
Nature which seemed simply incredible to Sylvia when I told her of it.
The man I married turned out to be a petty tyrant. In the first five
years of our life he succeeded in killing the love I had for him; but
meantime I had borne him three children, and there was nothing to do but
make the best of my bargain. I became to outward view a beaten drudge;
yet it was the truth that never for an hour did I give up. When I lost
what would have been my fourth child, and the doctor told me that I
could never have another, I took this for my charter of freedom, and
made up my mind to my course; I would raise the children I had, and grow
up with them, and move out into life when they did.
This was when I was working eighteen hours a day, more than half of
it by lamp-light, in the darkness of our Northern winters. When the
accident came, I had been doing the cooking for half a dozen men, who
were getting in the wheat upon which our future depended. I fell in my
tracks, and lost my child; yet I sat still and white while the men ate
supper, and afterwards I washed up the dishes. Such was my life in
those days; and I can see before me the face of horror with which Sylvia
listened to the story. But these things are common in the experience
of women who live upon pioneer farms, and toil as the slave-woman has
toiled since civilization began.
We won out, and my husband made money. I centred my energies upon
getting school-time for my children; and because I had resolved that
they should not grow ahead of me, I sat up at night, and studied their
books. When the oldest boy was ready for high-school, we moved to a
town, where my husband had bought a granary business. By that time I
had become a physical wreck, with a list of ailments too painful to
describe. But I still had my craving for knowledge, and my illness was
my salvation, in a way--it got me a hired girl, and time to patronize
the free library.
I had never had any sort of superstition or prejudice, and when I got
into the world of books, I began quickly to find my way. I travelled
into by-paths, of course; I got Christian Science badly, and New Thought
in a mild attack. I still have in my mind what the sober reader would
doubtless consider queer kinks; for instance, I still practice "mental
healing," in a form, and I don't always tell my secret thoughts about
Theosophy and Spiritualism. But almost at once I worked myself out of
the religion I had been taught, and away from my husband's politics,
and the drugs of my doctors. One of the first subjects I read about was
health; I came upon a book on fasting, and went away upon a visit and
tried it, and came back home a new woman, with a new life before me.
In all of these matters my husband fought me at every step. He wished
to rule, not merely my body, but my mind, and it seemed as if every new
thing that I learned was an additional affront to him. I don't think
I was rendered disagreeable by my culture; my only obstinacy was in
maintaining the right of the children to do their own thinking. But
during this time my husband was making money, and filling his life with
that. He remained in his every idea the money-man, an active and bitter
leader of the forces of greed in our community; and when my studies took
me to the inevitable end, and I joined the local of the Socialist party
in our town, it was to him like a blow in the face. He never got over
it, and I think that if the children had not been on my side, he would
have claimed the Englishman's privilege of beating me with a stick
not thicker than his thumb. As it was, he retired into a sullen
hypochondria, which was so pitiful that in the end I came to regard him
as not responsible.
I went to a college town with my three children, and when they were
graduated, having meantime made sure that I could never do anything but
torment my husband, I set about getting a divorce. I had helped to lay
the foundation of his fortune, cementing it with my blood, I might say,
and I could fairly have laid claim to half what he had brought from
the farm; but my horror of the parasitic woman had come to be such that
rather than even seem to be one, I gave up everything, and went out into
the world at the age of forty-five to earn my own living. My children
soon married, and I would not be a burden to them; so I came East for
a while, and settled down quite unexpectedly into a place as a
field-worker for a child-labour committee.
You may think that a woman so situated would not have been apt to meet
Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver, _nee_ Castleman, and to be chosen for her bosom
friend; but that would only be because you do not know the modern world.
We have managed to get upon the consciences of the rich, and they invite
us to attend their tea-parties and disturb their peace of mind. And
then, too, I had a peculiar hold upon Sylvia; when I met her I possessed
the key to the great mystery of her life. How that had come about is a
story in itself, the thing I have next to tell.
2. It happened that my arrival in New York from the far West coincided
with Sylvia's from the far South; and that both fell at a time when
there were no wars or earthquakes or football games to compete for
the front page of the newspapers. So everybody was talking about the
prospective wedding. The fact that the Southern belle had caught
the biggest prize among the city's young millionaires was enough to
establish precedence with the city's subservient newspapers, which had
proceeded to robe the grave and punctilious figure of the bridegroom in
the garments of King Cophetua. The fact that the bride's father was
the richest man in his own section did not interfere with this--for how
could metropolitan editors be expected to have heard of the glories of
Castleman Hall, or to imagine that there existed a section of America so
self-absorbed that its local favourite would not feel herself exalted in
becoming Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver?
What the editors knew about Castleman Hall was that they wired for
pictures, and a man was sent from the nearest city to "snap"
this unknown beauty; whereupon her father chased the presumptuous
photographer and smashed his camera with a cane. So, of course, when
Sylvia stepped out of the train in New York, there was a whole battery
of cameras awaiting her, and all the city beheld her image the next day.
The beginning of my interest in this "belle" from far South was when I
picked up the paper at my breakfast table, and found her gazing at me,
with the wide-open, innocent eyes of a child; a child who had come from
some fairer, more gracious world, and brought the memory of it with her,
trailing her clouds of glory. She had stepped from the train into the
confusion of the roaring city, and she stood, startled and frightened,
yet, I thought, having no more real idea of its wickedness and horror
than a babe in arms. I read her soul in that heavenly countenance, and
sat looking at it, enraptured, dumb. There must have been thousands,
even in that metropolis of Mammon, who loved her from that picture, and
whispered a prayer for her happiness.
I can hear her laugh as I write this. For she would have it that I was
only one more of her infatuated lovers, and that her clouds of glory
were purely stage illusion. She knew exactly what she was doing with
those wide-open, innocent eyes! Had not old Lady Dee, most cynical
of worldlings, taught her how to use them when she was a child in
pig-tails? To be sure she had been scared when she stepped off the
train, and strange men had shoved cameras under her nose. It was almost
as bad as being assassinated! But as to her heavenly soul--alas, for the
blindness of men, and of sentimental old women, who could believe in a
modern "society" girl!
I had supposed that I was an emancipated woman when I came to New York.
But one who has renounced the world, the flesh and the devil, knowing
them only from pictures in magazines and Sunday supplements; such a
one may find that he has still some need of fasting and praying.
The particular temptation which overcame me was this picture of the
bride-to-be. I wanted to see her, and I went and stood for hours in a
crowd of curious women, and saw the wedding party enter the great Fifth
Avenue Church, and discovered that my Sylvia's hair was golden, and her
eyes a strange and wonderful red-brown. And this was the moment that
fate had chosen to throw Claire Lepage into my arms, and give me the key
to the future of Sylvia's life.
3. I am uncertain how much I should tell about Claire Lepage. It is a
story which is popular in a certain sort of novel, but I have no wish
for that easy success. Towards Claire herself I had no trace of the
conventional attitude, whether | 1,601.752591 |
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Produced by Michael Roe and the Online Distributed
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produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
The New Poetry Series
PUBLISHED BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
IRRADIATIONS. SAND AND SPRAY. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER.
SOME IMAGIST POETS.
JAPANESE LYRICS. Translated by LAFCADIO HEARN.
AFTERNOONS OF APRIL. GRACE HAZARD CONKLING.
THE CLOISTER: A VERSE DRAMA. EMILE VERHAEREN.
INTERFLOW. GEOFFREY C. FABER.
STILLWATER PASTORALS AND OTHER POEMS. PAUL SHIVELL.
IDOLS. WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG.
| 1,601.850017 |
2023-11-16 18:43:45.9302680 | 2,295 | 6 |
Produced by Tom Cosmas, Cathy Maxam and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber Note
Emphasized text displayed as: _Italic_ and =Bold=.
Whole and fractional numbers as: 1-1/2
THE
NURSERY-BOOK
A COMPLETE GUIDE
TO THE
Multiplication and Pollination of Plants
_By L. H. BAILEY_
New York:
The Rural Publishing Company
1891
_By the Same Author._
Horticulturist's Rule-Book.
A Compendium of Useful Information for Fruit Growers, Truck Gardeners,
Florists and others. New edition, completed to the close of 1890. Pp.
250. Library edition, cloth, $1. Pocket edition, paper, 50 cents.
Annals of Horticulture
FOR THE YEARS 1889 AND 1890.
A Witness of Passing Events, and a Record of Progress. Being records
of introductions during the year, of new methods and discoveries in
horticulture, of yields and prices, horticultural literature and work
of the experiment stations, necrology, etc. _Illustrated._ 2 vols.
Library edition, cloth, $1 per vol. Pocket edition, paper, 50 cents per
vol.
COPYRIGHTED 1891,
BY L. H. BAILEY.
ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED
BY J. HORACE M'FARLAND, HARRISBURG, PA.
PREFACE.
This little handbook aims at nothing more than an account of the
methods commonly employed in the propagation and crossing of plants,
and its province does not extend, therefore, to the discussion of
any of the ultimate results or influences of these methods. All such
questions as those relating to the formation of buds, the reciprocal
influences of cion and stock, comparative advantages of whole and piece
roots, and the results of pollination, do not belong here.
In its preparation I have consulted freely all the best literature
of the subject, and I have been aided by many persons. The entire
volume has been read by skilled propagators, so that even all such
directions as are commonly recommended in other countries have also
been sanctioned, if admitted, as best for this. In the propagation of
trees and shrubs and other hardy ornamentals, I have had the advice of
the head propagator of one of the largest nurseries in this country.
The whole volume has also passed through the hands of B. M. Watson,
Jr., of the Bussey Institution of Harvard University, a teacher of
unusual skill and experience in this direction, and who has added
greatly to the value of the book. The articles upon orchids and upon
most of the different genera of orchids in the Nursery List, have been
contributed by W. J. Bean, of the Royal Gardens, Kew, who is well
known as an orchid specialist. I have drawn freely upon the files of
magazines, both domestic and foreign, and I have made particular use
of Nicholson's Illustrated Dictionary of Gardening, Vilmorin's Les
Fleurs de Pleine Terre, Le Bon Jardinier, and Rümpler's Illustriertes
Gartenbau-Lexikon.
It is believed that the Nursery List contains all the plants which are
ordinarily grown by horticulturists in this country either for food
or ornament. But in order to give some clew to the propagation of any
which are omitted, an ordinal index has been added, by which one can
search out plants of a given natural order or family. It cannot be
hoped that the book is complete, or that the directions are in every
case best for all regions, and any corrections or additions which will
be useful in the preparation of a second edition are solicited.
L. H. BAILEY.
Ithaca, N. Y., _Jan. 1, 1891_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Seedage 9-24
Regulation of Moisture 9
Requirements of Temperature 14
Preparatory Treatment of Seeds 15
Sowing 19
Miscellaneous Matters 21
Spores 24
CHAPTER II.
Separation 25-31
CHAPTER III.
Layerage 32-38
CHAPTER IV.
Cuttage 39-62
Devices for Regulating Heat and Moisture 39
Soils and General Methods 46
Particular Methods--Kinds of Cuttings 51
1. Tuber Cuttings 52
2. Root Cuttings 53
3. Stem Cuttings 54
4. Leaf Cuttings 60
CHAPTER V.
Graftage 63-96
General Considerations 63
Particular Methods 67
Budding 67
Grafting 76
Grafting Waxes 92
CHAPTER VI.
The Nursery List 97-285
CHAPTER VII.
Pollination 286-298
General Requirements 287
Methods 291
Crossing of Flowerless Plants 297
[Illustration]
NURSERY.--_An establishment for the rearing of plants. In America the
word is commonly used in connection with the propagation of woody
plants only, as fruit-trees and ornamental trees and shrubs. This is
erroneous. The word properly includes the propagation of all plants by
whatever means, and in this sense it is used in this book._
Tabular Statement of the Ways in which Plants are Propagated.
_A._ By Seeds.--_Seedage._
{ { { Root-tips.
{ { { Runners.
{ { 1. By { Layers proper:
{ { undetached { Simple.
{ { parts.-- { Serpentine.
{ { _Layerage._ { Mound.
{ { { Pot or Chinese.
{ {
{ I. On their { { 1. By undivided parts.--
{ own roots. { { _Separation_ (Bulbs, corms,
{ { { bulbels, bulblets,
{ { { bulb-scales, tubers, etc).
{ { {
{ { 2. By detached { { Division.
{ { parts. { 2. By divided { Cuttings
{ { { parts.-- { proper:
{ { { _Cuttage._ { Of tubers.
_B._ { { { { Of roots.
By Buds. { { { { Of stems.
{ { { { Of leaves.
{
{ { { I. Budding: Shield, flute,
{ { { veneer, ring, annular,
{ { { whistle or tubular.
{ { {
{ { { II. Grafting:
{ { { Whip.
{ II. On roots { { Saddle.
{ of other { 1. By detached { Splice.
{ plants.-- { scions. { Veneer.
{ _Graftage._ { { Cleft.
{ { { Bark.
{ { { Herbaceous.
{ { { Seed.
{ { { Double.
{ { { Cutting.
{ { 2. By undetached scions.--Inarching.
CHAPTER I.
SEEDAGE.
=Seedage.=--The process or operation of propagating by seeds or spores,
or the state or condition of being propagated by seeds or spores.
There are three external requisites to the germination of
seeds--moisture, free oxygen, and a definite temperature. These
requisites are demanded in different degrees and proportions by seeds
of different species, or even by seeds of the same species when
differing widely in age or degree of maturity. The supply of oxygen
usually regulates itself. It is only necessary that the seeds shall not
be planted too deep, that the soil is porous and not overloaded with
water. Moisture and temperature, however, must be carefully regulated.
[Illustration: Fig. 1. Double Seed-Pot.]
=Regulation of Moisture.=--Moisture is the most important factor
in seedage. It is usually applied to the seeds by means of soil or
some similar medium, as moss or cocoanut fiber. Fresh and vigorous
seeds endure heavy waterings, but old and poor seeds must be treated
sparingly. If there is reason to suspect that the seeds are weak,
water should not be applied to them directly. A favorite method of
handling them is to sow them in a pot of loose and sandy loam which
is set inside a larger pot, the intermediate space being filled with
moss, to which, alone, the water is applied. This device is illustrated
in Fig. 1. The water soaks through the walls of the inner pot and is
supplied gradually and constantly to the soil. Even in this case it
is necessary to prevent soaking the moss too thoroughly, especially
with very weak seeds. When many pots are required, they may be simply
plunged in moss with the same effect. The soil should be simply very
slightly moist, never wet. Moisture is sometimes supplied by setting
the seed-pot in a shallow saucer of water, or it may be sufficient to
simply place it in the humid atmosphere of a propagating-box. Large
seeds may be laid upon the surface of the soil in a half-filled pot,
covered with thin muslin, and then covered with loose and damp loam.
Every day the pot is inverted, the covering taken off and fresh soil
is added. A modification of this plan for small seeds can be made by
placing the seeds between two layers of thin muslin and inserting them
in damp loam, which is frequently renewed to avoid the extremes which
would result from watering or from allowing the soil to become dry.
In these last operations, | 1,601.950308 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
[Volume 3 of the 1893 three volume set]
THE IRON GATE
AND OTHER POEMS
1877-1881
THE IRON GATE
VESTIGIA QUINQUE RETRORSUM
MY AVIARY
ON THE THRESHOLD
TO GEORGE PEABODY
AT THE PAPYRUS CLUB
FOR WHITTIER'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY
TWO SONNETS: HARVARD
THE COMING ERA
IN RESPONSE
FOR THE MOORE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION
TO JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE
WELCOME TO THE CHICAGO COMMERCIAL CLUB
AMERICAN ACADEMY CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION
THE SCHOOL-BOY
THE SILENT MELODY
OUR HOME--OUR COUNTRY
POEM AT THE CENTENNIAL ANNIVERSARY DINNER OF THE MASSACHUSETTS
MEDICAL SOCIETY
RHYMES OF A LIFE-TIME
THE IRON GATE
Read at the Breakfast given in honor of Dr. Holmes's Seventieth Birthday
by the publishers of the "Atlantic Monthly," Boston, December 3, 1879.
WHERE is this patriarch you are kindly greeting?
Not unfamiliar to my ear his name,
Nor yet unknown to many a joyous meeting
In days long vanished,--is he still the same,
Or changed by years, forgotten and forgetting,
Dull-eared, dim-sighted, slow of speech and thought,
Still o'er the sad, degenerate present fretting,
Where all goes wrong, and nothing as it ought?
Old age, the graybeard! Well, indeed, I know him,--
Shrunk, tottering, bent, of aches and ills the prey;
In sermon, story, fable, picture, poem,
Oft have I met him from my earliest day.
In my old AEsop, toiling with his bundle,--
His load of sticks,--politely asking Death,
Who comes when called for,--would he lug or trundle
His fagot for him?--he was scant of breath.
And sad "Ecclesiastes, or the Preacher,"--
Has he not stamped the image on my soul,
In that last chapter, where the worn-out Teacher
Sighs o'er the loosened cord, the broken bowl?
Yes, long, indeed, I've known him at a distance,
And now my lifted door-latch shows him here;
I take his shrivelled hand without resistance,
And find him smiling as his step draws near.
What though of gilded baubles he bereaves us,
Dear to the heart of youth, to manhood's prime;
Think of the calm he brings, the wealth he leaves us,
The hoarded spoils, the legacies of time!
Altars once flaming, still with incense fragrant,
Passion's uneasy nurslings rocked asleep,
Hope's anchor faster, wild desire less vagrant,
Life's flow less noisy, but the stream how deep!
Still as the silver cord gets worn and slender,
Its lightened task-work tugs with lessening strain,
Hands get more helpful, voices, grown more tender,
Soothe with their softened tones the slumberous brain.
Youth longs and manhood strives, but age remembers,
Sits by the raked-up ashes of the past,
Spreads its thin hands above the whitening embers
That warm its creeping life-blood till the last.
Dear to its heart is every loving token
That comes unbidden ere its pulse grows cold,
Ere the last lingering ties of life are broken,
Its labors ended and its story told.
Ah, while around us rosy youth rejoices,
For us the sorrow-laden breezes sigh,
And through the chorus of its jocund voices
Throbs the sharp note of misery's hopeless cry.
As on the gauzy wings of fancy flying
From some far orb I track our watery sphere,
Home of the struggling, suffering, doubting, dying,
The silvered globule seems a glistening tear.
But Nature lends her mirror of illusion
To win from saddening scenes our age-dimmed eyes,
And misty day-dreams blend in sweet confusion
The wintry landscape and the summer skies.
So when the iron portal shuts behind us,
And life forgets us in its noise and whirl,
Visions that shunned the glaring noonday find us,
And glimmering starlight shows the gates of pearl.
I come not here your morning hour to sadden,
A limping pilgrim, leaning on his staff,--
I, who have never deemed it sin to gladden
This vale of sorrows with a wholesome laugh.
If word of mine another's gloom has brightened,
Through my dumb lips the heaven-sent message came;
If hand of mine another's task has lightened,
It felt the guidance that it dares not claim.
But, O my gentle sisters, O my brothers,
These thick-sown snow-flakes hint of toil's release;
These feebler pulses bid me leave to others
The tasks once welcome; evening asks for peace.
Time claims his tribute; silence now is golden;
Let me not vex the too long suffering lyre;
Though to your love untiring still beholden,
The curfew tells me--cover up the fire.
And now with grateful smile and accents cheerful,
And warmer heart than look or word can tell,
In simplest phrase--these traitorous eyes are tearful--
Thanks, Brothers, Sisters,--Children,--and farewell!
VESTIGIA QUINQUE RETRORSUM
AN ACADEMIC POEM
1829-1879
Read at the Commencement Dinner of the Alumni of Harvard
University, June 25, 1879.
WHILE fond, sad memories all around us throng,
Silence were sweeter than the sweetest song;
Yet when the leaves are green and heaven is blue,
The choral tribute of the grove is due,
And when the lengthening nights have chilled the skies,
We fain would hear the song-bird ere be flies,
And greet with kindly welcome, even as now,
The lonely minstrel on his leafless bough.
This is our golden year,--its golden day;
Its bridal memories soon must pass away;
Soon shall its dying music cease to ring,
And every year must loose some silver string,
Till the last trembling chords no longer thrill,--
Hands all at rest and hearts forever still.
A few gray heads have joined the forming line;
We hear our summons,--"Class of 'Twenty-Nine!"
Close on the foremost, and, alas, how few!
Are these "The Boys" our dear old Mother knew?
Sixty brave swimmers. Twenty--something more--
Have passed the stream and reached this frosty shore!
How near the banks these fifty years divide
When memory crosses with a single stride!
'T is the first year of stern "Old Hickory"'s rule
When our good Mother lets us out of school,
Half glad, half sorrowing, it must be confessed,
To leave her quiet lap, her | 1,601.950457 |
2023-11-16 18:43:45.9304240 | 3,563 | 22 |
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)
By Clara Louise Burnham
CLEVER BETSY. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25, _net_. Postage
extra.
FLUTTERFLY. Illustrated. Square 12mo, 75 cents.
THE LEAVEN OF LOVE. With frontispiece in color. 12mo,
$1.50.
THE QUEST FLOWER. Illustrated. Square 12mo, $1.00.
THE OPENED SHUTTERS. With frontispiece in color. 12mo,
$1.50.
JEWEL: A CHAPTER IN HER LIFE. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50.
JEWEL’S STORY BOOK. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50.
THE RIGHT PRINCESS. 12mo, $1.50.
MISS PRITCHARD’S WEDDING TRIP. 12mo, $1.50.
YOUNG MAIDS AND OLD. 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents.
DEARLY BOUGHT. 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents.
NO GENTLEMEN. 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents.
A SANE LUNATIC. 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents.
NEXT DOOR. 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents.
THE MISTRESS OF BEECH KNOLL. 16mo,$1.25; paper, 50
cents.
MISS BAGG’S SECRETARY. 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents.
DR. LATIMER. 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents.
SWEET CLOVER. A Romance of the White City. 16mo, $1.25;
paper, 50 cents.
THE WISE WOMAN. 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents.
MISS ARCHER ARCHER. 16mo, $1.25.
A GREAT LOVE. A Novel, 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents.
A WEST POINT WOOING, and Other Stories. 16mo, $1.25.
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
CLEVER BETSY
[Illustration: SHE SANK INTO THE ARMS THAT CLASPED HER]
CLEVER BETSY
A Novel
by
Clara Louise Burnham
With Illustrations by
Rose O’Neill
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published September 1910_
CONTENTS
I. OPENING THE COTTAGE 1
II. MISTRESS AND MAID 16
III. IRVING BRUCE 27
IV. MRS. POGRAM CONFIDES 38
V. ROSALIE VINCENT 47
VI. THE LAST STAGE 62
VII. THE NATIONAL PARK 75
VIII. THE BLONDE HEAVER 87
IX. THE FOUNTAIN HOUSE 102
X. ON THE RIVERSIDE 117
XI. FACE TO FACE 131
XII. THE FAITHFUL GEYSER 150
XIII. THE HEIRESS 160
XIV. THE LOOKOUT 176
XV. AN EXODUS 189
XVI. BETSY’S GIFT 202
XVII. SUNRISE 217
XVIII. HOMEWARD BOUND 232
XIX. MRS. BRUCE’S HEADACHE 246
XX. BETSY’S APPEAL 258
XXI. A RAINY EVENING 270
XXII. THE WHITE DOVE 282
XXIII. THE DANCE 296
XXIV. THE CLASH 313
XXV. WHITE SWEET PEAS 327
XXVI. IN BETSY’S ROOM 338
XXVII. BETSY RECEIVES 355
XXVIII. GOOD-BY, SUMMER 369
XXIX. THE NEW YEAR 387
CLEVER BETSY
CHAPTER I
OPENING THE COTTAGE
“HELLO there!” The man with grizzled hair and bronzed face under a
shabby yachting-cap stopped in his leisurely ramble up the street of
a seaport village, and his eyes lighted at sight of a spare feminine
figure, whose lean vigorous arms were shaking a long narrow rug at a
cottage gate. “Ahoy there—The Clever Betsy!” he went on.
The energetic woman vouchsafed a sidewise twist of her mouth intended
for a smile, but did not cease from her labors, and a cloud of dust met
the hastened approach of the seaman.
“Here, there’s enough o’ that! Don’t you know your captain?” he went
on, dodging the woolen fringe which snapped near his dark cheek.
“_My_ captain!” retorted the energetic one, while the rug billowed
still more wildly. She was a woman of his own middle age, and the cloth
tied around her head did not add to her charms; but the man’s eyes
softened as they rested on her.
“Here! You carry too much sail. Take a reef!” he cried; and deftly
snatching the rug, in an instant it was trailing on the walk behind
him, while Betsy Foster stared, offended.
“How long ye been here, Betsy?”
“A couple o’ days,” replied the woman, adjusting the cheese-cloth
covering more firmly behind her ears.
“Why didn’t ye let a feller know?”
“Thought I wouldn’t trouble trouble till trouble troubled me.”
The man smiled. “The Clever Betsy,” he said musingly. They regarded one
another for a silent moment. “Why ain’t ye ever clever to me?”
She sniffed.
“Why don’t ye fat up some?” he asked again.
“If I was as lazy as you are, probably I should,” she returned, with
the sidewise grimace appearing again, and the breeze from the wide
ocean a stone’s throw away ruffling the sparse straight locks that
escaped from her headdress.
“Goin’ to marry me this time, Betsy?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Same old reason.”
“But I _tell_ ye,” said the man, in half-humorous, half-earnest appeal,
“I’ve told ye a dozen times I didn’t know which I liked best then. If
you’d happened to go home from singin’-school with me that night it
would ’a’ ben you.”
“And I say it ain’t proper respect to Annie’s memory for you to talk
that way.”
“I ain’t disrespectful. There never were two such nice girls in one
village before. I nearly grew wall-eyed tryin’ to look at you both at
once. Annie and I were happy as clams for fifteen years. She’s been
gone five, and I’ve asked ye four separate times if you’d go down the
hill o’ life with me, and there ain’t any sense in your refusin’ and
flappin’ rugs in my face.”
“You know I don’t like this sort o’ foolin’, Hiram. I wish you’d be
done with it.”
“I ain’t ever goin’ to be done with it, Betsy, not while you live and I
live.”
“Have some sense,” she rejoined. “We both made our choice when we were
young and we must abide by it—both of us.”
“You didn’t marry the Bruce family.”
“I did, too.”
Betsy Foster’s eyes, suddenly reminiscent, did not suit in their
expression the brusqueness of her tone. She saw again her young self,
heart-sick with the disappointment of her girlish fancy, leaving this
little village for the city, and finding a haven with the bride who
became her friend as well as mistress.
“I did, too,” she repeated. “It was my silver weddin’ only last week,
when Mr. Irving had his twenty-fourth birthday.”
“Is Irving that old? Bless me! Then,” hopefully, “if he’s twenty-four
he don’t need to be tied to your apron-strings. Strikes me you’re as
much of a widow as I am a widower. There ain’t many o’ the Bruce family
left for you to be married to. After Irving’s mother died, I can see
plain enough why you were a lot o’ help to Mr. Bruce; but when he
married again you didn’t have any call to look after him any longer;
and seein’ he died about the same time poor Annie did, you’ve been free
as air these five years. You don’t need to pretend you think such an
awful lot o’ the widder Bruce, ’cause I know ye don’t. Don’t ye suppose
I remember how all your feathers stood on end when Mr. Bruce married
her?”
Betsy gave a fleeting glance over her shoulder toward the window of the
cottage.
“’Twasn’t natural that I should want to see anybody in Irving’s
mother’s place, but she’s—”
“I remember as if ’twas yesterday,” interrupted Hiram, “how you said
’twas Irving she married him for; how that she could never keep her
fingers out of any pie, and she didn’t like the hats Mr. Bruce bought
for Irving, so she married him to choose ’em herself.”
Betsy’s lips twitched in a short laugh. “Well, I guess there was
somethin’ in that,” she answered.
Hiram pursued what he considered his advantage. “When Irving was on the
football team at college, you told me yourself, standin’ right by this
gate, that she’d go to the game, and when she wasn’t faintin’ because
he was knocked out, she was hollerin’ at him how to play.”
Betsy bridled. “Well, what’s all this for?” she demanded.
“It’s to show you plain as the nose on your face that if you ever was
married to the Bruce family you’re a widder now; just as much as I’m a
widower.”
“No, sir, for better or for worse,” returned Betsy doggedly.
“Get out. They’re dead, Mr. and Mrs. Bruce, both dead; and the widder
Bruce nothin’ at all to you.”
“Stepmother to Mr. Irving,” declared Betsy.
“Well, he’s used to it by this time. Had twelve years of it. Holy
mackerel, that kid twenty-four! I can’t realize it. His mother—”
“No, no,” said Betsy quickly.
“Well, _she_ anyway, Mrs. Bruce, went over to Europe to meet him last
year, didn’t she, when she took you?”
“Of course she did. He went abroad when he left college, and do you
suppose she could stand it not to be in part of his trip and tell him
what to do?”
“There now! It’s plain how you feel toward _that_ member o’ the family.”
“But I told you, didn’t I? Can’t you understand English? I told you
‘for better or for _worse_.’”
“Go ’long, Betsy, go ’long! That husky football hero don’t need you
to fight his battles. If she presses him too hard, he’ll get married
himself. I guess he’s got a pretty solid place in the bank. When did
you get back?”
“A month ago.”
“Mrs. Bruce come down here with you?”
Hiram’s eyes as he asked the question left his companion’s face for the
first time, and roved toward the windows of the cottage retreating amid
its greenery.
As if his question had evoked the apparition, a light-haired lady
suddenly appeared in the open doorway. She was a woman of about
forty-five years, but her blonde hair concealed its occasional silver
threads, and her figure was girlishly slender. She regarded the couple
for a moment through her gold eye-glasses, and then came down the steps
and through the garden-path.
“I thought I couldn’t be mistaken, Captain Salter,” she said
graciously, extending one hand, ringed and sparkling, and with the
other protecting the waves of her carefully dressed hair from the
boisterous breeze.
The captain, continuing to trail the rug behind him, touched his cap
and allowed his rough fingers to be taken for a moment.
“The Clever Betsy here was carrying too much sail,” he explained. “I
took ’em down.”
Mrs. Bruce laughed amiably.
“And found you’d run into a squall, no doubt,” she responded, observing
her handmaid’s reddened countenance.
Mrs. Bruce’s eyes could be best described as busy. There was nothing
subtle about her glances. She made it quite evident that nothing
escaped her, and the trim exactness of her dress and appearance seemed
to match her observations.
“It seems good to be back in Fairport,” she went on. “One summer’s
absence is quite enough, though I plan to slip away just for a little
while to take a look at the Yellowstone this year.”
“That so? Should think you’d had travelin’ enough for one spell,”
rejoined Hiram.
“Oh, it’s an appetite that grows with what it feeds on, Captain Salter.
I dare say you have been a rover, too. I know how all you sea-captains
are.”
“No’m. My line’s ben fish, mostly.”
“And,” added Mrs. Bruce, “taking care of us poor land-lubbers in
summer. My son was well satisfied with your sale of his boat. I don’t
know whether he will get another this summer or not. You’ll be here as
usual, I hope?”
“Looks that way.”
“I’m glad. I’m positively attached to the Gentle Annie.”
“Haven’t got her no more,” returned Hiram quietly. “I’ve parted with
her.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I suppose the new one’s better.”
“Well, she’s just as good, anyway.”
“But if she’s not better, I don’t see why you let the Annie go.”
“’Taint always in our power to hold on to things when we’d like to,”
responded Hiram equably.
Mrs. Bruce’s eyes shone with interest behind her bi-focals. “Poor man!”
she thought. “How improvident these ignorant people are! Probably went
into debt, and had to lose his boat, and calculated on doing enough
business this summer to pay for the new one.”
“And what,” she asked, with an air of gracious patronage, “will you
call this one? Gentle Annie second, of course.”
He shook his head, his sea-blue eyes fixed intrepidly on the object of
his affections, who regarded him threateningly.
“Can’t be any Annie second,” he returned quietly.
“Now I think you make a great mistake, Captain Salter,” said Mrs.
Bruce, with vigor. “For your own welfare I feel you ought to keep that
name. The summer people have been attached to the Gentle Annie so long,
and had such confidence in her.”
Hiram nodded; but Mrs. Bruce could not catch his fixed eye as she
wished, to emphasize her point.
“They were right,” he answered. “She was a good craft.”
“Confidence in her and you too, I should have said, of course,” went on
the lady.
“Yes, we sort o’ went together, pretty comfortable; but—well, I’ve lost
her.”
“Yes, but there’s a good-will goes with the name. You make a great
mistake not to keep it. Captain Salter and the Gentle Annie; people
have said | 1,601.950464 |
2023-11-16 18:43:45.9305480 | 554 | 25 |
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SAXE HOLM'S STORIES
[by Helen Hunt Jackson]
1873
Content.
Draxy Miller's Dowry
The Elder's Wife
Whose Wife Was She?
The One-Legged Dancers
How One Woman Kept Her Husband
Esther Wynn's Love-Letters
Draxy Miller's Dowry.
Part I.
When Draxy Miller's father was a boy, he read a novel in which the heroine
was a Polish girl, named Darachsa. The name stamped itself indelibly upon
his imagination; and when, at the age of thirty-five, he took his
first-born daughter in his arms, his first words were--"I want her called
Darachsa."
"What!" exclaimed the doctor, turning sharply round, and looking out above
his spectacles; "what heathen kind of a name is that?"
"Oh, Reuben!" groaned a feeble voice from the baby's mother; and the nurse
muttered audibly, as she left the room, "There ain't never no luck comes
of them outlandish names."
The whole village was in a state of excitement before night. Poor Reuben
Miller had never before been the object of half so much interest. His
slowly dwindling fortunes, the mysterious succession of his ill-lucks, had
not much stirred the hearts of the people. He was a retice'nt man; he
loved books, and had hungered for them all his life; his townsmen
unconsciously resented what they pretended to despise; and so it had
slowly come about that in the village where his father had lived and died,
and where he himself had grown up, and seemed likely to live and die,
Reuben Miller was a lonely man, and came and went almost as a stranger
might come and go. His wife was simply a shadow and echo of himself; one
of those clinging, tender, unselfish, will-less women, who make pleasant,
and affectionate, and sunny wives enough for rich, prosperous,
unsentimental husbands, but who are millstones about the necks of
sensitive, impressionable, unsuccessful men. If Jane Miller had been a
strong, determined woman, Reuben would not have been a failure. The only
thing he had needed in life had been persistent purpose and courage. The
right sort of wife would have given him both. But when he was discouraged,
baffled, Jane clasped her hands, sat down, and looked into his face with
streaming eyes. If he smiled, she smiled | 1,601.950588 |
2023-11-16 18:43:46.2292950 | 3,231 | 26 |
Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Chuck Greif and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at DP Europe
(http://dp.rastko.net); produced from images of the
Bibliothèque nationale de France (BNF/Gallica) at
http://gallica.bnf.fr
Typographical errors were corrected (See note the end of the etext). The
spelling of names of people or places has not been corrected or
normalized. (note of etext transcriber.)
A HISTORY OF THE INQUISITION
VOL. II
A HISTORY OF
THE INQUISITION
OF
THE MIDDLE AGES.
BY
HENRY CHARLES LEA,
AUTHOR OF
"AN HISTORICAL SKETCH OF SACERDOTAL CELIBACY," "SUPERSTITION AND
FORCE," "STUDIES IN CHURCH HISTORY."
_IN THREE VOLUMES_.
VOL. II
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1901
Copyright, 1887, by HARPER & BROTHERS
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS.
BOOK II.--THE INQUISITION IN THE SEVERAL LANDS OF CHRISTENDOM.
CHAPTER I.--LANGUEDOC.
Page
Obstacles to Establishing the Inquisition 1
Progress and Zeal of the Dominicans 6
First Appointment of Inquisitors.--Tentative Proceedings 8
Popular Resistance 12
Position of Count Raymond 14
Troubles at Toulouse.--Expulsion of the Inquisition 16
Its Return and Increasing Vigor 21
Suspended from 1238 to 1241 24
Condition of the Country.--Rising of Trencavel 25
Connection between Religion and State-craft 26
Pierre Cella's Activity in 1241-1242 30
Heretic Stronghold of Montsegur 34
Massacre of Avignonet.--Its Unfortunate Influence 35
Count Raymond's Last Effort.--Triumph of the Inquisition 38
Raymond Reconciled to the Church 40
Fall of Montsegur.--Heresy Defenceless 42
Increased Activity of the Inquisition 44
Raymond's Persecuting Energy.--His Death 46
Desperation of the Heretics.--Intercourse with Lombardy 49
Supremacy of Inquisition.--It Attacks the Count of Foix 52
Death of Alphonse and Jeanne in 1273 56
Rise of the Royal Power.--Appeals to the King 57
Popular Discontent.--Troubles at Carcassonne 58
Philippe le Bel Intervenes.--His Fluctuating Policy 62
Renewed Troubles at Carcassonne.--Submission in 1299 67
Prosecutions at Albi, 1299-1300 71
Inquisitorial Frauds.--Case of Castel Fabri 72
Frere Bernard Delicieux 75
Renewed Troubles.--Philippe Sends Jean de Pequigny 77
Philippe Tries to Reform the Inquisition 79
Troubles at Albi.--Conflict between Church and State 82
Philippe Visits Languedoc.--His Plan of Reform 86
Despair at Carcassonne.--Treasonable Projects 88
Appeal to Clement V.--Investigation 92
Abuses Recognized.--Reforms of Council of Vienne 94
Election of John XXII. 98
The Inquisition Triumphs.--Fate of Bernard Delicieux 99
Recrudescence of Heresy.--Pierre Autier 104
Bernard Gui Extirpates Catharism 107
Case of Limoux Noir 108
Results of the Triumph of the Inquisition 109
Political Effects of Confiscation 110
CHAPTER II.--FRANCE.
Inquisition Introduced in 1233 by Frere Robert le Bugre 113
Opposed by the Prelates.--Encouraged by St. Louis 115
Robert's Insane Massacres and Punishment 116
Inquisition Organized.--Its Activity in 1248 117
Slender Records of its Proceedings 120
Paris _Auto de fe_ in 1310.--Marguerite la Porete 123
Gradual Decadence.--Case of Hugues Aubriot 125
The Parlement Assumes Superior Jurisdiction 130
The University of Paris Supplants the Inquisition 135
Moribund Activity during the Fifteenth Century 138
Attempt to Resuscitate it in 1451 140
It Falls into utter Discredit 144
The French Waldenses.--Their Number and Organization 145
Intermittent Persecution.--Their Doctrines 147
Francois Borel and Gregory XI. 152
Renewed Persecutions in 1432 and 1441 157
Protected by Louis XI.--Humiliation of the Inquisition 158
Alternations of Toleration and Persecution 159
CHAPTER III.--THE SPANISH PENINSULA.
ARAGON.--Unimportance of Heresy there 162
Episcopal and Lay Inquisition Tried in 1233 163
Papal Inquisition Introduced.--Navarre Included 165
Delay in Organization 167
Greater Vigor in the Fourteenth Century 169
Dispute over the Blood of Christ 171
Nicolas Eymerich 174
Separation of Majorca and Valencia 177
Decline of Inquisition 178
Resuscitation under Ferdinand the Catholic 179
CASTILE.--Inquisition not Introduced there 180
Cathari in Leon 181
Independent Legislation of Alonso the Wise 183
Persecution for Heresy Unknown 184
Case of Pedro of Osma in 1479 187
PORTUGAL.--No Effective Inquisition there 188
CHAPTER IV.--ITALY.
Political Conditions Favoring Heresy 191
Prevalence of Unconcealed Catharism 192
Development of the Waldenses 194
Popular Indifference to the Church 196
Gregory XI. Undertakes to Suppress Heresy 199
Gradual Development of Inquisition 201
Rolando da Cremona 202
Giovanni Schio da Vicenza 203
St. Peter Martyr 207
He Provokes Civil War in Florence 210
Death of Frederic II. in 1250.--Chief Obstacle Removed 213
Assassination of St. Peter Martyr.--Use Made of it 214
Rainerio Saccone 218
Triumph of the Papacy.--Organization of the Inquisition 220
Heresy Protected by Ezzelin and Uberto 223
Ezzelin Prosecuted as a Heretic.--His Death 224
Uberto Pallavicino 228
The Angevine Conquest of Naples Revolutionizes Italy 231
Triumph of Persecution 233
Sporadic Popular Opposition 237
Secret Strength of Heresy.--Case of Armanno Pongilupo 239
Power of the Inquisition.--Papal Interference 242
Naples.--Toleration Under Normans and Hohenstaufens 244
The Inquisition Under the Angevines 245
Sicily 248
Venice.--Its Independence 249
Inquisition Introduced in 1288, under State Supervision 251
Decadence of Inquisition in Fourteenth Century 253
Disappearance of the Cathari.--Persistence of the Waldenses 254
Remnants of Catharism in Corsica and Piedmont 255
Persecution of the Waldenses of Piedmont 259
Decline of the Lombard Inquisition 269
Venice.--Subjection of Inquisition to the State 273
Tuscany.--Increasing Insubordination.--Case of Piero di Aquila 275
Continued Troubles in Florence 280
Tommasino da Foligno 281
Decline of Inquisition in Central Italy 282
The Two Sicilies.--Inquisition Subordinate to the State 284
CHAPTER V.--THE SLAVIC CATHARI.
Efforts of Innocent III. and Honorius III. East of the Adriatic 290
The Mendicant Orders Undertake the Task 293
Bloody Crusades from Hungary 294
Revival of Catharism 298
Endeavors of Boniface VIII. and John XXII. 299
Fruitlessness of the Work 301
Reign of Stephen Tvrtko 303
Catharism the State Religion 305
Advance of the Turks 306
Confusion Aggravated by Persecution 307
The Cathari Aid the Turkish Conquest 313
Disappearance of Catharism 314
CHAPTER VI.--GERMANY.
Persecution of Strassburg Waldenses in 1212 316
Spread of Waldensianism in Germany 318
Mystic Pantheism.--The Amaurians and Ortlibenses 319
Brethren of the Free Spirit or Beghards.--Luciferans 323
Conrad of Marburg.--His Character and Career 325
Gregory XI. Vainly Stimulates him to Persecution 329
Gregory Commissions the Dominicans as Inquisitors 333
The Luciferan Heresy 334
Conrad's Methods and Massacres 336
Antagonism of the Prelates 338
Assembly of Mainz.--Conrad's Defeat and Murder 340
Persecution Ceases.--The German Church Antagonistic to Rome 342
The Reaction Keeps the Inquisition out of Germany 346
Waldenses and Inquisition in Passau 347
Growth of Heresy.--Virtual Toleration 348
The Beguines, Beghards, and Lollards 350
The Brethren of the Free Spirit 354
Tendency to Mysticism.--Master Eckart 358
John of Rysbroek, Gerard Groot, and the Brethren of the Common Life 360
John Tauler and the Friends of God 362
Persecution of the Brethren of the Free Spirit 367
Antagonism between Louis of Bavaria and the Papacy 377
Subservience of Charles IV.--The Black Death 378
Gregarious Enthusiasm.--The Flagellants 380
Clement VI. Condemns Them.--They Become Heretics 383
Attempts to Introduce the Inquisition.--Successful in 1369 385
Persecution of Flagellants and Beghards.--The Dancing Mania 390
Beghards and Beguines Protected by the Prelates 394
Speedy Decline of the Inquisition 395
The Waldenses.--Their Extension and Persecution 396
Renewed Persecution of the Beghards 401
William of Hilderniss, and the Men of Intelligence 405
The Flagellants.--The Brethren of the Cross 406
Triumph of the Beghards at Constance 409
Renewed Persecution 411
Hussitism in Germany.--Coalescence with Waldenses 414
Gregory of Heimburg 417
Hans of Niklaushausen 418
John von Ruchrath of Wesel 420
Decay of the Inquisition.--John Reuchlin 423
Its Impotence in the Case of Luther 425
CHAPTER VII.--BOHEMIA.
Independence of Bohemian Church.--Waldensianism 427
Inquisition Introduced in 1257.--Revived by John XXII. 428
Growth of Waldensianism.--John of Pirna 430
Conditions Favoring the Growth of Heresy.--Episcopal Inquisition 433
The Precursors of Huss 436
Wickliff and Wickliffitism 438
John Huss Becomes the Leader of Reform 444
Progress of the Revolution.--Rupture with Rome 445
Convocation of the Council of Constance 453
Motives Impelling Huss's Presence 455
His Reception and Treatment 457
His Arrest.--Question of the Safe-conduct 460
Communion in both Elements 471
The Trial of Huss.--Illustration of the Inquisitorial Process 473
Exceptional Audiences Allowed to Huss 484
Extraordinary Efforts to Procure Recantation 486
The Inevitable Condemnation and Burning 490
Indignation in Bohemia 494
Jerome of Prague.--His Trial and Execution 495
CHAPTER VIII.--THE HUSSITES.
Inquisitorial Methods Attempted in Bohemia 506
Increasing Antagonism.--Fruitless Threats of Force 508
Parties Form Themselves.--Calixtins and Taborites 511
Sigismund Succeeds to the Throne.--Failure of Negotiations 514
Crusade Preached in 1420.--Its Repulse 516
Religious Extravagance.--Pikardi, Chiliasts 517
The Four Articles of the Calixtins 519
Creed of the Taborites 522
Failure of Repeated Crusades.--The Hussites Retaliate 525
Efforts to Reform the Church.--Council of Siena 527
Council of Basle.--Negotiation with the Hussites a Necessity 530
The Four Articles the Basis.--Accepted as the "Compactata" 533
The Taborites Crushed at Lipan 535
Difficulties Caused by Rokyzana's Ambition 536
Insincere Peace.--Sigismund's Reactionary Reign and Death 538
The Calixtins Secure Control under George Podiebrad 541
Rome Disavows the Compactata.--Giacomo della Marca in Hungary 542
The Use of the Cup the Only Distinction.--Capistrano Sent as
Inquisitor 545
His Projected Hussite Crusade Impeded by the Capture of
Constantinople 551
Efforts to Resist the Turks.--Death of Capistrano at Belgrade 552
Steady Estrangement of Bohemia.--Neg | 1,602.249335 |
2023-11-16 18:44:14.3201290 | 1,295 | 7 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Guerilla Chief
And other Tales
By Mayne Reid
Published by George Routledge and Sons Ltd. London.
This edition dated 1884.
The Guerilla Chief, by Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
THE GUERILLA CHIEF, BY MAYNE REID.
Story 1, Chapter I.
CERRO GORDO.
"_Agua! por amor Dios, agua--aguita_!" (Water! for the love of God, a
little water!)
I heard these words, as I lay in my tent, on the field of Cerro Gordo.
It was the night after the battle bearing this name--fought between the
American and Mexican armies in the month of April, 1847.
The routed regiments of Santa Anna--saving some four thousand men
captured upon the ground--had sought safety in flight, the greater body
taking the main road to Jalapa, pursued by our victorious troops; while
a large number, having sprawled down the almost perpendicular cliff that
overhangs the "Rio del Plan" escaped, unperceived and unpursued, into
the wild chapparals that cover the _piedmont_ of Perote.
Among these last was the _lame_ tyrant himself, or rather should I say,
_at their head leading the retreat_. This has always been his favourite
position at the close of a battle that has gone against him; and a score
of such defeats can be recorded.
I could have captured him on that day but for the cowardice of a colonel
who had command over me and mine. I alone, of all the American army,
saw Santa Anna making his escape from the field, and in such a direction
that I could without difficulty have intercepted his retreat. With the
strength of a corporal's guard, I could have taken both him and his
glittering staff; but even this number of men was denied me, and _nolens
volens_ was I constrained to forego the pleasure of taking prisoner this
truculent tyrant, and hanging him to the nearest tree, which, as God is
my judge, I should most certainly have done. Through the imbecility of
my superior officer, I lost the chance of a triumph calculated to have
given me considerable fame; while Mexico missed finding an avenger.
Strictly speaking, I was not _in_ the engagement of Cerro Gordo. My
orders on that day--or rather those of the spruce colonel who commanded
me--were to guard a battery of mountain howitzers, that had been dragged
to the top of the cliff overlooking El plan--not that already mentioned
as the field of battle, and which was occupied by the enemy, but the
equally precipitous height on the opposite side of the river.
From early daylight until the Mexicans gave way, we kept firing at them
across the stupendous chasm that lay between us, doing them no great
damage, unless they were frightened by the whizz of an occasional
rocket, which our artillerist, Ripley--now a second-rate Secesh
general--succeeded in sending into their midst.
As to ourselves and the battery, there was no more danger of either
being assaulted by the enemy than there was of our being whisked over
the cliff by the tail of a comet. There was not a Mexican soldier on
our side of the _barranca_; and as to any of them crossing over to us,
they could only have performed the feat in a balloon, or by making a
circuitous march of nearly a dozen miles.
For all this security, our stick-to-the-text colonel held close to the
little battery of howitzers; and would not have moved ten paces from it
to have accomplished the capture of the whole Mexican army.
Perfectly satisfied, from the "lights with which we had been furnished,"
that there was no danger to our battery, and chafing at the ill-luck
that had placed me so far away from the ground where laurels were
growing, and where others were in the act of reaping them, I lost all
interest in Ripley and his popguns; and straying along the summit of the
cliff, I sat me down upon its edge.
A yucca stood stiffly out from the brow of the precipice. It was the
tree-yucca, and a huge bole of bayonet-shaped leaves crowning its
corrugated trunk shaded a spot of grass-covered turf, on the very edge
of the escarpment.
Had I not scaled the Andes, I might have hesitated to trust myself under
the shadow of that tree. But a cliff, however sheer and stupendous,
could no longer cause a whirl in my brain; and to escape from the rays
of a tropical sun, at that moment in mid-heaven, I crept forward, caught
hold of the stem of the yucca, lowered my extremities, all booted and
spurred as they were, over the angle of the porphrytic rock, took a
Havana out of my case, drew a fusee across the steel-filings, and,
hanging ignited the cigar, I commenced watching the deadly strife then
raging in full fury on the opposite side of the ravine.
The prudent _nawab_, who preferred looking at a tiger-hunt out of a
two-storey window, or the spectator of a bull-fight in the upper tier of
a "plaza de toros," could not have been safer than I, since, without
running the slightest risk, I had a "bird's-eye view" of the battle.
I could see the steady advance of Worth's division of regulars,
supported by the fiery squadrons of Harney's Horse; the brigade of
Twiggs--that hoary-headed sexagenarian _bavard_, since distinguished as
the "traitor of Texas;" the close-lined and magnificently-mounted troop
| 1,630.340169 |
2023-11-16 18:44:14.3202620 | 537 | 10 |
E-text prepared by Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/dialogueinhades00john
A DIALOGUE IN HADES.
A Parallel of Military Errors, of Which the French
and English Armies Were Guilty, During the
Campaign of 1759, in Canada.
ATTRIBUTED TO CHEVALIER JOHNSTONE.
Published under the Auspices of the
Literary and Historical Society of Quebec
[Reprinted.]
Quebec:
Printed at the "Morning Chronicle" Office.
1887.
[The original of this manuscript is deposited in the French war
archives, in Paris; a copy was, with the permission of the French
Government, taken in 1855, and deposited in the Library of the
Legislative Assembly of Canada. The Literary and Historical Society
of Quebec, through the kindness of Mr. Todd, the Librarian, was
permitted to have communication thereof. This document is supposed to
have been written about the year 1765, that is five years after the
return to France from Canada of the writer, the Chevalier Johnstone,
a Scottish Jacobite, who had fled to France after the defeat at
Culloden, and obtained from the French monarch, with several other
Scotchmen, commissions in the French armies. In 1748, says _Francisque
Michel_,[A] "he sailed from Rochefort as an Ensign with troops going
to Cape Breton; he continued to serve in America until he returned to
France, in December, 1760, having acted during the campaign of 1759, in
Canada, as aide-de-camp to Chevalier de Levis. On Levis being ordered
to Montreal, Johnstone was detached and retained by General Montcalm
on his staff, on account of his thorough knowledge of the environs
of Quebec, and particularly of Beauport, where the principal works
of defence stood, and where the whole army, some 11,000 men, were
entrenched, leaving in Quebec merely a garrison of 1500. The journal
is written in English, and is not remarkable for orthography or purity
of diction; either Johnstone had forgotten or had never thoroughly
known the language. The style is prolix, sententious, abounding in
quotations | 1,630.340302 |
2023-11-16 18:44:14.3203520 | 4,319 | 36 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Evan Harrington by George Meredith, v1
#33 in our series by George Meredith
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EVAN HARRINGTON
By George Meredith
CONTENTS:
BOOK 1.
I. ABOVE BUTTONS
II. THE HERITAGE OR THE SOY
III. THE DAUGHTERS OR THE SHEARS
IV. ON BOARD THE JOCASTA
V. THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL
VI. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD
VII. MOTHER AND SON
BOOK 2.
VIII. INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC
IX. THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY
X. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN
XI. DOINGS AT AN INN
XII. IN WHICH ALE IS SHOWN TO HAVE ONE QUALITY OF WINE
XIII. THE MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY
BOOK 3.
XIV. THE COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION
XV. A CAPTURE
XVI. LEADS TO A SMALL SKIRMISH BETWEEN ROSE AND EVAN
XVII. IN WHICH EVAN WRITES HIMSELF TAILOR
XVIII. IN WHICH EVAN CALLS HIMSELF GENTLEMAN
BOOK 4.
XIX. SECOND DESPATCH OF THE COUNTESS
XX. BREAK-NECK LEAP
XXI. TRIBULATIONS AND TACTICS OF THE COUNTESS
XXII. IN WHICH THE DAUGHTERS OF THE GREAT MEL HAVE TO
DIGEST HIM AT DINNER
XXIII. TREATS OF A HANDKERCHIEF
XXIV. THE COUNTESS MAKES HERSELF FELT
XXV. IN WHICH THE STREAM FLOWS MUDDY AND CLEAR
BOOK 5.
XXVI. MRS. MEL MAKES A BED FOR HERSELF AND FAMILY
XXVII. EXHIBITS ROSE'S GENERALSHIP; EVAN'S PERFORMANCE ON THE SECOND
FIDDLE; AND THE WRETCHEDNESS OF THE COUNTESS
XXVIII. TOM COGGLESBY'S PROPOSITION
XXIX. PRELUDE TO AN ENGAGEMENT
XXX. THE BATTLE OF THE BULL-DOGS. PART I.
XXXI. THE BATTLE OF THE BULL-DOGS. PART II.
BOOK 6.
XXXII. IN WHICH EVAN'S LIGHT BEGINS TO TWINKLE AGAIN
XXXIII. THE HERO TAKES HIS RANK IN THE ORCHESTRA
XXXIV. A PAGAN SACRIFICE
XXXV. ROSE WOUNDED
XXXVI. BEFORE BREAKFAST
XXXVII. THE RETREAT FROM BECKLEY
XXXVIII. IN WHICH WE HAVE TO SEE IN THE DARK
BOOK 7.
XXXIX. IN THE DOMAIN OF TAILORDOM
XL. IN WHICH THE COUNTESS STILL SCENTS GAME
XLI. REVEALS AN ABOMINABLE PLOT OF THE BROTHERS COGGLESBY
XLII. JULIANA
XLIII. ROSE
XLIV. CONTAINS A WARNING TO ALL CONSPIRATORS
XLV. IN WHICH THE SHOP BECOMES THE CENTRE OF ATTRACTION
XLVI. A LOVER'S PARTING
XLVII. A YEAR LATER THE COUNTESS DE SALDAR DE SANCORVO TO HER
SISTER CAROLINE
BOOK 1.
I. ABOVE BUTTONS
II. THE HERITAGE OR THE SOY
III. THE DAUGHTERS OR THE SHEARS
IV. ON BOARD THE JOCASTA
V. THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL
VI. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD
VII. MOTHER AND SON
CHAPTER I
ABOVE BUTTONS
Long after the hours when tradesmen are in the habit of commencing
business, the shutters of a certain shop in the town of Lymport-on-the-
Sea remained significantly closed, and it became known that death had
taken Mr. Melchisedec Harrington, and struck one off the list of living
tailors. The demise of a respectable member of this class does not
ordinarily create a profound sensation. He dies, and his equals debate
who is to be his successor: while the rest of them who | 1,630.340392 |
2023-11-16 18:44:14.3585740 | 104 | 115 |
Produced by Marius Masi, Don Kretz and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's notes:
(1) Numbers following letters (without space) like C2 were originally
printed in subscript. Letter subscripts are preceded by an
underscore, like C_n.
(2) Characters following a carat (^) were printed in superscript.
(3) Side-notes were relocated to function as titles of their respective
| 1,630.378614 |
2023-11-16 18:44:14.3586670 | 115 | 8 |
Produced by 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)
THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR."
THE
WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR:"
AN ACCOUNT OF
_THE MUTINY OF THE CREW AND THE
LOSS OF THE SHIP_
WHEN TRYING TO MAKE THE BERMUDAS.
_IN THREE VOLUMES | 1,630.378707 |
2023-11-16 18:44:14.3613770 | 7,436 | 13 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, 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)
SUPPRESSED PLATES
AGENTS
AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD.
27 RICHMOND STREET WEST, TORONTO
INDIA MACMILLAN & COMPANY, LTD.
MACMILLAN BUILDING, BOMBAY
309 BOW BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA
[Illustration: The title-page of the unwritten “Death in London”]
SUPPRESSED PLATES WOOD ENGRAVINGS, &c.
TOGETHER WITH OTHER CURIOSITIES GERMANE THERETO
BEING
AN ACCOUNT OF CERTAIN MATTERS
PECULIARLY ALLURING TO
THE COLLECTOR
BY
GEORGE SOMES LAYARD
[Illustration: (colophon)]
LONDON
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK
1907
_Published November 1907_
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
TO
MY TWO BOYS
JOHN AND PETER
WHO
I SINCERELY HOPE, WILL NOT HAVE SO MANY
_USELESS_ HOBBIES
AS
THEIR AFFECTIONATE
FATHER
CONTENTS
1. INTRODUCTORY. . . 1
2. “THE MARQUIS OF STEYNE”. . . 7
3. THE SUPPRESSED PORTRAIT OF DICKENS, “PICKWICK,” “THE BATTLE OF
LIFE,” AND “GRIMALDI”. . . 26
4. DICKENS CANCELLED PLATES: “OLIVER TWIST,” “MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT,”
“THE STRANGE GENTLEMAN,” “PICTURES FROM ITALY,” AND “SKETCHES BY BOZ”
. . . 43
5. ON SOME FURTHER SUPPRESSED PLATES, ETCHINGS, AND WOOD ENGRAVINGS BY
GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. . . 59
6. HOGARTH’S “ENTHUSIASM DELINEATED,” “THE MAN OF TASTE,” AND “DON
QUIXOTE”. . . 82
7. CANCELLED DESIGNS FOR “PUNCH” AND “ONCE A WEEK” BY CHARLES KEENE
AND FREDERICK SANDYS. . . 127
8. MISCELLANEOUS. . . 149
9. THE SUPPRESSED OMAR KHAYYAM ETCHING. . . 179
10. ADAPTED OR PALIMPSEST PLATES. . . 192
11. ADAPTED OR PALIMPSEST PLATES (_continued_). . . 226
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_Printed Separately_
The Title-page of the unwritten “Death in London”. . . _Frontispiece_
The Third Marquis of Hertford. (_From the engraving by W. Holl, of
the painting by Sir Thomas Lawrence_). . . _Between pages_ 20
_and_ 21
The Fourth Marquis of Hertford. (_From a photograph_)
. . . _Between pages_ 20 _and_ 21
The Third Marquis of Hertford when Lord Yarmouth. (_From the
caricature by Richard Dighton_). . . _Facing page_ 24
The suppressed portrait of Charles Dickens. . . _Facing page_ 28
The “Pickwick” suppressed plate: “The Cricket Match.” (_By R. W.
Buss_). . . _Facing page_ 30
The “Pickwick” suppressed plate: “Tupman and Rachel.” (_By R. W.
Buss_). . . _Between pages_ 32 _and_ 33
“Tupman and Rachel.” (_By H. K. Browne_). . . _Between pages_ 32
_and_ 33
“The Last Song,” with the suppressed border (_By George Cruikshank_)
. . . _Facing page_ 40
The suppressed plate from “Oliver Twist”. . . _Facing page_ 48
1. “The Fireside Scene”
2. “The Fireside Scene,” as worked upon by Cruikshank
The suppressed plate from “Sketches by Boz”. . . _Facing page_ 56
“A Financial Survey of Cumberland or the Beggar’s Petition.” (_From
the only known uncoloured impression of the plate_). . . _Between
pages_ 64 _and_ 65
“A Financial Survey of Cumberland or the Beggar’s Petition.” (_From
a impression of the plate, with the figure of the valet
obliterated with lamp-black_). . . _Between pages_ 64 _and_ 65
“Enthusiasm Delineated. (Humbly dedicated to his Grace the Arch Bishop
of Canterbury by his Graces most obedient humble Servant _Wm.
Hogarth_”). . . _Between pages_ 88 _and_ 89
“Credulity, Superstition, and Fanaticism. A Medley”. . . _Between
pages_ 88 _and_ 89
Portrait of Hogarth with his Dog Trump. . . _Facing page_ 112
_The plate reversed and in its last state, now entitled_ “The Bruiser”
. . . _Facing page_ 112
The Cancelled Cartoon. (_By Charles Keene_). . . _Facing page_ 128
The Cancelled “Social.” (_By Charles Keene_). . . _Facing page_ 136
Suggestion by Joseph Crawhall for the Cancelled “Social”. . . _Facing
page_ 136
“The Painted Chamber.” (From _Antiquities of Westminster_, 1807)
. . . _Facing page_ 150
The suppressed portrait of “John Jorrocks, Esq., M.F.H., etc.” (_By
Henry Alken, the younger_). . . _Facing page_ 160
The suppressed frontispiece for “Omar Khayyam.” (_By Edwin Edwards_)
. . . _Facing page_ 188
“L’Europe alarmée pour le Fils d’un Meunier.” (_The plate in its first
state_). . . _Between pages_ 204 _and_ 205
_The plate in its second state, now entitled_ “La Cour de Paix
solitaire, entre les Roses piquantes et les Lis”. . . _Between
pages_ 204 _and_ 205
Queen Anne presiding over the House of Lords. (_The plate in its first
state_). . . _Between pages_ 236 _and_ 237
_The plate in its second state, now representing_ George I. presiding
over the House of Lords. . . _Between pages_ 236 _and_ 237
“The Races of the Europeans, with their Keys.” (_The plate in its
first state_). . . _Between pages_ 238 _and_ 239
“A Skit on Britain.” (_The plate in its second state_). . . _Between
pages_ 238 _and_ 239
The Headless Horseman. (_The plate with the head burnished out_)
. . . _Facing page_ 240
The plate with Cromwell’s head. . . _Between pages_ 242 _and_ 243
The plate with Charles I.’s head. . . _Between pages_ 242 _and_ 243
Undescribed palimpsest plate. (_First state and second state_)
. . . _Facing page_ 244
Undescribed palimpsest plate. (_First state and second state_)
. . . _Facing page_ 246
_Printed in the Text_
1. The Suppressed Portrait of the Marquis of Steyne. . . 15
2. The Battle of Life. “Leech’s Grave Mistake”. . . 35
3. Rose Maylie and Oliver at Agnes’s Tomb. (_The substituted plate in
two states_). . . 51
4. The Strange Gentleman. . . 55
5. “A Trifling Mistake”—Corrected—. . . 71
6. Philoprogenitiveness. . . 77
7. “Drop it!”. . . 79
8. Enlarged detail of Hogarth’s “Enthusiasm Delineated”. . . 85
9. The Chandelier in “Enthusiasm”. . . 95
The Chandelier in “Credulity”. . . 95
10. The Man of Taste. . . 105
11. Burlington Gate as it appeared prior to 1868. . . 109
12. Don Quixote, No. 1.—The Innkeeper. . . 115
13. Don Quixote, No. 2.—The Funeral of Chrysostom. . . 117
14. Don Quixote, No. 3.—The Innkeeper’s Wife and Daughter. . . 119
15. Don Quixote, No. 4.—Don Quixote seizes the Barber’s Basin
. . . 120
16. Don Quixote, No. 5.—Don Quixote releases the Galley Slaves
. . . 122
17. Don Quixote, No. 6.—The First Interview. . . 123
18. Don Quixote, No. 7.—The Curate and the Barber. . . 125
19. Danaë in the Brazen Chamber. . . 143
20. Suppressed Illustration from _The Vicar of Wakefield_. . . 172
21. Het beest van Babel, etc. (_The plate in its first state_)
. . . 218
22. Het beest van Babel, etc. (_The plate in its second state_)
. . . 219
23. Aan der Meester Tonge-Slyper. (_The plate in its first state_)
. . . 229
Aan der Meester Tonge-Slyper. (_As adapted by the Anti-Jesuits_)
. . . 229
24. The Stature of a Great Man, or the English Colossus. . . 234
25. The Stature of a Great Man, or the Scotch Colossus. . . 235
26. Aan den Experten Hollandschen Hoofd-Smith. (_The plate in its
first state_). . . 245
27. Aan den Experten Hollandschen Hoofd-Smith. (_As adapted by the
Anti-Jesuits_). . . 245
28. An adapted Copperplate. (_First state_). . . 247
29. An adapted Copperplate. (_Second state_). . . 247
30. A History of the New Plot. (_First state_). . . 249
31. A History of the New Plot. (_Second state_). . . 249
SUPPRESSED PLATES, ETC.
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
No one who has the itch for book-collecting will deny that suppressed
book illustrations are, what the forbidden fruit was to our mother Eve,
irresistible. Whether such appetite represents the very proper ambition
to have at his elbow the earliest states of beautiful or interesting
books, of which the subsequently suppressed plate or wood engraving
is in general a sort of guarantee, or the less defensible desire to
possess what our neighbour does not, must be settled by the conscience
of each. The fact remains that such rarities are peculiarly alluring to
those whom Wotton calls “the lickerish chapmen of all such ware.” {2}
There are, of course, ridiculous[1] people who value such books as
the first issue of the first edition of Dickens’s _American Notes_
just because there is a mistake in the pagination; or a first edition
of Disraeli’s _Lothair_ because the prototype of “Monsignor Catesby”
is divulged by misprinting the name “Capel”; or _Poems_ by Robert
Burns, first Edinburgh Edition, because in the list of subscribers
“The Duke of Roxborough” appears as “The Duke of Boxborough”; or
Barker’s “Breeches” Bible of 1594, because on the title-page of the New
Testament the figures are transposed to 1495; or the first edition in
French of Washington Irving’s _Sketch Book_, because the translator,
maltreating the author’s name, has declared the book to be “traduit de
l’Anglais de M. Irwin Washington,” and in the dedication has labelled
Sir Walter Scott, _Barronnet_; or indeed a book of my own, in which I
described as “since dead” a gifted and genial gentleman who I am glad
to think still gives the lie to my inexcusable carelessness. {3}
[1] I am quite aware that “ridiculous” is a dangerous stone to throw,
when one lives in a glass house oneself.
But it is not _because_ of such errors that a true book-lover desires
to own _editiones principes_ of famous works. That ambition is
legitimate enough, but its legitimate reason is otherwhere to seek.
In the case of such a book as Rogers’s _Italy_, with the Turner
engravings, the matter is very different. Here the fact that the plates
on pp. 88 and 91 are transposed is a guarantee that the impressions of
the extraordinarily delicate engravings are of the utmost brilliancy,
for the error was discovered before many impressions had been taken.
The same applies, though in lesser degree, to such a book as Mr. Austin
Dobson’s _Ballad of Beau Brocade_, illustrated by Mr. Hugh Thomson, in
the earliest edition of which certain of the illustrations are also
misplaced.[2] There is reason in wishing to possess these. See what
Ruskin himself has said of the omission of the two engravings which
had appeared in the first edition of _The Two Paths_. He writes in the
preface to the 1878 reissue: {4}
[2] Compare also the early issues of the first edition of Ainsworth’s
_Tower of London_, in which the plates at pp. 28 and 45 vary from those
in the later issues.
“I own to a very enjoyable pride in making the first editions of my
books valuable to their possessors, who found out, before other people,
that these writings and drawings were good for something. . . and the
two lovely engravings by Messrs. Cuff and Armytage will, I hope, render
the old volume more or less classical among collectors.” From this we
gather that “the Professor” was of the right kidney.
It is hardly necessary to say that it is not my intention to make
this book a devil’s directory to illustrations which have been
suppressed because of indecency, and are referred to in the catalogues
of second-hand booksellers, whose cupidity is stronger than their
self-respect, as “facetiæ” or “very curious.” Indeed, this book
would itself in that case also very properly be put on the index
expurgatorius of every decent person. My purpose is to gather together,
correct and amplify the floating details concerning a legitimate class
of rarities, and to put the collector on his guard, where necessary,
against imposition.
By its very nature this treatise cannot be complete, but I have
included most of the {5} examples of any importance which, during many
years of bibliomania, have come under my observation. To these I have
added certain re-engraved or palimpsest plates, which are germane to
the subject.
As to these last I find amongst my papers a curious note from the
pen of R. H. Cromek, the engraver, who flourished at the end of the
eighteenth century.
“One of these vendors,” he writes (publishers of Family Bibles),
“lately called to consult me professionally about an engraving he
brought with him. It represented Mons. Buffon seated, contemplating
various groups of animals surrounding him. He merely wished, he said,
to be informed whether, by engaging my services to unclothe the
naturalist, and giving him a rather more resolute look, _the plate
could not, at a trifling expense, be made to do duty for ‘Daniel in the
lions’ den’_”!
That would be a palimpsest well worth possessing, if ever it were
carried into effect. It would be as fascinating an object of
contemplation as the Stothard designs for _Clarissa Harlowe_, {6}
which the same authority informs us were later used to illustrate the
Scriptures! But the history of the _cliché_, pure and simple, has yet
to be written. Our concern is with higher game than that.
{7}
CHAPTER II
“THE MARQUIS OF STEYNE”
Perhaps the most celebrated of suppressed book illustrations is the
wood-engraved portrait of the “Marquis of Steyne,” drawn by Thackeray
as an illustration to _Vanity Fair_, for which, if we are to believe
the statement of a well-known bookseller’s catalogue, “libellous
proceedings (_sic_) were threatened on account of its striking likeness
to a member of the aristocracy.” With the accuracy of this statement I
shall deal in due course.
Before, however, proceeding to the consideration of the suppressed
illustration itself, it will be as well to pause for a moment to
consider what antecedent probability there was that Thackeray would
pillory a well-known _roué_ of the period in terms that would make
the likeness undoubted and undeniable. And in pointing out what the
great {8} novelist’s practice was in this respect I would guard
myself against the charge of presuming to censure one who is not
here to answer for himself, and whose nobility of character was
sufficient guarantee of good faith and honourable intention. Let it
always be remembered that, if Thackeray flagellated others, he never
hesitated to taste the quality of his own whip first. Even in his book
illustrations, as I have pointed out elsewhere, he was as unsparing
of his own feelings as he was in his writings. And, in using himself
as a whipping-boy for our sins, he probably believed that he was
making himself as despicable as a Rousseau. Hence he came to the like
treatment of other real personages not with unclean hands.
Some of us may have seen, though very few of us can possess, a very
rare pamphlet, which was sold for as much as £39 on one of its
infrequent appearances in the auction-rooms, entitled _Mr. Thackeray,
Mr. Yates, and the Garrick Club_. In it was published a never-sent
reply to a letter written by Thackeray remonstrating with Yates on
the contents of a “pen-and-ink” sketch published by the latter in No.
6 of a periodical called _Town {9} Talk_, which resulted in Yates’s
expulsion from the Garrick Club.
In this unsent letter he charged Thackeray with having unjustifiably
introduced portraits both in his letterpress and illustrations. Mr.
Stephen Price appeared as Captain Shindy in the _Book of Snobs_. In
the same book Thackeray drew on a wood block what was practically a
portrait of Wyndham Smith, a fellow-clubman. This appeared amongst
“Sporting Snobs,” Mr. Smith being a well-known sporting man. In
_Pendennis_ he made a sketch of a former member of the Garrick Club,
Captain Granby Calcraft, under the name of Captain Granby Tiptoff. In
the same book, under the transparent guise of the unforgettable Foker,
he reproduced every characteristic, both in language, manner, and
gesture, of Mr. Andrew Arcedeckne, and even went so far as to give an
unmistakable portrait of him, to that gentleman’s great annoyance.
Besides the examples given by Yates, who was himself recognisable
as George Garbage in _The Virginians_, we know, too, that in the
same novel Theodore Hook appeared as Wagg, just as he did {10} as
Stanislaus Hoax in Disraeli’s _Vivian Grey_, and that Alfred Bunn
was the prototype of Mr. Dolphin. Archdeacon Allen was the original
of Dobbin, Lady Langford of Lady Kew; and last, but not least, we
have lately learned from Mrs. Ritchie that the inimitable Becky had
undoubtedly her incarnation.
So we see that the antecedent improbability is as the snakes in
Iceland; for the above examples, which no doubt could be largely added
to, prove that Thackeray did not hesitate to draw direct from the model
when it suited his purpose.
So far so good. Let us now proceed to inquire into the identity of the
“Marquis of Steyne.”
That his prototype was _a_ Marquis of Hertford is axiomatic with all
those who have ever taken any interest in the subject; but when we come
to inquire which marquis we find that opinions are astonishingly at
variance. It would seem almost as though any Marquis of Hertford would
serve, whereas in point of fact the portrait would be the grossest
libel upon each of that noble line save one; and so incidentally we
shall, by making the matter clear, rescue from calumny an honourable
{11} race, which has hitherto through heedlessness been tarred with
the same brush as its least honourable representative.
To show that this is not a reckless charge of inaccuracy, I quote from
four letters in my possession written by four persons most likely to
have special knowledge upon the subject.
The first, which is from a well-known printseller, informs me “that
the Marquis of Steyne in _Vanity Fair_ was Francis, second Marquis of
Hertford, who died in 1822.”
The second, which is from one more intimately acquainted with the
family than any other living person, says, “Unquestionably Francis,
third Marquis of Hertford, the intimate friend of George IV., was the
prototype of the Marquis of Steyne in Thackeray’s _Vanity Fair_.”
The third letter, which is from a well-known London editor, in general
the best-informed man I have ever met, says, “It was the fourth Lord,
who died in 1870.”
The last of the four letters supports this view and says: “It was the
fourth, not the third, Marquis of Hertford who was supposed to be the
prototype {12} of Thackeray’s Marquis of Steyne.. . . He was Richard
Seymour Conway, who was born in 1800 and died in 1870.”[3]
Now, considering that these are the only opinions for which I have
asked, and that they are so curiously divergent, it will, I think, be
clear that it is time an authoritative declaration were forthcoming,
based upon independent inquiries.
It may as well, then, be stated once for all that no one who has taken
the trouble to investigate the lives of the three marquises above
mentioned can hesitate for a moment in identifying the “Marquis of
Steyne” with the third Marquis of Hertford. To those who are curious
to know very full particulars about these noblemen I would recommend
the perusal of an interesting article entitled “Two Marquises” in
_Lippincott’s Magazine_ for February 1874. Nor should they fail to read
Disraeli’s _Coningsby_, and compare “Lord Monmouth” and his creature
“Rigby,” whose prototypes were the same Marquis of Hertford and _his_
creature Croker, with the {13} “Marquis of Steyne” and _his_ managing
man
[3] As I write, a great daily newspaper informs the world that it was
the _first_ Marquis. “
Wenham.”
And, whilst we are identifying the third Marquis in _Coningsby_ and
_Vanity Fair_, reference may be made to another most unflattering
portrait of that notorious nobleman in a book published anonymously in
1844, which was _immediately_ suppressed, but is now not infrequently
to be found in second-hand book catalogues. The book was (I believe)
written by John Mills, and had ten clever etched plates by George
Standfast (probably a _nom de plume_). Copies in the parts as
published are excessively rare. The title of the book is _D’Horsay;
or the Follies of the Day, by a Man of Fashion_.[4] It dealt with the
escapades, vices, and adventures of well-known men of the day under
the following transparent pseudonyms: Count d’Horsay, the Marquis of
Hereford, the Earl of Chesterlane, Mr. Pelham, General Reel, Lord
George Bentick, Mr. George Robbins, auctioneer, the Earl of Raspberry
Hill, Benjamin D——i, Lord Hunting-Castle, and others. The {14}
account of the “closing scene in the life of the greatest debauchee
the world has ever seen, the Marquis of Hereford,” is too horrible to
repeat.
[4] This scurrilous and poorly written book has lately been thought
worthy of resurrection and republication.
So much for the identity of the “Marquis of Steyne” as described in
Thackeray’s letterpress, which need not be dwelt upon here at greater
length, seeing that the immediate object of this chapter is to deal
with the accompanying engraving and its history. And in proceeding
to this examination it should not be forgotten, in fairness to the
novelist, that Thackeray has explained that his characters were made up
of little bits of various persons. This is no doubt true enough. At the
same time, we cannot but be aware that, although the details may have
been gathered, the outline has been drawn direct from the life.
[Illustration: The Suppressed Portrait of the Marquis of Steyne]
_Vanity Fair_ was issued originally in monthly parts. Its first title
was _Vanity Fair: Pen and Pencil Sketches of English Society_. Its
first number was dated “January 1847,” and had “illustrations on steel
and wood by the Author.” On p. 336 of the _earliest issue_ of this
first edition appeared the wood engraving of the Marquis of Steyne,
wanting which a first edition is, to the {15} bibliomaniac, _Hamlet_
with Hamlet left out. In the later issues, the engraving (which I
here reproduce) was omitted, as also was the “rustic type” in which
the title appeared on the first page.[5] The publishers were Messrs.
Bradbury and Evans, {16} as was natural, Thackeray being at this time
on the staff of _Punch_. In later editions of the novel, published by
Messrs. Smith, Elder and Co., the engraving reappears—viz. on p. 22
of vol. ii. in the standard edition, and on p. 158, vol. ii., of the
twenty-six-volume edition.[6]
[5] To the rabid bibliophile I here present another variation, which
has hitherto escaped the bookseller. In the first edition, on p. 453,
will be found the misprint “Mr.” (for “Sir”) Pitt and Lady Jane Crawley.
[6] It does not appear amongst the illustrations to the biographical
edition, which are restricted to the full-page plates.
What was the reason for its sudden removal immediately after
publication? As I have said above, it is commonly stated to have been
in consequence of a threatened action for libel, of course on account
of the undoubted likeness of the “Marquis of Steyne” to the third
Marquis of Hertford. But how does this tally with facts? Lord Hertford
had died in 1842, whilst the first number of _Vanity Fair_ did not
appear until 1847. Now every lawyer knows that you cannot libel a dead
man. This was made clear some few years ago (I think) in the case
of the Duke of Vallombrosa against a well-known English journalist.
Therefore it is quite certain that, although legal proceedings might
have been threatened, they would certainly have collapsed. {17}
Further than that, those who knew the fourth Marquis are aware that
he was the last man in the world to embark upon a lawsuit or court
publicity in any way. And if any doubt upon the matter should still
remain, I am able to state positively that no trace is to be discovered
amongst the Hertford family papers of any action threatened or brought
against Thackeray on any grounds whatsoever. I think, then, that we may
dismiss once for all this aspect of the case.
At the same time it is not impossible that some hint may have reached
the novelist’s ears that the illustration gave pain to persons then
living, and that he promptly had it removed. But against this view
there is a very strong presumption. If we turn the leaves of our
original issue of _Vanity Fair_, we shall, on p. 421, find another
wood engraving, and opposite p. 458 a full-page steel engraving, “The
Triumph of Clytemnestra,” both containing portraits of “The Marquis
of Steyne.” Now, considering that that nobleman’s august features are
as recognisable in these as in the suppressed engraving, it seems
unreasonable to suppose that the one would have been removed {18}
without the others, in consequence of family representations.
Possibly the real truth of the matter is a very much simpler one. It
may have been either that Thackeray was himself disgusted with the
brutal frankness of the picture when he saw it printed, and insisted
on its removal, or that the block met with some accident. Indeed, I
am inclined to think, judging from my memory of the subject, that the
idea of an action for libel is one that has only found expression in
more modern booksellers’ catalogues. If I am not mistaken, the older
booksellers used to speak of the engraving not as “suppressed,” but as
“extremely rare,” and that it was supposed to have disappeared from
later issues because it was broken before many impressions were taken.
Of course, a threatened action for libel, on account of its striking
likeness to a member of the aristocracy, added piquancy to the affair,
and so redounded to the benefit of the vendor of the earliest issue of
a first edition; and the identification of Lord Steyne’s prototype, in
the letterpress, gave colour to the idea. Once set going, we may be
certain that {19} the legend would not be allowed to lapse for lack of
advertisement. To adapt what Dr. Johnson said of the “Countess,” “Sir,”
said he to Boswell, “in the case of a (marquis) the imagination is more
excited.”
The accompanying portraits of the third and fourth Marquises of
Hertford give the reader an opportunity of forming his own opinion in
the matter of identity. That of the third Marquis is from the engraving
by William Holl of the painting by Sir Thomas Lawrence, and certainly
seems to suggest, in the prime of life, the features and expression
which Thackeray has portrayed in old age. The bald head, and the
arrangement of the whiskers—which are allowed to approach the corners
of the mouth—are incontestable points of resemblance; and if the old
voluptuary is somewhat more battered than Lawrence’s rather spruce
model, we must remember that his portrait was painted by the courtly
President of the Royal Academy many years before the period of life at
which he is introduced to us by the novelist. Certainly he is not an
attractive object; and I was amused to receive a letter from a member
of the family to whom I first showed the wood {20} engraving in which
these words occur: “I find we have no portrait whatever of the Lord
Hertford in question, and am not surprised at it if he at all resembled
that of the Marquis in _Vanity Fair_!”[7]
As regards the fourth Mar | 1,630.381417 |
2023-11-16 18:44:14.3663620 | 1,862 | 10 |
Produced by David Widger
THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S.
CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY
TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY
MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW
AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE
(Unabridged)
WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES
EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY
HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A.
DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS.
JUNE & JULY
1668
June 1st. Up and with Sir J. Minnes to Westminster, and in the Hall there
I met with Harris and Rolt, and carried them to the Rhenish wine-house,
where I have not been in a morning--nor any tavern, I think, these seven
years and more. Here I did get the words of a song of Harris that I
wanted. Here also Mr. Young and Whistler by chance met us, and drank with
us. Thence home, and to prepare business against the afternoon, and did
walk an hour in the garden with Sir W. Warren, who do tell me of the great
difficulty he is under in the business of his accounts with the
Commissioners of Parliament, and I fear some inconveniences and troubles
may be occasioned thereby to me. So to dinner, and then with Sir J.
Minnes to White Hall, and there attended the Lords of the Treasury and
also a committee of Council with the Duke of York about the charge of this
year's fleete, and thence I to Westminster and to Mrs. Martin's, and did
hazer what je would con her, and did once toker la thigh de su landlady,
and thence all alone to Fox Hall, and walked and saw young Newport, and
two more rogues of the town, seize on two ladies, who walked with them an
hour with their masks on; perhaps civil ladies; and there I left them, and
so home, and thence to Mr. Mills's, where I never was before, and here
find, whom I indeed saw go in, and that did make me go thither, Mrs.
Hallworthy and Mrs. Andrews, and here supped, and, extraordinary merry
till one in the morning, Mr. Andrews coming to us: and mightily pleased
with this night's company and mirth I home to bed. Mrs. Turner, too, was
with us.
2nd. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to
dinner, and there dined with me, besides my own people, W. Batelier and
Mercer, and we very merry. After dinner, they gone, only Mercer and I to
sing a while, and then parted, and I out and took a coach, and called
Mercer at their back-door, and she brought with her Mrs. Knightly, a
little pretty sober girl, and I carried them to Old Ford, a town by Bow,
where I never was before, and there walked in the fields very pleasant,
and sang: and so back again, and stopped and drank at the Gun, at Mile
End, and so to the Old Exchange door, and did buy them a pound of
cherries, cost me 2s., and so set them down again; and I to my little
mercer's Finch, that lives now in the Minories, where I have left my
cloak, and did here baiser su moher, a belle femme, and there took my
cloak which I had left there, and so by water, it being now about nine
o'clock, down to Deptford, where I have not been many a day, and there it
being dark I did by agreement aller a la house de Bagwell, and there after
a little playing and baisando we did go up in the dark a su camera. . .
and to my boat again, and against the tide home. Got there by twelve
o'clock, taking into my boat, for company, a man that desired a passage--a
certain western bargeman, with whom I had good sport, talking of the old
woman of Woolwich, and telling him the whole story.
3rd. Up, and to the office, where busy till g o'clock, and then to White
Hall, to the Council-chamber, where I did present the Duke of York with an
account of the charge of the present fleete, to his satisfaction; and this
being done, did ask his leave for my going out of town five or six days,
which he did give me, saying, that my diligence in the King's business was
such, that I ought not to be denied when my own business called me any
whither. Thence with Sir D. Gawden to Westminster, where I did take a
turn or two, and met Roger Pepys, who is mighty earnest for me to stay
from going into the country till he goes, and to bring my people thither
for some time: but I cannot, but will find another time this summer for
it. Thence with him home, and there to the office till noon, and then
with Lord Brouncker, Sir J. Minnes, and Sir G. Carteret, upon whose
accounts they have been this day to the Three Tuns to dinner, and thence
back again home, and after doing a little business I by coach to the
King's house, and there saw good, part of "The Scornfull Lady," and that
done, would have takn out Knepp, but she was engaged, and so to my Lord
Crew's to visit him; from whom I learn nothing but that there hath been
some controversy at the Council-table, about my Lord Sandwich's signing,
where some would not have had him, in the treaty with Portugall; but all,
I think, is over in it. Thence by coach to Westminster to the Hall, and
thence to the Park, where much good company, and many fine ladies; and in
so handsome a hackney I was, that I believe Sir W. Coventry and others,
who looked on me, did take me to be in one of my own, which I was a little
troubled for. So to the lodge, and drank a cup of new milk, and so home,
and there to Mrs. Turner's, and sat and talked with her, and then home to
bed, having laid my business with W. Hewer to go out of town Friday next,
with hopes of a great deal of pleasure.
4th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to
dinner, where Mr. Clerke, the solicitor, dined with me and my clerks.
After dinner I carried and set him down at the Temple, he observing to me
how St. Sepulchre's church steeple is repaired already a good deal, and
the Fleet Bridge is contracted for by the City to begin to be built this
summer, which do please me mightily. I to White Hall, and walked through
the Park for a little ayre; and so back to the Council-chamber, to the
Committee of the Navy, about the business of fitting the present fleete,
suitable to the money given, which, as the King orders it, and by what
appears, will be very little; and so as I perceive the Duke of York will
have nothing to command, nor can intend to go abroad. But it is pretty to
see how careful these great men are to do every thing so as they may
answer it to the Parliament, thinking themselves safe in nothing but where
the judges, with whom they often advise, do say the matter is doubtful;
and so they take upon themselves then to be the chief persons to interpret
what is doubtful. Thence home, and all the evening to set matters in
order against my going to Brampton to-morrow, being resolved upon my
journey, and having the Duke of York's leave again to-day; though I do
plainly see that I can very ill be spared now, there being much business,
especially about this, which I have attended the Council about, and I the
man that am alone consulted with; and, besides, my Lord Brouncker is at
this time ill, and Sir W. Pen. So things being put in order | 1,630.386402 |
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Produced by Delphine Lettau, Mary | 1,630.681457 |
2023-11-16 18:44:14.7602210 | 537 | 10 |
Produced by Valentina, Sue Fleming, Carlo Traverso and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
The Devourers
By
A. Vivanti Chartres
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
A. VIVANTI CHARTRES.
TO MY WONDERCHILD
VIVIEN
TO READ WHEN SHE HAS WONDERCHILDREN OF HER OWN
PREFACE
There was a man, and he had a canary. He said, "What a dear little
canary! I wish it were an eagle." God said to him: "If you give your
heart to it to feed on, it will become an eagle." So the man gave his
heart to it to feed on. And it became an eagle, and plucked his eyes
out.
There was a woman, and she had a kitten. She said: "What a dear little
kitten! I wish it were a tiger." God said to her: "If you give your
life's blood to it to drink, it will become a tiger." So the woman gave
her life's blood to it to drink. And it became a tiger, and tore her to
pieces.
There was a man and a woman, and they had a child. They said: "What a
dear little child! We wish it were a genius."...
BOOK I
I
The baby opened its eyes and said: "I am hungry."
Nothing moved in the silent, shadowy room, and the baby repeated its
brief inarticulate cry. There were hurrying footsteps; light arms raised
it, and a laughing voice soothed it with senseless, sweet-sounding
words. Then its cheek was laid on a cool young breast, and all was tepid
tenderness and mild delight. Soon, on the wave of a light-swinging
breath, it drooped into sleep again.
* * * * *
Edith Avory had hurried home across the meadow from the children's party
at the vicarage, her pendant plaits flying, her straw hat aslant, and
now she entered the dining-room of the Grey House fluttered and
breathless.
"Have they come?" she asked of Florence, who | 1,630.780261 |
2023-11-16 18:44:14.7802040 | 424 | 15 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Juliet Sutherland and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: The naval battle between the Serapis and the Poor
Richard.]
[Illustration:
GRADED LITERATURE READERS
EDITED BY
HARRY PRATT JUDSON, LL.D.,
PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO
AND
IDA C. <DW12>
SUPERVISOR OF PRIMARY GRADES IN THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS OF BUFFALO, NEW
YORK
FOURTH BOOK
CHARLES E. MERRILL CO., PUBLISHERS]
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY
MAYNARD, MERRILL, & CO.
[24]
PREFACE
It is believed that the Graded Literature Readers will commend
themselves to thoughtful teachers by their careful grading, their sound
methods, and the variety and literary character of their subject-matter.
They have been made not only in recognition of the growing discontent
with the selections in the older readers, but also with an appreciation
of the value of the educational features which many of those readers
contained. Their chief points of divergence from other new books,
therefore, are their choice of subject-matter and their conservatism in
method.
A great consideration governing the choice of all the selections has
been that they shall interest children. The difficulty of learning to
read is minimized when the interest is aroused.
School readers, which supply almost the only reading of many children,
should stimulate a taste for good literature and awaken interest in a
wide range of subjects.
In the Graded Literature Readers good literature has been presented as
early as possible, and the classic tales and fables, to which constant
allusion is made in literature and daily life, are largely used.
Nature study has received due attention. The lessons on scientific
subjects, though necessarily simple at first, preserve always a strict
accuracy.
The careful drawings | 1,630.800244 |
2023-11-16 18:44:14.8593320 | 1,864 | 156 |
Produced by Roberta Staehlin, Mary Meehan 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.)
[Illustration]
MISS ELLIS'S MISSION.
BY MARY P. W. SMITH.
BOSTON:
AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION.
1886.
_Copyright, 1886_,
BY AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION.
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
TO
POST-OFFICE MISSION WORKERS,
WEST AND EAST,
AND TO EARNEST PEOPLE
EVERYWHERE.
"_It was a very contemptible barley-loaf she had to offer, compared
with your fine, white, wheaten cake of youth and riches and strength
and learning; but remember she offered her best freely, willingly,
faithfully; and when once a thing is offered, it is no longer the
little barley-loaf in the lad's hand, but the miraculous satisfying
Bread of Heaven in the hand of the Lord of the Harvest, more than
sufficient for the hungry multitude._"
* * * * *
"_'And so there is an end of poor Miss Toosey and her Mission!'...
Wait a bit! There is no waste in nature, science teaches us; neither
is there any in grace, says faith. We cannot always see the results,
but they are there as surely in grace as in nature._"
MISS TOOSEY'S MISSION.
MISS ELLIS'S MISSION.
This little sketch of Miss Ellis's life and work owes its first
suggestion to Rev. J. Ll. Jones, of Chicago, who soon after her death
wrote: "Why not try for a little memorial of her, to be accompanied with
some of the most touching and searching extracts from the letters both
received and written by her, and make it into a little booklet for the
instruction of Post Office Mission Workers?... Can you not make it
something as touching as 'Miss Toosey,' and far more practical,--that
is, for our own little household of faith?... We do not want it
primarily as a missionary tool, but as a wee fragment of the spiritual
history of the world,--something that will lift and touch the soul of
everybody.... In short, give us an enlightened Miss Toosey; her mission
being as much stronger as Sallie Ellis was more rational and mature than
the original 'Miss Toosey'!"
No one knowing Miss Ellis could read the touching little story of "Miss
Toosey's Mission" without being struck by a resemblance in the
characters, though a resemblance with a marked difference. As one said,
"I never saw her going up the church aisle Sundays, with her audiphone,
her little satchel, her bundle of books and papers, and her hymn-book,
without thinking of Miss Toosey." In both lives a seemingly powerless
and insignificant personality, through the force of a great yearning to
do a bit of God's work in the world, achieved its longing far beyond its
fondest dreams. As I read the many letters from all over the country
that have come since Miss Ellis's death, as I realize how the spiritual
force that burned in the soul of this small, feeble, seemingly helpless
woman reached out afar and touched many lives for their enduring
ennoblement, her life, so meagre and cramped in its outward aspect, so
vivid and intense within and on paper, seems to me not without a touch
of romance. To perpetuate a little longer the influence of that life is
the object of this sketch.
* * * * *
SALLIE ELLIS was born in Cincinnati, March 13, 1835. The old-fashioned
name Sallie, at that time popular in the South and West, was given her
in honor of an aunt. She disliked sailing under the false colors of
"Sarah." In letters she usually signed herself "S. Ellis," because, as
she explained to one correspondent, "I do not know myself as _Sarah_,
and Sallie is not dignified enough in writing to strangers; so I usually
prefer plain S." Late in life, however, for reasons of dignity, she
sometimes felt forced to adopt Sarah as what she called her "official
signature."
Her father, Mr. Rowland Ellis, was born in Boston, but while yet young
removed to Cincinnati, where he still lives in a vigorous and honored
old age. Although his mother, in all her later years at least, was a
devoted attendant upon Theodore Parker's services, Mr. Ellis in early
life was a Baptist. But when the Unitarian Church was founded at
Cincinnati, in 1830, his name appears among the organizers, of whom he
is almost the sole survivor. Of that church he has always been a devoted
supporter and constant attendant. He was a leading banker of the West,
and Sallie was born into one of the most elegant and luxurious homes in
Cincinnati. The Ellises kept open house, exercised the most generous
hospitality, and made, as one says who knew them well then, "such a
beautiful use of their money. The Ellises were just the people who
_ought_ to have money." Mrs. Ellis is described as a woman of unusual
loveliness of character. Out of the eight children, Sallie was thought
to be the mother's favorite, because, it was supposed, she was always
puny, shy, and delicate. "Sallie shall always have what she wants," said
the mother, "because she wants so little." But mothers _know_, and
undoubtedly the mother saw deeper than others into the rare spiritual
quality concealed from the world under her delicate child's quiet,
reserved exterior. Her older sister remembers of Sallie's childhood: "As
a very young child she exhibited strongly marked peculiarities of
character. Her affection, conscientiousness, piety, and love of duty
made her different from the rest of us as children. I remember well that
at home or at school there were never any rebukes for Sallie. Though
very social by nature, as young as at five and six years of age she
loved to be alone, and would sit in the corner of her mother's room,
with face turned to the corner, musing, and talking in a low tone to her
doll. When our father and mother would take the children to
entertainments of various descriptions, such as children enjoy, Sallie
would invariably express her preference to remain at home. If she
thought her parents wanted her to go, she went."
For some years Sallie attended the private school of Mrs. Anne Ryland,
an English Unitarian (a former parishioner, I think, of Rev. Laut
Carpenter, and connected by marriage with Rev. Brooke Herford), a lady
of noble character, and a teacher whose culture and methods were in
advance of her age. In a volume of poetry presented Sallie by this
teacher, is this inscription, whose old-fashioned quaintness of phrase
pictures for us the Sallie Ellis of thirteen, then, as always, faithful
to duty.
"Mrs. Ryland has been much gratified by the general deportment of
Miss Sallie Ellis since she has been under her charge. Miss Ellis
has evinced an evident desire to please, by a strict observance of
the rules of the school, and by assiduous and persevering attention
to all her studies. She has made improvement in them all fully
commensurate with her laudable endeavors, in Grammar, Geography,
and Orthography particularly. It is with unfeigned regret that Mrs.
Ryland has to add, to the foregoing expression of her approval of
her dear pupil's conduct, the last word,--Farewell."
Later, she attended the private school of Rev. William Silsbee, who says
of her, "She was always studious and well-behaved, one of the most
faithful of all my pupils." Mr. M. Hazen White, for so many years
superintendent of the Unitarian Sunday school, was also one of her
teachers. When seventeen, she was sent to Mrs. Charles Sedgwick's
school, in Lenox, Mass. A schoolmate describes her then as a quite
pretty, black-eyed girl, of delicate physique, a good and studious but
not brilliant scholar, very | 1,630.879372 |
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