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Produced by Daniel Fromont. HTML version by Al Haines.
[Transcriber's note: This is the third of a series of four novels by
Susan Warner, all of which are in the Project Gutenberg collection:
1. What She Could
2. Opportunities
3. The House in Town
4. Trading]
THE
HOUSE IN TOWN.
A Sequel to "Opportunities."
BY
THE AUTHOR OF
"THE WIDE WIDE WORLD."
"No man that warreth entangleth himself with the affairs of this life;
that he may please him who hath chosen him to be a soldier."--2 TIM.
ii. 4.
NEW YORK:
ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS,
530 BROADWAY.
1872.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
CAMBRIDGE:
PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON.
THE HOUSE IN TOWN.
CHAPTER I.
"Oh Norton! Oh Norton! do you know what has happened?"
Matilda had left the study and rushed out into the dining-room to tell
her news, if indeed it were news to Norton. She had heard his step.
Norton seemed in a preoccupied state of mind.
"Yes!" he said. "I know that confounded shoemaker has left something in
the heel of my boot which is killing me."
Matilda was not like some children. She could wait; and she waited,
while Norton pulled off his boot, made examinations into the interior,
and went stoutly to work with penknife and file. In the midst of it he
looked up, and asked,--
"What has happened to _you_, Pink?"
"Then don't you know yet, Norton?"
"Of course not. I would fine all shoemakers who leave their work in
such a slovenly state! If I didn't limp all the way from the bridge
here, it was because I wouldn't,--not because I wouldn't like to."
"Why not limp, if it saved your foot?" inquired Matilda.
"_You_ would, Pink, wouldn't you?"
"Why, yes; certainly I would."
"Well, you might," said Norton. "But did you ever read the story of the
Spartan boy and the fox?"
"No."
"He stole a fox," said Norton, working away at the inside of his boot,
which gave him some trouble.
"But you haven't stolen a fox."
"I should think not," said Norton. "The boy carried the fox home under
his cloak; and it was not a tame fox, Pink, by any means, and did not
like being.carried, I suppose; and it cut and bit and tore at the boy
all the while, under his cloak; so that by the time he got the fox
home, it had made an end of him."
"Why didn't he let the fox go?"
"Ah! why didn't he?" said Norton. "He was a boy, and he would have been
ashamed."
"And you would have been ashamed to limp in the street, Norton?"
"For a nail in my boot. What is a man good for, that can't stand
anything?"
"I should not have been ashamed at all."
"You're a girl," said Norton approvingly. "It is a different thing.
What is your news, Pink?"
"But Norton, I don't see why it is a different thing. Why should not a
woman be as brave as a man, and as strong,--in one way?"
"I suppose, because she is not as strong in the other way. She hasn't
got it to do, Pink, that's all. But a man, or a boy, that can't bear
anything without limping, is a muff; that's the whole of it."
"A muff's a nice thing," said Matilda laughing.
"Not if it's a boy," said Norton. "Go on with your news, Pink. What is
it?"
"I wonder if you know. Oh Norton, do you know what your mother and Mr.
Richmond have been talking about?"
"I wasn't there," said Norton. "If you were, you may tell me."
"I was not there. But Mr. Richmond has been talking to me about it.
Norton,"--and Matilda's voice sank,--"do you know, they have been
arranging, and your mother wishes it, that I should _stay_ with her?"
Matilda spoke the last words very softly, in the manner of one who
makes a communication of somewhat awful character; and in truth it had
a kind of awe for her. Evidently not for Norton. He had almost finished
his boot, and he kept on with his filing, as coolly as if what Matilda
said had no particular interest or novelty. She would have been
disappointed, but that she had caught one gleam from Norton's eye which
flashed like an electric spark. She just caught it, and then Norton
went on calmly,--
"I think that is a very sensible arrangement, Pink. I must say, it is
not the first time it has occurred to me."
"Then you knew it before?"
"I did not know they had settled it," said Norton, still coolly.
"But you knew it was talked about? O Norton! why didn't you tell me?"
Norton looked up, smiled, dropped his boot, and at once took his new
little sister in his arms and clasped her right heartily.
"What for should I tell you, Pink?" he said, kissing Matilda's eyes,
where the tears of that incipient disappointment had gathered.
"How could you _help_ telling me?"
"Ah, that is another thing," said Norton. "You couldn't have helped it,
could you?"
"But it is true now, Norton."
"Ay, it is true; and you belong to mamma and me now, Pink; and to
nobody else in the wide world. Isn't that jolly?"
"And to Mr. Richmond," Matilda added.
"Not a bit to Mr. Richmond; not a fraction," said Norton. "He may be
your guardian and your minister if you like; and I like him too; he's a
brick; but you belong to nobody in the whole world but mamma and me."
"Well, Norton," said Matilda, with a sigh of pleasure--"I'm glad."
"Glad!" said Norton. "Now come,--let us sit right down and see some of
the things we'll do."
"Yes. But no, Norton; I must get Mr. Richmond's supper. I shall not
have many times more to do that; Miss Redwood will be soon home, you
know."
"And we too, I hope. I declare, Pink, I believe you like getting
supper. Here goes! What is to do?"
"Nothing, for you, Norton."
"Kettle on?"
"On ages ago. You may see if it is boiling."
"How can an iron kettle boil? If you'll tell me that."
"Why, the water boils that is in it. The kettle is put for the water."
"And what right have you to put the kettle for the water? At that rate,
one might do all sorts of things--Now Pink, how can I tell if the water
boils? The steam is coming out of the nose."
"_That's_ no sign, Norton. Does it sing?"
"Sing!" said Norton. "I never learned kettle music. No, I don't think
it does. It bubbles; the water in it I mean."
Matilda came in laughing. "No," she said, "it has stopped singing; and
now it boils. The steam is coming out from under the cover. _That's_ a
sign. Now, Norton, if you like, you may make a nice plate of toast, and
I'll butter it. Mr. Richmond likes toast, and he is tired to-night, I
know."
"I can't make a plate," said Norton; "but I'll try for the toast. Is it
good for people that are tired?"
"Anything comfortable is, Norton."
"I wouldn't be a minister!" said Norton softly, as he carefully turned
and toasted the bread,--"I would not be a minister, for as much as you
could give me."
"Why, Norton? I think I would--if I was a man."
"He has no comfort of his life," said Norton. "This sort of a minister
doesn't have. He is always going, going; and running to see people that
want him, and stupid people too; he has to talk to them, all the same
as if they were clever, and put up with them; and he's always working
at his sermons and getting broken off. What comfort of his life does
Mr. Richmond have now? except when you and I make toast for him?"
"O Norton, I think he has a great deal."
"I don't see it."
Matilda stood wondering, and then smiled; the comfort of _her_ life was
so much just then. The slices of toast were getting brown and buttered,
and made a savory smell all through the kitchen; and now Matilda made
the tea, and the flowery fragrance of that added another item to what
seemed the great stock of pleasure that afternoon. As Miss Redwood had
once said, the minister knew a cup of good tea when he saw it; and it
was one of the few luxuries he ever took pains to secure; and the
sweetness of it now in the little parsonage kitchen was something very
delicious. Then Matilda went and put her head in at the study door.
"Tea is ready, Mr. Richmond."
But the minister did not immediately obey the summons, and the two
children stood behind their respective chairs, waiting. Matilda's face
was towards the western windows.
"Are you very miserable, Pink?" said Norton, watching her.
"I am so happy, Norton!"
"I want to get home now," said Norton, drumming upon his chair. "I want
you there. You belong to mamma and me, and to nobody else in the whole
world, Pink; do you know that?"
Except Mr. Richmond--was again in Matilda's thoughts; but she did not
say it this time. It was nothing against Norton's claim.
"Where _is_ the minister?" Norton went on. "You called him."
"O he has got some stupid body with him, keeping him from tea."
"That is what I said," Norton repeated. "I wouldn't live such a
life--not for money."
Mr. Richmond came however at this moment, looking not at all miserable;
glanced at the two happy faces with a bright eye; then for an instant
they were still, while the sweet willing words of prayer went up from
lips and heart to bless the board.
"What is it that you would not do for money, Norton?" Mr. Richmond
asked as he received his cup of tea.
Norton hesitated and coloured. Matilda spoke for him.
"Mr. Richmond, may we ask you something?"
"Certainly!" said the minister, with a quick look at the two faces.
"If you wouldn't think it wrong for us to ask.--Is the--I mean, do you
think,--the life of a minister is a very hard one?"
"So that is the question, is it?" said Mr. Richmond smiling. "Is Norton
thinking of taking the situation?"
"Norton thinks it cannot be a comfortable life, Mr. Richmond; and I
thought he was mistaken."
"What do you suppose a minister's business is, Norton? that is the
first consideration. You must know what a man has to do, before you can
judge whether it is hard to do it."
"I thought I knew, sir."
"Yes, I suppose so; but it don't follow that you do."
"I know part," said Norton. "A minister has to preach sermons, and
marry people, and baptize children, and read prayers at funerals and--"
"Go on," said Mr. Richmond.
"I was going to say, it seems to me, he has to talk to everybody that
wants to talk to him."
"How do you get along with that difficulty?" said Mr. Richmond. "It
attacks other people besides ministers."
"I dodge them," said Norton. "But a minister cannot,--can he, sir?"
Mr. Richmond laughed.
"Well, Norton," he said, "you have given a somewhat sketchy outline of
a minister's life; but my question remains yet,--what is the business
of his life. You would not say that planing and sawing are the business
of a carpenter's life--would you?"
"No, sir."
"What then?"
"Building houses, and ships, and barns, and bridges."
"And a tailor's life is not cutting and snipping, but making clothes.
So my commission is not to make sermons. What is it?"
Norton looked at a loss, and expectant; Matilda enjoying.
"The same that was given to the apostle Paul, and no worse. I am sent
to people 'to open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light,
and from the power of Satan to God, that they may receive forgiveness
of sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified.'"
"But I do not understand, Mr. Richmond," said Norton, after a little
pause.
"What?"
"If you will excuse me. I do not understand that. Can you open people's
eyes?"
"He who sends me does that, by means of the message which | 1,686.154259 |
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* * * * * * * * * * * * EBOOK EDITOR'S NOTE * * * * * * * * * * * **
* *
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Produced by Sue Asscher
THE DESCENT OF MAN
AND
SELECTION IN RELATION TO SEX
Works by Charles Darwin, F.R.S.
Life and Letters of Charles Darwin. With an Autobiographical Chapter.
Edited by Francis Darwin. Portraits. 3 volumes 36s. Popular Edition.
Condensed in 1 volume 7s 6d.
Naturalist's Journal of Researches into the Natural History and Geology of
Countries Visited during a Voyage Round the World. With 100 Illustrations
by Pritchett. 21s. Popular Edition. Woodcuts. 3s 6d. Cheaper Edition,
2s. 6d. net.
Origin of Species by means of Natural Selection; or, The Preservation of
Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life. Large Type Edition, 2 volumes
12s. Popular Edition, 6s. Cheaper Edition with Portrait, 2s. 6d.
Various Contrivances by which Orchids are Fertilized by Insects. Woodcuts.
7s. 6d.
Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication. Illustrations. 15s.
Descent of Man, and Selection in relation to Sex. Illustrations. Large
Type Edition, 2 volumes 15s. Popular Edition, 7s 6d. Cheaper Edition, 2s.
6d. net.
Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals. Illustrations. 12s.
Insectivorous Plants. Illustrations. 9s.
Movements and Habits of Climbing Plants. Woodcuts. 6s.
Cross and Self-Fertilization in the Vegetable Kingdom. Illustrations. 9s.
Different Forms of Flowers on Plants of the Same Species. Illustrations.
7s. 6d.
Formation of Vegetable Mould through the Action of Worms. Woodcuts. 6s.
The above works are Published by John Murray.
Structure and Distribution of Coral Reefs. Smith, Elder, & Co.
Geological Observations on Volcanic Islands and Parts of South America.
Smith, Elder, & Co.
Monograph of the Cirripedia. Illustrations. 2 volumes. 8vo. Ray
Society.
Monograph of the Fossil Lepadidae, or Pedunculated Cirripedes of Great
Britain. Palaeontographical Society.
Monograph of the Fossil Balanidae and Verrucidae of Great Britain.
Palaeontographical Society.
THE DESCENT OF MAN
AND
SELECTION IN RELATION TO SEX
BY
CHARLES DARWIN, M.A., F.R.S.
Uniform with this Volume
The Origin of Species, by means of Natural Selection; or, The Preservation
of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life. Popular Edition, with a
Photogravure Portrait. Large Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
A Naturalist's Voyage. Journal of Researches into the Natural History and
Geology of the Countries visited during the Voyage of H.M.S. "Beagle" round
the World, under the Command of Capt. Fitz Roy, R.N. Popular Edition, with
many Illustrations. Large Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
During the successive reprints of the first edition of this work, published
in 1871, I was able to introduce several important corrections; and now
that more time has elapsed, I have endeavoured to profit by the fiery
ordeal through which the book has passed, and have taken advantage of all
the criticisms which seem to me sound. I am also greatly indebted to a
large number of correspondents for the communication of a surprising number
of new facts and remarks. These have been so numerous, that I have been
able to use only the more important ones; and of these, as well as of the
more important corrections, I will append a list. Some new illustrations
have been introduced, and four of the old drawings have been replaced by
better ones, done from life by Mr. T.W. Wood. I must especially call
attention to some observations which I owe to the kindness of Prof. Huxley
(given as a supplement at the end of Part I.), on the nature of the
differences between the brains of man and the higher apes. I have been
particularly glad to give these observations, because during the last few
years several memoirs on the subject have appeared on the Continent, and
their importance has been, in some cases, greatly exaggerated by popular
writers.
I may take this opportunity of remarking that my critics frequently assume
that I attribute all changes of corporeal structure and mental power
exclusively to the natural selection of such variations as are often called
spontaneous; whereas, even in the first edition of the 'Origin of Species,'
I distinctly stated that great weight must be attributed to the inherited
effects of use and disuse, with respect both to the body and mind. I also
attributed some amount of modification to the direct and prolonged action
of changed conditions of life. Some allowance, too, must be made for
occasional reversions of structure; nor must we forget what I have called
"correlated" growth, meaning, thereby, that various parts of the
organisation are in some unknown manner so connected, that when one part
varies, so do others; and if variations in the one are accumulated by
selection, other parts will be modified. Again, it has been said by
several critics, that when I found that many details of structure in man
could not be explained through natural selection, I invented sexual
selection; I gave, however, a tolerably clear sketch of this principle in
the first edition of the 'Origin of Species,' and I there stated that it
was applicable to man. This subject of sexual selection has been treated
at full length in the present work, simply because an opportunity was here
first afforded me. I have been struck with the likeness of many of the
half-favourable criticisms on sexual selection, with those which appeared
at first on natural selection; such as, that it would explain some few
details, but certainly was not applicable to the extent to which I have
employed it. My conviction of the power of sexual selection remains
unshaken; but it is probable, or almost certain, that several of my
conclusions will hereafter be found erroneous; this can hardly fail to be
the case in the first treatment of a subject. When naturalists have become
familiar with the idea of sexual selection, it will, as I believe, be much
more largely accepted; and it has already been fully and favourably
received by several capable judges.
DOWN, BECKENHAM, KENT,
September, 1874.
First Edition February 24, 1871.
Second Edition September, 1874.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
PART I. THE DESCENT OR ORIGIN OF MAN.
CHAPTER I.
The Evidence of the Descent of Man from some Lower Form.
Nature of the evidence bearing on the origin of man--Homologous structures
in man and the lower animals--Miscellaneous points of correspondence--
Development--Rudimentary structures, muscles, sense-organs, hair, bones,
reproductive organs, etc.--The bearing of these three great classes of
facts on the origin of man.
CHAPTER II.
On the Manner of Development of Man from some Lower Form.
Variability of body and mind in man--Inheritance--Causes of variability--
Laws of variation the same in man as in the lower animals--Direct action of
the conditions of life--Effects of the increased use and disuse of parts--
Arrested development--Reversion--Correlated variation--Rate of increase--
Checks to increase--Natural selection--Man the most dominant animal in the
world--Importance of his corporeal structure--The causes which have led to
his becoming erect--Consequent changes of structure--Decrease in size of
the canine teeth--Increased size and altered shape of the skull--Nakedness
--Absence of a tail--Defenceless condition of man.
CHAPTER III.
Comparison of the Mental Powers of Man and the Lower Animals.
The difference in mental power between the highest ape and the lowest
savage, immense--Certain instincts in common--The emotions--Curiosity--
Imitation--Attention--Memory--Imagination--Reason--Progressive improvement
--Tools and weapons used by animals--Abstraction, Self-consciousness--
Language--Sense of beauty--Belief in God, spiritual agencies,
superstitions.
CHAPTER IV.
Comparison of the Mental Powers of Man and the Lower Animals--continued.
The moral sense--Fundamental proposition--The qualities of social animals--
Origin of sociability--Struggle between opposed instincts--Man a social
animal--The more enduring social instincts conquer other less persistent
instincts--The social virtues alone regarded by savages--The self-regarding
virtues acquired at a later stage of development--The importance of the
judgment of the members of the same community on conduct--Transmission of
moral tendencies--Summary.
CHAPTER V.
On the Development of the Intellectual and Moral Faculties during Primeval
and Civilised times.
Advancement of the intellectual powers through natural selection--
Importance of imitation--Social and moral faculties--Their development
within the limits of the same tribe--Natural selection as affecting
civilised nations--Evidence that civilised nations were once barbarous.
CHAPTER VI.
On the Affinities and Genealogy of Man.
Position of man in the animal series--The natural system genealogical--
Adaptive characters of slight value--Various small points of resemblance
between man and the Quadrumana--Rank of man in the natural system--
Birthplace and antiquity of man--Absence of fossil connecting-links--Lower
stages in the genealogy of man, as inferred firstly from his affinities and
secondly from his structure--Early androgynous condition of the Vertebrata
--Conclusion.
CHAPTER VII.
On the Races of Man.
The nature and value of specific characters--Application to the races of
man--Arguments in favour of, and opposed to, ranking the so-called races of
man as distinct species--Sub-species--Monogenists and polygenists--
Convergence of character--Numerous points of resemblance in body and mind
between the most distinct races of man--The state of man when he first
spread over the earth--Each race not descended from a | 1,686.156163 |
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Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Book cover]
THE
COXON FUND
BY HENRY JAMES
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
* * * * *
LONDON: MART | 1,686.162033 |
2023-11-16 18:45:10.1426320 | 381 | 22 |
Produced by eagkw, sp1nd and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
MASTERPIECES
IN COLOUR
EDITED BY - -
T. LEMAN HARE
ROSSETTI
1828--1882
"MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR" SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
TITIAN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
FRANZ HALS. ED | 1,686.162672 |
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THE
BLOSSOMS OF MORALITY;
INTENDED FOR THE
AMUSEMENT AND INSTRUCTION
OF
Young Ladies and Gentlemen.
BY THE EDITOR OF
THE LOOKING-GLASS FOR THE MIND.
WITH FORTY-SEVEN CUTS, DESIGNED AND ENGRAVED
BY
[Illustration: I. Bewick]
_THE FOURTH EDITION._
LONDON:
Printed by J. Swan, 76, Fleet Street,
FOR J. HARRIS; SCATCHERD AND LETTERMAN; B. CROSBY AND CO.
DARTON AND HARVEY; LACKINGTON, ALLEN, AND CO.
J. WALKER; AND VERNOR AND HOOD.
1806.
PREFACE.
The very flattering encouragement the Public have been pleased to give
"The Looking-glass for the Mind, or Intellectual Mirror," has invited
the Editor of that work to intrude once more on their indulgence. As
a general preceptor, he wishes to be useful to the rising generation,
and with that view recommends to their serious perusal "The Blossoms of
Morality."
The Looking-glass is a _very free_ translation of some of the most
interesting tales of Mons. Berquin, and other foreign writers, whose
works in the juvenile line undoubtedly merit the highest encomiums,
and claim the most extensive patronage of their fellow-citizens. It
certainly must be allowed, that great merit is due to those foreign
celebrated writers, who, after studying the higher branches of
literature, instead of attempting to acquire honour and fame by
delivering lectures on the abstruse sciences, have condescended to
humble themselves to the plain language of youth, in order to teach
them wisdom, virtue, and morality.
With respect to the present work, though we have not so largely
borrowed from foreign writers, yet we have endeavoured to supply that
deficiency by the introduction of original matter. The juvenile mind
very early begins to enlarge and expand, and is capable of reflection
much sooner than we are generally apt to imagine.
From these considerations, we have carried our ideas in this volume one
step higher than in the last: and, though we have given many tales that
may contribute to amuse the youthful mind, yet we have occasionally
introduced subjects which, we hope, will not fail to exercise their
judgment, improve their morals, and give them some knowledge of the
world.
For instance: in the History of Ernestus and Fragilis, which is the
first, and one of the original pieces inserted in this volume, the
youthful reader is led to reflect on the instability of all human
affairs; he is taught to be neither insolent in prosperity nor mean in
adversity; but is shown how necessary it is to preserve an equality of
temper through all the varying stages of fortune. He is also shown,
how dangerous are the indulgences of parents, who suffer children to
give themselves up to indolence and luxury, which generally, as in this
history, terminate in a manner fatal to all the parties concerned.
May these Blossoms of Morality, in due time, ripen to maturity, and
produce fruit that may be pleasing to the youthful taste, tend to
correct the passions, invigorate the mental faculties, and confirm in
their hearts true and solid sentiments of virtue, wisdom, and glory.
CONTENTS.
_Ernestus and Fragilis_ Page 7
_Juvenile Tyranny conquered_ 19
_The Book of Nature_ 28
_The unexpected Reformation_ 39
_The Recompence of Virtue_ 49
_The Pleasures of Contentment_ 58
_The happy Effects of Sunday Schools on the Morals of the
rising Generation_ 68
_The Happy Villager_ 76
_The Indolent Beauty_ 86
_An Oriental Tale_ 98
_Generosity rewarded_ 104
_An Evening Vision_ 109
_The Anxieties of Royalty_ 113
_The generous Punishment_ 124
_Female Courage properly considered_ 134
_The beautiful Statue_ 141
_Dorcas and Amarillis_ 156
_The Conversation_ 170
_Edwin and Matilda_ 188
_The pious Hermit_ 197
_The Caprice of Fortune_ 207
_The melancholy Effects of Pride_ 216
_The Nettle and the Rose_ 224
[Illustration]
_Ernestus and Fragilis._
The faint glimmerings of the pale-faced moon on the troubled billows
of the ocean are not so fleeting and inconstant as the fortune and
condition of human life. We one day bask in the sunshine of prosperity,
and the next, too often, roll in anguish on the thorny bed of adversity
and affliction. To be neither too fond of prosperity, nor too much
afraid of adversity, is one of the most useful lessons we have to learn
and practise in the extensive commerce of this world. Happy is the
youth | 1,686.361196 |
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THE ARRIVAL OF JIMPSON
BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR.
Each, 12mo, Cloth, Illustrated.
Weatherby's Inning.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.25 net; postage, 12 cents additional.
Behind the Line.
A Story of School and Football. $1.20 net; postage, 12 cents additional.
Captain of the Crew.
$1.20 net; postage, 12 cents additional.
For the Honor of the School.
A Story of School Life and Interscholastic Sport. $1.50.
The Half-Back.
A Story of School, Football, and Golf. $1.50.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
[Illustration: The captain was holding his head.]
THE
ARRIVAL OF JIMPSON
And Other Stories
for Boys about Boys
BY
RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
AUTHOR OF BEHIND THE LINE, WEATHERBY'S INNING,
ON YOUR MARK! ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
[Illustration]
New York
D. Appleton and Company
1904
Copyright, 1904, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published, September, 1904_
TO
H. D. R.
IN MEMORY OF THE
WINTER OF '98-'99
The following stories first appeared in St. Nicholas, The Youth's
Companion, Pearson's Magazine, and The Brown Book. To the editors
of these periodicals the author's thanks are due for permission to
republish the tales.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE ARRIVAL OF JIMPSON 1
BARCLAY'S BONFIRE 30
MARTY BROWN--MASCOT 42
PARMELEE'S "SPREAD" 75
"NO HOLDING" 96
CLASS SPIRIT 117
THE FATHER OF A HERO 136
THE HAZING OF SATTERLEE 2D 161
A PAIR OF POACHERS 185
BREWSTER'S DEBUT 209
"MITTENS" 234
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
The captain was holding his head. _Frontispiece_
Jimpson felt like an outcast, and looked like an Indian. 9
There was one kind of ball that Marty knew all about. 71
"Duty!" frothed Morris. 130
Tom moved the net toward the prey. 198
Ned trotted over the plate into the arms of "Big Jim" Milford. 232
THE ARRIVAL OF JIMPSON
Copyright, 1898, by THE CENTURY CO. All rights reserved.
I
THE DEPARTURE
The rain fell in a steady, remorseless drizzle upon the rain-coats
and umbrellas of the throng that blocked the sidewalks and overflowed
on to the car-tracks; but the fires of patriotism were unquenchable,
and a thousand voices arose to the leaden sky in a fierce clamor of
intense enthusiasm. It had rained all night. The streets ran water,
and the spouts emptied their tides between the feet of the cheerers.
The lumbering cars, their crimson sides glistening, clanged their way
carefully through the crowds, and lent a dash of color to the scene.
The back of Grays loomed cheerless and bleak through the drizzle, and
beyond, the college yard lay deserted. In store windows the placards
were hidden behind the blurred and misty panes, and farther up the
avenue, the tattered red flag above Foster's hung limp and dripping.
Under the leafless elm, the barge, filled to overflowing with departing
heroes, stood ready for its start to Boston. On the steps, bareheaded
and umbrellaless, stood Benham, '95, who, with outstretched and waving
arms, was tempting the throng into ever greater vocal excesses.
"Now, then, fellows! Three times three for Meredith."
"'Rah, 'rah, 'rah! 'rah, 'rah, 'rah! 'rah, 'rah, 'rah! Meredith!" A
thousand throats raised the cry; umbrellas clashed wildly in mid-air;
the crowd surged to and fro; horses curveted nervously; and the rain
poured down impartially upon the reverend senior and the clamorous
freshman.
"Fellows, you're not _half_ cheering!" cried the relentless Benham.
"Now, three long Harvards, three times three and three long Harvards
for the team."
"Har-vard, Har-vard, Har-vard! 'Rah, 'rah, 'rah! 'rah, 'rah, 'rah!
'rah, 'rah, 'rah! Har-vard, Har-vard, Har-vard! Team!"
Inside the coach there was a babel of voices. Members of the eleven
leaned out and conversed jerkily with friends on the sidewalk. Valises
and suit-cases were piled high in the aisle and held in the owners'
laps. The manager was checking off his list.
"Cowper?"
"Here."
"Turner?"
"All right."
"Truesdale?"
"Hey? Oh, yes; I'm here." The manager folded the list. Then a penciled
line on the margin caught his eye.
"Who's Jameson? Jameson here?"
"Should be Jimpson," corrected the man next to him; and a low voice
called from the far end of the barge:
"Here, sir." It sounded so much like the response of a schoolboy
to the teacher that the hearers laughed with the mirth begot of
tight-stretched nerves. A youth wearing a faded brown ulster, who
was between Gates, the big center, and the corner of the coach, grew
painfully red in the face, and went into retirement behind the big
man's shoulder.
"Who is this fellow Jimpson?" queried a man in a yellow mackintosh.
"Jimpson? He's a freshie. Trying for right half-back all fall. I
suppose Brattle took him along, now that Ward's given up, to substitute
Sills. They say he's an A 1 runner, and plucky. He's played some on the
second eleven. Taunton told me, the other day, that he played great
ball at Exeter, last year."
The strident strains of the Washington Post burst out on the air,
urging the cheerers to even greater efforts. They were cheering
indiscriminately now. Trainer, rubbers, and coaches had received their
shares of the ovation. But Benham, '95, with his coat soaked through,
was still unsatisfied, and sought for further tests. Two professors,
half hidden under umbrellas, had emerged from the yard, and were
standing at a little distance, watching the scene.
"Three times three for Professor Dablee!" The cheers that followed were
mixed with laughter, and the two professors moved off, but not until
the identity of the second had been revealed, and the air had filled
with the refrain of "'Rah, 'rah, 'rah! Pollock!"
"They look as though they ought to win; don't you think so?" asked one
of them.
The other professor frowned.
"Yes, they look like that; every eleven does. You'd think, to see them
before a game, that nothing short of a pile-driver or dynamite could
drive them an inch. And a few days later they return, heartbroken and
defeated."
Across the square floated a husky bellow:
"Now, then, fellows! Once more! All together! Three times three for
Harvard!"
The band played wildly, frenziedly, out of time and tune; the crowd
strained its tired throats for one last farewell slogan; the men in the
barge waved their hands; the horses jumped forward; a belated riser in
Holyoke threw open a front window, and drowsily yelled, "_Shut up_";
and the Harvard eleven sped on its way up the avenue, and soon became a
blur in the gray vista.
"Say, Bob, you forgot to cheer Jimpson."
The wearied youth faced his accuser, struck an attitude indicative of
intense despair, and then joyfully seized the opportunity.
"Fellows! Fellows! Hold on! Three times three for Jim--Jim--who'd you
say?"
"Jimpson," prompted the friend.
"Three times three for Jimpson! Now, then, all together!"
"Say--who _is_ Jimpson?" shouted a dozen voices at once.
"Don't know. Don't care. Three times three for Jimpson!"
And so that youth, had he but known it, received a cheer, after all.
But he didn't know it--at least, not until long afterward, when cheers
meant so much less to him.
II
A LETTER
NEW HAVEN, CONN., November 19.
DEAR MOTHER: I can imagine your surprise upon receiving a
letter from this place, when your dutiful son is supposed to be
"grinding" in No. 30 College House, Cambridge. And the truth is
that the dutiful son is surprised himself. Here am I, with some
thirty-five other chaps, making ready for the big football game
with Yale to-morrow. Here is how it happened:
Yesterday morning, Brattle--he's our captain--came to my room,
routed me out of bed, and told me to report to the coaches for
morning practise. You know, I've been trying for substitute
right half-back. Ward, the regular, sprained his knee in the
Dartmouth game, and a few days ago it went lame again. So now
Sills has Ward's place, and I'm to substitute Sills. And if he
gets laid out--and maybe I ought to hope he won't--I go in and
play. What do you think of that? Of course Sills may last the
entire game; but they say he has a weak back, only he won't own
up to it, and may have to give up after the first half. Gates
told me this on the train. Gates is the big center, and weighs
196. He is very kind, and we chummed all the way from Boston.
I didn't know any of the fellows, except a few by sight--just
enough to nod to, you know.
We left Cambridge in a driving rain, and a big crowd stood out
in it all, and cheered the eleven, and the captain, and the
college, and everything they could think of. Every fellow on
the first and second elevens, and every "sub" was cheered--all
except Mr. Jimpson. They didn't know of his existence! But
I didn't feel bad--not very, anyhow. I hope the rest of the
fellows didn't notice the omission, however. But I made up my
mind that if I get half a show, I'll make 'em cheer Jimpson,
too. Just let me get on the field. I feel to-night as though
I could go through the whole Yale team. Perhaps if I get out
there, facing a big Yale man, I'll not feel so strong.
You know, you've always thought I was big. Well, to-day I
overheard a fellow asking one of the men, "Who is that little
chap with the red cheeks?" I'm a <DW40> beside most of the
other fellows. If I play to-morrow, I'll be the lightest man on
the team, with the exception of Turner, our quarter-back, who
weighs 158. I beat | 1,686.366776 |
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MASTERPIECES
IN COLOUR
EDITED BY--
M. HENRY ROUJON
GOYA | 1,686.454782 |
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Produced by Ron Swanson
LITTLE CLASSICS
EDITED BY ROSSITER JOHNSON
STORIES OF FORTUNE
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
_The Riverside Press Cambridge_
1914
COPYRIGHT, 1875, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS.
THE GOLD-BUG......... _Edgar Allan Poe_
THE FAIRY-FINDER....... _Samuel Lover_
MURAD THE UNLUCKY ...... _Maria Edgeworth_
THE CHILDREN OF THE PUBLIC.. _Edward Everett Hale_
THE RIVAL DREAMERS...... _John Banim_
THE THREEFOLD DESTINY .... _Nathaniel Hawthorne_
THE GOLD-BUG.
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE.
What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad!
He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.
_All in the Wrong._
Many years ago I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. He
was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but a
series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To avoid the
mortification consequent upon his disasters, he left New Orleans, the
city of his forefathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan's
Island, near Charleston, South Carolina.
This island is a very singular one. It consists of little else than the
sea-sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth at no point
exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from the mainland by a
scarcely perceptible creek oozing its way through a wilderness of reeds
and slime, a favorite resort of the marsh-hen. The vegetation, as might
be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any magnitude
are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort Moultrie stands,
and where are some miserable frame buildings, tenanted, during summer,
by the fugitives from Charleston dust and fever, may be found, indeed,
the bristly palmetto; but the whole island, with the exception of this
western point, and a line of hard, white beach on the sea-coast, is
covered with a dense undergrowth of the sweet myrtle, so much prized by
the horticulturists of England. The shrub here often attains the height
of fifteen or twenty feet, and forms an almost impenetrable coppice,
burdening the air with its fragrance.
In the inmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern or
more remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small hut,
which he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made his
acquaintance. This soon ripened into friendship,--for there was much in
the recluse to excite interest and esteem. I found him well educated,
with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, and subject
to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. He had with
him many books, but rarely employed them. His chief amusements were
gunning and fishing, or sauntering along the beach and through the
myrtles, in quest of shells or entomological specimens;--his collection
of the latter might have been envied by a Swammerdam. In these
excursions he was usually accompanied by an old <DW64>, called Jupiter,
who had been manumitted before the reverses of the family, but who
could be induced, neither by threats nor by promises, to abandon what
he considered his right of attendance upon the footsteps of his young
"Massa Will." It is not improbable that the relatives of Legrand,
conceiving him to be somewhat unsettled in intellect, had contrived to
instil this obstinacy into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision and
guardianship of the wanderer.
The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom very
severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when a
fire is considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18--, there
occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset I
scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I
had not visited for several weeks,--my residence being, at that time,
in Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the island, while the
facilities of passage and re-passage were very far behind those of the
present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, and
getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted,
unlocked the door, and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the
hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threw
off an overcoat, took an arm-chair by the crackling logs, and awaited
patiently the arrival of my hosts.
Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome.
Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some
marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fits--how else shall I
term them?--of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown bivalve, forming a
new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted down and secured, with
Jupiter's assistance, a _scarabæus_ which he believed to be totally
new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion on the
morrow.
"And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze, and
wishing the whole tribe of _scarabæi_ at the devil.
"Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, "but it's so
long since I saw you; and how could I foresee that you would pay me a
visit this very night of all others? As I was coming home I met
Lieutenant G----, from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the
bug; so it will be impossible for you to see it until the morning. Stay
here to-night, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is the
loveliest thing in creation!"
"What?--sunrise?"
"Nonsense! no!--the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color,--about the
size of a large hickory-nut,--with two jet-black spots near one
extremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other. The
_antennæ_ are--"
"Dey aint _no_ tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a | 1,686.46046 |
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THE FATAL DOWRY
BY
PHILIP MASSINGER AND
NATHANIEL FIELD
EDITED, FROM THE ORIGINAL QUARTO,
WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
A DISSERTATION
PRESENTED TO THE
FACULTY OF PRINCETON UNIVERSITY
IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE
OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
BY
CHARLES LACY LOCKERT, JR.
ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, KENYON COLLEGE
PRESS OF
THE NEW ERA PRINTING COMPANY
LANCASTER, PA.
1918
Accepted by the Department of English, June, 1916
PREFACE
This critical edition of _The Fatal Dowry_ was undertaken as a Thesis
in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Ph.D. at
Princeton University. It was compiled under the guidance and direction
of Professor T. M. Parrott of that institution, and every page of
it is indebted to him for suggestion, advice, and criticism. I can
but inadequately indicate the scope of his painstaking and scholarly
supervision, and can even less adequately express my appreciation of
his ever-patient aid, which alone made this work possible.
I desire also to acknowledge my debt to Professor J. Duncan Spaeth
of Princeton University, for his valuable suggestions in regard to
the presentation of my material, notably in the Introduction; also to
Professor T. W. Baldwin of Muskingum College and Mr. Henry Bowman,
both of them then fellow graduate students of mine at Princeton, for
assistance on several occasions in matters of special inquiry; and to
Dr. M. W. Tyler of the Princeton Department of History for directing me
in clearing up a lego-historical point; and finally to the libraries of
Yale and Columbia Universities for their kind loan of needed books.
INTRODUCTION
In the Stationer's Register the following entry is recorded under the
date of "30th Martij 1632:"
CONSTABLE Entred for his copy vnder the hands of Sir HENRY HERBERT
and master _SMITHWICKE_ warden a Tragedy called _the ffatall
Dowry_. Vj d.
In the year 1632 was published a quarto volume whose title-page was
inscribed: _The Fatall Dowry_: a Tragedy: As it hath been often Acted
at the Private House in Blackfriars, by his Majesties Servants.
Written by P. M. and N. F. London, Printed by John Norton, for Francis
Constable, and are to be sold at his shop at the Crane, in Pauls
Churchyard. 1632.
That the initials by which the authors are designated stand for Philip
Massinger and Nathaniel Field is undoubted.
LATER TEXTS
There is no other seventeenth century edition of _The Fatal Dowry_. It
was included in various subsequent collections, as follows:
I. _The Works of Philip Massinger_--edited by Thomas Coxeter,
1759--re-issued in 1761, with an introduction by T. Davies.
II. _The Dramatic Works of Philip Massinger_--edited by John Monck
Mason, 1779.
III. _The Plays of Philip Massinger_--edited by William Gifford, 1805.
There was a revised second edition in 1813, which is still regarded as
the Standard Massinger Text, and was followed in subsequent editions of
Gifford.
IV. _Modern British Drama_--edited by Sir Walter Scott, 1811. The text
of this reprint of _The Fatal Dowry_ is Gifford's.
V. _Dramatic Works of Massinger and Ford_--edited by Hartley Coleridge,
1840 (_et seq._). This follows the text of Gifford.
VI. _The Plays of Philip Massinger._ From the Text of William Gifford.
With the Addition of the Tragedy Believe as You List. Edited by Francis
Cunningham, 1867 (_et seq._). The Fatal Dowry in this edition, as in
the preceding, is a mere reprint of the Second Edition of Gifford.
VII. _Philip Massinger._ Selected Plays. (Mermaid Series.) Edited by
Arthur Symons, 1887-9 (_et seq._).
In addition to the above, _The Fatal Dowry_ appeared in _The Plays of
Philip Massinger_, adapted for family reading and the use of young
persons, by the omission of objectionable passages,--edited by Harness,
1830-1; and another expurgated version was printed in the _Mirror of
Taste and Dramatic Censor_, 1810. Both of these are based on the text
of Gifford.
The edition of Coxeter is closest of all to the Quarto, following even
many of its most palpable mistakes, and adding some blunders on its
own account. Mason accepts practically all of Coxeter's corrections,
and supplies a great many more variants himself, not all of which are
very happy. Both these eighteenth century editors continually contract
for the sake of securing a perfectly regular metre (e. g.: _You're_
for _You are_, I, i, 139; _th' honours_ for _the honours_, I, ii, 35;
etc.), while Gifford's tendency is to give the full form for even the
contractions of the Quarto, changing its _'em's_ to _them's_, etc.
Gifford can scarce find words sharp enough to express his scorn for his
predecessors in their lack of observance of the text of the Quarto,
yet he himself frequently repeats their gratuitous emendations when
the original was a perfectly sure guide, and he has almost a mania for
tampering with the Quarto on his own account. Symons' _Mermaid_ text,
while based essentially on that of Gifford, in a number of instances
departs from it, sometimes to make further emendations, but more often
to go back from those of Gifford to the version of the original, so
that on the whole this is the best text yet published.
There has been a German translation by the Graf von Baudisson, under
the title of _Die Unselige Mitgift_, in his _Ben Jonson und seine
Schule_, Leipsig, 1836; and a French translation, in prose, under
the title of _La dot fatale_ by E. Lafond in _Contemporains de
Shakespeare_, Paris, 1864.
DATE
The date of the composition or original production of _The Fatal Dowry_
is not known. The Quarto speaks of it as having been "often acted," so
there is nothing to prevent our supposing that it came into existence
many years before its publication. It does not seem to have been
entered in Sir Henry Herbert's Office Book.[1] This would indicate its
appearance to have been prior to Herbert's assumption of the duties of
his office in August, 1623. In seeking a more precise date we can deal
only in probabilities.[2]
The play having been produced by the King's Men, a company in which
Field acted, it was most probably written during his association
therewith. This was formed in 1616; the precise date of his retirement
from the stage is not known. His name appears in the patent of March
27, 1619, just after the death of Burbage, and again and for the last
time in a livery list for his Majesty's Servants, dated May 19, 1619.
It is absent from the next grant for livery (1621) and from the actors'
lists for various plays which are assigned to 1619 or 1620. We may
therefore assume safely that his connection with the stage ended before
the close of 1619. On the basis of probability, then, the field is
narrowed to 1616-19.[3]
More or less presumptive evidence may be adduced for a yet more
specific dating. During these years that Field acted with the King's
Men, two plays appeared which bear strong internal evidence of being
products of his collaboration with Massinger and Fletcher: _The Knight
of Malta_ and _The Queen of Corinth_. While several parallels of
phraseology are afforded for _The Fatal Dowry_ by these (as, indeed, by
every one of the works of Massinger) they are not nearly so numerous
or so striking as similarities discoverable between it and certain
other dramas of the Massinger _corpus_. With none does the connection
seem so intimate as with _The Unnatural Combat_. Both plays open with
a scene in which a young suppliant for a father's cause is counseled,
in passages irresistibly reminiscent of each other, to lay aside pride
and modesty for the parent's sake, because not otherwise can justice
be gained, and it is the custom of the age to sue for it shamelessly.
Moreover, the offer by Beaufort and his associates to Malefort of any
boon he may desire as a recompense for his service, and his acceptance
of it, correspond strikingly in both conduct and language with the
conferring of a like favor upon Rochfort by the Court (I, ii, 258
ff.); while the request which Malefort prefers, that his daughter be
married to Beaufort Junior, and the language with which that young man
acknowledges this meets his own dearest wish, bear a no less patent
resemblance to the bestowal of Beaumelle upon Char | 1,686.461276 |
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E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, Julia Neufeld, and the Online
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generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/abolitioncrusade00herbrich
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
THE ABOLITION CRUSADE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
Four Periods of American History
by
HILARY A. HERBERT, LL.D.
New York
Charles Scribner's Sons
1912
Copyright, 1912, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
Published April, 1912
TO MY GRANDCHILDREN
THIS LITTLE BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
IN THE HOPE THAT ITS PERUSAL
WILL FOSTER IN THEM, AS CITIZENS OF THIS GREAT
REPUBLIC, A DUE REGARD FOR THE CONSTITUTION
OF THEIR COUNTRY
AS THE SUPREME LAW OF THE LAND
PREFATORY NOTE BY JAMES FORD RHODES
"Livy extolled Pompey in such a panegyric that Augustus called him
Pompeian, and yet this was no obstacle to their friendship." That we
find in Tacitus. We may therefore picture to ourselves Augustus reading
Livy's "History of the Civil Wars" (in which the historian's republican
sympathies were freely expressed), and learning therefrom that there
were two sides to the strife which rent Rome. As we are more than
forty-six years distant from our own Civil War, is it not incumbent on
Northerners to endeavor to see the Southern side? We may be certain that
the historian a hundred years hence, when he contemplates the lining-up
of five and one-half million people against twenty-two millions, their
equal in religion, morals, regard for law, and devotion to the common
Constitution, will, as matter of course, aver that the question over
which they fought for four years had two sides; that all the right was
not on one side and all the wrong on the other. The North should
welcome, therefore, accounts of the conflict written by candid Southern
men.
Mr. Herbert, reared and educated in the South, believing in the moral
and economical right of slavery, served as a Confederate soldier during
the war, but after Appomattox, when thirty-one years old, he told his
father he had arrived at the conviction that slavery was wrong. Twelve
years later, when home-rule was completely restored to the South (1877),
he went into public life as a Member of Congress, sitting in the House
for sixteen years. At the end of his last term, in 1893, he was
appointed Secretary of the Navy by President Cleveland, whom he
faithfully served during his second administration.
Such an experience is an excellent training for the treatment of any
aspect of the Civil War. Mr. Herbert's devotion to the Constitution, the
Union, and the flag now equals that of any soldier of the North who
fought against him. We should expect therefore that his work would be
pervaded by practical knowledge and candor.
After a careful reading of the manuscript I have no hesitation in saying
that the expectation is realized. Naturally unable to agree entirely
with his presentation of the subject, I believe that his work exhibits a
side that entitles it to a large hearing. I hope that it will be placed
before the younger generation, who, unaffected by any memory of the heat
of the conflict, may truly say:
Tros Tyriusve, mihi nullo discrimine agetur.
JAMES FORD RHODES.
BOSTON, _November_, 1911.
PREFACE
In 1890 Mr. L. E. Chittenden, who had been United States Treasurer under
President Lincoln, published an interesting account of $10,000,000
United States bonds secretly sent to England, as he said, in 1862, and
he told all about what thereupon took place across the water. It was a
reminiscence. General Charles Francis Adams in his recent instructive
volume, "Studies Military and Diplomatic," takes up this narrative and,
in a chapter entitled "An Historical Residuum," conclusively shows from
contemporaneous evidence that the bonds were sent, not in 1862, but in
1863, but that, as for the rest of the story, the residuum of truth in
it was about like the speck of moisture that is left when a soap bubble
is pricked by a needle.
General Adams did not mean that Mr. Chittenden knew he was drawing on
his imagination. He was only demonstrating that one who intends to
write history cannot rely on his memory.
The author, in the following pages, is undertaking to write a connected
story of events that happened, most of them, in his lifetime, and as to
many of the most important of which he has vivid recollections; but,
save in one respect, he has not relied upon his own memory for any
important fact. The picture he has drawn of the relations between the
slave-holder and non-slave-holder in the South is, much of it, given as
he recollects it. His opportunities for observation were somewhat
extensive, and here he is willing to be considered in part as a witness.
Elsewhere he has relied almost entirely upon contemporaneous written
evidence, memory, however, often indicating to him sources of
information.
Nowhere are there so many valuable lessons for the student of American
history as in the story of the great sectional movement of 1831, and of
its results, which have profoundly affected American conditions through
generation after generation.
An effort is here made to tell that story succinctly, tracing it, step
after step, from cause to effect. The subject divides itself naturally
into four historic periods:
1. The anti-slavery crusade, 1831 to 1860.
2. Secession and four years of war, 1861 to 1865.
3. Reconstruction under the Lincoln-Johnson plan, with the overthrow by
Congress of that plan and the rule of the <DW64> and carpet-bagger, from
1865 to 1876.
4. Restoration of self-government in the South, and the results that
have followed.
The greater part of the book is devoted to the first period--1831 to
1860, the period of causation. The sequences running through the three
remaining periods are more briefly sketched.
Italics, throughout the book, it may be mentioned here, are the
author's.
Now that the country is happily reunited in a Union which all agree is
indissoluble, the South wants the true history of the times here treated
of spread before its children; so does the North. The mistakes that were
committed on both sides during that lamentable and prolonged sectional
quarrel (and they were many) should be known of all, in order that like
mistakes may not be committed in the future. The writer has, with
diffidence, attempted to lay the facts before his readers, and so to
condense the story that it may be within the reach of the ordinary
student. How far he has succeeded will be for his readers to say. The
verdict he ventures to hope for is that he has made an honest effort to
be fair.
The author takes this occasion to thank that accomplished young teacher
of history, Mr. Paul Micou, for valuable suggestions, and his friend,
Mr. Thomas H. Clark, who with his varied attainments has aided him in
many ways.
HILARY A. HERBERT.
WASHINGTON, D. C., _March_, 1912.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION 3
I. SECESSION AND ITS DOCTRINE 15
II. EMANCIPATION PRIOR TO 1831 37
III. THE NEW ABOLITIONISTS 56
IV. FEELING IN THE SOUTH--1835 77
V. ANTI-ABOLITION AT THE NORTH 84
VI. A CRISIS AND A COMPROMISE 93
VII. EFFORTS FOR PEACE 128
VIII. INCOMPATIBILITY OF SLAVERY AND FREEDOM 147
IX. FOUR YEARS OF WAR 180
X. RECONSTRUCTION, LINCOLN-JOHNSON PLAN AND CONGRESSIONAL 208
XI. THE SOUTH UNDER SELF-GOVERNMENT 229
INDEX 245
THE ABOLITION CRUSADE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
INTRODUCTION
The Constitution of the United States attempts to define and limit the
power of our Federal Government.
Lord Brougham somewhere said that such an instrument was not worth the
parchment it was written on; people would pay no regard to self-imposed
limitations on their own will.
When our fathers by that written Constitution established a government
that was partly national and partly federal, and that had no precedent,
they knew it was an experiment. To-day that government has been in
existence one hundred and twenty-three years, and we proudly claim that
the experiment of 1789 has been the success of the ages.
Happy should we be if we could boast that, during all this period, the
Constitution had never been violated in any respect!
The first palpable infringement of its provisions occurred in the
enactment of the alien and sedition laws of 1798. The people at the
polls indignantly condemned these enactments, and for years thereafter
the government proceeded peacefully; the people were prosperous, and the
Union and the Constitution grew in favor.
Later, there grew up a rancorous sectional controversy about slavery
that lasted many years; that quarrel was followed by a bloody sectional
war; after that war came the reconstruction of the Southern States.
During each of these three trying eras it did sometimes seem as if that
old piece of "parchment," derided by Lord Brougham, had been utterly
forgotten. Nevertheless, and despite all these trying experiences, we
have in the meantime advanced to the very front rank of nations, and our
people have long since turned, not only to the Union, but, we are happy
to think, to the Constitution as well, with more devotion than ever.
It may be further said that, notwithstanding all the bitter animosities
that for long divided our country into two hostile sections, that
wonderful old Constitution, handed down to us by our fathers, was
always, and in all seasons, in the hearts of our people, and that never
for a moment was it out of mind. Even in our sectional war Confederates
and Federals were both fighting for it--one side to maintain it over
themselves as an independent nation; the other to maintain it over the
whole of the old Union. In the very madness of reconstruction the
fundamental idea of the Constitution, the equality of the States,
ultimately prevailed--this idea it was that imperatively demanded the
final restoration of the seceded States, with the right of
self-government unimpaired.
The future is now bright before us. The complex civilization of the
present is, we do not forget, continually presenting new and complex
problems of government, and we are mindful, too, that, for the people
who must deal with these problems, a higher culture is required, but to
all this our national and State governments seem to be fully alive. We
are everywhere erecting memorials to our patriotic dead, we have our
"flag day" and many ceremonies to stimulate patriotism, and, throughout
our whole country, young Americans are being taught more and more of
American history and American traditions.
The essence of these teachings presumably is that time has hallowed our
Constitution, and that experience has fully shown the wisdom of its
provisions. In this land of ours, where there are so much property and
so many voters who want it, and where the honor and emoluments of high
place are so tempting to the demagogue, there can be no such security
for either life, liberty, or property as those safeguards which our
fathers devised in the Constitution of the United States.
Our teachers of history must therefore expose fearlessly every violation
in the past of our Constitution, and point out the penalties that
followed; and, above all, they cannot afford to condone, or to pass by
in silence, the conduct of those who have heretofore advocated, or acted
on, any law which to them was _higher than the American Constitution_.
One of the most serious troubles in the past, many think our greatest,
was our terrible war among ourselves. Perhaps, after the lapse of nearly
fifty years, we can all now agree that if our people and our States had
always, between 1830 and 1860, faithfully observed the Federal
Constitution we should have not had that war. However that may be, the
crusade of the Abolitionists, which began in 1831, was the beginning of
an agitation in the North against the existence of slavery in the South,
which continued, in one form or another, until the outbreak of that war.
The <DW64> is now located, geographically, much as he was then. If
another attempt shall be made to project his personal status into
national politics, the voters of the country ought to know and consider
the mistakes that occurred, North and South, during the unhappy era of
that sectional warfare. This little book is a study of that period of
our history. It concludes with a glance at the war between the North and
South, and the reconstruction that followed.
The story of Cromwell and the Great Revolution it was impossible for any
Englishman to tell correctly for nearly or quite two centuries. The
changes that had been wrought were too profound, too far-reaching; and
English writers were too human. The changes--economic, political, and
social--wrought in our country by the great controversy over slavery and
State-rights, and by the war that ended it, have been quite as profound,
and the revolution in men's ideas and ways of looking at their past
history has been quite as complete as those which followed the downfall
of the government founded by Cromwell. But we are now in the twentieth
century; history is becoming a science, and we ought to succeed better
in writing our past than the Englishmen did.
The culture of this day is very exacting in its demands, and if one is
writing about our own past the need of fairness is all the more
imperative. And why not? The masses of the people, who clashed on the
battlefields of a war in which one side fought for the supremacy of the
Union and the other for the sovereignty of the States, had honest
convictions; they differed in their convictions; they had made honest
mistakes about each other; now they would like their histories to tell
just where those mistakes were; they do not wish these mistakes to be
repeated hereafter. Nor is there any reason why the whole history of
that great controversy should not now be written with absolute fairness;
the two sections of our country have come together in a most wonderful
way. There has been reunion after reunion of the blue and the gray. The
surv | 1,686.554205 |
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Transcriber's Note
This Plain Text version uses characters from the Latin-1 character set
only. Italic typeface is indicated by the use of _underscores_. Small
caps typeface is rendered as ALL CAPS.
There is one instance of an oe-ligature symbol which is shown as [oe].
Footnotes are numbered sequentially and are presented at the end of the
e-book.
* * * * *
A CHAPTER OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
A
CHAPTER OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
BY
THE RIGHT HON. W. E. GLADSTONE.
"Blame not, before thou hast examined the truth: understand
first, and then rebuke."--ECCLESIASTICUS, ch. ii.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1868.
_The right of Translation is reserved._
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, DUKE STREET, STAMFORD
STREET, AND CHARING CROSS.
INTRODUCTION.
At a time when the Established Church of Ireland is on her trial, it is
not unfair that her assailants should be placed upon their trial too:
most of all, if they have at one time been her sanguine defenders.
But if not the matter of the indictment against them, at any rate that
of their defence, should be kept apart, as far as they are concerned,
from the public controversy, that it may not darken or perplex the
greater issue.
It is in the character of the author of a book called 'The State in
its Relations with the Church,' that I offer these pages to those who
may feel a disposition to examine them. They were written at the date
attached to them; but their publication has been delayed until after
the stress of the General Election.
A CHAPTER OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
Autobiography is commonly interesting; but there can, I suppose, be
little doubt that, as | 1,686.560983 |
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CHRISTINA OF DENMARK
DUCHESS OF MILAN AND LORRAINE
1522-1590
[Illustration: _Christina, Duchess of Milan_]
CHRISTINA OF DENMARK
DUCHESS OF MILAN AND
LORRAINE
1522-1590
BY JULIA CARTWRIGHT
(MRS. ADY)
AUTHOR OF "ISABELLA D'ESTE," "BALDASSARRE CASTIGLIONE,"
"THE PAINTERS OF FLORENCE," ETC.
"Dieu, qu'il la fait bon regarder,
La gracieuse, bonne et belle!
Pour les grans biens qui sont en elle,
Chacun est prest de la louer.
Qui se pourrait d'elle lasser?
Toujours sa beauté renouvelle.
Dieu, qu'il la fait bon regarder,
La gracieuse, bonne et belle!
Par deça, ne delà la mer,
Ne sçay Dame ne Damoiselle
Qui soit en tous biens parfais telle;
C'est un songe que d'y penser,
Dieu, qu'il la fait bon regarder!"
CHARLES D'ORLÉANS
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
1913
PREFACE
Christina of Denmark is known to the world by Holbein's famous portrait
in the National Gallery. The great Court painter, who was sent to
Brussels by Henry VIII. to take the likeness of the Emperor's niece,
did his work well. With unerring skill he has rendered the "singular
good countenance," the clear brown eyes with their frank, honest gaze,
the smile hovering about "the faire red lips," the slender fingers of
the nervously clasped hands, which Brantôme and his royal mistress,
Catherine de' Medici, thought "the most beautiful hands in the world."
And in a wonderful way he has caught the subtle charm of the young
Duchess's personality, and made it live on his canvas. What wonder
that Henry fell in love with the picture, and vowed that he would
have the Duchess, if she came to him without a farthing! But for all
these brave words the masterful King's wooing failed. The ghost of his
wronged wife, Katherine of Aragon, the smoke of plundered abbeys, and
the blood of martyred friars, came between him and his destined bride,
and Christina was never numbered in the roll of Henry VIII.'s wives.
This splendid, if perilous, adventure was denied her. But many strange
experiences marked the course of her chequered life, and neither beauty
nor virtue could save her from the shafts of envious Fortune. Her
troubles began from the cradle. When she was little more than a year
old, her father, King Christian II., was deposed by his subjects, and
her mother, the gentle Isabella of Austria, died in exile of a broken
heart. She lost her first husband, Francesco Sforza, at the end of
eighteen months. Her second husband, Francis Duke of Lorraine, died in
1545, leaving her once more a widow at the age of twenty-three. Her
only son was torn from her arms while still a boy by a foreign invader,
Henry II., and she herself was driven into exile. Seven years later she
was deprived of the regency of the Netherlands, just when the coveted
prize seemed within her grasp, and the last days of her existence were
embittered by the greed and injustice of her cousin, Philip II.
Yet, in spite of hard blows and cruel losses, Christina's life was
not all unhappy. The blue bird--the symbol of perpetual happiness in
the faery lore of her own Lorraine--may have eluded her grasp, but
she filled a great position nobly, and tasted some of the deepest and
truest of human joys. Men and women of all descriptions adored her, and
she had a genius for friendship which survived the charms of youth and
endured to her dying day. A woman of strong affections and resolute
will, she inherited a considerable share of the aptitude for government
that distinguished the women of the Habsburg race. Her relationship
with Charles V. and residence at the Court of Brussels brought her
into close connection with political events during the long struggle
with France, and it was in a great measure due to her exertions that
the peace which ended this Sixty Years' War was finally concluded at
Câteau-Cambrésis in 1559.
Holbein's Duchess, it is evident, was a striking figure, and her
life deserves more attention than it has hitherto received. Brantôme
honoured her with a place in his gallery of fair ladies, and the sketch
which he has drawn, although inaccurate in many details, remains true
in its main outlines. But with this exception Christina's history has
never yet been written. The chief sources from which her biography
is drawn are the State Archives of Milan and Brussels, supplemented
by documents in the Record Office, the Bibliothèque Nationale, the
Biblioteca Zelada near Pavia, and the extremely interesting collection
of Guise letters in the Balcarres Manuscripts, which has been preserved
in the Advocates' Library at Edinburgh. | 1,686.654766 |
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MEN, WOMEN, AND BOATS
By Stephen Crane
Edited With an Introduction by Vincent Starrett
NOTE
A Number of the tales and sketches here brought together appear now for
the first time between covers; others for the first time between covers
in this country. All have been gathered from out-of-print volumes and
old magazine files.
"The Open Boat," one of Stephen Crane's finest stories, is used with
the courteous permission of Doubleday, Page & Co., holders of the
copyright. Its companion masterpiece, "The Blue Hotel," because of
copyright complications, has had to be omitted, greatly to the regret
of the editor.
After the death of Stephen Crane, a haphazard and undiscriminating
gathering of his earlier tales and sketches appeared in London under
the misleading title, "Last Words." From this volume, now rarely met
with, a number of characteristic minor works have been selected, and
these will be new to Crane's American admirers; as follows: "The
Reluctant Voyagers," "The End of the Battle," "The Upturned Face," "An
Episode of War," "A Desertion," "Four Men in a Cave," "The Mesmeric
Mountain," "London Impressions," "The Snake."
Three of our present collection, printed by arrangement, appeared in
the London (1898) edition of "The Open Boat and Other Stories,"
published by William Heinemann, but did not occur in the American
volume of that title. They are "An Experiment in Misery," "The Duel
that was not Fought," and "The Pace of Youth."
For the rest, "A Dark Brown Dog," "A Tent in Agony," and "The Scotch
Express," are here printed for the first time in a book.
For the general title of the present collection, the editor alone is
responsible.
V. S.
MEN, WOMEN AND BOATS
CONTENTS
STEPHEN CRANE: _An Estimate_
THE OPEN BOAT
THE RELUCTANT VOYAGERS
THE END OF THE BATTLE
THE UPTURNED FACE
AN EPISODE OF WAR
AN EXPERIMENT IN MISERY
THE DUEL THAT WAS NOT FOUGHT
A DESERTION
THE DARK-BROWN DOG
THE PACE OF YOUTH
SULLIVAN COUNTY SKETCHES
A TENT IN AGONY
FOUR MEN IN A CAVE
THE MESMERIC MOUNTAIN
THE SNAKE
LONDON IMPRESSIONS
THE SCOTCH EXPRESS
STEPHEN CRANE: _AN ESTIMATE_
It hardly profits us to conjecture what Stephen Crane might have
written about the World War had he lived. Certainly, he would have been
in it, in one capacity or another. No man had a greater talent for war
and personal adventure, nor a finer art in describing it. Few writers
of recent times could so well describe the poetry of motion as
manifested in the surge and flow of battle, or so well depict the
isolated deed of heroism in its stark simplicity and terror.
To such an undertaking as Henri Barbusse's "Under Fire," that powerful,
brutal book, Crane would have brought an analytical genius almost
clairvoyant. He possessed an uncanny vision; a descriptive ability
photographic in its clarity and its care for minutiae--yet
unphotographic in that the big central thing often is omitted, to be
felt rather than seen in the occult suggestion of detail. Crane would
have seen and depicted the grisly horror of it all, as did Barbusse,
but also he would have seen the glory and the ecstasy and the wonder of
it, and over that his poetry would have been spread.
While Stephen Crane was an excellent psychologist, he was also a true
poet. Frequently his prose was finer poetry than his deliberate essays
in poesy. His most famous book, "The Red Badge of Courage," is
essentially a psychological study, a delicate clinical dissection of
the soul of a recruit, but it is also a _tour de force_ of the
imagination. When he wrote the book he had never seen a battle: he had
to place himself in the situation of another. Years later, when he came
out of the Greco-Turkish _fracas_, he remarked to a friend: "'The Red
Badge' is all right."
Written by a youth who had scarcely passed his majority, this book has
been compared with Tolstoy's "Sebastopol" and Zola's "La Debacle," and
with some of the short stories of Ambrose Bierce. The comparison with
Bierce's work is legitimate; with the other books, I think, less so.
Tolstoy and Zola see none of the traditional beauty of battle; they
apply themselves to a devoted--almost obscene--study of corpses and
carnage generally; and they lack the American's instinct for the rowdy
commonplace, the natural, the irreverent, which so materially aids his
realism. In "The Red Badge of Courage" invariably the tone is kept down
where one expects a height: the most heroic deeds are accomplished with
studied awkwardness.
Crane was an obscure free-lance when he wrote this book. The effort, he
says, somewhere, "was born of pain--despair, almost." It was a better
piece of work, however, for that very reason, as Crane knew. It is far
from flawless. It has been remarked that it bristles with as many
grammatical errors as with bayonets; but it is a big canvas, and I am
certain that many of Crane's deviations from the rules of polite
rhetoric were deliberate experiments, looking to effect--effect which,
frequently, he gained.
Stephen Crane "arrived" with this book. There are, of course, many who
never have heard of him, to this day, but there was a time when he was
very much talked of. That was in the middle nineties, following
publication of "The Red Badge of Courage," although even before that he
had occasioned a brief flurry with his weird collection of poems called
"The Black Riders and Other Lines." He was highly praised, and highly
abused and laughed at; but he seemed to be "made." We have largely
forgotten since. It is a way we have.
Personally, I prefer his short stories to his novels and his poems;
those, for instance, contained in "The Open Boat," in "Wounds in the
Rain," and in "The Monster." The title-story in that first collection
is perhaps his finest piece of work. Yet what is it? A truthful record
of an adventure of his own in the filibustering days that preceded our
war with Spain; the faithful narrative of the voyage of an open boat,
manned by a handful of shipwrecked men. But Captain Bligh's account of
_his_ small boat journey, after he had been sent adrift by the
mutineers of the _Bounty_, seems tame in comparison, although of the
two the English sailor's voyage was the more perilous.
In "The Open Boat" Crane again gains his effects by keeping down the
tone where another writer might have attempted "fine writing" and have
been lost. In it perhaps is most strikingly evident the poetic cadences
of his prose: its rhythmic, monotonous flow is the flow of the gray
water that laps at the sides of the boat, that rises and recedes in
cruel waves, "like little pointed rocks." It is a desolate picture, and
the tale is one of our greatest short stories. In the other tales that
go to make up the volume are wild, exotic glimpses of Latin-America. I
doubt whether the color and spirit of that region have been better
rendered than in Stephen Crane's curious, distorted, staccato sentences.
"War Stories" is the laconic sub-title of "Wounds in the Rain." It was
not war on a grand scale that Crane saw in the Spanish-American
complication, in which he participated as a war correspondent; no such
war as the recent horror. But the occasions for personal heroism were
no fewer than always, and the opportunities for the exercise of such
powers of trained and appreciative understanding and sympathy as Crane
possessed, were abundant. For the most part, these tales are episodic,
reports of isolated instances--the profanely humorous experiences of
correspondents, the magnificent courage of signalmen under fire, the
forgotten adventure of a converted yacht--but all are instinct with the
red fever of war, and are backgrounded with the choking smoke of
battle. Never again did Crane attempt the large canvas of "The Red
Badge of Courage." Before he had seen war, he imagined its immensity
and painted it with the fury and fidelity of a Verestchagin; when he
was its familiar, he singled out its minor, crimson passages for
briefer but no less careful delineation.
In this book, again, his sense of the poetry of motion is vividly
evident. We see men going into action, wave on wave, or in scattering
charges; we hear the clink of their accoutrements and their breath
whistling through their teeth. They are not men going into action at
all, but men going about their business, which at the moment happens to
be the capture of a trench. They are neither heroes nor cowards. Their
faces reflect no particular emotion save, perhaps, a desire to get
somewhere. They are a line of men running for a train, or following a
fire engine, or charging a trench. It is a relentless picture, ever
changing, ever the same. But it contains poetry, too, in rich,
memorable passages.
In "The Monster and Other Stories," there is a tale called "The Blue
Hotel". A Swede, its | 1,686.756306 |
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THEO.
_A SPRIGHTLY LOVE STORY._
BY MRS. FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT
AUTHOR OF "KATHLEEN," "PRETTY POLLY PEMBERTON," "LINDSAY'S LUCK," "IN
CONNECTION WITH THE DE WILLOUGHBY CLAIM," "THE MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS,"
"THE METHODS OF LADY WALDERHURST," ETC.
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1877
By T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS.
MRS. BURNETT'S NOVELETTES.
_Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett is one of the most charming among American
writers. There is a crisp and breezy freshness about her delightful
novelettes that is rarely found in contemporaneous fiction, and a close
adherence to nature, as well, that renders them doubly delicious. Of all
Mrs. Burnett's romances and shorter stories those which first attracted
public attention to her wonderful gifts are still her best. She has done
more mature work, but never anything half so pleasing and enjoyable.
These masterpieces of Mrs. Burnett's genius are all love stories of the
brightest, happiest and most entertaining description; lively, cheerful
love stories in which the shadow cast is infinitesimally small compared
with the stretch of sunlight; and the interest is always maintained at
full head without apparent effort and without resorting to the
conventional and hackneyed devices of most novelists, devices that the
experienced reader sees through at once. No more sprightly novel than
"Theo" could be desired, and a sweeter or more beautiful romance than
"Kathleen" does not exist in print, while "Pretty Polly Pemberton"
possesses besides its sprightliness a special interest peculiar to
itself, and "Miss Crespigny" would do honor to the pen of any novelist,
no matter how celebrated. "Lindsay's Luck," "A Quiet Life," "The Tide on
the Moaning Bar" and "Jarl's Daughter" are all worthy members of the
same collection of Mrs. Burnett's earlier, most original, best and
freshest romances. Everybody should read these exceptionally bright,
clever and fascinating novelettes, for they occupy a niche by themselves
in the world's literature and are decidedly the most agreeable, charming
and interesting books that can be found anywhere._
CONTENTS.
I. PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY
II. THE ARRIVAL
III. THE MEETING
IV. THEO'S DIARY
V. THE SEPARATION
VI. THEO GOES TO PARIS
VII. "PARTING IS SWEET SORROW"
VIII. THEO'S FIRST TROUBLE
IX. WHAT COMES OF IT ALL
"THEO."
CHAPTER I.
PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY.
A heavy curtain of yellow fog rolled and drifted over the waste of
beach, and rolled and drifted over the sea, and beneath the curtain the
tide was coming in at Downport, and two pair of eyes were watching it.
Both pair of eyes watched it from the same place, namely, from the
shabby sitting-room of the shabby residence of David North, Esq.,
lawyer, and both watched it without any motive, it seemed, unless that
the dull gray waves and their dull moaning were not out of accord with
the watchers' feelings. One pair of eyes--a youthful, discontented black
pair--watched it steadily, never turning away, as their owner stood in
the deep, old-fashioned window, with both elbows resting upon the broad
sill; but the other pair only glanced up now and then, almost furtively,
from the piece of work Miss Pamela North, spinster, held in her slender,
needle-worn fingers.
There had been a long silence in the shabby sitting-room for some
time--and there was not often silence there. Three rampant,
strong-lunged boys, and as many talkative school-girls, made the house
of David North, Esq., rather a questionable paradise. But to-day, being
half-holiday, the boys were out on the beach digging miraculous
sand-caves, and getting up miraculous piratical battles and excursions
with the bare-legged urchins so numerous in the fishermen's huts; and
Joanna and Elinor had been absent all day, so the room left to Theo and
her elder sister was quiet for once.
It was Miss Pamela herself who broke the stillness. "Theo," she said,
with some elder-sister-like asperity, "it appears to me that you might
find something better to do than to stand with your arms folded, as you
have been doing for the last half hour. There is a whole basketful of
the boys' socks that need mending and--"
"Pam!" interrupted Theo, desperately, turning over her shoulder a face
more like the face of some young Spanish gipsy than that of a poor
English solicitor's daughter. "Pam, I should really like to know if life
is ever worth having, if everybody's life is like ours, or if there are
really such people as we read of in books."
"You have been reading some ridiculous novel again," said Pamela,
sententiously. "If you would be a little more sensible, and less
romantic, Theodora, it would be a great deal better for all of us. What
have you been reading?"
The capable gipsy face turned to the window again half-impatiently.
"I have been reading nothing to-day," was the answer. "I should think
you knew that--on Saturday, with everything to do, and the shopping to
attend to, and mamma scolding every one because the butcher's bill can't
be paid. I was reading Jane Eyre, though, last night. Did you ever read
Jane Eyre, Pamela?"
"I always have too much to do in attending to my duty," said Pamela,
"without wasting my time in that manner. I should never find time to
read Jane Eyre in twenty years. I wish I could."
"I wish you could, too," said Theo, meditatively. "I wish there was no
such thing as duty. Duty always appears to me to be the very thing we
don't want to do."
"Just at present, it is your duty to attend to those socks of Ralph and
Arthur's," put in Pamela, dryly. "Perhaps you had better see to it at
once, as tea will be ready soon, and you will have to cut bread for the
children."
The girl turned away from the window with a sigh. Her discussions on
subjects of this | 1,686.761011 |
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Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
CHARLES AUCHESTER
VOLUME I.
[Illustration: MENDELSSOHN
FROM AN ORIGINAL PORTRAIT--1821.]
CHARLES AUCHESTER
BY
ELIZABETH SHEPPARD
_WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES_
BY GEORGE P. UPTON
AUTHOR OF "THE STANDARD OPERAS," "STANDARD ORATORIOS," "STANDARD
CANTATAS," "STANDARD SYMPHONIES," "WOMAN IN MUSIC," ETC.
In Two Volumes
VOLUME I.
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY
1891
COPYRIGHT,
BY A. C. MCCLURG AND CO.
A.D. 1891.
INTRODUCTION.
The romance of "Charles Auchester," which is really a memorial to
Mendelssohn, the composer, was first published in England in 1853. The
titlepage bore the name of "E. Berger," a French pseudonym, which for
some time served to conceal the identity of the author. Its motto was
a sentence from one of Disraeli's novels: "Were it not for Music, we
might in these days say, The Beautiful is dead." The dedication was
also to the same distinguished writer, and ran thus: "To the author of
'Contarini Fleming,' whose perfect genius suggested this imperfect
history." To this flattering dedication, Mr. Disraeli replied in a
note to the author: "No greater book will ever be written upon music,
and it will one day be recognized as the imaginative classic of that
divine art."
Rarely has a book had a more propitious introduction to the public;
but it was destined to encounter the proverbial fickleness of that
public. The author was not without honor save in her own country. It
was reserved for America first to recognize her genius. Thence her
fame travelled back to her own home; but an early death prevented her
from enjoying the fruits of her enthusiastic toil. Other works
followed from her busy pen, among them "Counterparts,"--a
musico-philosophical romance, dedicated to Mrs. Disraeli, which had a
certain success; "Rumor," of which Beethoven, under the name of
Rodomant, is supposed to have been the hero; "Beatrice Reynolds,"
"The Double Coronet," and "Almost a Heroine:" but none of them
achieved the popularity which "Charles Auchester" enjoyed. They shone
only by the reflected light of this wonderful girl's first book. The
republication of this romance will recall to its readers of an earlier
generation an old enthusiasm which may not be altogether lost, though
they may smile as they read and remember. It should arouse a new
enthusiasm in the younger generation of music-lovers.
Elizabeth Sheppard, the author of "Charles Auchester," was born at
Blackheath, near London, in 1837. Her father was a clergyman of the
Established Church, and her mother a Jewess by descent,--which serves
to account for the daughter's strong Jewish sympathies in this
remarkable display of hero-worship. Left an orphan at a tender age,
she was thrown upon her own resources, and chose school-teaching for
her profession. She was evidently a good linguist and musician, for
she taught music and the languages before she was sixteen. She had
decided literary ambition also, and wrote plays, poems, and short
stories at an age when other children are usually engaged in pastimes.
Notwithstanding the arduous nature of her work and her exceedingly
delicate health, she devoted her leisure hours to literary
composition. How this frail girl must have toiled is evidenced by the
completion of "Charles Auchester" in her sixteenth year. In her
seventeenth she had finished "Counterparts,"--a work based upon a
scheme even more ambitious than that of her first story. When it is
considered that these two romances were written at odd moments of
leisure intervening between hours of wearing toil in the school-room,
and that she was a mere child and very frail, it will be admitted that
the history of literary effort hardly records a parallel case. Nature
however always exacts the penalty for such mental excesses. This
little creature of "spirit, fire, and dew" died on March 13, 1862, at
the early age of twenty-five.
Apart from its intrinsic merits as a musical romance, there are some
features of "Charles Auchester" of more than ordinary interest. It is
well known that Seraphael, its leading character, is the author's
ideal of Mendelssohn, and that the romance was intended to be a
memorial of him. More thoroughly to appreciate the work, and not set
it down as mere rhapsody, it must be remembered that Miss Sheppard
wrote it in a period of Mendelssohn worship in England as ardent and
wellnigh as universal as the Handel worship of the previous century
had been. It was written in 1853. Mendelssohn had been dead but six
years, and his name was still a household word in every English
family. He was adored, not only for his musical genius, but also for
his singular purity of character. He was personally as well known in
England as any native composer. His Scotch Symphony and Hebrides
Overture attested his love of Scotch scenery. He had conducted
concerts in the provinces; he appeared at concerts in London in 1829
and in subsequent years, and was the idol of the drawing-rooms of that
day. Some of his best works were written on commissions from the
London Philharmonic Society. He conducted his "Lobgesang" at
Birmingham in 1840, and he produced his immortal "Elijah" in the same
town in 1846,--only a year before his death. There were numerous ties
of regard, and even of affection, binding him to the English people.
From a passing remark in the course of the romance, we learn that it
opens about the year 1833, when Mendelssohn was in his prime; and as
it closes with his death, it thus covers a period of fourteen
years,--the most brilliant and productive part of his life.
Curious critics of "Charles Auchester" have found close resemblances
between its characters and other musicians. There is good reason to
believe that Starwood Burney was intended for Sterndale Bennett, not
only from the resemblance of the names in sound and meaning, but also
from many other events common to each. It requires, however, some
stretch of the imagination to believe that Charles Auchester was
intended as a portrait of Joachim the violinist; that Aronach, the
teacher at the St. Cecilia School, was meant for Zelter; Clara Benette
for Jenny Lind; and Laura Lemark for Taglioni. It is altogether likely
that the author in drawing these characters had the types in mind, and
without intending to produce a parallel or to preserve anything like
synchronism, invested them with some of the characteristics of the
real persons, all of whom, it may be added, except Taglioni, were
intimately associated with Mendelssohn.
All this lends the charm of human interest to the book; but, after
all, it is the author's personality that invests it with its rare
fascination. It would not bear searching literary criticism;
fortunately, no one has been so ungracious as to apply it. It is more
to the purpose to remember that here is a young girl of exquisite
refinement, rare intellectuality, and the most overwhelming
enthusiasm, who has written herself into her work with all her girlish
fancies, her great love for the art, | 1,686.763283 |
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THE WORKS OF KATHLEEN NORRIS
POOR, DEAR MARGARET KIRBY AND OTHER STORIES
VOLUME III
This book is Jim's,--this page shall bear
Its witness to my love for him.
Best of small brothers anywhere,
Who would not do as much for Jim?
CONTENTS
POOR, DEAR MARGARET KIRBY
BRIDGING THE YEARS
THE TIDE-MARSH
WHAT HAPPENED TO ALANNA
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ALANNA
"S IS FOR SHIFTLESS SUSANNA"
THE | 1,686.765216 |
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produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
[The chapters in the original book pass from CHAPTER FIVE to CHAPTER
SEVEN; there is no chapter numbered SIX. A list of typographical errors
corrected follows the etext. (note of etext transcriber)]
UNDER COVER
[Illustration: HE FOUND DENBY'S GUN UNDER HIS NOSE.
Frontispiece. _See page 266_.]
UNDER COVER
BY
ROI COOPER MEGRUE
NOVELIZED BY WYNDHAM MARTYN
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
WILLIAM KIRKPATRICK
[Illustration]
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1914
_Copyright_, _1914_,
BY ROI COOPER MEGRUE AND
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Published August, 1914
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
HE FOUND DENBY'S GUN UNDER HIS NOSE _Frontispiece_
HE TURNED TO AMY. "YOUNG WOMAN, YOU'RE UNDER ARREST" PAGE 105
"DO MAKE ANOTHER BREAK SOMETIME, WON'T YOU--DICK?" 186
"NOW WE UNDERSTAND ONE ANOTHER," HE SAID. "HERE'S YOUR MONEY" 288
UNDER COVER
CHAPTER ONE
Paris wears her greenest livery and puts on her most gracious airs in
early summer. When the National Fete commemorative of the Bastille's
fall has gone, there are few Parisians of wealth or leisure who remain
in their city. Trouville, Deauville, Etretat and other pleasure cities
claim them and even the bourgeoisie hie them to their summer villas.
The city is given up to those tourists from America and England whom
Paris still persists in calling _Les Cooks_ in memory of that
enterprising blazer of cheap trails for the masses. Your true Parisian
and the stranger who has stayed within the city's gates to know her
well, find themselves wholly out of sympathy with the eager crowds who
follow beaten tracks and absorb topographical knowledge from
guide-books.
Monty Vaughan was an American who knew his Paris in all months but those
two which are sacred to foreign travelers, and it irritated him one
blazing afternoon in late July to be persistently mistaken for a tourist
and offered silly useless toys and plans of the Louvre. The _camelots_,
those shrewd itinerant merchants of the Boulevards, pestered him
continually. These excellent judges of human nature saw in him one who
lacked the necessary harshness to drive them away and made capital of
his good nature.
He was a slim, pleasant-looking man of five and twenty, to whom the good
things of this world had been vouchsafed, with no effort on his part to
obtain them; and in spite of this he preserved a certain frank and
boyish charm which had made him popular all his life.
Presently on his somewhat aimless wanderings he came down the Avenue de
l'Opera and took a seat under the awning and ordered an innocuous drink.
He was in a city where he had innumerable friends, but they had all left
for the seashore and this loneliness was unpleasant to his friendly
spirit. But even in the Cafe de Paris he was not to be left alone and he
was regarded as fair game by alert hawkers. One would steal up to his
table and deposit a little measure of olives and plead for two sous in
exchange. Another would place some nuts by his side and demand a like
amount. And when they had been driven forth and he had lighted a
cigarette, he observed watching him with professional eagerness a
_ramasseur de megot_, one of those men who make a livelihood of picking
up the butts of cigars and cigarettes and selling them.
When Monty flung down the half-smoked cigarette in hope that the man
would go away he was annoyed to find that the fellow was congratulating
himself that here was a tourist worth following, who smoked not the
wispy attenuated cigarettes of the native but one worth harvesting. He
probed for it with his long stick under the table and stood waiting for
another.
The heat, the absence of his friends and the knowledge that he must
presently dine alone had brought the usually placid Monty into a wholly
foreign frame of mind and he rose abruptly and stalked down the Avenue.
A depressed-looking sandwich-man, bearing a device which read, "One can
laugh uproariously at the Champs Elysees every night during the summer
months," blocked his way, and permitted a woman selling fans of the kind
known to the _camelots_ as _les petits vents du nord_ to thrust one upon
him. "Monsieur does not comprehend our heat in Paris," she said. "Buy a
little north wind. Two sous for a little north wind."
Monty thrust a franc in her hand and turned quickly from her to carom
against a tall well-dressed man who was passing. As Monty began to utter
his apology the look of gloom dropped from his face and he seized the
stranger's hand and shook it heartily.
"Steve, old man!" he cried, "what luck to find you amid this mob! I've
been feeling | 1,686.766406 |
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Produced by David Widger
MYTHS AND LEGENDS
OF
OUR OWN LAND
By
Charles M. Skinner
Vol. 8.
ON THE PACIFIC <DW72>
CONTENTS:
The Voyager of the Whulge
Tamanous of Tacoma
The Devil and the Dalles
Cascades of the Columbia
The Death of Umatilla
Hunger Valley
The Wrath of Manitou
The Spook of Misery Hill
The Queen of Death Valley
Bridal Veil Fall | 1,686.858036 |
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire. This book was produced from
scanned images of public domain material from the Internet
Archive.
[Illustration: Book Cover]
NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PEMBROKESHIRE.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE ROOD SCREEN ST. DAVIDS CATHEDRAL]
[Illustration: NOOKS & CORNERS OF PEMBROKESHIRE.
DRAWN & DESCRIBED BY
H. THORNHILL TIMMINS, F.R.C.S.
AUTHOR of
NOOKS & CORNERS OF HEREFORDSHIRE
LONDON:
ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
1895.]
PREFACE.
The kindly reception accorded to my 'Nooks and Corners of Herefordshire,'
both by the public and the press, has encouraged me (where, indeed,
encouragement was little needed) to set forth anew upon my sketching
rambles, and explore the Nooks and Corners of Pembrokeshire.
In chronicling the results of these peregrinations, I feel that I owe
some apology to those whose knowledge of the Shire of Pembroke is far
more thorough and intimate than my own, and upon whose preserves I may
fairly be accused of poaching. I venture to plead, in extenuation, an
inveterate love for exploring these unfrequented byways of my native
land, and for searching out and sketching those picturesque old
buildings that lend such a unique interest to its sequestered nooks and
corners.
Pembrokeshire is rich in these relics of a bygone time, but for one
reason or another they do not appear to have received the attention they
certainly deserve. Few counties can boast anything finer of their kind
than the mediaeval castles of Pembroke, Manorbere and Carew; while St.
Davids Cathedral and the ruined Palace of its bishops, nestling in their
secluded western vale, form a scene that alone is worth a visit to
behold. No less remarkable in their way are the wonderful old crosses,
circles and cromlechs, which remind the traveller of a vanished race as
he tramps the broad fern-clad uplands of the Precelly Hills. It is a
notable fact that 'he who runs may read,' in the diversified character
of its place-names, an important and interesting chapter of
Pembrokeshire history. The south-western portion of the county, with the
Saxon 'tons' of its Teutonic settlers, is as English as Oxfordshire, and
hence has acquired the title of 'Little England beyond Wales.' On the
other hand, the northern and eastern districts are as Welsh as the heart
of Wales; and there, as the wayfarer soon discovers for himself, the
mother-tongue of the Principality is the only one 'understanded of the
people.'
Although Pembrokeshire cannot pretend to lay claim to such striking
scenery as the North Wallian counties display, yet its wind-swept
uplands and deep, secluded dingles have a character all their own; while
the loftier regions of the Precelly Hills, and the broken and varied
nature of the seaboard, afford many a picturesque prospect as the
traveller fares on his way.
In compiling the following notes I have availed myself of Fenton's
well-known work on Pembrokeshire, and of the writings of George Owen of
Henllys; I have consulted the records of that prolific chronicler,
Gerald de Barri; Bevan's 'History of the Diocese of St. Davids; and
Jones and Freeman's exhaustive work on St. Davids Cathedral; besides
various minor sources of local information which need not be specified
here.
In conclusion, I take this opportunity to tender my sincere thanks to
those friends and acquaintances whose ready help and advice so greatly
facilitated my task, while at the same time enhancing the pleasure of
these sketching rambles amidst the Nooks and Corners of Pembrokeshire.
H. THORNHILL TIMMINS.
_Harrow_, 1895.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
A GENERAL SURVEY. THE KING'S TOWN OF TENBY 1
ROUND ABOUT THE RIDGEWAY 23
MANORBERE CASTLE, AND GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS 41
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REMINISCENCES OF SERVICE
WITH THE
FIRST VOLUNTEER REGIMENT
OF GEORGIA,
CHARLESTON HARBOR, IN 1863.
AN ADDRESS
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
GEORGIA HISTORICAL SOCIETY,
MARCH 3, 1879 | 1,687.154299 |
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ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING
by Mark Twain [Sameul Clemens]
ESSAY, FOR DISCUSSION, READ AT A MEETING OF THE HISTORICAL
AND ANTIQUARIAN CLUB OF HARTFORD, AND OFFERED FOR THE
THIRTY-DOLLAR PRIZE.[*]
[*] Did not take the prize.
Observe, I do not mean to suggest that the _custom_ of lying has
suffered any decay or interruption--no, for the Lie, as a Virtue, A
Principle, is eternal; the Lie, as a recreation, a solace, a refuge in
time of need, the fourth Grace, the tenth Muse, man's best and surest
friend, is immortal, and cannot perish from the earth while this club
remains. My complaint simply concerns the decay of the _art_ of lying.
No high-minded man, no man of right feeling, can contemplate the
lumbering and slovenly lying of the present day without grieving to see
a noble art so prostituted. In this veteran presence I naturally enter
upon this theme with diffidence; it is like an old maid trying to teach
nursery matters to the mothers in Israel. It would not become to me to
criticise you, gentlemen--who are nearly all my elders--and my
superiors, in this thing--if I should here and there _seem_ to do it, I
trust it will in most cases be more in a spirit of admiration than
fault-finding; indeed if this finest of the fine arts had everywhere
received the attention, the encouragement, and conscientious practice
and development which this club has devoted to it, I should not need to
utter this lament, or shed a single tear. I do not say this to flatter:
I say it in a spirit of just and appreciative recognition. [It had been
my intention, at this point, to mention names and to give illustrative
specimens, but indications observable about me admonished me to beware
of the particulars and confine myself to generalities.]
No fact is more firmly established than that lying is a necessity of our
circumstances--the deduction that it is then a Virtue goes without
saying. No virtue can reach its highest usefulness without careful and
diligent cultivation--therefore, it goes without saying that this one
ought to be taught in the public schools--even in the newspapers. What
chance has the ignorant uncultivated liar against the educated expert?
What chance have I against Mr. Per--against a lawyer? _Judicious_ lying
is what the world needs. I sometimes think it were even better and safer
not to lie at all than to lie injudiciously. An awkward, unscientific
lie is often as ineffectual as the truth.
Now let us see what the philosophers say. Note that venerable proverb:
Children and fools _always_ speak the truth. The deduction is plain
--adults and wise persons _never_ speak it. Parkman, the historian, says,
"The principle of truth may itself be carried into an absurdity." In
another place in the same chapters he says, "The saying is old that
truth should not be spoken at all times; and those whom a sick
conscience worries into habitual violation of the maxim are imbeciles
and nuisances." It is strong language, but true. None of us could _live_
with an habitual truth-teller; but thank goodness none of us has to. An
habitual truth-teller is simply an impossible creature; he does not
exist; he never has existed. Of course there are people who _think_ they
never lie, but it is not so--and this ignorance is one of the very
things that shame our so-called civilization. Everybody lies--every day;
every hour; awake; asleep; in his dreams; in his joy; in his mourning;
if he keeps his tongue still, his hands, his feet, his eyes, his
attitude, will convey deception--and purposely. Even in sermons--but
that is a platitude.
In a far country where I once lived the ladies used to go around paying
calls, under the humane and kindly pretence of wanting to see each
other; and when they returned home, they would cry out with a glad
voice, saying, "We made sixteen calls and found fourteen of | 1,687.158081 |
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THE ELEVENTH HOUR
JULIA WARD HOWE
From a Drawing by John Elliott
The Eleventh Hour
in the Life of
Julia Ward Howe
BY
MAUD HOWE
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1911
Copyright, 1911,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
All rights reserved
Published, October, 1911
Printers
S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S.
AD MATREM
The acorns are again ripe on your oaks, the leaves of your nut tree
begin to turn gold, the fruit trees you planted a lustre since, droop
with their weight of crimson fruit, the little grey squirrels leap
nimbly from bough to bough busily preparing for winter’s siege. The
air is fragrant with the perfume of wild grape, joyous with the voices
of children passing to the white school house on the hill. The earth
laughs with the joy of the harvest. What thank offering can I bring for
this year that has not yet taught me how to live without you? Only this
sheaf of gleanings from your fields!
OAK GLEN, September, 1911.
FOREWORD
This slight and hasty account of some of my mother’s later activities
was written to read to a small group of friends with whom I wished
to share the lesson of the Eleventh Hour of a life filled to the end
with the joy of toil. More than one of my hearers asked me to print
what I had read them, in the belief that it would be of value to that
larger circle of her friends, the public. Such a request could not be
refused.
THE ELEVENTH HOUR
IN THE LIFE OF
JULIA WARD HOWE
My mother’s diary for 1906, her eighty-seventh year, opens with this
entry:
“I pray for many things this year. For myself, I ask continued
health of mind and body, work, useful, honorable and as remunerative
as it shall please God to send. For my dear family, work of the
same description with comfortable wages, faith in God, and love to
each other. For my country, that she may keep her high promise to
mankind, for Christendom, that it may become more Christlike, for the
struggling nationalities, that they may attain to justice and peace.”
Not vain the prayer! Health of mind and body was granted, work, useful,
honorable, if not very remunerative, was hers that year and nearly five
years more, for she lived to be ninety-one and a half years old. When
Death came and took her, he found her still at work. Hers the fate of
the happy warrior who falls in thick of battle, his harness on his back.
How did she do it?
Hardly a day passes that I am not asked the question!
Shortly before her death, she spoke of the time when she would no
longer be with us--an almost unheard-of thing for her to do. We turned
the subject, begged her not to dwell on it.
“Yes!” she laughed with the old flash that has kindled a thousand
audiences, “it’s not my business to think about dying, it’s my business
to think about living!”
This thinking about living, this tremendous vitality had much to do
with her long service, for the important thing of course was not
that she lived ninety-one years, but that she worked for more than
ninety-one years, never became a cumberer of the earth, paid her scot
till the last. She never knew the pathos of doing old-age work, such
as is provided in every class for those inveterate workers to whom
labor is as necessary as bread or breath. The old ploughman sits by the
wayside breaking stones to mend the road others shall travel over;
the old prima donna listens to her pupils’ triumphs; the old statesman
gives after-dinner speeches, or makes himself a nuisance by speaking or
writing, _ex cathedra_, on any question that needs airing, whether it
is his subject or not; she did good, vigorous work till the end, in her
own chosen callings of poet and orator. What she produced in her last
year was as good in quality as any other year’s output. The artist in
her never stopped growing; indeed, her latest work has a lucidity, a
robust simplicity, that some of the earlier writings lack.
In the summer of 1909 she was asked to write a poem on Fulton for the
Fulton-Hudson celebration. Ever better than her word, she not only
wrote the poem, but recited it in the New York Metropolitan Opera House
on the evening of September 9th. Those who saw her, the only woman amid
that great gathering of representative men from all over the world,
will not forget the breathless silence of that vast audience as she
came forward, leaning on her son’s arm, and read the opening lines:
A river flashing like a gem,
Crowned with a mountain diadem,--
or the thunders of applause that followed the last lines:
While pledge of Love’s assured control,
The Flag of Freedom crowns the pole.
The poem had given her a good deal of trouble, the last couplet in
especial. The morning of the celebration, when I went into Mrs. Seth
Low’s spare bedroom to wake her, she cried out:
“I have got my last verse!”
She was much distressed that the poem appeared in Collier’s without
the amended closing lines. The fault was mine; I had arranged with the
editor Mr. Hapgood for its publication. She had done so much “free
gratis” work all her life that it seemed fitting this poem should at
least earn her, her travelling expenses.
“Let this be a lesson,” she said, “never print a poem or a speech till
it has been delivered; always give the eleventh hour its chance!”
It may be interesting here to recall that the Atlantic Monthly paid her
five dollars for the Battle Hymn of the Republic, the only money she
ever received for it.
Her power of keeping abreast of the times is felt in the Fulton poem,
where she rounds out her eulogy of Fulton’s invention of the steamboat
with a tribute to Peary. Only a few days before the news of our latest
arctic triumph had flashed round the world, her world, whose business
was her business as long as she lived in it; so into the fabric of the
poem in honor of Fulton, she weaves an allusion to this new victory.
On her ninety-first birthday a reporter from a Boston paper asked her
for a motto for the women of America. She was sitting on the little
balcony outside her town house, reading her Greek Testament, when the
young man was announced. She closed her book, thought for a moment,
then gave the motto that so well expressed herself:
“Up to date!”
Was there ever anything more characteristic?
In December, 1909, the last December she was to see, she wrote a poem
called “The Capitol,” for the first meeting of the American Academy
of Arts and Letters at Washington. The poem, published in the Century
Magazine for March, 1910, is as good as any she ever wrote, with one
exception--the Battle Hymn; and that, as she has told us, “wrote
itself.” She had arranged to go to Washington to read her poem before
the Association. Though we feared the winter journey for her, she was
so bent on going that I very reluctantly agreed to accompany her. A
telegram, signed by William Dean Howells, Robert Underwood Johnson, and
Thomas Nelson Page, all officers of the Association, urging her not to
take the risk of so long a journey in winter, induced her to give up
the trip. She was rather nettled by the kindly hint and flashed out:
“Hah! they think that I am too old, but there’s a little ginger left in
the old blue jar!”
She never thought of herself as old, therefore she never was really
old in the essentials. Her iron will, her indomitable spirit, held her
frail body to its duty till the very end.
“Life is like a cup of tea, the sugar is all at the bottom!” she cried
one day. This was the very truth; she knew no “winter of discontent.”
Her autumn was all Indian summer, glorious with crimson leaves, purple
and gold sunsets.
In April, 1910, she wrote the third and last of her poems to her
beloved friend and “Minister” James Freeman Clarke. She read this poem
twice, at the centenary celebration of Mr. Clarke’s birth held at the
Church of the Disciples, April 3rd, and the day after at the Arlington
St. Church. Compared with the verses written for Mr. Clarke’s fiftieth
birthday and with those celebrating his seventieth birthday, this
latest poem is to me the best. The opening lines bite right into the
heart of the matter; as she read them standing in the pulpit a thrill
passed through the congregation of her fellow disciples gathered
together in memory of their founder.
Richer gift can no man give
Than he doth from God receive.
We in greatness would have pleasure,
But we must accept our measure.
Let us question, then, the grave,
Querying what the Master gave,
Whom, in his immortal state,
Grateful love would celebrate.
Only human life was his,
With its thin-worn mysteries.
* * * * *
Lifting from the Past its veil,
| 1,687.158309 |
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Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Jack Harvey's
Adventures
Or, The Rival Campers
Among the Oyster Pirates
By
Ruel Perley Smith
Author of "The Rival Campers Series," "Prisoners
of Fortune," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
Louis D. Gowing
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
1908
RIVAL CAMPERS SERIES
BY
RUEL PERLEY SMITH
Each 1 vol., large 12mo, illustrated, $1.50
The Rival Campers
The Rival Campers Afloat
The Rival Campers Ashore
Jack Harvey's Adventures
Or, The Rival Campers Among the Oyster Pirates
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.
Copyright, 1908
By L. C. Page & Company
(INCORPORATED)
All rights reserved
First Impression, September, 1908
Electrotyped and Printed at
THE COLONIAL PRESS:
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A.
TO
Lucy E. Cyr
With the Author's Love
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Harvey Makes an Acquaintance 1
II. The Cabin of the Schooner 12
III. Down the Bay 25
IV. Aboard the Bug-eye 40
V. The Law of the Bay 52
VI. The Working of the Law 62
VII. Dredging Fleet Tactics 75
VIII. A Night's Poaching 85
IX. Faces through the Telescope 102
X. Flight and Disaster 117
XI. Harvey Sends a Message to Shore 132
XII. Escape at Last 149
XIII. Henry Burns Makes a Discovery 163
XIV. Harvey Meets with a Loss 181
XV. Henry Burns in Trouble 199
XVI. Artie Jenkins Comes Aboard 212
XVII. Artie Jenkins at the Dredges 223
XVIII. The Battle of Nanticoke River 241
XIX. Surprises for Jack Harvey 256
XX. The Pursuit of the Brandt 271
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"Dealt Harvey a blow in the face that knocked him off his feet"
(Frontispiece) 115
"Up from the forecastle there burst three men" 28
"Presented a pretty sight as viewed from the deck of the river
steamer" 113
"'Stand back there, or I'll shoot,' he cried" 196
"'Get up there; you're quitting!' cried Haley" 237
"The speaker was a middle-aged, well-built man" 257
JACK HARVEY'S
ADVENTURES
OR
THE RIVAL CAMPERS AMONG THE
OYSTER PIRATES
CHAPTER I
HARVEY MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE
An Atlantic Transport Line steamship lay at its pier in the city of
Baltimore, on a November day. There were indications, everywhere about,
that the hour of its departure for Europe was approaching. A hum of
excitement filled the air. Clouds of dark smoke, ascending skyward from
the steamer, threw a thin canopy here and there over little groups of
persons gathered upon the pier to bid farewell to friends. Clerks and
belated messengers darted to and fro among them. An occasional officer,
in ship's uniform, gave greeting to some acquaintance and spoke hopefully
of the voyage.
Among all these, a big, tall, broad-shouldered man, whose face, florid
and smiling, gave evidence of abundant good spirits, stood, with one hand
resting upon a boy's shoulder. A woman accompanied them, who now and then
raised a handkerchief to her eyes and wiped away a tear.
"There!" exclaimed the man, suddenly, "do you see that, Jack? You'd
better come along with us. It isn't too late. Ma doesn't want to leave
you behind. If there's anything I can't stand, it's to see a woman cry."
The boy, in return, gave a somewhat contemptuous glance toward the
steamship.
"I don't want to go," he said. "What's the fun going to sea in a thing
like that? Have to dress up and look nice all the time. If it was only a
ship--"
He didn't have a chance to finish the sentence.
"Jack Harvey!" exclaimed his mother, eying him with great disapproval
through her tears, "why did you wear that awful sweater down here, to see
us off? If you only knew how you look! I'm ashamed to have folks see
you."
Harvey's father burst into a hearty roar of laughter.
"Isn't that just like a woman?" he chuckled. "Crying about leaving Jack,
with one eye, and looking at his clothes with the other. Why, Martha, I
tell you he looks fine. None of your milk-sop lads for me!" And he gave
his son a slap of approval that made even that stalwart youth wince.
"Why, when I was Jack's age," continued the elder Harvey, warming to the
subject and raising his voice accordingly, "I didn't know where the next
suit of clothes was coming from."
Mrs. Harvey glanced apprehensively over her shoulder, to see who was
listening.
"Guess I wasn't much older than Jack," went on the speaker, thrusting his
hands into his pockets and jingling the coins therein, "when I was
working in the mines out west and wherever I could pick up a job."
"Now, William," interrupted Mrs. Harvey, "you know you've told us all
about that a hundred times--"
She, herself, was interrupted.
"You've got just a minute to go aboard, sir," said one of the pier
employees, addressing Mr. Harvey. "You'll be left, if you don't hurry."
Jack Harvey's father gave him a vigorous handshake, and another slap
across the shoulder. Mrs. Harvey took him in her arms, despised sweater
and all, and kissed him good-bye. The next moment, the boy found himself
alone on the pier, waving to his parents, as the gang-plank was hauled
back.
The liner slowly glided out into the harbour, a cloud of handkerchiefs
fluttering along its rail, in answer to a similar demonstration upon the
pier.
Jack Harvey's father, gazing back approvingly at his son, strove to
comfort and cheer the spirits of his wife.
"Jack's all right," said he. "Hang me, if I wasn't just such another when
I was his age. I didn't want anybody mollycoddling me. He'll take care of
himself, all right. Don't you worry. He'll be an inch taller in six
months. He knows what he wants, too, better than we do. He'll have more
fun up in Benton this winter than he'd have travelling around Europe.
There he goes. Take a last look | 1,687.159194 |
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
(Images generously made available by the Google Books
Project.)
THE VALKYRIES
BY
E. F. BENSON
Author of "Limitations," "Dodo," etc.
T. FISHER UNWIN
LONDON LEIPZIG PARIS
| 1,687.16015 |
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Produced by Robert J. Hall
[Page ii]
[Illustration: Captain Robert F. Scott R.N.
_J. Russell & Sons, Southsea, photographers_]
[Page iii]
THE VOYAGES OF CAPTAIN SCOTT
_Retold from 'The Voyage of the "Discovery"' and 'Scott's Last
Expedition'_
BY CHARLES TURLEY
Author of 'Godfrey Marten, Schoolboy,' 'A Band of Brothers,' etc.
With an introduction by
SIR J. M. BARRIE, BART.
Numerous illustrations in colour and black and white and a map
[Page v]
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
THE VOYAGE OF THE 'DISCOVERY'
Chapter
I. The 'Discovery'.
II. Southward Ho!
III. In Search of Winter Quarters.
IV. The Polar Winter.
V. The Start of the Southern Journey.
VI. The Return.
VII. A Second Winter.
VIII. The Western Journey.
IX. The Return from the West.
X. Release.
THE LAST EXPEDITION
Chapter
Preface to 'Scott's Last Expedition'.
Biographical Note.
British Antarctic Expedition, 1910.
[Page vi]
I. Through Stormy Seas.
II. Depot Laying to One Ton Camp.
III. Perils.
IV. A Happy Family.
V. Winter.
VI. Good-bye to Cape Evans.
VII. The Southern Journey Begins.
VIII. On the Beardmore Glacier.
IX. The South Pole.
X. On the Homeward Journey.
XI. The Last March.
Search Party Discovers the Tent.
In Memoriam.
Farewell Letters.
Message to the Public.
Index.
[Page vii]
ILLUSTRATIONS
_PHOTOGRAVURE PLATE_
Portrait of Captain Robert F. Scott
_From a photograph by J. Russell & Son, Southsea_.
_COLOURED PLATES_
_From Water-Colour Drawings by Dr. Edward A. Wilson._.
Sledding.
Mount Erebus.
Lunar Corona.
'Birdie' Bowers reading the thermometer on the ramp.
_DOUBLE PAGE PLATE_
Panorama at Cape Evans.
Berg in South Bay.
_FULL PAGE PLATES_
Robert F. Scott at the age of thirteen as a naval cadet.
The 'Discovery'.
Looking up the gateway from Pony Depot.
Pinnacled ice at mouth of Ferrar Glacier.
Pressure ridges north side of Discovery Bluff.
The 'Terra Nova' leaving the Antarctic.
Pony Camp on the barrier.
Snowed-up tent after three days' blizzard.
Pitching the double tent on the summit.
[Page viii]
Adelie Penguin on nest.
Emperor Penguins on sea-ice.
Dog party starting from Hut Point.
Dog lines.
Looking up the gateway from Pony Depot.
Looking south from Lower Glacier depot,
Man hauling camp, 87th parallel.
The party at the South Pole.
'The Last Rest'.
Facsimile of the last words of Captain Scott's Journal.
Track chart of main southern journey.
[Page 1]
INTRODUCTION
BY SIR J. M. BARRIE, BART.
On the night of my original meeting with Scott he was but lately
home from his first adventure into the Antarctic and my chief
recollection of the occasion is that having found the entrancing
man I was unable to leave him. In vain he escorted me through the
streets of London to my home, for when he had said good-night I then
escorted him to his, and so it went on I know not for how long through
the small hours. Our talk was largely a comparison of the life of
action (which he pooh-poohed) with the loathsome life of those who
sit at home (which I scorned); but I also remember that he assured
me he was of Scots extraction. As the subject never seems to have
been resumed between us, I afterwards wondered whether I had drawn
this from him with a promise that, if his reply was satisfactory, I
would let him go to bed. However, the family traditions (they are
nothing more) do bring him from across the border. According to
them his great-great-grandfather was the Scott of Brownhead whose
estates were sequestered after the '45. His dwelling was razed
to the ground and he fled with his wife, to whom after some grim
privations a son was born in a fisherman's hut on September 14,
1745. This son eventually settled in Devon, where he prospered,
[Page 2]
for it was in the beautiful house of Oatlands that he died. He
had four sons, all in the Royal Navy, of whom the eldest had as
youngest child John Edward Scott, father of the Captain Scott who
was born at Oatlands on June 6, 1868. About the same date, or perhaps
a little earlier, it was decided that the boy should go into the
Navy like so many of his for-bears.
I have been asked to write a few pages about those early days of
Scott at Oatlands, so that the boys who read this book may have
some slight acquaintance with the boy who became Captain Scott;
and they may be relieved to learn (as it holds out some chance
for themselves) that the man who did so many heroic things does
not make his first appearance as a hero. He enters history aged
six, blue-eyed, long-haired, inexpressibly slight and in velveteen,
being held out at arm's length by a servant and dripping horribly,
like a half-drowned kitten. This is the earliest recollection of
him of a sister, who was too young to join in a children's party
on that fatal day. But Con, as he was always called, had intimated
to her that from a window she would be able to see him taking a
noble lead in the festivities in the garden, and she looked; and
that is what she saw. He had been showing his guests how superbly
he could jump the leat, and had fallen into it.
Leat is a Devonshire term for a running stream, and a branch of
the leat ran through the Oatlands garden while there was another
branch, more venturesome, at the bottom of the fields. These were
the waters first ploughed by Scott, and he invented many ways of
being in them accidentally, it being forbidden
[Page 3]
to enter them of intent. Thus he taught his sisters and brother
a new version of the oldest probably of all pastimes, the game of
'Touch.' You had to touch 'across the leat,' and, with a | 1,687.160397 |
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Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
RISE AND FALL OF CESAR BIROTTEAU
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
PART I. CESAR AT HIS APOGEE
I
During winter nights noise never ceases in the Rue Saint-Honore except
for a short interval. Kitchen-gardeners carrying their produce to market
continue the stir of carriages returning from theatres and balls. Near
the middle of this sustained pause in the grand symphony of Parisian
uproar, which occurs about one o'clock in the morning, the wife of
Monsieur Cesar Birotteau, a perfumer established near the Place Vendome,
was startled from her sleep by a frightful dream. She had seen her
double. She had appeared to herself clothed in rags, turning with a
shrivelled, withered hand the latch of her own shop-door, seeming to be
at the threshold, yet at the same time seated in her armchair behind the
counter. She was asking alms of herself, and heard herself speaking from
the doorway and also from her seat at the desk.
She tried to grasp her husband, but her hand fell on a cold place.
Her terror became so intense that she could not move her neck, which
stiffened as if petrified; the membranes of her throat became glued
together, her voice failed her. She remained sitting erect in the same
posture in the middle of the alcove, both panels of which were wide
open, her eyes staring and fixed, her hair quivering, her ears filled
with strange noises, her heart tightened yet palpitating, and her person
bathed in perspiration though chilled to the bone.
Fear is a half-diseased sentiment, which presses so violently upon the
human mechanism that the faculties are suddenly excited to the highest
degree of their power or driven to utter disorganization. Physiologists
have long wondered at this phenomenon, which overturns their systems
and upsets all theories; it is in fact a thunderbolt working within the
being, and, like all electric accidents, capricious and whimsical in its
course. This explanation will become a mere commonplace in the day
when scientific men are brought to recognize the immense part which
electricity plays in human thought.
Madame Birotteau now passed through several of the shocks, in some sort
electrical, which are produced by terrible explosions of the will forced
out, or held under, by some mysterious mechanism. Thus during a
period of time, very short if judged by a watch, but immeasurable when
calculated by the rapidity of her impressions, the poor woman had the
supernatural power of emitting more ideas and bringing to the surface
more recollections than, under any ordinary use of her faculties, she
could put forth in the course of a whole day. The poignant tale of her
monologue may be abridged into a few absurd sentences, as contradictory
and bare of meaning as the monologue itself.
"There is no reason why Birotteau should leave my bed! He has eaten so
much veal that he may be ill. But if he were ill he would have waked
me. For nineteen years that we have slept together in this bed, in this
house, it has never happened that he left his place without telling
me,--poor sheep! He never slept away except to pass the night in the
guard-room. Did he come to bed to-night? Why, of course; goodness! how
stupid I am."
She cast her eyes upon the bed and saw her husband's night-cap, which
still retained the almost conical shape of his head.
"Can he be dead? Has he killed himself? Why?" she went on. "For the
last two years, since they made him deputy-mayor, he is
_all-I-don't-know-how_. To put him into public life! On the word of an
honest woman, isn't it pitiable? His business is doing well, for he gave
me a shawl. But perhaps it isn't doing well? Bah! I should know of
it. Does one ever know what a man has got in his head; or a woman
either?--there is no harm in that. Didn't we sell five thousand francs'
worth to-day? Besides, a deputy mayor couldn't kill himself; he knows
the laws too well. Where is he then?"
She could neither turn her neck, nor stretch out her hand to pull
the bell, which would have put in motion a cook, three clerks, and a
shop-boy. A prey to the nightmare, which still lasted though her
mind was wide awake, she forgot her daughter peacefully asleep in an
adjoining room, the door of which opened at the foot of her bed. At last
she cried "Birotteau!" but got no answer. She thought she had called the
name aloud, though in fact she had only uttered it mentally.
"Has he a mistress? He is too stupid," she added. "Besides, he loves me
too well for that. Didn't he tell Madame Roguin that he had never been
unfaithful to me, even in thought? He is virtue upon earth, that man. If
any one ever deserved paradise he does. What does he accuse himself of
to his confessor, I wonder? He must tell him a lot of fiddle-faddle.
Royalist as he is, though he doesn't know why, he can't froth up his
religion. Poor dear cat! he creeps to Mass at eight o'clock as slyly as
if he were going to a bad house. He fears God for God's sake; hell
is nothing to him. How could he have a mistress? He is so tied to my
petticoat that he bores me. He loves me better than his own eyes; he
would put them out for my sake. For nineteen years he has never said to
me one word louder than another. His daughter is never considered before
me. But Cesarine is here--Cesarine! Cesarine!--Birotteau has never had
a thought which he did not tell me. He was right enough when he declared
to me at the Petit-Matelot that I should never know him till I tried
him. And _not here_! It is extraordinary!"
She turned her head with difficulty and glanced furtively about the
room, then filled with those picturesque effects which are the despair
of language and seem to belong exclusively to the painters of genre.
What words can picture the alarming zig-zags produced by falling
shadows, the fantastic appearance of curtains bulged out by the wind,
the flicker of uncertain light thrown by a night-lamp upon the folds of
red calico, the rays shed from a curtain-holder whose lurid centre
was like the eye of a burglar, the apparition of a kneeling dress,--in
short, all the grotesque effects which terrify the imagination at a
moment when it has no power except to foresee misfortunes and exaggerate
them? Madame Birotteau suddenly saw a strong light in the room beyond
her chamber, and thought of fire; but perceiving a red foulard which
looked like a pool of blood, her mind turned exclusively to burglars,
especially when she thought she saw traces of a struggle in the way the
furniture stood about the room. Recollecting the sum of money which
was in the desk, a generous fear put an end to the chill ferment of her
nightmare. She sprang terrified, and in her night-gown, into the very
centre of the room to help her husband, whom she supposed to be in the
grasp of assassins.
"Birotteau! Birotteau!" she cried at last in a voice full of anguish.
She then saw the perfumer in the middle of the next room, a yard-stick
in his hand measuring the air, and so ill wrapped up in his green cotton
dressing-gown with chocolate- spots that the cold had reddened
his legs without his feeling it, preoccupied as he was. When Cesar
turned about to say to his wife, "Well, what do you want, Constance?"
his air and manner, like those of a man absorbed in calculations, were
so prodigiously silly that Madame Birotteau began to laugh.
"Goodness! Cesar, if you are not an oddity like that!" she said. "Why
did you leave me alone without telling me? I have nearly died of terror;
I did not know what to imagine. What are you doing there, flying open
to all the winds? You'll get as hoarse as a wolf. Do you hear me,
Birotteau?"
"Yes, wife, here I am," answered the perfumer, coming into the bedroom.
"Come and warm yourself, and tell me what maggot you've got in your
head," replied Madame Birotteau opening the ashes of the fire, which she
hastened to relight. "I am frozen. What a goose I was to get up in my
night-gown! But I really thought they were assassinating you."
The shopkeeper put his candlestick on the chimney-piece, wrapped his
dressing-gown closer about him, and went mechanically to find a flannel
petticoat for his wife.
"Here, Mimi, cover yourself up," he said. "Twenty-two by eighteen," he
resumed, going on with his monologue; "we can get a superb salon."
"Ah, ca! Birotteau, are you on the high road to insanity? Are you
dreaming?"
"No, wife, I am calculating."
"You had better wait till daylight for your nonsense," she cried,
fastening the petticoat beneath her short night-gown and going to the
door of the room where her daughter was in bed.
"Cesarine is asleep," she said, "she won't hear us. Come, Birotteau,
speak up. What is it?"
"We can give a ball."
"Give a ball! we? On the word of an honest woman, you are dreaming, my
friend."
"I am not dreaming, my beautiful white doe. Listen. People should
always do what their position in life demands. Government has brought
me forward into prominence. I belong to the government; it is my duty to
study its mind, and further its intentions by developing them. The Duc
de Richelieu has just put an end to the occupation of France by
the foreign armies. According to Monsieur de la Billardiere, the
functionaries who represent the city of Paris should make it their duty,
each in his own sphere of influence, to celebrate the liberation of our
territory. Let us show a true patriotism which shall put these liberals,
these damned intriguers, to the blush; hein? Do you think I don't love
my country? I wish to show the liberals, my enemies, that to love the
king is to love France."
"Do you think you have got any enemies, my poor Birotteau?"
"Why, yes, wife, we have enemies. Half our friends in the quarter are
our enemies. They all say, 'Birotteau has had luck; Birotteau is a man
who came from nothing: yet here he is deputy-mayor; everything succeeds
with him.' Well, they are going to be finely surprised. You are the
first to be told that I am made a chevalier of the Legion of honor. The
king signed the order yesterday."
"Oh! then," said Madame Birotteau, much moved, "of course we must give
the ball, my good friend. But what have you done to merit the cross?"
"Yesterday, when Monsieur de la Billardiere told me the news," said
Birotteau, modestly, "I asked myself, as you do, what claims I had to
it; but I ended by seeing what they were, and in approving the action
of the government. In the first place, I am a royalist; I was wounded
at Saint-Roch in Vendemiaire: isn't it something to have borne arms
in those days for the good cause? Then, according to the merchants, I
exercised my judicial functions in a way to give general satisfaction. I
am now deputy-mayor. The king grants four crosses to the municipality of
Paris; the prefect, selecting among the deputies suitable persons to be
thus decorated, has placed my name first on the list. The king moreover
knows me: thanks to old Ragon. I furnish him with the only powder he is
willing to use; we alone possess the receipt of the late queen,--poor,
dear, august victim! The mayor vehemently supported me. So there it is.
If the king gives me the cross without my asking for it, it seems to me
that I cannot refuse it without failing in my duty to him. Did I seek to
be deputy-mayor? So, wife, since we are sailing before the wind, as
your uncle Pillerault says when he is jovial, I have decided to put the
household on a footing in conformity with our high position. If I can
become anything, I'll risk being whatever the good God wills that I
shall be,--sub-prefect, if such be my destiny. My wife, you are much
mistaken if you think a citizen has paid his debt to his country by
merely selling perfumery for twenty years to those who came to buy it.
If the State demands the help of our intelligence, we are as much bound
to give it as we are to pay the tax on personal property, on windows and
doors, _et caetera_. Do you want to stay forever behind your counter?
You have been there, thank God, a long time. This ball shall be our
fete,--yours and mine. Good-by to economy,--for your sake, be it
understood. I burn our sign, 'The Queen of Roses'; I efface the name,
'Cesar Birotteau, Perfumer, Successor to Ragon,' and put simply,
'Perfumery' in big letters of gold. On the _entresol_ I place the
office, the counting-room, and a pretty little sanctum for you. I make
the shop out | 1,687.256073 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Steve Flynn, Virginia Paque,
Peter Klumper, Tonya Allen, Thierry Alberto and PG
Distributed Proofreaders
[Illustration: "_THE FAIR AND SOMETIMES UNCERTAIN DAUGHTER OF THE HOUSE
OF MILBREY_." (See page 182.)]
THE SP | 1,687.256251 |
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Transcribed from the 1890 Longmans, Green, and Co. edition by David
Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Book cover]
[Picture: “Il Vecchietto.” By Tabachetti]
EX VOTO:
AN ACCOUNT OF
_The Sacro Monte or New Jerusalem_
_at Varallo-Sesia_
WITH SOME NOTICE OF
TABACHETTI’S REMAINING WORK AT THE
SANCTUARY OF CREA.
BY
SAMUEL BUTLER,
AUTHOR OF “ALPS AND SANCTUARIES,” “EREWHON,” ETC.
“Il n’a a que deux ennemis de la religion—le trop peu, et le trop; et
des deux
le trop est mille fois le plus dangereux.”—L’ABBÉ MABILLON, 1698.
OP. 9.
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16th STREET.
1890.
_All rights reserved_.
* * * * *
AI VARALLESI E VALSESIANI
L’AUTORE
RICONOSCENTE.
* * * * *
PREFACE.
THE illustrations to this book are mainly collotype photographs by
Messrs. Maclure, Macdonald & Co., of Glasgow. Notwithstanding all their
care, it cannot be pretended that the result is equal to what would have
been obtained from photogravure; I found, however, that to give anything
like an adequate number of photogravures would have made the book so
expensive that I was reluctantly compelled to abandon the idea.
As these sheets leave my hands, my attention is called to a pleasant
article by Miss Alice Greene about Varallo, that appeared in _The Queen_
for Saturday, April 21, 1888. The article is very nicely illustrated,
and gives a good idea of the place. Of the Sacro Monte Miss Greene
says:—“On the Sacro Monte the tableaux are produced in perpetuity, only
the figures are not living, they are terra-cotta statues painted and
moulded in so life-like a way that you feel that, were a man of flesh and
blood to get mixed up with the crowd behind the grating, you would have
hard work to distinguish him from the figures that have never had life.”
I should wish to modify in some respects the conclusion arrived at on pp.
148, 149, about Michael Angelo Rossetti’s having been the principal
sculptor of the Massacre of the Innocents chapel. There can be no doubt
that Rossetti did the figure which he has signed, and several others in
the chapel. One of those which are probably by him (the soldier with
outstretched arm to the left of the composition) appears in the view of
the chapel that I have given to face page 144, but on consideration I
incline against the supposition of my text, _i.e._, that the signature
should be taken as governing the whole work, or at any rate the greater
part of it, and lean towards accepting the external authority, which,
_quantum valeat_, is all in favour of Paracca. I have changed my mind
through an increasing inability to resist the opinion of those who hold
that the figures fall into two main groups, one by the man who did the
signed figure, _i.e._, Michael Angelo Rossetti; and another, comprising
all the most vigorous, interesting, and best placed figures, that
certainly appears to be by a much more powerful hand. Probably, then,
Rossetti finished Paracca’s work and signed one figure as he did, without
any idea of claiming the whole, and believing that Paracca’s predominant
share was too well known to make mistake about the authorship of the work
possible. I have therefore in the title to the illustration given the
work to Paracca, but it must be admitted that the question is one of
great difficulty, and I can only hope that some other work of Paracca’s
may be found which will tend to settle it. I will thankfully receive
information about any other such work.
_May_ 1, 1888.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 1
II. THE REV. S. W. KING—LANZI AND LOMAZZO 10
III. VARALLO, PAST AND PRESENT 24
IV. BERNARDINO CAIMI, AND FASSOLA 38
V. EARLY HISTORY OF THE SACRO MONTE 49
VI. PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS 69
VII. AIM AND SCOPE OF THE SACRO MONTE 80
VIII. GAUDENZIO FERRARI, TABACHETTI, AND GIOVANNI 90
D’ENRICO
IX. THE ASCENT OF THE SACRO MONTRE, AND CHAPEL NO. 114
1, ADAM AND EVE; NO. 2, THE ANNUNCIATION; NO. 3,
THE SALUTATION OF MARY BY ELIZABETH; NO. 4,
FIRST VISION OF ST. JOSEPH
X. CHAPEL NO. 5, VISIT OF THE MAGI; NO. 6, IL 132
PRESEPIO; NO. 7, VISIT OF THE SHEPHERDS; NO. 8,
CIRCUMCISION; NO. 9, JOSEPH WARNED TO FLY; NO.
10, FLIGHT INTO EGYPT; NO. 11, MASSACRE OF THE
INNOCENTS
XI. CHAPEL NO. 12, BAPTISM; NO. 13, TEMPTATION; NO. 153
14, WOMAN OF SAMARIA; NO. 15, THE PARALYTIC; NO.
16, WIDOW’S SON AT NAIN; NO. 17,
TRANSFIGURATION; NO. 18, RAISING OF LAZARUS; NO.
19, ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM; NO. 20, LAST SUPPER;
NO. 21, AGONY IN THE GARDEN; NO. 22, SLEEPING
APOSTLES
XII. THE PALACE OF PILATE; CHAPEL NO. 23, THE CAPTURE 166
OF CHRIST; NO. 24, CHRIST TAKEN TO ANNAS; NO.
25, CHRIST BEFORE CAIAPHAS; NO. 26, REPENTANCE
OF ST. PETER; NO. 27, CHRIST BEFORE PILATE; NO.
28, CHRIST BEFORE HEROD; NO. 29, CHRIST TAKEN
BACK TO PILATE; NO. 30, FLAGELLATION; NO. 31,
CROWNING WITH THORNS; NO. 32, CHRIST AT THE
STEPS OF THE PRETORIUM; NO. 33, ECCE <DW25>; NO.
34, PILATE WASHING HIS HANDS; NO. 35, CHRIST
CONDEMNED TO DEATH
XIII. MYSTERIES OF THE PASSION AND DEATH; CHAPEL NO. 195
36, THE JOURNEY TO CALVARY; NO. 37, NAILING OF
CHRIST TO THE CROSS; NO. 38, THE CRUCIFIXION
XIV. CHAPEL NO. 39, THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS 214
XV. THE PIETÀ AND REMAINING CHAPELS. CHAPEL NO. 40, 225
THE PIETÀ; NO. 41, THE ENTOMBMENT; REMAINING
CHAPELS AND CHIESA MAGGIORE
XVI. TABACHETTI’S WORK AT CREA 239
XVII. CONCLUSION 259
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
_For explanation of the Asterisk see Advertisement of Photographs at the
end of the book_.
“II VECCHIETTO,” FROM THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS _Frontispiece_
(CHAPEL NO. 39)
PLATE
I. PLAN OF THE SACRO MONTE IN 1671 68
II. THE OLD ADAM AND EVE 121
III. TABACHETTI’S ADAM AND EVE 122
IV. FIRST VISION OF ST. JOSEPH 130
V. THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS 144
VI. THE TEMPTATION IN THE WILDERNESS 154
VII. CAIAPHAS 170
VIII. HEROD 176
IX. TWO LAUGHING BOYS 177
X. MAN IN BACKGROUND OF THE FLAGELLATION 182
CHAPEL
XI. STEFANO SCOTTO, AND MR. S. BUTLER 189
XII. TABACHETTI’S JOURNEY TO CALVARY 195
GENERAL VIEW TO THE RIGHT.
XIII. TABACHETTI’S JOURNEY TO CALVARY 196
ST. JOHN AND THE MADONNA WITH THE OTHER
MARIES.
XIV. TABACHETTI’S JOURNEY TO CALVARY 198
STA. VERONICA AND MAN WITH GOITRE.
XV. TABACHETTI’S JOURNEY TO CALVARY 200
THE TWO THIEVES AND THEIR DRIVER.
XVI. GAUDENZIO FERRARI’S CRUCIFIXION 203
GENERAL VIEW LOOKING TOWARDS THE BAD
THIEF.
XVII. GAUDENZIO FERRARI’S CRUCIFIXION 204
GENERAL VIEW LOOKING TOWARDS THE GOOD
THIEF.
XVIII. GAUDENZIO FERRARI’S PORTRAITS OF 206
STEFANO SCOTTO AND LEONARDO DA VINCI
XIX. BERNARDINO DE CONTI’S DRAWING OF 207
STEFANO SCOTTO, AND PROFILE OF LEONARDO
DA VINCI BY HIMSELF (REVERSED)
XX. GAUDENZIO FERRARI’S CRUCIFIXION 210
THE BAD THIEF.
ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS.
UNABLE to go to Dinant before I published “Ex Voto,” I have since been
there, and have found out a good deal about Tabachetti’s family. His
real name was de Wespin, and he tame of a family who had been
Copper-beaters, and hence sculptors—for the Flemish copper-beaters made
their own models—for many generations. The family seems to have been the
most numerous and important in Dinant.
The sculptor’s grandfather, Perpète de Wespin, was the first to take the
sobriquet of Tabaguet, and though in the deeds which I have seen at Namur
the name is always given as “de Wespin,” yet the addition of “dit
Tabaguet” shows that this last was the name in current use. His father
and mother, and a sister Jacquelinne, under age, appear to have all died
in 1587. Jean de Wespin, the sculptor, is mentioned in a deed of that
date as “expatrié,” and he has a “gardien” or “tuteur,” who is to take
charge of his inheritance, appointed by the Court, as though he were for
some reason unable to appoint one for himself. This lends colour to
Fassola’s and Torrotti’s statement that he lost his reason about 1586 or
1587. I think it more likely, however, considering that he was alive and
doing admirable work some fifty years after 1590, that he was the victim
of some intrigue than that he was ever really mad. At any rate, about
1587 he appears to have been unable to act for himself.
If his sister Jacquelinne died under age in 1587, Jean is not likely to
have been then much more than thirty, so we may conclude that he was born
about 1560. There is some six or eight years’ work by him remaining at
Varallo, and described as finished in the 1586 edition of Caccia.
Tabachetti, therefore, must have left home very young, and probably went
straight to Varallo. In 1586 or 1587 we lose sight of him till 1590 or
1591, when he went to Crea, where he did about forty chapels—almost all
of which have perished.
On again visiting Milan I found in the Biblioteca Nazionale a guide-book
to the Sacro Monte, which was not in the Biblioteca Ambrosiana, and of
whose existence I had never heard. This guide-book was published in 1606
and reissued in 1610; it mentions all changes since 1590, and even
describes chapels not yet in existence, but it says nothing about
Tabachetti’s First Vision of St. Joseph chapel—the only one of his
chapels not given as completed in the 1590 edition of Caccia. I had
assumed too hastily that this chapel was done just after the 1590 edition
of Caccia had been published, and just before Tabachetti left for Crea in
1590 or 1591, whereas it now appears that it was done about 1610, during
a short visit paid by the sculptor to Varallo some twenty years after he
had left it.
Finding that Tabachetti returned to Varallo about 1610, I was able to
understand two or three figures in the Ecce <DW25> chapel which I had long
thought must be by Tabachetti, but had not ventured to ascribe to him,
inasmuch as I believed him to have finally left Varallo some twenty years
before the Ecce <DW25> chapel was made. I have now no doubt that he lent a
hand to Giovanni D’Enrico with this chapel, in which he has happily left
us his portrait signed with a V (doubtless standing for W, a letter which
the Italians have not got), cut on the hat before baking, and invisible
from outside the chapel.
[Picture: Seal] Signor Arienta had told me there was a seal on the back
of a figure in the Journey to Calvary chapel; on examining this I found
it to show a W, with some kind of armorial bearings underneath. I have
not been able to find anything like these arms, of which I give a sketch
herewith: they have no affinity with those of the de Wespin family,
unless the cups with crosses under them are taken as modifications of the
three-footed caldrons which were never absent from the arms of Dinant
copper-beaters. Tabachetti (for I shall assume that the seal was placed
by him) perhaps sealed this figure as an afterthought in 1610, being | 1,687.262892 |
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the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE WINDS OF THE WORLD
By TALBOT MUNDY
THE WINDS OF THE WORLD
Ever the Winds of the World fare forth
(Oh, listen ye! Ah, listen ye!),
East and West, and South and North,
Shuttles weaving back and forth
Amid the warp! (Oh, listen ye!)
Can sightless touch--can vision keen
Hunt where the Winds of the World have been
And searching, learn what rumors mean?
(Nay, ye who are wise! Nay, listen ye!)
When tracks are crossed and scent is stale,
'Tis fools who shout--the fast who fail!
But wise men harken-Listen ye!
YASMINI'S SONG.
CHAPTER I
A watery July sun was hurrying toward a Punjab sky-line, as if weary of
squandering his strength on men who did not mind, and resentful of the
unexplainable--a rainy-weather field-day. The cold steel and khaki of
native Indian cavalry at attention gleamed motionless between British
infantry and two batteries of horse artillery. The only noticeable
sound was the voice of a general officer, that rose and fell explaining
and asserting pride in his command, but saying nothing as to the why of
exercises in the mud. Nor did he mention why the censorship was in full
force. He did not say a word of Germany, or Belgium.
In front of the third squadron from the right, Risaldar-Major Ranjoor
Singh sat his charger like a big bronze statue. He would have stooped
to see his right spur better, that shone in spite of mud, for though he
has been a man these five-and-twenty years, Ranjoor Singh has neither
lost his boyhood love of such things, nor intends to; he has been
accused of wearing solid silver spurs in bed. But it hurt him to bend
much, after a day's hard exercise on a horse such as he rode.
Once--in a rock-strewn gully where the whistling Himalayan wind was
Acting Antiseptic-of-the-Day--a young surgeon had taken hurried
stitches over Ranjoor Singh's ribs without probing deep enough for an
Afghan bullet; that bullet burned after a long day in the saddle. And
Bagh was--as the big brute's name implied--a tiger of a horse,
unweakened even by monsoon weather, and his habit was to spring with
terrific suddenness when his rider moved on him.
So Ranjoor Singh sat still. He was willing to eat agony at any time for
the squadron's sake--for a squadron of Outram's Own is a unity to
marvel at, or envy; and its leader a man to be forgiven spurs a
half-inch longer than the regulation. As a soldier, however, he was
careful of himself when occasion offered.
Sikh-soldier-wise, he preferred Bagh to all other horses in the world,
because it had needed persuasion, much stroking of a black beard--to
hide anxiety--and many a secret night-ride--to sweat the brute's
savagery--before the colonel-sahib could be made to see his virtues as
a charger and accept him into the regiment. Sikh-wise, he loved all
things that expressed in any way his own unconquerable fire. Most of
all, however, he loved the squadron; there was no woman, nor anything
between him and D Squadron; but Bagh came next.
Spurs were not needed when the general ceased speaking, and the British
colonel of Outram's Own shouted an order. Bagh, brute energy beneath
hand-polished hair and plastered dirt, sprang like a loosed
Hell-tantrum, and his rider's lips drew tight over clenched teeth as he
mastered self, agony and horse in one man's effort. Fight how he would,
heel, tooth and eye all flashing, Bagh was forced to hold his rightful
place in front of the squadron, precisely the right distance behind the
last supernumerary of the squadron next in front.
Line after rippling line, all Sikhs of the true Sikh baptism except for
the eight of their officers who were European, Outram's Own swept down
a living avenue of British troops; and neither gunners nor infantry
could see one flaw in them, although picking flaws in native regiments
is almost part of the British army officer's religion.
To the blare of military music, through a bog of their own mixing, the
Sikhs trotted for a mile, then drew into a walk, to bring the horses
into barracks cool enough for watering.
They reached stables as the sun dipped under the near-by acacia trees,
and while the black-bearded troopers scraped and rubbed the mud from
weary horses, Banjoor Singh went through a task whose form at least was
part of his very life. He could imagine nothing less than death or
active service that could keep him from inspecting every horse in the
squadron before he ate or drank, or as much as washed himself.
But, although the day had been a hard one and the strain on the horses
more than ordinary, his examination now was so perfunctory that the
squadron gaped; the troopers signaled with their eyes as he passed,
little more than glancing at each horse. Almost before his back had
vanished at the stable entrance, wonderment burst into words.
"For the third time he does thus!"
"See! My beast overreached, and he passed without detecting it! Does
the sun set the same way still?"
"I have noticed that he does thus each time after a field-day. What is
the connection? A field-day in the rains--a general officer talking to
us afterward about the Salt, as if a Sikh does not understand the Salt
better than a British general knows English--and our risaldar-major
neglecting the horses--is there a connection?"
"Aye. What is all this? We worked no harder in the war against the
Chitralis. There is something in my bones that speaks of war, when I
listen for a while!"
"War! Hear him, brothers! Talk is talk, but there will be no war until
India grows too fat to breathe--unless the past be remembered and we
make one for ourselves!"
* * * * *
There was silence for a while, if a change of sounds is silence. The
Delhi mud sticks as tight as any, and the kneading of it from out of
horsehair taxes most of a trooper's energy and full attention. Then,
the East being the East in all things, a solitary trooper picked up
the scent and gave tongue, as a true hound guides the pack.
"Who is _she_?" he wondered, loud enough for fifty men to hear.
From out of a cloud of horse-dust, where a stable helper on probation
combed a tangled tail, came one word of swift enlightenment.
"Yasmini!"
"Ah-h-h-h!" In a second the whole squadron was by the ears, and the
stable-helper was the center of an interest he had not bargained for.
"Nay, sahibs, I but followed him, and how should I know? Nay, then I
did not follow him! It so happened. I took that road, and he stepped
out of a _tikka-gharri_ at her door. Am I blind? Do I not know her
door? Does not everybody know it? Who am I that I should know why he
goes again? But--does a moth fly only once to the lamp-flame? Does a
drunkard drink but once? By the Guru, nay! May my tongue parch in my
throat if I said he is a drunkard! I said--I meant to say--seeing she
is Yasmini, and he having been to see her once--and being again in a
great hurry--whither goes he?"
So the squadron chose a sub-committee of inquiry, seven strong, that
being a lucky number the wide world over, and the movements of the
risaldar-major were reported one by one to the squadron with the
infinite exactness of small detail that seems so useless to all save
Easterns.
Fifteen minutes after he had left his quarters, no longer in khaki
uniform, but dressed as a Sikh gentleman, the whole squadron knew the
color of his undershirt, also that he had hired a _tikka-gharri_, and
that his only weapon was the ornamental dagger that a true Sikh wears
twisted in his hair. One after one, five other men reported him nearly
all the way through Delhi, through the Chandni Chowk--where the last
man but one nearly lost him in the evening crowd--to the narrow place
where, with a bend in the street to either hand, is Yasmini's.
The last man watched him through Yasmini's outer door and up the lower
stairs before hurrying back to the squadron. And a little later on,
being almost as inquisitive as they were careful for their major, the
squadron delegated other men, in mufti, to watch for him at the foot of
Yasmini's stairs, or as near to the foot as might be, and see him
safely home again if they had to fight all Asia on the way.
These men had some money with them, and weapons hidden underneath their
clothes; for, having betted largely on the quail-fight at Abdul's
stables, the squadron was in funds.
"In case of trouble one can bribe the police," counseled Nanak Singh,
and he surely ought to know, for he was the oldest trooper, and trouble
everlasting had preserved him from promotion. "But weapons are good,
when policemen are not looking," he added, and the squadron agreed with
him.
It was Tej Singh, not given to talking as is rule, who voiced the
general opinion.
"Now we are on the track of things. Now, perhaps, we shall know the
meaning of field exercises during the monsoon, with our horses up to
the belly in blue mud! The winds of all the world blow into Yasmini's
and out again. Our risaldar-major knows nothing at all of women--and
that is the danger. But he can listen to the wind; and, what he hears,
sooner or later we shall know, too. I smell happenings!"
Those three words comprised the whole of it. The squadron spent most of
the night whispering, dissecting, analyzing, subdividing, weighing,
guessing at that smell of happenings, while its risaldar-major,
thinking his secret all his own, investigated nearer to its source.
Have you heard the dry earth shrug herself
For a storm that tore the trees?
Have you watched loot-hungry Faithful
Praising Allah on their knees?
Have you felt the short hairs rising
When the moon slipped out of sight,
And the chink of steel on rock explained
That footfall in the night?
Have you seen a gray boar sniff up-wind
In the mauve of waking day?
Have you heard a mad crowd pause and think?
Have you seen all Hell to pay?
CHAPTER II
Yasmini bears a reputation that includes her gift for dancing and her
skill in song, but is not bounded thereby, Her stairs illustrated
it--the two flights of steep winding stairs that lead to her
bewildering reception-floor; they seem to have been designed to take
men's breath away, and to deliver them at the top defenseless.
But Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh mounted them with scarcely an effort,
as a man who could master Bagh well might, and at the top his
middle-aged back was straight and his eye clear. The cunning, curtained
lights did not distract him; so he did not make the usual mistake of
thinking that the Loveliness who met him was Yasmini.
Yasmini likes to make her first impression of the evening on a man just
as he comes from making an idiot of himself; so the maid who curtsies
in the stair-head maze of mirrored lights has been trained to imitate
her. But Ranjoor Singh flipped the girl a coin, and it jingled at her
feet.
The maid ceased bowing, too insulted to retort. The piece of
silver--she would have stooped for gold, just as surely as she would
have recognized its ring--lay where it fell. Ranjoor Singh stepped
forward toward a glass-bead curtain through which a soft light shone,
and an unexpected low laugh greeted him. It was merry, mocking,
musical--and something more. There was wisdom hidden in
it--masquerading as frivolity; somewhere, too, there was
villainy-villainy that she who laughed knew all about and found more
interesting than a play.
Then suddenly the curtain parted, and Yasmini blocked the way, standing
with arms spread wide to either door-post, smiling at him; and Ranjoor
Singh had to stop and stare whether it suited him or not.
Yasmini is not old, nor nearly old, for all that India is full of tales
about her, from the Himalayas to Cape Comorin. In a land where twelve
is a marriageable age, a woman need not live to thirty to be talked
about; and if she can dance as Yasmini does--though only the Russian
ballet can do that--she has the secret of perpetual youth to help her
defy the years. No doubt the soft light favored her, but she might have
been Ranjoor Singh's granddaughter as she barred his way and looked him
up and down impudently through languorous brown eyes.
"Salaam, O plowman!" she mocked. She was not actually still an instant,
for the light played incessantly on her gauzy silken trousers and | 1,687.362952 |
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GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXII. PHILADELPHIA, APRIL, 1848. NO. 4.
JACOB JONES.
OR THE MAN WHO COULDN'T GET ALONG IN THE WORLD.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
Jacob Jones was clerk in a commission store at a salary of five
hundred dollars a year. He was just twenty-two, and had been receiving
this salary for two years. Jacob had no one to care for but himself;
but, somehow or other, it happened that he did not lay up any money,
but, instead, usually had from fifty to one hundred dollars standing
against him on the books of his tailors.
"How much money have you laid by, Jacob?" said one day the merchant
who employed him. This question came upon Jacob rather suddenly; and
coming from the source that it did, was not an agreeable one--for the
merchant was a very careful and economical man.
"I havn't laid by any thing yet," replied Jacob, with a slight air of
embarrassment.
"You havn't!" said the merchant, in surprise. "Why what have you done
with your money?"
"I've spent it, somehow or other."
"It must have been somehow or other, I should think, or somehow else,"
returned the employer, half seriously, and half playfully. "But
really, Jacob, you are a very thoughtless young man to waste your
money."
"I don't think I _waste_ my money," said Jacob.
"What, then, have you done with it?" asked the merchant.
"It costs me the whole amount of my salary to live."
The merchant shook his head.
Then you live extravagantly for a young man of your age and condition.
How much do you pay for boarding?"
"Four dollars a week."
"Too much by from fifty cents to a dollar. But, even paying that sum,
four more dollars per week ought to meet fully all your other
expenses, and leave you what would amount to nearly one hundred
dollars per annum to lay by. I saved nearly two hundred dollars a year
on a salary no larger than you receive."
"I should like very much to know how you did it. I can't save a cent;
in fact, I hardly ever have ten dollars in my pocket."
"Where does your money go, Jacob? In what way do you spend a hundred
dollars a year more than is necessary?"
"They are spent, I know; and that is pretty much all I can tell about
it," replied Jacob.
"You can certainly tell by your private account book."
"I don't keep any private account, sir."
"You don't?" in surprise.
"No, sir. What's the use? My salary is five hundred dollars a year,
and wouldn't be any more nor less if I kept an account of every half
cent of it."
"Humph!"
The merchant said no more. His mind was made up about his clerk. The
fact that he spent five hundred dollars a year, and kept no
private account, was enough for him.
"He'll never be any good to himself nor anybody else. Spend his whole
salary--humph! Keep no private account--humph!"
This was the opinion held of Jacob Jones by his employer from that
day. The reason why he had inquired as to how much money he had saved,
was this. He had a nephew, a poor young man, who, like Jacob, was a
clerk, and showed a good deal of ability for business. His salary was
rather more than what Jacob received, and, like Jacob, he spent it
all; but not on himself. He supported, mainly, his mother and a
younger brother and sister. A good chance for a small, but safe
beginning, was seen by the uncle, which would require only about a
thousand dollars as an investment. In his opinion it would be just
the thing for Jacob and the nephew. Supposing that Jacob had four or
five hundred dollars laid by, it was his intention, if he approved of
the thing, to furnish his nephew with a like sum, in order to join him
and enter into business. But the acknowledgment of Jacob that he had
not saved a dollar, and that he kept no private account, settled the
matter in the merchant's mind, as far as he was concerned.
About a month afterward, Jacob met his employer's nephew, who said,
"I am going into business."
"You are?"
"Yes."
"What are you going to do?"
"Open a commission store."
"Ah! Can you get any good consignments?"
"I am to have the agency for a new mill, which has just commenced
operations, beside consignments of goods from several small concerns
at the East."
"You will have to make advances."
"To no great extent. My uncle has secured the agency of the new mill
here without any advance being required, and eight hundred or a
thousand dollars will be as much as I shall need to secure as many
goods as I can sell from the other establishments of which I speak."
"But where will the eight hundred or a thousand come from?"
"My uncle has placed a thousand dollars at my disposal. Indeed, the
whole thing is the result of his recommendation."
"Your uncle! You are a lucky dog. I wish I had a rich uncle. But there
is no such good fortune for me."
This was the conclusion of Jacob Jones, who made himself quite unhappy
for some weeks, brooding over the matter. He never once dreamed of the
real cause of his not having had an equal share in his young friend's
good fortune. He had not the most distant idea that his employer felt
nearly as much regard for him as for his nephew, and would have
promoted his interests as quickly, if he had felt justified in doing
so.
"It's my luck, I suppose," was the final conclusion of his mind; "and
it's no use to cry about it. Any how, it isn't every man with a rich
uncle, and a thousand dollars advanced, who succeeds in business, nor
every man who starts without capital that is unsuccessful. I
understand as much about business as the old man's nephew, any day;
and can get consignments as well as he can."
Three or four months after this, Jacob notified the merchant that he
was going to start for himself, and asked his interest as far as he
could give it, without interfering with his own business. His employer
did not speak very encouragingly about the matter, which offended
Jacob.
"He's afraid I'll injure his nephew," he said to himself. "But he
needn't be uneasy--the world is wide enough for us all, the old
hunks!"
Jacob borrowed a couple of hundred dollars, took a store at five
hundred dollars a year rent, and employed a clerk and porter. He then
sent his circulars to a number of manufactories at the East,
announcing the fact of his having opened a new commission house, and
soliciting consignments. His next move was, to leave his
boarding-house, where he had been paying four dollars a week, and take
lodgings at a hotel at seven dollars a week.
Notwithstanding Jacob went regularly to the post office twice every
day, few letters came to hand, and but few of them contained bills of
lading and invoices. The result of the first year's business was an
income from commission on sales of seven hundred dollars. Against this
were the items of one thousand dollars for personal expenses, five
hundred dollars for store-rent, seven hundred dollars for clerk and
porter, and for petty and contingent expenses, two hundred dollars;
leaving the uncomfortable deficit of seventeen hundred dollars, which
stood against him in the form of bills payable for sales effected, and
small notes of accommodation borrowed from his friends.
The result of the first year's business of his old employer's nephew
was very different. The gross profits were three thousand dollars, and
the expenses as follows: personal expense, seven hundred dollars--just
what the young man's salary had previously been, and out of which he
supported his mother and her family--store-rent, three hundred
dollars; porter, two hundred and fifty, petty expenses one hundred
dollars--in all, thirteen hundred and fifty dollars, leaving a net
profit of sixteen hundred and fifty dollars. It will be seen that he
did not go to the expense of a clerk during the first year. He
preferred working a little harder, and keeping his own books, by which
an important saving was effected.
At the end of the second year, notwithstanding Jacob Jones' business
more than doubled itself, he was compelled to wind up, and found
himself twenty-five hundred dollars worse than nothing. Several of his
unpaid bills to eastern houses were placed in suit, and as he lived in
a state where imprisonment for debt still existed, he was compelled to
go through the forms required by the insolvent laws, to keep clear of
durance vile.
At the very period when he was driven under by adverse gales, his
young friend, who had gone into business about the same time, found
himself under the necessity of employing a clerk. He offered Jones a
salary of four hundred dollars, the most he believed himself yet
justified in paying. This was accepted, and Jacob found himself once
more standing upon _terra firma_, although the portion upon which his
feet rested was very small, still it was _terra firma_--and that was
something.
The real causes of his ill success never for a moment occurred to the
mind of Jacob. He considered himself an "unlucky dog."
"Every thing that some people touch turns to money," he would
sometimes say. "But I wasn't born under a lucky star."
Instead of rigidly bringing down his expenses, as he ought to have
done, to four hundred dollars, if he had had to live in a garret and
cook his own food, Jacob went back to his old boarding-house, and
paid four dollars a week. All his other expenses required at least
eight dollars more to meet them. He was perfectly aware that he was
living beyond his income--the exact excess he did not stop to
ascertain--but he expected an increase of salary before long, as a
matter of course, either in his present situation or in a new one. But
no increase took place for two years, and then he was between three
and four hundred dollars in debt to tailors, boot-makers, his
landlady, and to sundry friends, to whom he applied for small sums of
money in cases of emergency.
One day about this time, two men were conversing together quite
earnestly, as they walked leisurely along one of the principal streets
of the city where Jacob resided. One was past the prime of life, and
the other about twenty-two. They were father and son, and the subject
of conversation related to the wish of the latter to enter into
business. The father did not think the young man was possessed of
sufficient knowledge of business, or experience, and was, therefore,
desirous of associating some one with him who could make up these
deficiencies. If he could find just the person that pleased him, he
was ready to advance capital and credit to an amount somewhere within
the neighborhood of twenty thousand dollars. For some months he had
been thinking of Jacob, who was a first-rate salesman, had a good
address, and was believed by him to possess business habits eminently
conducive to success. The fact that he had once failed, was something
of a drawback in his mind, but he had asked Jacob the reason of his
ill-success, which was so plausibly explained, that he considered the
young man as simply unfortunate in not having capital, and nothing
else.
"I think Mr. Jones just the right man for you," the father said, as
they walked along.
"I don't know of any one with whom I had rather form a business
connection. He is a man of good address, business habits, and, as far
as I know, good principles."
"Suppose you mention the subject to him this afternoon."
This was agreed to. The two men then entered the shop of a fashionable
tailor, for the purpose of ordering some clothes. While there, a man,
having the appearance of a collector, came in, and drew the tailor
aside. Their conversation was brief but earnest, and concluded by the
tailor's saying, so loud that he could be heard by all who were
standing near,
"It's no use to waste your time with him any longer. Just hand over
the account to Simpson, and let him take care of it."
The collector turned away, and the tailor came back to his customers.
"It is too bad," he said, "the way some of these young fellows do
serve us. I have now several thousand dollars on my books against
clerks who receive salaries large enough to support them handsomely,
and I can't collect a dollar of it. There is Jacob Jones, whose
account I have just ordered to be placed in the hands of a lawyer, he
owes me nearly two hundred dollars, and I can't get a cent out of
him. I call him little better than a scamp."
The father and son exchanged glances of significance, but said
nothing. The fate of Jacob Jones was sealed.
"If that is the case," said the father, as they stepped into the
street, "the less we have to do with him the better."
To this the son assented. Another more prudent young man was selected,
whose fortune was made.
"When Jacob received lawyer Simpson's note, threatening a suit if the
tailor's bill were not paid, he was greatly disturbed.
"Am I not the most unfortunate man in the world?" he said to himself,
by way of consolation. "After having paid him so much money, to be
served like this. It is too bad. But this is the way of the world. Let
a poor devil once get a little under the weather, and every one must
have a kick at him."
In this dilemma poor Jacob had to call upon the tailor and beg him for
further time. This was humiliating, especially as the tailor was
considerably out of humor, and disposed to be hard with him. A threat
to apply for the benefit of the insolvent law again, if a suit was
pressed to an issue, finally induced the tailor to waive legal
proceedings for the present, and Jacob had the immediate terrors of
the law taken from before his eyes.
This event set Jacob to thinking and calculating, what he had never
before deemed necessary in his private affairs. The result did not
make him feel any happier. To his astonishment he ascertained that he
owed more than the whole of his next year's salary would pay, while
that was not in itself sufficient to meet his current expenses.
For some weeks after this discovery of the real state of his affairs,
Jacob was very unhappy. He applied for an increase of salary, and
obtained the addition of one hundred dollars per annum. This was
something, which was about all that could be said. If he could live on
four hundred dollars a year, which he had never yet been able to do,
the addition to his salary would not pay his tailor's bill within two
years; and what was he to do with boot-maker, landlady, and others?
It happened about this time that a clerk in the bank where his old
employer was a director, died. His salary had been one thousand
dollars. For the vacant place Jacob made immediate application, and
was so fortunate as to secure it.
Under other circumstances, Jacob would have refused a salary of
fifteen hundred dollars in a bank against five hundred in a
counting-room, and for the reason that a bank, or office clerk, has
little or no hope beyond his salary all his life, while a
counting-house clerk, if he have any aptness for trade, stands a fair
chance of getting into business sooner or later, and making his
fortune as a merchant. But a debt of four hundred dollars hanging over
his head, was an argument in favor of a clerkship in the bank, at a
salary of a thousand dollars a year, not to be resisted.
"I'll keep it until I get even with the world again," he consoled
himself by saying, "and then I'll go back into a counting-room. I've
an ambition above being a bank clerk all my life."
Painful experience had made Jacob a little wiser. For the first time
in his life he commenced keeping an account of his personal expenses.
This acted as a salutary check upon his bad habit of spending money
for every little thing that happened to strike his fancy, and enabled
him to clear off his whole debt within the first year. Unwisely,
however, he had, during this time, promised to pay some old debts,
from which the law had released him. The persons holding these claims,
finding him in the receipt of a higher salary, made an appeal to his
honor, which, like an honest, but not a prudent man, he responded to
by a promise of payment as soon as it was in his power. But little
time elapsed after these promises were made, before he found himself
in the hands of constables and magistrates, and was only saved from
imprisonment by getting friends to go his bail for six and nine
months. In order to secure them, he had to give an order in advance
for his salary. To get these burdens off of his shoulders, it took
twelve months longer, and then he was nearly thirty years of age.
"Thirty years old!" he said, to himself on his thirtieth birth-day.
"Can it be possible? Long before this I ought to have been doing a
flourishing business, and here I am, nothing but a bank clerk, with
the prospect of never rising a step higher as long as I live. I don't
know how it is that some people get along so well in the world. I am
sure I am as industrious, and can do business as well as any man; but
here I am still at the point from which I started twenty years ago. I
can't understand it. I'm afraid there's more in luck than I'm willing
to believe."
From this time Jacob set himself to work to obtain a situation in some
store or counting-room, and finally, after looking about for nearly a
year, was fortunate enough to obtain a good place, as book-keeper and
salesman, with a wholesale grocer and commission merchant. Seven
hundred dollars was to be his salary. His friends called him a fool
for giving up an easy place at one thousand a year, for a hard one at
seven hundred. But the act was a much wiser one than many others of
his life.
Instead of saving money during the third year of his receipt of one
thousand dollars, he spent the whole of his salary, without paying off
a single old debt. His private account-keeping had continued through a
year and a half. After that it was abandoned. Had it been continued,
it might have saved him three or four hundred dollars, which were now
all gone, and nothing to show for them. Poor Jacob! experience did not
make him much wiser.
Two years passed, and at least half a dozen young men here and there
around our friend Jacob, went into business, either as partners in
some old houses, or under the auspices of relatives or interested
friends. But there appeared no opening for him. He did not know, that
many times during that period, he had been the subject of conversation
between parties, one or both of which were looking out for a man of
thorough business qualifications against which capital would be
placed; nor the fact, that either his first failure, his improvidence,
or something else personal to himself, had caused him to be set aside
for some other one not near so capable.
He was lamenting his ill-luck one day, when a young man with whom he
was very well acquainted, and who was clerk in a neighboring store,
called in and said that he wanted to have some talk with him about a
matter of interest to both.
"First of all, Mr. Jones," said the young man, after they were alone,
"how much capital could you raise by a strong effort?"
"I am sure I don't know," replied Jacob, not in a very cheerful tone.
"I never was lucky in having friends ready to assist me."
"Well! perhaps there will be no need of that. You have had a good
salary for four or five years--how much have you saved? Enough,
probably, to answer every purpose--that is, if you are willing to join
me in taking advantage of one of the best openings for business that
has offered for a long time. I have a thousand dollars in the savings
bank. You have as much, or more, I presume?"
"I am sorry to say I have not," was poor Jacob's reply, in a
desponding voice. "I was unfortunate in business some years ago, and
my old debts have drained away from me every dollar I could earn."
"Indeed! that is very unfortunate. I was in hopes you could furnish a
thousand dollars."
"I might borrow it, perhaps, if the chance is a very good one."
"Well, if you could do that, it would be as well, I suppose," returned
the young man. "But you must see about it immediately. If you cannot
join me at once, I must find some one who will, for the chance is too
good to be lost."
Jacob got a full statement of the business proposed, its nature and
prospects, and then laid the matter before the three merchants with
whom he had at different times lived in the capacity of clerk, and
begged them to advance him the required capital. The subject was taken
up by them and seriously considered. They all liked Jacob, and felt
willing to promote his interests, but had little or no confidence in
his ultimate success, on account of his want of economy in personal
matters. It was very justly remarked by one of them, that this want of
economy, and the judicious use of money in personal matters, would go
with him in business, and mar all his prospects. Still, as they had
great confidence in the other man, they agreed to advance, jointly,
the sum needed.
In the meantime, the young man who had made the proposition to Jacob,
when he learned that he had once failed in business, was still in
debt, and liable to have claims pushed against him, (this he inferred
from Jacob's having stretched the truth, by saying that his old debts
drained away from him every dollar, when the fact was he was freed
from them by the provisions of the insolvent law of the state,) came
to the conclusion that a business connection with him was a thing to
be avoided rather than sought after. He accordingly turned his
thoughts in another quarter, and when Jones called to inform him that
he had raised the capital needed, he was coolly told that it was too
late, he having an hour before closed a partnership arrangement with
another person, under the belief that Jones could not advance the
money required.
This was a bitter disappointment, and soured the mind of Jacob against
his fellow man, and against the fates also, which he alledged were all
combined against him. His own share in the matter was a thing
undreamed of. He believed himself far better qualified for business
than the one who had been preferred before him, and he had the
thousand dollars to advance. It must be his luck that was against him,
nothing else; he could come to no other conclusion. Other people could
get along in the world, but he couldn't. That was the great mystery of
his life.
For two years Jacob had been waiting to get married. He had not wished
to take this step before entering into business, and having a fair
prospect before him. But years were creeping on him apace, and the
fair object of his affections seemed weary of delay.
"It is no use to wait any longer," he said, after this dashing of his
cup to the earth. "Luck is against me. I shall never be any thing but
a poor devil of a clerk. If Clara is willing to share my humble lot,
we might as well be married first as last."
Clara was not unwilling, and Jacob Jones entered into the estate
connubial, and took upon him the cares of a family, with a salary of
seven hundred dollars a year to sustain the new relation. Instead of
taking cheap boarding, or renting a couple of rooms, and commencing
housekeeping in a small way, Jacob saw but one course before him, and
that was to rent a genteel house, go in debt for genteel furniture,
and keep two servants. Two years was the longest that he could bear up
under this state of things, when he was sold out by the sheriff, and
forced "to go through the mill again," as taking the benefit of the
insolvent law was facetiously called.
"Poor fellow! he has a hard time of it. I wonder why it is that he
gets along so badly. He is an industrious man, and regular in his
habits. It is strange. But some men seem born to ill-luck."
So said some of his pitying friends. Others understood the matter
better.
Ten years have passed, and Jacob is still a clerk, but not in a store.
Hopeless of getting into business, he applied for a vacancy that
occurred in an insurance company, and received the appointment, which
he still holds, at a salary of twelve hundred dollars a year. After
being sold out three times by the sheriff, and having the deep
mortification of seeing her husband brought down to the humiliating
necessity of applying as often for the benefit of the insolvent law,
Mrs. Jones took affairs, by consent of her husband, into her own
hands, and managed them with such prudence and economy that,
notwithstanding they have five children, the expenses, all told, are
not over eight hundred dollars a year, and half of the surplus, four
hundred dollars, is appropriated to the liquidation of debts
contracted since their marriage, and the other half deposited in the
savings' bank, as a fund for the education of their children in the
higher branches, when they reach a more advanced age.
To this day it is a matter of wonder to Jacob Jones why he could never
get along in the world like some people; and he has come to the
settled conviction that it is his "luck."
THE DARLING.
BY BLANCHE BENNAIRDE.
When first we saw her face, so dimpled o'er
With smiles of sweetest charm, we said within
Our inmost heart, that ne'er on earth before
Had so much passing beauty ever been:
So full of sweetest grace, so fair to see--
This treasure bright our babe in infancy.
Like blush of roses was the tint of health
O'erspread her lovely cheeks; and they might vie
In beauty with the fairest flower--nor wealth,
Though told in countless millions, e'er could buy
The radiance of this gem, than aught more bright
Which lies in hidden mine, or saw the light.
The dawn of life was fair; so was its morn;
For with each day new beauties met our view,
And well we deemed that she, the dear first-born,
Might early fade, like flowers that earth bestrew
With all their cherished beauty, leaving naught
But faded leaves where once their forms were sought.
She smiled upon us, and her spirit fled
To taste the pleasures of that fairer land,
Where angels ever dwell--she is not dead;
But there with them her beauteous form doth stand,
Arrayed in flowing light, before the throne
Of Him whose name is Love--the Holy One.
She was our choicest bud, our precious flower;
But now she blooms in that celestial place,
Where naught can spoil the pleasure of an hour,
Nor from its beauty one bright line efface--
Where all is one perpetual scene of bliss,
Unmixed with sin; all perfect happiness.
The darling then is safe, secure from ill;
Why should we mourn that she hath left this earth,
When in that brighter land she bloometh still,
A flower more perfect, of celestial birth?
Let us submit, and own His righteous care
Who doeth well; striving to meet her there.
BATTLE OF FORT MOULTRIE.[1]
BY CHARLES J. PETERSON.
When the news of the battle of Lexington reached Charleston, South
Carolina rose in commotion. The provincial Congress, which had
adjourned, immediately re-assembled. Two regiments of foot and one of
horse were ordered to be raised; measures were taken to procure
powder; and every preparation made for the war which was now seen to
be inevitable. A danger of a vital character speedily threatened the
colony. This was its invasion by the British; a project which had long
been entertained by the royal generals. To provide in time for
defeating it, Congress had dispatched General Lee to the South. It was
not until the beginning of the summer of 1776, however, that the
enemy's armament set sail from New York, consisting of a large fleet
of transports with a competent land force, commanded by Sir Henry
Clinton, and attended by a squadron of nine men-of-war, led by Sir
Peter Parker. On the arrival of this expedition off the coast, all was
terror and confusion among the South Carolinians. Energetic measures
were, however, adopted to repel the attack.
To defend their capital the inhabitants constructed on Sullivan's
Island, near the entrance of their harbor, and about four miles from
the city, a rude fort of palmetto logs, the command of which was given
to Col. Moultrie. Never, perhaps, was a more inartificial defence
relied on in so great an emergency. The form of the fort was square,
with a bastion at each angle; it was built of logs based on each other
in parallel rows, at a distance of sixteen feet. Other logs were bound
together at frequent intervals with timber dove-tailed and bolted into
them. The spaces between were filled up with sand. The merlons were
faced with palmetto logs. All the industry of the Carolinians,
however, was insufficient to complete the fort in time; and when the
British fleet entered the harbor, the defences were little more than a
single front facing the water. The whole force of Col. Moultrie was
four hundred and thirty-five, rank and file; his armament consisted of
nine French twenty-sixes, fourteen English eighteens, nine twelve and
seven nine pounders. Finding the fort could be easily enfiladed, Gen.
Lee advised abandoning it; but the governor refused, telling Moultrie
to keep his post, until he himself ordered the retreat. Moultrie, on
his part, required no urging to adopt this more heroic course. A
spectator happening to say, that in half an hour the enemy would knock
the fort to pieces. "Then," replied Moultrie, undauntedly, "we will
lie behind the ruins, and prevent their men from landing." Lee with
many fears left the island, and repairing to his camp on the main
land, prepared to cover the retreat of the garrison, which he
considered inevitable.
[Footnote 1: From a work now in press, and shortly to be published,
entitled "_The Military Heroes of the United States. By C. J.
Peterson. 2 vols. 8vo. 500 pp._"]
There was, perhaps, more of bravado than of sound military policy in
attacking this fort at all, since the English fleet might easily have
run the gauntlet of it, as was done a few years later. But Fort
Moultrie was destined to be to the navy what Bunker Hill had been to
the army. It was in consequence of excess of scorn for his enemy, that
Sir Peter Parker, disdaining to leave such a place in his rear,
resolved on its total demolition. He had no doubt but that, in an hour
at the utmost, he could make the unpracticed Carolinians glad to sue
for peace on any terms. Accordingly on the 28th of June, 1776, he
entered the harbor, in all the parade of his proud ships, nine in
number, and drawing up abreast the fort, let go his anchors with
springs upon his cables, and began a furious cannonade. Meanwhile
terror reigned in Charleston. As the sound of the first gun went
booming over the waters toward the town, the trembling inhabitants who
had been crowding the wharves and lining the house-tops since early
morning, turned pale with ominous forebodings. Nor were the feelings
of the defenders of the fort less anxious. Looking off, over the low
island intervening between them and the city, they could see the
gleaming walls of their distant homes; and their imaginations conjured
up the picture of those dear habitations given to the flames, as
another Charlestown had been, a twelve-month before, and the still
dearer wives that inhabited them, cast houseless upon the world. As
they turned from this spectacle, and watched the haughty approach of
the enemy, at every motion betraying confidence of success, their eyes
kindled with indignant feelings, and they silently swore to make good
the words of their leader, by perishing, if need were, under the ruins
of the fort.
One by one the British men-of-war gallantly approached the stations
assigned them, Sir Peter Parker, in the Bristol, leading the van. The
Experiment, another fifty gun ship, came close after, and both dropped
their anchors in succession directly abreast the fort. The other
frigates followed, and ranged themselves as supports. The remaining
vessels were still working up to their stations, when the first gun
was fired, and instantly the battle begun. The quantity of powder on
the island being | 1,687.40711 |
2023-11-16 18:45:11.4431620 | 2,296 | 15 |
Produced by Eric Eldred, David Garcia, Charles Franks, and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
A SHEPHERD'S LIFE
IMPRESSIONS OF THE SOUTH WILTSHIRE DOWNS
BY W. H. HUDSON
NOTE
I an obliged to Messrs. Longmans, Green, & Co. for permission to make
use of an article entitled "A Shepherd of the Downs," which appeared in
the October and November numbers of _Longmans' Magazine_ in 1902.
With the exception of that article, portions of which I have
incorporated in different chapters, the whole of the matter contained in
this work now appears for the first time.
CONTENTS
Chapter.
I. SALISBURY PLAIN
II. SALISBURY AS I SEE IT
III. WINTERBOURNE BISHOP
IV. A SHEPHERD OF THE DOWNS
V. EARLY MEMORIES
VI. SHEPHERD ISAAC BAWCOMBE
VII. THE DEER-STEALERS
VIII. SHEPHERDS AND POACHING
IX. THE SHEPHERD ON FOXES
X. BIRD LIFE ON THE DOWNS
XI. STARLINGS AND SHEEP-BELLS
XII. THE SHEPHERD AND THE BIBLE
XIII. VALE OF THE WYLYE
XIV. A SHEEP-DOG'S LIFE
XV. THE ELLERBYS OF DOVETON
XVI. OLD WILTSHIRE DAYS
XVII. OLD WILTSHIRE DAYS (_continued_)
XVIII. THE SHEPHERD'S RETURN
XIX. THE DARK PEOPLE OF THE VILLAGE
XX. SOME SHEEP-DOGS
XXI. THE SHEPHERD AS NATURALIST
XXII. THE MASTER OF THE VILLAGE
XXIII. ISAAC'S CHILDREN
XXIV. LIVING IN THE PAST
A SHEPHERD'S LIFE
SALISBURY PLAIN
CHAPTER I
Introductory remarks--Wiltshire little favoured by tourists--Aspect of
the downs--Bad weather--Desolate aspect--The bird-scarer--Fascination
of the downs--The larger Salisbury Plain--Effect of the military
occupation--A century's changes--Birds--Old Wiltshire sheep--Sheep-horns
in a well--Changes wrought by cultivation--Rabbit-warrens on the
downs--Barrows obliterated by the plough and by rabbits
Wiltshire looks large on the map of England, a great green county, yet
it never appears to be a favourite one to those who go on rambles in the
land. At all events I am unable to bring to mind an instance of a lover
of Wiltshire who was not a native or a resident, or had not been to
Marlborough and loved the country on account of early associations. Nor
can I regard myself as an exception, since, owing to a certain kind of
adaptiveness in me, a sense of being at home wherever grass grows, I am
in a way a native too. Again, listen to any half-dozen of your friends
discussing the places they have visited, or intend visiting, comparing
notes about the counties, towns, churches, castles, scenery--all that
draws them and satisfies their nature, and the chances are that they
will not even mention Wiltshire. They all know it "in a way"; they have
seen Salisbury Cathedral and Stonehenge, which everybody must go to look
at once in his life; and they have also viewed the country from the
windows of a railroad carriage as they passed through on their flight to
Bath and to Wales with its mountains, and to the west country, which
many of us love best of all--Somerset, Devon, and Cornwall. For there is
nothing striking in Wiltshire, at all events to those who love nature
first; nor mountains, nor sea, nor anything to compare with the places
they are hastening to, west or north. The downs! Yes, the downs are
there, full in sight of your window, in their flowing forms resembling
vast, pale green waves, wave beyond wave, "in fluctuation fixed"; a fine
country to walk on in fine weather for all those who regard the mere
exercise of walking as sufficient pleasure. But to those who wish for
something more, these downs may be neglected, since, if downs are
wanted, there is the higher, nobler Sussex range within an hour of
London. There are others on whom the naked aspect of the downs has a
repelling effect. Like Gilpin they love not an undecorated earth; and
false and ridiculous as Gilpin's taste may seem to me and to all those
who love the chalk, which "spoils everything" as Gilpin said, he
certainly expresses a feeling common to those who are unaccustomed to
the emptiness and silence of these great spaces.
As to walking on the downs, one remembers that the fine days are not so
many, even in the season when they are looked for--they have certainly
been few during this wet and discomfortable one of 1909. It is indeed
only on the chalk hills that I ever feel disposed to quarrel with this
English climate, for all weathers are good to those who love the open
air, and have their special attractions. What a pleasure it is to be out
in rough weather in October when the equinoctial gales are on, "the wind
Euroclydon," to listen to its roaring in the bending trees, to watch the
dead leaves flying, the pestilence-stricken multitudes, yellow and black
and red, whirled away in flight on flight before the volleying blast,
and to hear and see and feel the tempests of rain, the big silver-grey
drops that smite you like hail! And what pleasure too, in the still grey
November weather, the time of suspense and melancholy before winter, a
strange quietude, like a sense of apprehension in nature! And so on
through the revolving year, in all places in all weathers, there is
pleasure in the open air, except on these chalk hills because of their
bleak nakedness. There the wind and driving rain are not for but against
you, and may overcome you with misery. One feels their loneliness,
monotony, and desolation on many days, sometimes even when it is not
wet, and I here recall an amusing encounter with a bird-scarer during
one of these dreary spells.
It was in March, bitterly cold, with an east wind which had been blowing
many days, and overhead the sky was of a hard, steely grey. I was
cycling along the valley of the Ebble, and finally leaving it pushed up
a long steep <DW72> and set off over the high plain by a dusty road with
the wind hard against me. A more desolate scene than the one before me
it would be hard to imagine, for the land was all ploughed and stretched
away before me, an endless succession of vast grey fields, divided by
wire fences. On all that space there was but one living thing in sight,
a human form, a boy, far away on the left side, standing in the middle
of a big field with something which looked like a gun in his hand.
Immediately after I saw him he, too, appeared to have caught sight of
me, for turning he set off running as fast as he could over the ploughed
ground towards the road, as if intending to speak to me. The distance he
would have to run was about a quarter of a mile and I doubted that he
would be there in time to catch me, but he ran fast and the wind was
against me, and he arrived at the road just as I got to that point.
There by the side of the fence he stood, panting from his race, his
handsome face glowing with colour, a boy about twelve or thirteen, with
a fine strong figure, remarkably well dressed for a bird-scarer. For
that was what he was, and he carried a queer, heavy-looking old gun. I
got off my wheel and waited for him to speak, but he was silent, and
continued regarding me with the smiling countenance of one well pleased
with himself. "Well?" I said, but there was no answer; he only kept on
smiling.
"What did you want?" I demanded impatiently.
"I didn't want anything."
"But you started running here as fast as you could the moment you caught
sight of me."
"Yes, I did."
"Well, what did you do it for--what was your object in running here?"
"Just to see you pass," he answered.
It was a little ridiculous and vexed me at first, but by and by when I
left him, after some more conversation, I felt rather pleased; for it
was a new and somewhat flattering experience to have any person run a
long distance over a ploughed field, burdened with a heavy gun, "just to
see me pass."
But it was not strange in the circumstances; his hours in that grey,
windy desolation must have seemed like days, and it was a break in the
monotony, a little joyful excitement in getting to the road in time to
see a passer-by more closely, and for a few moments gave him a sense of
human companionship. I began even to feel a little sorry for him, alone
there in his high, dreary world, but presently thought he was better off
and better employed than most of his fellows poring over miserable books
in school, and I wished we had a more rational system of education for
the agricultural districts, one which would not keep the children shut
up in a room during all the best hours of the day, when to be out of
doors, seeing, hearing, and doing, would fit them so much better for the
life-work before them. Squeers' method was a wiser one. We think less of
it than of the delightful caricature, which makes Squeers "a joy for
ever," as Mr. Lang has said of Pecksniff. But Dickens was a Londoner,
and incapable of looking at this or any other question from any other
than the Londoner's standpoint. Can you have a better system for the
children of all England than this one which will turn out the most
perfect draper's assistant in Oxford Street, or, to go higher, the most
efficient Mr. G | 1,687.463202 |
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BURKE'S SPEECH
ON
CONCILIATION WITH AMERICA
By Edmond Burke
Edited With Introduction And Notes By Sidney Carleton Newsom
Teacher Of English, Manual Training High School Indianapolis, Indiana
PREFACE
The introduction to this edition of Burke's speech on Conciliation with
America is intended to supply the needs of those students who do not
have access to a well-stocked library, or who, for any reason,
are unable to do the collateral reading necessary for a complete
understanding of the text.
The sources from which information has been drawn in preparing this
edition are mentioned under "Bibliography." The editor wishes to
acknowledge indebtedness to many of the excellent older editions of
the speech, and also to Mr. A. P. Winston, of the Manual Training High
School, for valuable suggestions.
CONTENTS
POLITICAL SITUATION
EDMUND BURKE
BURKE AS A STATESMAN
BURKE IN LITERATURE
TOPICS FOR SPECIAL REPORTS
BIBLIOGRAPHY
SPEECH ON CONCILIATION WITH AMERICA
NOTES
INDEX
INTRODUCTION
POLITICAL SITUATION
In 1651 originated the policy which caused the American Revolution.
That policy was one of taxation, indirect, it is true, but none the less
taxation. The first Navigation Act required that colonial exports should
be shipped to England in American or English vessels. This was followed
by a long series of acts, regulating and restricting the American trade.
Colonists were not allowed to exchange certain articles without
paying duties thereon, and custom houses were established and officers
appointed. Opposition to these proceedings was ineffectual; and in 1696,
in order to expedite the business of taxation, and to establish a better
method of ruling the colonies, a board was appointed, called the Lords
Commissioners for Trade and Plantations. The royal governors found
in this board ready sympathizers, and were not slow to report their
grievances, and to insist upon more stringent regulations for enforcing
obedience. Some of the retaliative measures employed were the suspension
of the writ of habeas corpus, the abridgment of the freedom of the press
and the prohibition of elections. But the colonists generally succeeded
in having their own way in the end, and were not wholly without
encouragement and sympathy in the English Parliament. It may be that
the war with France, which ended with the fall of Quebec, had much to do
with this rather generous treatment. The Americans, too, were favored by
the Whigs, who had been in power for more than seventy years. The policy
of this great party was not opposed to the sentiments and ideas of
political freedom that had grown up in the colonies; and, although more
than half of the Navigation Acts were passed by Whig governments, the
leaders had known how to wink at the violation of nearly all of them.
Immediately after the close of the French war, and after George III. had
ascended the throne of England, it was decided to enforce the Navigation
Acts rigidly. There was to be no more smuggling, and, to prevent this,
Writs of Assistance were issued. Armed with such authority, a servant of
the king might enter the home of any citizen, and make a thorough search
for smuggled goods. It is needless to say the measure was resisted
vigorously, and its reception by the colonists, and its effect upon
them, has been called the opening scene of the American Revolution. As a
matter of fact, this sudden change in the attitude of England toward the
colonies, marks the beginning of the policy of George III. which, had it
been successful, would have made him the ruler of an absolute instead
of a limited monarchy. He hated the Tories only less than the Whigs,
and when he bestowed a favor upon either, it was for the purpose of
weakening the other. The first task he set himself was that of crushing
the Whigs. Since the Revolution of 1688, they had dictated the policy of
the English government, and through wise leaders had become supreme
in authority. They were particularly obnoxious to him because of their
republican spirit, and he regarded their ascendency as a constant menace
to his kingly power. Fortune seemed to favor him in the dissensions
which arose. There grew up two factions in the Whig party. There were
old Whigs and new Whigs. George played one against the other, advanced
his favorites when opportunity offered, and in the end succeeded in
forming a ministry composed of his friends and obedient to his will.
With the ministry safely in hand, he turned his attention to the House
of Commons. The old Whigs had set an example, which George was shrewd
enough to follow. Walpole and Newcastle had succeeded in giving England
one of the most peaceful and prosperous governments within in the
previous history of the nation, but their methods were corrupt. With
much of the judgment, penetration and wise forbearance which marks a
statesman, Walpole's distinctive qualities of mind eminently fitted
him for political intrigue; Newcastle was still worse, and has the
distinction of being the premier under whose administration the revolt
against official corruption first received the support of the public.
For near a hundred years, the territorial distribution of seats in the
House had remained the same, while the centres of population had shifted
along with those of trade and new industries. Great towns were without
representation, while boroughs, such as Old Sarum, without a single
voter, still claimed, and had, a seat in Parliament. Such districts,
or "rotten boroughs," were owned and controlled by many of the great
landowners. Both Walpole and Newcastle resorted to the outright purchase
of these seats, and when the time came George did not shrink from doing
the same thing. He went even further. All preferments of whatsoever sort
were bestowed upon those who would do his bidding, and the business
of bribery assumed such proportions that an office was opened at the
Treasury for this purpose, from which twenty-five thousand pounds are
said to have passed in a single day. Parliament had been for a long
time only partially representative of the people; it now ceased to be so
almost completely.
With, the support which such methods secured, along with encouragement
from his ministers, the king was prepared to put in operation his policy
for regulating the affairs of America. Writs of Assistance (1761) were
followed by the passage of the Stamp Act (1765). The ostensible object
of both these measures was to help pay the debt incurred by the French
war, but the real purpose lay deeper, and was nothing more or less than
the ultimate extension of parliamentary rule, in great things as well as
small, to America. At this crisis, so momentous for the colonists, the
Rockingham ministry was formed, and Burke, together with Pitt, supported
a motion for the unconditional repeal of the Stamp Act. After much
wrangling, the motion was carried, and the first blunder of the mother
country seemed to have been smoothed over.
Only a few months elapsed, however, when the question of taxing the
colonies was revived. Pitt lay ill, and could take no part in the
proposed measure. Through the influence of other members of his
party,--notably Townshend,--a series of acts were passed, imposing
duties on several exports to America. This was followed by a suspension
of the New York Assembly, because it had disregarded instructions | 1,687.464341 |
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BIBLIOTHEQUE
DES CHEFS-D'OEUVRE
DU ROMAN
CONTEMPORAIN
_KING OF CAMARGUE_
JEAN AICARD
PRINTED FOR SUBSCRIBERS ONLY BY
GEORGE BARRIE & SONS, PHILADELPHIA
COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY GEORGE BARRIE & SON
THIS EDITION OF
KING OF CAMARGUE
HAS BEEN COMPLETELY TRANSLATED
BY
GEORGE B. IVES
THE ETCHINGS ARE BY
LOUIS V. RUET
AND DRAWINGS BY
GEORGE ROUX
CHEFS-D'OEUVRE
DU
ROMAN CONTEMPORAIN
ROMANCISTS
THIS EDITION
DEDICATED TO THE HONOR OF THE
ACADEMIE FRANCAISE
IS LIMITED TO ONE THOUSAND NUMBERED AND REGISTERED
SETS, OF WHICH THIS IS
NUMBER 358
THE ROMANCISTS
JEAN AICARD
KING OF CAMARGUE
[Illustration: Chapter VI
_This woman had a way of looking at people that disconcerted
them. You would say that a sharp, threatening flame shot from
her eyes. It penetrated your being, searched your heart, and
you were powerless against it._]
TO EMILE TRELAT
My Very Dear Friend:
Permit me to dedicate this book to you, whose incomparable friendship
has been to the poet, obstinate in his idealism, of hourly assistance,
a constant proof of the reality of true generosity and kindness of
heart.
Jean Aicard.
_La Garde, near Toulon, April 11, 1890._
Contents
PAGE
I LIVETTE AND ZINZARA 3
II IN CAMARGUE 13
III THE DROVERS 21
IV THE SEDEN 27
V THE LOVERS 39
VI RAMPAL 51
VII THE MEETING 57
VIII ON THE BENCH 73
IX THE PRAYER 83
X THE TERRACE 91
XI THE HIDING-PLACE 99
XII A SORCERESS 121
XIII THE SNAKE-CHARMER 143
XIV JOUSTING 165
XV MONSIEUR LE CURE'S ARCHAEOLOGY 177
XVI ON THE ROOF OF THE CHURCH 205
XVII THE OLD WOMAN 219
XVIII THE BLESSED RELICS 231
XIX THE BRANDING 247
XX THE SNARE 261
XXI HERODIAS 279
XXII IN THE NEST 291
XXIII THE PURSUIT 303
XXIV IN THE GARGATE 323
XXV THE PHANTOM 331
NOTES 345
List of Illustrations
KING OF CAMARGUE
PAGE
RAMPAL AND THE GIPSY _Fronts._
RENAUD IN THE TOILS OF THE QUEEN 64
LIVETTE AND RENAUD 88
LIVETTE WATCHES ON THE CHURCH ROOF 216
THE GIPSY'S COUCH 312
KING OF CAMARGUE
I
LIVETTE AND ZINZARA
A shadow suddenly darkened the narrow window. Livette, who was running
hither and thither, setting the table for supper, in the lower room of
the farm-house of the Chateau d'Avignon, gave a little shriek of
terror, and looked up.
The girl had an instinctive feeling that it was neither father nor
grandmother, nor any of her dear ones, but some stranger, who sought
amusement by thus taking her by surprise.
Nor a stranger, either, for that matter,--it was hardly possible!--But
how was it that the dogs did not yelp? Ah! this Camargue is frequented
by bad people, especially at this season, toward the end of May, on
account of the festival of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, which attracts,
like a fair, such a crowd of people, thieves and gulls, and so many
mischievous gipsies!
The figure that was leaning on the outside of the window-sill,
shutting out the light, looked to Livette like a black mass, sharply
outlined against the blue sky; but by the thick, curly hair,
surmounted by a tinsel crown, by the general contour of the bust, by
the huge ear-rings with an amulet hanging at the ends, Livette
recognized a certain gipsy woman who was universally known as the
Queen, and who, for nearly two weeks, had been suddenly appearing to
people at widely distant points on the island, always unexpectedly, as
if she rose out of the ditches or clumps of thorn-broom or the water
of the swamps, to say to the laborers, preferably the women: "Give me
this or that;" for the Queen, as a general rule, would not accept what
people chose to offer her, but only what she chose that they should
offer her.
"Give me a little oil in a bottle, Livette," said the young gipsy,
darting a dark, flashing glance at the pretty girl with the fair,
sun-flecked hair.
Livette, charitable as she was at every opportunity, at once felt that
she must be on her guard against this vagabond, who knew her name. Her
father and grandmother had gone to Arles, to see the notary, who would
soon have to be drawing up the papers for her marriage to Renaud, the
handsomest drover in all Camargue. She was alone in the house.
Distrust gave her strength to refuse.
"Our Camargue isn't an olive country," said she curtly, "oil is scarce
here. I haven't any."
"But I see some in the jar at the bottom of the cupboard, beside the
water-pitcher."
Livette turned hastily toward the cupboard. It was closed; but, in
truth, the stock of olive oil was there in a jar beside the one in
which they kept Rhone water for their daily needs.
"I don't know what you mean," said Livette.
"The lie came from your mouth like a vile black wasp from a
garden-flower, little one!" said the motionless figure, still leaning
heavily on the window-sill, evidently determined to remain. "The oil
is where I say it is, and more than twenty-five litres too; I can see
it from here. Come, come, take a clean bottle and the tin funnel and
give me quickly what I want. I'll tell you, in exchange, what I see in
your future."
"It's a deadly sin to seek to know what God doesn't wish us to know,"
said Livette, "and you can guess that oil is kept in cupboards and
still be no more of a sorceress than I am. Go about your business,
good-wife. I can give you some of this bread, fresh baked last night,
if you wish, but I tell you I haven't any oil."
"And why do they call you Livette," said the Queen calmly, "if it
isn't on account of the field of old olive-trees--the oldest and
finest in the country--owned by your father, near Avignon? There you
were born. There you remained until you were ten years old, and at
that age--seven years ago, a mystic number--you came here, where your
father was made farmer, overseer of drovers, manager of everything, by
the Avignonese master of this 'Chateau d'Avignon,' the finest in all
Camargue.--'Livettes! livettes!' that's the way you used to ask for
_olivettes_, olives, when you were a baby. You were very fond of them,
and the nickname clung to you. A pretty nickname, on my word, and one
that suits you well, for if you're not dark like the ripe olive,
you're fair as the virgin oil, a pearl of amber in the sunlight, and
then you are not yet ripe. Your face is oval, and not stupidly round
like a Norman apple. You have the pallor of the olive-leaves seen from
below.--And that you may soon see them so, little one, is the blessing
I ask for you, as the cures of your chapels say, where they take us in
for pity. Be compassionate as they are, in the name of your Lord Jesus
Christ, and give me some oil quickly, I say--in the name of extreme
unction and the garden of agony!"
The gipsy had said all this without stopping to breathe, in a dull,
monotonous, muffled voice, but she added abruptly in loud, piercing,
incisive tones: "Do you understand what I say?" imparting to those
simple words an extraordinarily imperious and violent expression.
Livette hastily crossed herself.
"Come, enough of this!" said she, "I have nothing here for you, and we
keep the oil of extreme unction for better Christians! Begone, pagan,
begone!" she added, trying to counterfeit courage.
"Of the three holy women," continued the gipsy, "who took ship, after
the death of Jesus Christ, to escape the crucifying Jews, one was
like myself, an Egyptian and a fortune-teller. She knew the science of
the Magi, of those with whom great Moses contended for mastery in
witchcraft. She could, at will, order the frogs to be more numerous
than the drops of water in the swamps, and she held in her hand a rod
which, at her word, would change to a viper. Before Jesus she bowed,
as did Magdalen, and Jesus loved her too. In the tempest, as they were
crossing the sea, her wand pointed out the course to follow, and, to
do that with safety, had no need to be very long. Must you have more
pledges of my power and my knowledge? What more must I tell you to
induce you to give me the oil I need so much? If you were a man, I
would say: 'Look! I am dark, but I am beautiful! I am a descendant of
that Sara the Egyptian who, when the boat of the three holy women drew
near the sands of Camargue, paid the boatman by showing him her
undefiled body, stripped naked, with no thought of evil and without
sin, but knowing well that true beauty is rare and that the mere sight
of it is better than all the treasures of Solomon. So be it!'"
Livette was thoroughly alarmed. The gipsy's assurance, her hollow,
penetrating voice, imperious by fits and starts, these strange tales
filled with evil words on sacred subjects, this devilish mixture of
things pagan and things mystic, the consciousness of her own
loneliness, all combined to terrify her. She lost her head.
"Away with you, away with you," she cried, "queen of robbers! queen
of brigands! away with you, or I will call for help!"
"Your drover won't hear you; he's tending his drove to-day beside the
Vaccares. Come, give me the oil, I say, or I'll throw this black wand
on the ground, and you will see how snakes bite!"
But Livette, brave and determined, said: "No!" shuddering as she said
it, and, to glean a little comfort, cast a glance at the low beam
along which her father's gun was hanging. The gipsy saw the glance.
"Oh! I am not afraid of your gun," said she, "and to prove it--wait a
moment!"
She left the window. The light streamed into the room, bringing a
little courage to Livette's terrified heart, as she followed the gipsy
with her eyes. In the bright light of that beautiful May evening, the
gipsy woman stood out, a tall figure, against the distant, unbroken
horizon line of the Camargue desert, which could be seen through a
vista between the lofty trees of the park.
Livette felt a thrill of joy as she saw a troop of mares trotting
along the horizon, followed by their driver, spear in air--Jacques
Renaud, her fiance, without doubt.--But how far away he was! the
horses, from where she stood, looked smaller than a flock of little
goats. And her eyes came back to the gipsy queen. A few steps from the
farm-house, in front of the seigniorial chateau, a huge square | 1,687.465877 |
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MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING
ADVENTURE
MOTOR
FICTION
NO. 32
OCT. 2, 1909
FIVE
CENTS
MOTOR MATT'S
DOUBLE-TROUBLE
OR THE LAST
OF THE HOODOO
_BY THE AUTHOR OF
"MOTOR MATT"_
_STREET & SMITH
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK_
[Illustration: _"Stop!" shouted Motor Matt laying back on the end of
the rope_]
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Copyright, 1909, by_
STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y._
=No. 32.= NEW YORK, October 2, 1909. =Price Five Cents.=
Motor Matt's Double Trouble
OR,
THE LAST OF THE HOODOO.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. THE RED JEWEL.
CHAPTER II. ANOTHER END OF THE YARN.
CHAPTER III. SHOCK NUMBER ONE.
CHAPTER IV. SHOCKS TWO AND THREE.
CHAPTER V. A HOT STARTER.
CHAPTER VI. M'GLORY IS LOST--AND FOUND.
CHAPTER VII. "POCKETED."
CHAPTER VIII. SPRINGING A "COUP."
CHAPTER IX. MOTOR MATT'S CHASE.
CHAPTER X. THE CHASE CONCLUDED.
CHAPTER XI. A DOUBLE CAPTURE.
CHAPTER XII. ANOTHER SURPRISE.
CHAPTER XIII. BAITING A TRAP.
CHAPTER XIV. HOW THE TRAP WAS SPRUNG.
CHAPTER XV. BACK TO THE FARM.
CHAPTER XVI. CONCLUSION.
HUDSON AND THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE.
THE DEATH BITE.
MIGRATION OF RATS.
SOME GREAT CATASTROPHES.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Matt King=, otherwise Motor Matt.
=Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and
character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A
good chum to tie to--a point Motor Matt is quick to perceive.
=Tsan Ti=, Mandarin of the Red Button, who continues to fall into
tragic difficulties, and to send in "four-eleven" alarms for the
assistance of Motor Matt.
=Sam Wing=, San Francisco bazaar-man, originally from Canton, and
temporarily in the employ of Tsan Ti. By following his evil thoughts
he causes much trouble for the mandarin, and, incidentally, for the
motor boys.
=Philo Grattan=, a rogue of splendid abilities, who aims to steal a
fortune and ends in being brought to book for the theft of a motor
car.
=Pardo=, a pal of Grattan.
=Neb Hogan=, a brother whose mule, stolen by Sam Wing, plays
a part of considerable importance. Neb himself engineers a surprise
at the end of the story, and goes his way so overwhelmed with good
luck that he is unable to credit the evidence of his senses.
=Banks and Gridley=, officers of the law who are searching for the
stolen blue motor.
=Boggs=, a farmer who comes to the aid of Motor Matt with energy and
courage.
=Bunce=, a sailor with two good eyes who, for some object of his
own, wears a green patch and prefers to have the public believe he
is one-eyed. A pal of Grattan, who is caught in the same net that
entangles the rest of the ruby thieves.
CHAPTER I.
THE RED JEWEL.
Craft and greed showed in the eyes of the hatchet-faced Chinaman. He
seemed to have been in deep slumber in the car seat, but the drowsiness
was feigned. The train was not five minutes out of the town of Catskill
before he had roused himself, wary and wide-awake, and looked across
the aisle. His look and manner gave evidence that he was meditating
some crime.
It was in the small hours of the morning, and the passenger train was
rattling and bumping through the heavy gloom. The lights in the coach
had been turned low, and all the passengers, with the exception of the
thin-visaged Celestial, were sprawling in their uncomfortable seats,
snoring or breathing heavily.
Across the aisle from this criminally inclined native of the Flowery
Kingdom was another who likewise hailed from the land of pagodas and
mystery; and this other, it could be seen at a glance, was a person of
some consequence.
He was fat, and under the average height. Drawn down over his shaven
head was a black silk cap, with a gleaming red button sewn in the
centre of the flat crown. From under the edge of the cap dropped
a queue of silken texture, thick, and so long that it crossed the
Chinaman's shoulder and lay in one or two coils across his fat knees.
Yellow is the royal color in China, and it is to be noted that this
Celestial's blouse was of yellow, and his wide trousers, and his
stockings--all yellow and of the finest Canton silk. His sandals were
black and richly embroidered.
From the button and the costume, one at all informed of fashions as
followed in the country of Confucius might have guessed that this stout
person was a mandarin. And that guess would have been entirely correct.
To go further and reveal facts which will presently become the reader's
in the logical unfolding of this chronicle, the mandarin was none other
than Tsan Ti, discredited guardian of the Honam joss house, situated
on an island suburb of the city of Canton. He of the slant, lawless
gleaming eyes was Sam Wing, the mandarin's trusted and treacherous
servant.
A Chinaman, like his Caucasian brother, is not always proof against
temptation when the ugly opportunity presents itself at the right time
and in the right way. Sam Wing believed he had come face to face with
such an opportunity, and he was determined to make the most of it.
Sam Wing was a resident of San Francisco. He owned a fairly prosperous
bazaar, and, once every year, turned his profits into Mexican dollars
and forwarded the silver to an uncle in Canton for investment in the
land of his birth. Some day Sam Wing cherished the dream of returning
to Canton and living like a grandee. But wealth came slowly. Now, there
in that foreign devil's choo-choo car such a chance offered to secure
unheard-of riches that Sam Wing's loyalty to the mandarin, no less
than his heathen ideas of integrity, were brushed away with astounding
suddenness.
Tsan Ti slept. His round head was wabbling on his short neck--rolling
and swaying grotesquely with every lurch of the train. The red button
of the mandarin's cap caught the dim rays of the overhead lamps and
threw crimson gleams into the eyes of Sam Wing. This flashing button
reminded Sam Wing of the red jewel, worth a king's ransom, which the
mandarin was personally conveying to San Francisco, en route to China
and the city of Canton.
Already Sam Wing was intrusted with the mandarin's money bag--an
alligator-skin pouch containing many oblong pieces of green paper
marked with figures of large denomination. The money was good, what
there was of it, but that was not enough to pay for theft and flight.
Sam Wing's long, talon-like fingers itched to lay hold of the red jewel.
With a swift, reassuring look at the passengers in the car, Sam Wing
caught at the back of the seat in front and lifted himself erect. He
was not a handsome Chinaman, by any means, and he appeared particularly
repulsive just at that moment.
Hanging to the seat, he steadied himself as he stepped lightly across
the aisle. Another moment and he was at the mandarin's side, looking
down on him.
Tsan Ti, in his dreams, was again in Canton. Striding through the great | 1,687.466861 |
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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.
NOVEMBER & DECEMBER
1665
November 1st. Lay very long in bed discoursing with Mr. Hill of most
things of a man's life, and how little merit do prevail in the world, but
only favour; and that, for myself, chance without merit brought me in; and
that diligence only keeps me so, and will, living as I do among so many
lazy people that the diligent man becomes necessary, that they cannot do
anything without him, and so told him of my late business of the
victualling, and what cares I am in to keepe myself having to do with
people of so different factions at Court, and yet must be fair with them
all, which was very pleasant discourse for me to tell, as well as he
seemed to take it, for him to hear. At last up, and it being a very foule
day for raine and a hideous wind, yet having promised I would go by water
to Erith, and bearing sayle was in danger of oversetting, but ordered them
take down their sayle, and so cold and wet got thither, as they had ended
their dinner. How[ever], I dined well, and after dinner all on shore, my
Lord Bruncker with us to Mrs. Williams's lodgings, and Sir W. Batten, Sir
Edmund Pooly, and others; and there, it being my Lord's birth-day, had
every one a green riband tied in our hats very foolishly; and methinks
mighty disgracefully for my Lord to have his folly so open to all the
world with this woman. But by and by Sir W. Batten and I took coach, and
home to Boreman, and so going home by the backside I saw Captain Cocke
'lighting out of his coach (having been at Erith also with her but not on
board) and so he would come along with me to my lodging, and there sat and
supped and talked with us, but we were angry a little a while about our
message to him the other day about bidding him keepe from the office or
his owne office, because of his black dying. I owned it and the reason of
it, and would have been glad he had been out of the house, but I could not
bid him go, and so supped, and after much other talke of the sad condition
and state of the King's matters we broke up, and my friend and I to bed.
This night coming with Sir W. Batten into Greenwich we called upon Coll.
Cleggatt, who tells us for certaine that the King of Denmark hath declared
to stand for the King of England, but since I hear it is wholly false.
2nd. Up, left my wife and to the office, and there to my great content
Sir W. Warren come to me to settle the business of the Tangier boates,
wherein I shall get above L100, besides L100 which he gives me in the
paying for them out of his owne purse. He gone, I home to my lodgings to
dinner, and there comes Captain Wagers newly returned from the Streights,
who puts me in great fear for our last ships that went to Tangier with
provisions, that they will be taken. A brave, stout fellow this Captain
is, and I think very honest. To the office again after dinner and there
late writing letters, and then about 8 at night set out from my office and
fitting myself at my lodgings intended to have gone this night in a Ketch
down to the Fleete, but calling in my way at Sir J. Minnes's, who is come
up from Erith about something about the prizes, they persuaded me not to
go till the morning, it being a horrible darke and a windy night. So I
back to my lodging and to bed.
3rd. Was called up about four o'clock and in the darke by lanthorne took
boat and to the Ketch and set sayle, sleeping a little in the Cabbin till
day and then up and fell to reading of Mr. Evelyn's book about Paynting,
[This must surely have been Evelyn's "Sculptura, or the History and
Art of Chalcography and Engraving in Copper," published in 1662.
The translation of Freart's "Idea of the Perfection of Painting
demonstrated" was not published until 1668.]
which is a very pretty book. Carrying good victuals and Tom with me I to
breakfast about 9 o'clock, and then to read again and come to the Fleete
about twelve, where I found my Lord (the Prince being gone in) on board
the Royall James, Sir Thomas Allen commander, and with my Lord an houre
alone discoursing what was my chief and only errand about what was
adviseable for his Lordship to do in this state of things, himself being
under the Duke of Yorke's and Mr. Coventry's envy, and a great many more
and likely never to do anything honourably but he shall be envied and the
honour taken as much as can be from it. His absence lessens his interest
at Court, and what is worst we never able to set out a fleete fit for him
to command, or, if out, to keepe them out or fit them to do any great
thing, or if that were so yet nobody at home minds him or his condition
when he is abroad, and lastly the whole affairs of state looking as if
they would all on a sudden break in pieces, and then what a sad thing it
would be for him to be out of the way. My Lord did concur in every thing
and thanked me infinitely for my visit and counsel, telling me that in
every thing he concurs, but puts a query, what if the King will not think
himself safe, if any man should go but him. How he should go off then? To
that I had no answer ready, but the making the King see that he may be of
as good use to him here while another goes forth. But for that I am not
able to say much. We after this talked of some other little things and so
to dinner, where my Lord infinitely kind to me, and after dinner I rose
and left him with some Commanders at the table | 1,687.497752 |
2023-11-16 18:45:11.4860880 | 94 | 23 |
Produced by David Kline, Henry Gardiner and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: The original publication has been replicated
faithfully except as listed near the end of this ebook. Italic characters
are indicated _like this_. Superscripts are indicated like this: y^e.
* * * * | 1,687.506128 |
2023-11-16 18:45:11.5408730 | 2,694 | 40 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
[Every attempt has been made to replicate the original as printed.
No attempt has been made to correct or normalize the spelling
of non-English words. Archaic spelllings (i.e. divers, ecstacy,
graneries, asthetic, etc.) have been retained. (note of etext
transcriber.)]
[Illustration: MONT ST. MICHAEL.]
NASBY IN EXILE:
OR,
SIX MONTHS OF TRAVEL
IN
England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Germany,
Switzerland and Belgium,
WITH MANY THINGS NOT OF TRAVEL.
BY
DAVID R. LOCKE,
(Petroleum V. Nasby.)
PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED.
TOLEDO AND BOSTON:
LOCKE PUBLISHING COMPANY.
1882.
COPYRIGHT,
1882,
BY DAVID R. LOCKE.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
BLADE PRINTING AND PAPER CO.,
_Printers and Binders_,
TOLEDO, O.
PREFACE.
On the afternoon of May 14, 1881, the good ship "City of Richmond,"
steamed out of New York harbor with a varied assortment of passengers on
board, all intent upon seeing Europe. Among these was the writer of the
pages that follow.
Six of the passengers having contracted a sort of liking for each other,
made a tour of six months together, that is, together most of the time.
This book is the record of their experiences, as they appeared
originally in the columns of the TOLEDO BLADE.
It is not issued in compliance with any demand for it. I have no
recollection that any one of the one hundred thousand regular
subscribers to the TOLEDO BLADE ever asked that the letters that
appeared from week to week in its columns should be gathered into book
form. The volume is a purely mercantile speculation, which may or may
not be successful. The publishers held that the matter was of sufficient
value to go between covers, and believing that they were good judges of
such things, I edited the letters, and here they are.
The ground we went over has been gone over by other writers a thousand
times. We went where other tourists have gone, and what we saw others
have seen. The only difference between this book and the thousands of
others that have been printed describing the same scenes, is purely the
difference in the eyes of the writers who saw them. I saw the countries
I visited with a pair of American eyes, and judged of men and things
from a purely American stand-point.
I have not attempted to describe scenery, and buildings, and things of
that nature, at all. That has been done by men and women more capable of
such work than I am. Every library in America is full of books of that
nature. But I was interested in the men and women of the countries I
passed through, I was interested in their ways of living, their
industries and their customs and habits, and I tried faithfully to put
upon paper what I saw, as well as the observations and comments of the
party that traveled and observed with me.
I have a hope that the readers of these pages will lay the book down in
quite as good condition, mentally and physically, as when they took it
up, and that some information as to European life will result from its
perusal. As I make no promises at the beginning I shall have no
apologies to make at the ending.
It is only justice to say that much of the descriptive matter is the
work of Mr. ROBINSON LOCKE, who was with me every minute of the time,
and the intelligent reader will be perfectly safe in ascribing the best
of its pages to his pen.
I can only hope that this work, as a book, will meet with the same
measure of favor that the material did as newspaper sketches.
D. R. L.
_Toledo, Ohio, June 29, 1882._
ILLUSTRATIONS.
No. PAGE
1. FRONTISPIECE.
2. The Departure 18
3. "Shuffle Board" 22
4. The Betting Young Man from Chicago 24
5. "Dear, Sea-sickness is only a Feminine Weakness," 27
6. Lemuel Tibbitts, from Oshkosh, Writes a Letter 29
7. Every Sin I Had Committed Came Before Me 33
8. Off for London 35
9. Public Buildings, London 36
10. The Indian Policy 39
11. The Emetic Policy 39
12. A London Street Scene 45
13. A London Steak 50
14. "And is the Them Shanghais?" 53
15. Sol. Carpenter and the Race 60
16. Leaving for the Derby 62
17. By the Roadside 64
18. English <DW64> Minstrelsy 66
19. The Roadside Repast 67
20. The Betting Ring 73
21. "D----n the Swindling Scoundrel" 74
22. Egyptian Room, British Museum 76
23. A Bold Briton Trying the American Custom 79
24. A London Gin Drinking Woman 80
25. The Poor Man is Sick 81
26. "That <DW65> is Mine" 82
27. St. Thomas Hospital 92
28. Interior of a Variety Hall 95
29. The Magic Purse 98
30. The Man who was Music Proof 100
31. Madame Tussaud 102
32. Wax Figures of Americans 103
33. "Digging Corpses is all Wrong" 105
34. Improved Process of Burke and Hare 106
35. Isle of Wight 107
36. The London Lawyer 110
37. The Old English Way of Procuring a Loan 118
38. "Beware of Fraudulent Imitations" 120
39. The Old Temple Bar 122
40. The Sidewalk Shoe Store 125
41. "Sheap Clodink" 127
42. "Dake Dot Ring" 133
43. A Lane in Camberwell 135
44. The Tower of London 136
45. The Jewel Tower 140
46. Sir Magnus' Men 142
47. Horse Armory 144
48. St. John's Chapel 145
49. St. Thomas' Tower 146
50. General View of the Tower 147
51. The Bloody Tower 148
52. Drowning of Clarence in a Butt of Wine 149
53. The Byward Tower from the East 150
54. The Beauchamp Tower 151
55. The Overworked Headsman 152
56. The Persuasive Rack 153
57. The Byward Tower from the West 154
58. The Middle Tower 155
59. The Beef Eater 156
60. The Flint Tower 157
61. The Traitor's Gate 158
62. What Shall We Do with Sir Thomas? 159
63. The Easiest Way 160
64. The Suits Come Home 163
65. The Candle Episode 168
66. The Little Bill 169
67. Getting Ready to Leave a Hotel 169
68. The Last Straw 170
69. The Cabman Tipped 170
70. The Universal Demand 171
71. The Lord Mayor's Show 173
72. A Second Hand Debauch 175
73. The Anniversary Ceremonies 178
74. In the Harbor 179
75. Isle of Wight 182
76. The Unfinished Entries in the Diary 184
77. Westminster Abbey 186
78. Exterior of the Abbey 187
79. Entrance to the Abbey 188
80. The Poet's Corner 191
81. Henry VII.'s Chapel 193
82. Chapel of Edward 197
83. Effigy Room 200
84. The Abbey in Queen Anne's Time 201
85. "If She Ever Miscalculates She's Gone," 204
86. The Death of the Trainer 206
87. The Gorgeous Funeral Procession 207
88. Monument to the Trainer 208
89. The Side Show Zulu 210
90. The Lost Finger 212
91. On the Thames 218
92. Sandwiches at New Haven 222
93. Off Dieppe--Four A. M. 224
94. "Have You Tobacco or Spirits?" 225
95. Fisher Folk--Dieppe 227
96. Fisher Women--Dieppe 228
97. Fisher Boy and Child 229
98. The Boys of Rouen 232
99. Rouen 233
100. The Professor Stood Before it 234
101. Cathedral of Notre Dame 235
102. House of Joan d'Arc 235
103. Harbor of Rouen 236
104. St. Ouen--Rouen 238
105. The Showman in Paris 240
106. Bloss' Great Moral Spectacle 241
107. Tower of St. Pierre 242
108. Old Houses--Rouen 242
109. The Professor's Spectacles 245
110. Old Paris 246
111. Liberty, Fraternity, Equality 247
112. New Paris 248
113. The Louvre 250
114. A Boulevard Cafe 252
115. A Costume by Worth 253
116. A Magazine on the Boulevard 254
117. Mr. Thompson's Art Purchases 256
118. The American Party Outside a Cafe 259
119. The Avenue de L'Opera 261
120. Cafe Concerts 262
121. The Faro Bankeress 266
122. French Soldiers 267
123. Parisian Bread Carriers 269
124. Queer--to Frenchmen 271
125. The Porte St. Martin 272
126. A Very Polite Frenchman 275
127. "Merci, Monsieur!" 277
128. Paris Underground 279
129. Interior of the Paris Bourse 280
130. The Arc du Carrousel 282
131. "How Long Must I Endure This?" 285
132. Tail Piece 286
133. The Mother of the Gamin as She Was 288
134. The Mother of the Gamin in the Sere and Yellow Leaf 289
135. The Aged Stump Gatherer 290
136. A Talk with a Gamin 294
137. The Mabille at Night 305
138. A Mabille Divinity 306
139. Professionals in a Quadrille 309
140. A Male Dancer 310
141. The Grisette 311
142. Meeting of Tibbitts and the Professor 314
143. The Cafe Swell 316
144. Tail Piece 318
145. Beauvais Cathedral 319
146. Struggle for the Kingship 322
147. Of the Commune 326
148. Tibbitts and Faro Bankeress | 1,687.560913 |
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Produced by Olaf Voss, Don Kretz, Juliet Sutherland, Charles
Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration]
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 286
NEW YORK, JUNE 25, 1881
Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XI, No. 286.
Scientific American established 1845
Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.
Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. ENGINEERING AND MECHANICS.--One Thousand Horse Power Corliss Engine.
5 figures, to scale, illustrating the construction of the new one
thousand horse power Corliss engine, by Hitch, Hargreaves & Co.
Opening of the New Workshop of the Stevens Institute of Technology.
Speech of Prof. R.W. Raymond, speech of Mr. Horatio Allen.
Light Steam Engine for Aeronautical Purposes. Constructed for Capt.
Mojoisky, of the Russian Navy.
Complete Prevention of Incrustation in Boilers. Arrangement for
purifying boiler water with lime and carbonate of soda.--The
purification of the water.--Examination of the purified
water.--Results of water purification.
Eddystone Lighthouse. Progress of the work.
Rolling Mill for Making Corrugated Iron. 1 figure. The new mill of
Schultz, Knaudt & Co., of Essen, Germany.
Railway Turntable in the Time of Louis XIV. 1 figure. Pleasure car.
Railway and turntable at Mary-le-Roy Chateau, France, in 1714.
New Signal Wire Compensator. Communication from A. Lyle, describing
compensators in use on the Nizam State Railway, East India.
Tangye's Hydraulic Hoist. 2 figures.
Power Loom for Delicate Fabrics. 1 figure.
How Veneering is Made.
II. TECHNOLOGY AND CHEMISTRY.--The Constituent Parts of Leather. The
composition of different leathers exhibited at the Paris
Exhibition.--Amount of leather produced by different tonnages of 100
pounds of hides.--Percentage of tannin absorbed under different
methods of tanning.--Amounts of gelatine and tannin in leather of
different tonnages, etc.
Progress in American Pottery.
Photographic Notes.--Mr. Waruerke's New Discovery.--Method of
converting negatives directly into positives.--Experiments of Capt.
Bing on the sensitiveness of coal oil--Bitumen plates.--Method of
topographic engraving. By Commandant DE LA NOE.--Succinate of Iron
Developer.--Method of making friable hydro-cellulose.
Photo-Tracings in Black and Color.
Dyeing Reds with Artificial Alizarin. By M. MAURICE PRUD'HOMME | 1,687.600105 |
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Produced by David Widger
MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, 1566-1574, Complete
THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
VOLUME 2, Book 1., 1566
1566 [CHAPTER VIII.]
Secret policy of the government--Berghen and Montigny in Spain--
Debates at Segovia--Correspondence of the Duchess with Philip--
Procrastination and dissimulation of the King--Secret communication
to the Pope--Effect in the provinces of the King's letters to the
government--Secret instructions to the Duchess--Desponding
statements of Margaret--Her misrepresentations concerning Orange,
Egmont, and others--Wrath and duplicity of Philip--Egmont's
exertions in Flanders--Orange returns to Antwerp--His tolerant
spirit--Agreement of 2d September--Horn at Tournay--Excavations in
the Cathedral--Almost universal attendance at the preaching--
Building of temples commenced--Difficult position of Horn--Preaching
in the Clothiers' Hall--Horn recalled--Noircarmes at Tournay--
Friendly correspondence of Margaret with Orange, Egmont, Horn, and
Hoogstraaten--Her secret defamation of these persons.
Egmont in Flanders, Orange at Antwerp, Horn at Tournay; Hoogstraaten at
Mechlin, were exerting themselves to suppress insurrection and to avert
ruin. What, meanwhile, was the policy of the government? The secret
course pursued both at Brussels and at Madrid may be condensed into the
usual formula--dissimulation, procrastination, and again dissimulation.
It is at this point necessary to take a rapid survey of the open and the
secret proceedings of the King and his representatives from the moment at
which Berghen and Montigny arrived in Madrid. Those ill-fated gentlemen
had been received with apparent cordiality, and admitted to frequent, but
unmeaning, interviews with his Majesty. The current upon which they were
embarked was deep and treacherous, but it was smooth and very slow. They
assured the King that his letters, ordering the rigorous execution of the
inquisition and edicts, had engendered all the evils under which the
provinces were laboring. They told him that Spaniards and tools of
Spaniards had attempted to govern the country, to the exclusion of native
citizens and nobles, but that it would soon be found that Netherlanders
were not to be trodden upon like the abject inhabitants of Milan, Naples,
and Sicily. Such words as these struck with an unaccustomed sound upon
the royal ear, but the envoys, who were both Catholic and loyal, had no
idea, in thus expressing their opinions, according to their sense of
duty, and in obedience to the King's desire, upon the causes of the
discontent, that they were committing an act of high treason.
When the news of the public preaching reached Spain, there were almost
daily consultations at the grove of Segovia. The eminent personages who
composed the royal council were the Duke of Alva, the Count de Feria, Don
Antonio de Toledo, Don Juan Manrique de Lara, Ruy Gomez, Quixada,
Councillor Tisnacq, recently appointed President of the State Council,
and Councillor Hopper. Six Spaniards and two Netherlanders, one of whom,
too, a man of dull intellect and thoroughly subservient character, to
deal with the local affairs of the Netherlands in a time of intense
excitement! The instructions of the envoys had been to represent the
necessity of according three great points--abolition of the inquisition,
moderation of the edicts, according to the draft prepared in Brussels,
and an ample pardon for past transactions. There was much debate upon all
these propositions. Philip said little, but he listened attentively to
the long discourses in council, and he took an incredible quantity of
notes. It was the general opinion that this last demand on the part of
the Netherlanders was the fourth link in the chain of treason. The first
had been the cabal by which Granvelle had been expelled; the second, the
mission of Egmont, the main object of which had been to procure a
modification of the state council, in order to bring that body under the
control of | 1,687.603437 |
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Produced | 1,687.654414 |
2023-11-16 18:45:11.6419390 | 1,637 | 28 | STUDIES IN PESSIMISM***
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE ESSAYS OF ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER: STUDIES IN PESSIMISM
TRANSLATED BY
T. BAILEY SAUNDERS, M.A.
CONTENTS.
ON THE SUFFERINGS OF THE WORLD
ON THE VANITY OF EXISTENCE
ON SUICIDE
IMMORTALITY: A DIALOGUE
PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS
ON EDUCATION
OF WOMEN
ON NOISE
A FEW PARABLES
NOTE.
The Essays here presented form a further selection from Schopenhauer's
_Parerga_, brought together under a title which is not to be found
in the original, and does not claim to apply to every chapter in
the volume. The first essay is, in the main, a rendering of the
philosopher's remarks under the heading of _Nachtraege zur Lehre vom
Leiden der Welt_, together with certain parts of another section
entitled _Nachtraege zur Lehre von der Bejahung und Verneinung des
Willens zum Leben_. Such omissions as I have made are directed chiefly
by the desire to avoid repeating arguments already familiar to readers
of the other volumes in this series. The _Dialogue on Immortality_
sums up views expressed at length in the philosopher's chief work, and
treated again in the _Parerga_. The _Psychological Observations_ in
this and the previous volume practically exhaust the chapter of the
original which bears this title.
The essay on _Women_ must not be taken in jest. It expresses
Schopenhauer's serious convictions; and, as a penetrating observer
of the faults of humanity, he may be allowed a hearing on a question
which is just now receiving a good deal of attention among us.
T.B.S.
ON THE SUFFERINGS OF THE WORLD.
Unless _suffering_ is the direct and immediate object of life, our
existence must entirely fail of its aim. It is absurd to look upon
the enormous amount of pain that abounds everywhere in the world, and
originates in needs and necessities inseparable from life itself, as
serving no purpose at all and the result of mere chance. Each separate
misfortune, as it comes, seems, no doubt, to be something exceptional;
but misfortune in general is the rule.
I know of no greater absurdity than that propounded by most systems of
philosophy in declaring evil to be negative in its character. Evil is
just what is positive; it makes its own existence felt. Leibnitz is
particularly concerned to defend this absurdity; and he seeks to
strengthen his position by using a palpable and paltry sophism.[1]
It is the good which is negative; in other words, happiness and
satisfaction always imply some desire fulfilled, some state of pain
brought to an end.
[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_, cf. _Theod_, sec. 153.--Leibnitz
argued that evil is a negative quality--_i.e_., the absence of good; and
that its active and seemingly positive character is an incidental and
not an essential part of its nature. Cold, he said, is only the absence
of the power of heat, and the active power of expansion in freezing
water is an incidental and not an essential part of the nature of cold.
The fact is, that the power of expansion in freezing water is really an
increase of repulsion amongst its molecules; and Schopenhauer is quite
right in calling the whole argument a sophism.]
This explains the fact that we generally find pleasure to be not
nearly so pleasant as we expected, and pain very much more painful.
The pleasure in this world, it has been said, outweighs the pain; or,
at any rate, there is an even balance between the two. If the reader
wishes to see shortly whether this statement is true, let him compare
the respective feelings of two animals, one of which is engaged in
eating the other.
The best consolation in misfortune or affliction of any kind will
be the thought of other people who are in a still worse plight than
yourself; and this is a form of consolation open to every one. But
what an awful fate this means for mankind as a whole!
We are like lambs in a field, disporting themselves under the eye of
the butcher, who chooses out first one and then another for his prey.
So it is that in our good days we are all unconscious of the evil Fate
may have presently in store for us--sickness, poverty, mutilation,
loss of sight or reason.
No little part of the torment of existence lies in this, that Time is
continually pressing upon us, never letting us take breath, but always
coming after us, like a taskmaster with a whip. If at any moment Time
stays his hand, it is only when we are delivered over to the misery of
boredom.
But misfortune has its uses; for, as our bodily frame would burst
asunder if the pressure of the atmosphere was removed, so, if the
lives of men were relieved of all need, hardship and adversity; if
everything they took in hand were successful, they would be so swollen
with arrogance that, though they might not burst, they would present
the spectacle of unbridled folly--nay, they would go mad. And I may
say, further, that a certain amount of care or pain or trouble is
necessary for every man at all times. A ship without ballast is
unstable and will not go straight.
Certain it is that _work, worry, labor_ and _trouble_, form the lot of
almost all men their whole life long. But if all wishes were fulfilled
as soon as they arose, how would men occupy their lives? what would
they do with their time? If the world were a paradise of luxury and
ease, a land flowing with milk and honey, where every Jack obtained
his Jill at once and without any difficulty, men would either die of
boredom or hang themselves; or there would be wars, massacres, and
murders; so that in the end mankind would inflict more suffering on
itself than it has now to accept at the hands of Nature.
In early youth, as we contemplate our coming life, we are like
children in a theatre before the curtain is raised, sitting there
in high spirits and eagerly waiting for the play to begin. It is a
blessing that we do not know what is really going to happen. Could we
foresee it, there are times when children might seem like innocent
prisoners, condemned, not to death, but to life, and as yet all
unconscious of what their sentence means. Nevertheless, every man
desires to reach old age; in other words, a state of life of which it
may be said: "It is bad to-day, and it will be worse to-morrow; and so
on till the worst of all."
If you try to imagine, as nearly as you can, what an amount of misery,
pain and suffering of every kind the sun shines upon in its course,
you will admit that it would be much better if, on the earth as little
as on the moon, the sun were able to call forth the phenomena of life;
and if, here as there, the surface were still in a crystalline state.
Again, you may look upon life as an unprofitable episode, disturbing
the blessed calm | 1,687.661979 |
2023-11-16 18:45:12.1399600 | 942 | 11 |
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SKETCHES OF SUCCESSFUL
NEW HAMPSHIRE MEN
Illustrated with Steel Portraits.
MANCHESTER:
JOHN B. CLARKE.
1882.
Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1882, by
JOHN B. CLARKE,
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
PUBLISHER'S PREFACE.
This volume contains portraits and biographical sketches of eighty-eight
New Hampshire men whose deserved success in their several callings has
made them conspicuous in the professional, business, and political
world. It should be the first of a series,--the beginning of a work so
extensive as to include similar presentations in regard to all the
prominent men of our state, when it would exceed in value and interest
to New Hampshire people all other publications of a biographical nature.
The glory of our state centers in and is reflected from her great men
and noble women, whose history should be familiar to all who by birth or
association are interested in her fame and welfare, and especially to
those in whose hands rests her future, and who may need the
strengthening influence of their example. To this end this volume will
contribute. Its preparation has occupied a long time, and involved much
labor and expense. My connection with it has been that of a publisher,
whose duties I have endeavored to discharge faithfully and acceptably.
All else is to be credited to others. The sketches are printed in the
order in which they were furnished.
JOHN B. CLARKE.
MANCHESTER, N. H., July, 1882.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
ADAMS, CHARLES, JR. 278
ADAMS, PHINEHAS 166
AMORY, WILLIAM 151
BALCH, CHARLES E. 113
BARNARD, DANIEL 304
BARTLETT, CHARLES H. 33
BARTON, LEVI WINTER 50
BLAIR, HENRY WILLIAM 285
BRACEWELL, JOHN 199
BRIGGS, JAMES F. 294
BRYANT, NAPOLEON B. 187
BUFFUM, DAVID HANSON 276
CARPENTER, JOSIAH 43
CHANDLER, GEORGE BYRON 185
CHANDLER, WILLIAM E. 255
CHENEY, GILMAN 215
CHENEY, PERSON C. 162
CLARK, JOSEPH BOND 179
CLARKE, JOHN B. 311
CLARKE, WILLIAM C. 261
COGSWELL, FRANCIS 177
COGSWELL, GEORGE 204
COGSWELL, THOMAS 160
COGSWELL, WILLIAM 137
COLBY, ANTHONY 251
CROSBY, ASA AND SONS 243
CUMNER, NATHANIEL WENTWORTH 297
CURRIER, MOODY 35
DANIELL, WARREN F. 237
DEARBORN, CORNELIUS VAN NESS 195
DUNLAP, ARCHIBALD HARRIS 264
EDGERLY, MARTIN V. B. 130
FRENCH, JOHN C. 157
GEORGE, JOHN HATCH 98
GILMAN, VIRGIL C. 148
GOODELL, DAVID H. 233
GOODWIN, ICHABOD 133
GRAVES, JOSIAH G. 235
GRIFFIN, SIMON G. 58
HALL, DANIEL 229
HARRIMAN, WALTER 74
HAYES, ALBERT H. 202
HEAD, NATT 223
JEWELL, DAVID LYMAN 63
KENT, HENRY O. 21 | 1,688.16 |
2023-11-16 18:45:12.3378590 | 2,297 | 21 | VOL. 93. SEPTEMBER 17, 1887***
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOLUME 93.
SEPTEMBER 17, 1887.
* * * * *
OUR IGNOBLE SELVES.
(_Lament by a Reader of "Letters to the Papers."_)
[Illustration]
OH! bless us and save us! Like men to behave us
We Britons once held it our glory;
Now Party bids fair to befool and enslave us.
We're lost between Liberal and Tory!
Some quidnunc inditeth a letter to GLADSTONE,
The style of it, "Stand and deliver!"
Its speech may be rude, and its tone quite a cad's tone,
Its logic may make a man shiver.
_Au contraire_ it _may_ be most lucid and modest,
In taste and in pertinence equal
(Though such a conjunction would be of the oddest),
But what, anyhow, is the sequel?
Rad papers _all_ cry, "We've once more before us
An instance of folly inrushing."
Whilst _all_ the Conservative Journals in chorus
Declare "it is perfectly crushing!"
"Little Pedlington's" snubbed by the Liberal Press,
And urged such fool tricks to abandon.
Cry Tories, "I guess the Old Man's in a mess,
He hasn't a leg left to stand on!"
Oh! save us and bless us! The shirt of old Nessus,
Was not such a snare to the hero,
As poisonous faction. Crass fools we confess us,
With sense and with spirit at zero.
If thus we comport us like blind sprawling kittens,
Or pitiful partisan poodles,
'Twill prove Party makes e'en of freeminded Britons,
A race of incontinent noodles!
* * * * *
"TO TEAPOT BAY AND BACK."
LONDONERS who like but are weary of the attractions of Eastend-on-Mud,
and want a change, can scarcely do better than spend twenty-four hours
in that rising watering-place Teapot Bay. I say advisedly "rising,"
because the operation has been going on for more than forty years. In
these very pages a description of the "juvenile town," appeared nearly
half a century ago. Then it was said that the place was "so infantine
that many of the houses were not out of their scaffold-poles, whilst
others had not yet cut their windows," and the place has been growing
ever since--but very gradually. The "ground plan of the High Street" of
those days would still be useful as a guide, although it is only fair to
say that several of the fields then occupied by cabbages are now to some
extent covered with empty villas labelled "To Let." In the past the High
Street was intersected by roads described as "a street, half houses,
half potatoes," "a street apparently doing a good stroke of business,"
"a street, but no houses," "a street indigent, but houseless," "a street
which appears to have been nipped in the kitchens," "a street thickly
populated with three inhabitants," and last but not least, "a street in
such a flourishing condition that it has started a boarding-house and
seminary." The present condition of Teapot Bay is much the same--the
roads running between two lines of cellars (contributions to houses that
have yet to be built) are numerous and testify to good intentions never
fulfilled. There is the same meaningless tower with a small illuminated
clock at the top of it, and if the pier is not quite so long as it was
thirty or forty years ago, it still seems to be occupying the same site.
[Illustration: Cheap and Picturesque Roots for Tourists.]
The means of getting to Teapot Bay is by railway. Although no doubt
numbered amongst the cheap and picturesque routes for tourists, the
place is apparently considered by the authorities as more or less of a
joke. Margate, Ramsgate, Westgate and Broadstairs, are taken _au
serieux_, and have trains which keep their time; but Teapot Bay,
seemingly, is looked upon as a legitimate excuse for laughter. If two
trains are fixed to start at 12, and 12.30, the twelve o'clock train
will leave at 12.30, and the 12.30 at 1. The authorities endeavour to
have a train in hand at the end of the day, and I fancy are generally
successful in carrying out their intentions. But between London and
Teapot Bay there are many slippery carriages, which stop at various
Junctions, and refuse to go any further in the required direction. When
this happens, the weary traveller has to descend, cross a platform, and
try another line. If he is a man of determination, and is not easily
disheartened, nine times out of ten he ultimately reaches Teapot Bay,
where his arrival causes more astonishment than gratification.
When I got to this "rising watering-place" the other day, I found an
omnibus in waiting, ready to carry me to the town, which is some little
distance from the station. We travelled by circular tour, which included
a trot through many of the fields of my boyhood, now, alas! potatoless,
and covered with weeds! In one of these fields I noticed a canvas booth,
three or four flags, and a group of about twenty spectators, inspecting
a gentleman in a scarlet coat, mounted on rather a large-boned horse.
"They still have a country-fair here?" I suggested to the person who had
collected my sixpence.
"That isn't a fair, Sir--them's the Races," was the reply.
"Not very well attended, I fear?" I observed.
[Illustration: A Circular Tour.]
"Better than they was last year--why the whole town has gone to see them
this time."
A little later we reached the principal inn of the place, which was
described in a local Handbook as "an old-established hotel, but
comfortable." Rather, to my annoyance (as I was anxious to preserve my
_incognito_), I was received by the landlord with respectful cordiality.
"Glad you have honoured us, Sir--proud of your presence."
I made a sign to him not to betray me, and asked for my room.
"Well, Sir, we must put _you_ into the Rotunda."
Again by a gesture inviting silence as to my identity, I mounted a
flight of stairs, and found myself in a room that once, I think, must
have been entirely arbour. Much of the arbour still remained, but a
large slice had been partitioned off affording space for a
chimney-piece, two chairs, a washstand and a bed. By opening a window
which reached to the ground, I found myself on a balcony covered in with
creepers, and beneath which was a gas-lamp labelled "Hotel Tap." In
front of me was a field with the foundation (long since completed) for
some houses at the end of it. On my left another field in the same state
of passive preparation, and on my right a side view of the Ocean. It was
growing dark, so after an "old-fashioned but comfortable" dinner, I went
out for a stroll.
"Pleased you should honour us," said the landlord, as he opened the door
to allow me to pass. Again to my annoyance, as it was vexatious to be
thus identified in this out-of-the-way place as one of the celebrities
of the hour.
The visitors and other inhabitants of Teapot Bay had returned from the
Races, and were walking on the pier listening to the band. The gentlemen
were in flannels, the ladies decorated with yards of white ribbon. The
band was more select than numerous. Its conductor beat time with his
left hand, while with his right he played the "air" of the tune at the
moment attracting his attention upon an elaborate instrument that looked
like a cross between a clarionet and an old-fashioned brass serpent.
There was not much drumming, because the drummer spent nearly all his
ample leisure on more or less successful efforts to vend programmes. The
band was in a gusty alcove at one end of the pier, a small room covered
with placards of a Wizard who, after making the acquaintance of "The
Crowned Heads of Europe," was to perform there "to-night," was at the
other. Having soon exhausted the pleasure derivable from listening to
the band, I sought out the wizard.
"Oh, he ain't going to do it again until next Saturday," was the answer
of a little girl who had charge of a turnstile, when I asked for a
ticket. "But you can see him then."
[Illustration: "You're up!"]
I retired. As all the shops (possibly a couple of dozen) were closed, I
returned to my hotel--really a very comfortable one. In the morning I
thought I would have a sea-bath. There were a few machines, which were
manipulated with ropes and windlasses. There was an elderly man in
charge, who informed me that he could not lower one of these vehicles
until his mate returned.
"Gone to breakfast?" I suggested.
"Breakfast--no one here has time for breakfast!" was the reply.
When I left, the landlord again murmured his thanks for the honour I had
done him by patronising his hotel. Still anxious to preserve my
_incognito_, in bidding him adieu I begged him not to allow my name to
appear in the Visitors' List.
"You may be sure I won't Sir," said he with a bow as he opened the door,
and a tip-inviting "boots" put my portmanteau on the omnibus starting
for the station,--"_as I don't know it!_"
On the whole I prefer Eastend-on-Mud to Teapot Bay!
* * * * *
A PRETTY CENTEN | 1,688.357899 |
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Produced by Ren | 1,688.654476 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Hunting the Skipper, by George Manville Fenn.
CHAPTER ONE.
H.M.S. "SEAFOWL."
"Dicky, dear boy, it's my impression that we shall see no blackbird's
cage to-day."
"And it's my impression, Frank Murray, that if you call me Dicky again I
shall punch your head."
"Poor fellow! Liver, decidedly," said | 1,688.659504 |
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THE BROKEN FONT
A STORY OF THE CIVIL WAR.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF "TALES OF THE WARS OF OUR TIMES,"
"RECOLLECTIONS OF THE PENINSULA," &c. &c. &c.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR
LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMAN,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1836.
THE BROKEN FONT.
CHAPTER I.
And now, good morrow to our waking soules,
Which watch not one another out of feare.
DONNE.
The noble spirit of Katharine Heywood was severely exercised by those
disclosures of Jane Lambert which have been related in a former
chapter.
She regretted, too late, that she had ever asked that true-hearted
girl to perform an office so difficult in itself, and which had
proved, in its consequences, so hazardous to her reputation and her
peace. The chance of such a misfortune as | 1,688.703775 |
2023-11-16 18:45:12.7341580 | 3,360 | 7 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Into the Unknown, by Lawrence Fletcher.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
INTO THE UNKNOWN, BY LAWRENCE FLETCHER.
Into the Unknown--by Lawrence Fletcher
CHAPTER ONE.
THE GHOSTS' PASS.
"Well, old man, what do we do next?" The speaker, a fine young fellow
of some five-and-twenty summers, reclining on the rough grass, with
clouds of tobacco-smoke filtering through his lips, looked the picture
of comfort, his appearance belying in every way the discontent expressed
in his tones as he smoked his pipe in the welcome shade of a giant rock,
which protected him and his two companions from the mid-day glare of a
South African sun.
Alfred Leigh, second son of Lord Drelincourt, was certainly a handsome
man: powerfully and somewhat heavily built, his physique looked perfect,
and, as he gradually and lazily raised his huge frame from the rough
grass, he appeared--what he was, in truth--a splendid specimen of
nineteenth-century humanity, upwards of six feet high, and in the
perfection of health and spirits; a fine, clear-cut face, with blue eyes
and a fair, close-cropped beard, completed a _tout ensemble_ which was
English to a degree.
The person addressed was evidently related to the speaker, for, though
darker than his companion, and by no means so striking in face or
figure, he still had fair hair, which curled crisply on a well-shaped
head, and keen blue eyes which seemed incessantly on the watch and were
well matched by a resolute mouth and chin, and a broad-shouldered frame
which promised strength from its perfect lines. Dick Grenville,
_aetat._ thirty, and his cousin, Alf Leigh, were a pair which any three
ordinary mortals might well wish to be excused from taking on.
The third person--singular he certainly looked--was a magnificent
creature, a pure-blooded Zulu chief, descended from a race of warriors,
every line of his countenance grave and stern, with eyes that glistened
like fiery stars under a lowering cloud, the man having withal a general
"straightness" of appearance more easily detected than described. A
"Keshla," or ringed man, some six feet three inches high, of enormously
powerful physique, armed with a murderous-looking club and a brace of
broad-bladed spears, and you have a faithful picture of Myzukulwa, the
Zulu friend of the two cousins.
The scene is magnificently striking, but grand with a loneliness awful
beyond description, for, so far as the eye can reach, the fervid sun
beats upon nothing but towering mountain-peaks, whose grey and rugged
summits pierce the fleecy heat-clouds, and seem to lose themselves in a
hopeless attempt to fathom the unspeakable majesty beyond.
"Do next, old fellow?" The words came in cool, quiet tones. "Well, if
I were you, Alf, I should convey my carcass out of the line of fire from
yonder rifle, which has been pointed at each of our persons in
succession during the last two minutes;" and Grenville, with the stem of
his pipe, indicated a spot some three hundred yards away, where his keen
eye had detected the browned barrel of a rifle projected through a
fissure in the rock; then, in quick, incisive tones, suiting the action
to the word, "Lie down, man!" and not a moment too soon, as an angry
rifle-bullet sang over his head and flattened against the rock. In
another instant all three were ensconced behind a rocky projection, and
endeavouring to ascertain their unknown assailants' force.
Truly, an unpleasant place was this to be beleaguered in--little food,
still less water, and positively no cover to protect them in the event
of a night attack upon the position they occupied. Grenville quietly
picked up the flattened bullet, eyed it curiously, and then handed it to
Myzukulwa with an interrogative look; the other scarcely glanced at the
missile and replied quietly, yet in singularly correct English, "Inkoos
(chief), that lead came from a very old gun, but it is a true one--the
Inkoos, my master, was too near it."
"Yes," responded Grenville, who had now quite taken command of matters,
"but we must find out how many of these rascals are lurking behind
yonder rocks with murder in their hearts." So saying he coolly stepped
out into the open again, ostensibly to pick up his pipe, which lay on
the ground, but kept his eye warily fixed upon the expected point of
offence, and instantly dropped on his hands and knees as another bullet
whizzed over him. Then he quietly rose to his feet, but with a beating
heart, for, if the rifle were a double-barrelled one, or if more than
the one marksman were lying hid, he was in deadly peril. No shot
followed, however, and he calmly picked up his pipe and again sought
shelter with his companions.
"Now, chief," said Grenville, after a brief interval, "wait till I have
drawn the scoundrel's fire again, and then rush him," and, executing a
rapid movement round the rocky boulder which served the party as a
shelter, he once more provoked the fire of the hidden foe, delivered
with greater accuracy than before, the bullet grazing the skin of one
hand as he swung himself into cover, crying, "Now, Myzukulwa!" but the
fleet-footed Zulu was already half-way across the open space, going like
a sprint-runner, having started simultaneously with the flash of the
rifle. In a moment more the cousins were after him, only to find, upon
reaching the rock, that there was no trace of the would-be assassin, and
that the Zulu was hopelessly at fault. A little powder spilled upon a
stone showed where the man had been placed, and that was all.
Just then Grenville's quick eye "spotted" the barrel of a rifle slowly
rising a hundred yards away, out of a hollow in the ground,
imperceptible from where they stood; he instinctively pitched forward
his Winchester, and the two reports blended into one. Leigh's hat flew
off his head, carried away by a bullet, and at the same instant
Myzukulwa again "rushed" the hidden marksman, only to find the work
done; and a gruesome sight it was. There lay a fine-looking man,
stone-dead, with the blood welling out of a ghastly hole in his head,
the heavy shell-bullet doing frightful execution at such short range,
having fairly smashed his skull to pieces.
The Englishmen were very considerably taken aback at finding that their
assailant was as white-skinned as themselves; they had half expected to
find some loafing Hottentot or Kaffir, though the accuracy of the
shooting had already caused Grenville to doubt that the marksman could
be either of these, for, as a general rule, if a Kaffir aims at anything
a hundred yards from him he misses it nine times out of ten. The dead
man was dressed in a deerskin costume, which caused the cousins to
remark that he looked like many a man they had seen when shooting
buffalo on the prairies of the Wild West. His gun proved to be a long
flint-lock rifle of an obsolete type, but extremely well finished, and
it was the flash of the powder in the pan which had enabled Grenville to
anticipate the leaden messenger from this weapon.
Leigh, who was disposed to scoff at their present undertaking, which he
called "a wild-goose chase," gave it as his opinion that the miserable
man was some escaped convict who had gravitated up country, and who, no
doubt, imagined that the white men were in search of him with a native
tracker--anyway, it had been a very near thing with them, and nothing
but Grenville's unceasing watchfulness could have saved his cousin's
life, as it unquestionably had done, twice over.
Grenville listened in silence to Leigh's remarks, and then, turning
their backs on the mortal remains of their foe, they left him to the
eternal solitude of that vast and rocky wilderness.
Several hours of hard toil followed, during which they slowly and warily
ascended the Pass, without, however, seeing any further sign of life.
Stopping once to take a hurried mouthful of dried deer-flesh, the party
was soon again on its way, and reached the top of the Pass just before
sunset. Beyond this point all possibility of advance in any direction
seemed at an end. The mountains shot up towards the sky, based, as it
were, by a precipitous wall of rock, and flanked by mighty spurs, whose
peaks stood out, clear and sharp, some fifteen thousand feet above the
Pass, their barren and rugged sides almost beautified by the glow of the
setting sun.
The sterile appearance of the valley was, however, to some slight extent
relieved by a magnificent waterfall, which appeared to receive its
supply through a fissure in the wall of rock, whence it came sheer over
a beetling crag and fell from a height of at least one hundred feet into
a rocky basin at the very head of the Pass.
Grenville quickly bestowed his party in a small cave for the night, and
by the time they were comfortably domiciled the sun had set. He then
mounted guard whilst the others slept, and three hours later, having
aroused the Zulu, he himself turned in for a much-needed rest.
CHAPTER TWO.
AN ANXIOUS DAY.
In the morning, after a meal of dried flesh and water--an appetising
repast at which Leigh grumbled considerably--the trio lighted their
pipes and went into council.
"Now then, Dick," said Alf Leigh, "as I, at all events, see no more of
those objectionable rifle-barrels round here, I'll repeat my question of
yesterday--What do we do next?"
"Ah! that's the point," responded Grenville. "Now doesn't it strike you
as very odd, not to say significant, that we should be so murderously
assaulted precisely on the spot where our mission is supposed to
commence? I am convinced that there is more in that attack than you
fancy. However, here is the inscription which, as you know, we found
scratched with a pin-point on a slaty rock down the Pass yesterday--`_An
Englishman and his daughter imprisoned in the Hell at the top of this
Pass. Help us, for the love of Heaven_.' Well, as you also know, we
resolved to carry help to the unfortunates who make this pitiful appeal
to our honour as countrymen, or die in the attempt; and, by Jove, if you
ask me anything, we came perilously near doing the latter yesterday. To
proceed, Myzukulwa here declares that there has been handed down for
generations in his tribe, legends of a strange and mighty people, who
frequent this pass by night only, who, on being followed, vanish into
thin air, and whose description answers accurately to the gentleman I
settled yesterday, with the one exception, easily accounted for, that
these people were said to have black faces."
"And a nice beginning we've made if, according to your idea, our friend
of yesterday was one of them," grumbled Leigh.
"Don't make any mistake, Alf," rejoined Grenville; "we shall gain
nothing by palaver; whoever sees the inside of their territory will
never again, with their consent, re-enter the outside world to give them
away. This kingdom is an inscrutable mystery, enveloped in something
like a hundred miles of inaccessible rock and impassable mountain, and
upon the very threshold of it I feel convinced that we have now
arrived."
"Inkoos," said the great Zulu, "your words are wise, even as the wisdom
of my father's father. For a thousand moons--ay, and for a thousand
before that--has this place been haunted, and the traditions of my
people ever warn us to beware of sleeping nigh to this falling water.
Many have done so, and have never again visited their kraals; I,
Myzukulwa, have alone done so and lived. More, Inkoos; as I watched
yesternight I heard strange sounds, as though the spooks (ghosts) were
mourning over the dead one who lies below us."
"Hah!" said Grenville, starting suddenly to his feet, "we'll have
another look at that body," and, followed by his companions, he strode
away down the Pass, but, when the party reached the scene of the
previous day's rencontre, the lifeless remains were nowhere to be seen;
there was the hole, the rock crusted with coagulated blood, but not the
faintest trace of the body they had left behind them a dozen hours
before. Clearly no beast of prey had been responsible for its
disappearance, for the man's gun and ammunition had also been removed.
A lengthy and careful examination of the surroundings revealed nothing;
all was barren rock, without a single sign of its having ever been
pressed by the foot of man, and, with most uncomfortable feelings, the
trio retraced their steps up the Pass, and reached the cave again, weary
and disheartened, as the sun went out with the rapidity peculiar to the
latitudes of Equatorial Africa, at once plunging everything into
darkness that might be felt.
Grenville's active mind was, however, at work upon the incidents of the
day, and he never rested until his party was safely housed in a cave
some hundred yards from the previous location. This night all kept
watch; and well was it for them that they were on the alert, for, just
before the moon got up, the darkness of the Pass was suddenly cut, as if
by magic, with the flash of at least a score of rifles, fired so as to
fairly sweep their old resting-place. Grenville and his companions
crouched down amongst the rocks, straining eyes and ears for sight or
sound of their murderously-inclined foes; but all was as still as death,
and at daybreak the Pass was again, to all appearance, utterly deserted,
only their old cave was strewn with flattened bullets, which had been
fired with murderous precision.
Grenville tried to get Myzukulwa's views upon the events of the night as
they smoked their pipes after breakfast, but the chief was unusually
reticent. "Spooks," he said, "who shot as well as these did were
dangerous; nothing but a spook could shoot like that in the dark."
Leigh was for clearing out altogether; he was as plucky a fellow as ever
stepped, but this sort of thing was enough to shake any man's nerves.
That day was spent in a rigid search which literally left no stone
unturned; but the keenest scrutiny revealed no place of concealment and
| 1,688.754198 |
2023-11-16 18:45:12.7343530 | 2,900 | 11 |
E-text prepared by Janet Kegg and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 48634-h.htm or 48634-h.zip:
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/48634/48634-h.zip)
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
[~ao] as in Serr[~ao] depicts a single tilde extending
over both letters ("a" and "o").
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
[Illustration: MAGELLAN VISITING THE KING OF SEBU]
PIONEERS IN AUSTRALASIA
by
SIR HARRY JOHNSTON
G.C.M.G., K.C.B.
With Eight Illustrations by Alec Ball
Blackie and Son Limited
London Glasgow Bombay
Printed and bound in Great Britain
PREFACE
I have been asked to write a series of works which should deal
with "real adventures", in parts of the world either wild and
uncontrolled by any civilized government, or at any rate regions
full of dangers, of wonderful discoveries; in which the daring
and heroism of white men (and sometimes of white women) stood out
clearly against backgrounds of unfamiliar landscapes, peopled with
strange nations, savage tribes, dangerous beasts, or wonderful
birds. These books would again and again illustrate the first coming
of the white race into regions inhabited by people of a different
type, with brown, black, or yellow skins; how the European was
received, and how he treated these races of the soil which gradually
came under his rule owing to his superior knowledge, weapons,
wealth, or powers of persuasion. The books were to tell the plain
truth, even if here and there they showed the white man to have
behaved badly, or if they revealed the fact that the American
Indian, the <DW64>, the Malay, the black Australian was sometimes
cruel and treacherous.
A request thus framed was almost equivalent to asking me to write
stories of those pioneers who founded the British Empire; in any
case, the volumes of this series do relate the adventures of those
who created the greater part of the British Dominions beyond the
Seas, by their perilous explorations of unknown lands and waters.
In many instances the travellers were all unconscious of their
destinies, of the results which would arise from their actions. In
some cases they would have bitterly railed at Fate had they known
that the result of their splendid efforts was to be the enlargement
of an empire under the British flag. Perhaps if they could know by
now that we are striving under that flag to be just and generous to
all types of men, and not to use our empire solely for the benefit
of English-speaking men and women, the French who founded the
Canadian nation, the Germans and Dutch who helped to create British
Africa, Malaysia, and Australia, the Spaniards who preceded us in
the West Indies and in New Guinea, and the Portuguese in West,
Central, and East Africa, in Newfoundland, Ceylon, and Malaysia,
might--if they have any consciousness or care for things in this
world--be not so sorry after all that we are reaping where they
sowed.
It is (as you will see) impossible to tell the tale of these early
days in the British Dominions beyond the Seas, without describing
here and there the adventures of men of enterprise and daring who
were not of our own nationality. The majority, nevertheless, were
of British stock; that is to say, they were English, Welsh, Scots,
Irish, perhaps here and there a Channel Islander and a Manxman; or
Nova Scotians, Canadians, and New Englanders. The bulk of them were
good fellows, a few were saints, a few were ruffians with redeeming
features. Sometimes they were common men who blundered into great
discoveries which will for ever preserve their names from perishing;
occasionally they were men of Fate, predestined, one might say,
to change the history of the world by their revelations of new
peoples, new lands, new rivers, new lakes, snow mountains, and gold
mines. Here and there is a martyr like Marquette, or Livingstone,
or Gordon, dying for the cause of a race not his own. And others
again are mere boys, whose adventures come to them because they are
adventurous, and whose feats of arms, escapes, perils, and successes
are quite as wonderful as those attributed to the juvenile heroes of
Marryat, Stevenson, and the author of _The Swiss Family Robinson_.
I have tried, in describing these adventures, to give my readers
some idea of the scenery, animals, and vegetation of the new lands
through which these pioneers passed on their great and small
purposes; as well as of the people, native to the soil, with whom
they came in contact. And in treating of these subjects I have
thought it best to give the scientific names of the plant or animal
which was of importance in my story, so that any of my readers who
were really interested in natural history could at once ascertain
for themselves the exact type alluded to, and, if they wished, look
it up in a museum, a garden, or a natural history book.
I hope this attempt at scientific accuracy will not frighten away
readers young and old; and, if you can have patience with the
author, you will, by reading this series of books on the great
pioneers of British West Africa, Canada, Malaysia, West Indies,
South Africa, and Australasia, get a clear idea of how the British
Colonial Empire came to be founded.
You will find that I have often tried to tell the story in the words
of the pioneers, but in these quotations I have adopted the modern
spelling, not only in my transcript of the English original or
translation, but also in the place and tribal names, so as not to
puzzle or delay the reader. Otherwise, if you were to look out some
of the geographical names of the old writers, you might not be able
to recognize them on the modern atlas. The pronunciation of this
modern geographical spelling is very simple and clear: the vowels
are pronounced _a_ = ah, _e_ = eh, _i_ = ee, _o_ = o, _ô_ = oh, _ō_
= aw, _ö_ = u in 'hurt', and _u_ = oo, as in German, Italian, or
most other European languages; and the consonants as in English.
H.H. JOHNSTON.
CONTENTS
Chap. Page
I. THE GENERAL FEATURES OF AUSTRALASIA 15
II. THE FIRST HUMAN INHABITANTS OF AUSTRALASIA 46
III. SPANISH AND PORTUGUESE EXPLORERS LEAD THE WAY
TO THE PACIFIC OCEAN 88
IV. DUTCH DISCOVERIES 129
V. DAMPIER'S VOYAGES 148
VI. JAMES COOK'S FIRST VOYAGE 178
VII. NEW SOUTH WALES 225
VIII. COOK'S SECOND AND THIRD VOYAGES 252
IX. BLIGH AND THE "BOUNTY" 278
X. THE RESULTS OF THE PIONEERS' WORK 290
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PLATES
Page
Magellan visiting the King of Sebu _Frontispiece_
An Australian Aborigine navigating a Raft 48
Tasman's Men attacked by Natives off the Coast of New Zealand 136
Dampier and his Crew watching a Volcanic Eruption 174
Captain Cook's Arrival at Tahiti (1769) 192
Captain Cook at Botany Bay 228
Captain Bligh and his Men searching for Oysters off the Great
Barrier Reef 282
Whaling in the South Seas 298
BLACK-AND-WHITE ILLUSTRATIONS
The Biggest of the Kangaroos 38
Papuan of South-east New Guinea, near Port Moresby, and
Oceanic <DW64> Type from the Northernmost Solomon Islands 60
A Typical Polynesian, and an Australoid Type from Northern
Queensland 80
The Two Dutch Ships under Tasman's Command (the _Heemskerk_
and the _Zeehaen_) at Anchor in the Tonga Islands, Pacific 140
The Island of Tahiti and its extraordinary Double Canoes: as
seen by Captain Cook 206
A View of Dusky Bay, on the Great South Island of New Zealand,
with a Maori Family: as seen by Captain Cook 222
A Chief at St. Christina, in the Marquezas Archipelago, and a
Man of Easter Island 266
A Dancing Ground and Drums at Port Sandwich, Malekala
(Mallicolo) Island, New Hebrides. Tambu House (Temple)
in Background 276
* * * * *
Map of the Malay Archipelago 26
Map of Australasia 148
Map of Australia and New Zealand 300
BIBLIOGRAPHY
=Magellan's Voyage Around the World.= By Antonio Pigafetta. Translated
and annotated by James Alexander Robertson. 2 Vols. Cleveland,
U.S.A. The Arthur H. Clark Company. 1906. (This is the best work
dealing with Magellan's voyage to the Philippines and the after
events of his expedition.)
=The First Voyage Round the World by Magellan.= Translated from
the accounts of Pigafetta, &c., by Lord Stanley of Alderley.
London. Hakluyt Society. 1874. (This work contains a great deal of
supplementary information regarding the doings of the Spaniards and
Portuguese in the Pacific and Malaysia.)
=Early Voyages to Australia.= By R.H. Major. London. Hakluyt Society.
1859.
=Tasman's Journal... Facsimiles of the Original MS. with Life of
Tasman.= By J.E. Heeres. Amsterdam. 1898.
=Dampier's Voyages.= Edited by John Masefield. 2 Vols. London. E.
Grant Richards. 1906.
=The History of Mankind.= By Professor Friedrich Ratzel. Translated
from the second German edition by A.J. Butler, M.A. 3 Vols. London.
Macmillan & Co. 1896.
=The History of the Australian Colonies.= By Edward Jenks, M.A.
Cambridge University Press. 1896.
=Voyage Autour du Monde.= By De Bougainville. Paris. 1771.
=The Natives of Sarawak and British North Borneo.= By H. Ling Roth.
London. 1896.
=Cook's Voyages.= (Original edition in 6 Vols., including plates.)
London. 1772, 1777, and 1784.
Captain Cook's Journal during his First Voyage Round the World.=
Edited by Captain W.J.L. Wharton, R.N., F.R.S. London. Elliot Stock.
1893.
=Journal of the Rt. Hon. Sir Joseph Banks.= Edited by Sir Joseph D.
Hooker. Macmillan & Co. 1896.
=Captain James Cook.= By Arthur Kitson. London. John Murray. 1907.
(This is the best life of Cook.)
=The Eventful History of the Mutiny and Piratical Seizure of H.M.S.
"Bounty".= London. John Murray. 1831.
=Gonzalez's Voyage to Easter Island, 1770-1.= Translated by Bolton
Glanville Corney. Hakluyt Society. 1908.
=Terre Napoléon.= (The French attempts to explore Australia at the
beginning of the 19th Century.) By Ernest Scott. London. Methuen.
1910.
=Murihiku.= (A study of New Zealand history.) By the Hon. R. M'Nab.
New Zealand. 1907. (A most interesting, accurate, and comprehensive
work.)
=Narrative of a Voyage to New Zealand, &c., in Company with the Rev.
Samuel Marsden.= By John Liddiard Nicholas. 2 Vols. London. 1817.
=New Zealand: being a Narrative of Travels and Adventures, &c.=
By J.S. Pollack. 2 Vols. London. Richard Bentley. 1838. (Gives
interesting information regarding the whale fishery round about New
Zealand.)
=Narrative of the Surveying Voyage of H.M.S. "Fly".= By J.B. Jukes.
2 Vols. London. 1847. (Treats of the exploration of the coasts of
Torres Straits, South New Guinea, | 1,688.754393 |
2023-11-16 18:45:12.8365740 | 255 | 24 |
E-text prepared by Bebra Knutson and revised by David Edwards and the
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See 5312-h.htm or 5312-h.zip:
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MOTHER GOOSE IN PROSE
[Illustration: "There was a little man and he had a little gun"]
[Illustration]
MOTHER GOOSE IN PROSE
by
L. FRANK BAUM
Illustrated by Maxfield Parrish
New York
MCMI
Contents
Introduction 9
Sing a Song o' Sixpence 19
The Story of Little Boy Blue 31
The Cat and the Fiddle 45
The Black Sheep 55
Old King Cole 65
Mistress Mary 75 | 1,688.856614 |
2023-11-16 18:45:12.8791550 | 5,029 | 11 |
Produced by David Gil, Lisa Reigel, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
produced from images hosted by the University of Wisconsin's
Digital Collections.)
Transcriber's Notes: Words in italics in the original are surrounded by
_underscores_. A row of asterisks represents either an ellipsis in a
poetry quotation or a place where the original Greek text was too
corrupt to be read by the translator. Other ellipses match the original.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been left as in the
original.
There are numerous long quotations in the original, many missing the
closing quotation mark. Since it is often difficult to determine where a
quotation begins or ends, the transcriber has left quotation marks as
they appear in the original.
A few typographical errors have been corrected. A complete list follows
the text. Other notes also follow the text.
THE
DEIPNOSOPHISTS
OR
BANQUET OF THE LEARNED
OF
ATHENÆUS.
LITERALLY TRANSLATED
BY C. D. YONGE, B.A.
WITH AN APPENDIX OF POETICAL FRAGMENTS,
RENDERED INTO ENGLISH VERSE BY VARIOUS AUTHORS,
AND A GENERAL INDEX.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
MDCCCLIV.
LONDON:
R. CLAY, PRINTER, BREAD STREET HILL.
PREFACE.
The author of the DEIPNOSOPHISTS was an Egyptian, born in Naucratis, a
town on the left side of the Canopic Mouth of the Nile. The age in which
he lived is somewhat uncertain, but his work, at least the latter
portion of it, must have been written after the death of Ulpian the
lawyer, which happened A.D. 228.
Athenæus appears to have been imbued with a great love of learning, in
the pursuit of which he indulged in the most extensive and multifarious
reading; and the principal value of his work is, that by its copious
quotations it preserves to us large fragments from the ancient poets,
which would otherwise have perished. There are also one or two curious
and interesting extracts in prose; such, for instance, as the account of
the gigantic ship built by Ptolemæus Philopator, extracted from a lost
work of Callixenus of Rhodes.
The work commences, in imitation of Plato's Phædo, with a dialogue, in
which Athenæus and Timocrates supply the place of Phædo and Echecrates.
The former relates to his friend the conversation which passed at a
banquet given at the house of Laurentius, a noble Roman, between some of
the guests, the best known of whom are Galen and Ulpian.
The first two books, and portions of the third, eleventh, and fifteenth,
exist only in an Epitome, of which both the date and author are unknown.
It soon, however, became more common than the original work, and
eventually in a great degree superseded it. Indeed Bentley has proved
that the only knowledge which, in the time of Eustathius, existed of
Athenæus, was through its medium.
Athenæus was also the author of a book entitled, "On the Kings of
Syria," of which no portion has come down to us.
The text which has been adopted in the present translation is that of
Schweighäuser.
C. D. Y.
CONTENTS.
BOOK I.--EPITOME.
The Character of Laurentius--Hospitable and Liberal Men--
Those who have written about Feasts--Epicures--The Praises
of Wine--Names of Meals--Fashions at Meals--Dances--Games
--Baths--Partiality of the Greeks for Amusements--Dancing
and Dancers--Use of some Words--Exercise--Kinds of Food--
Different kinds of Wine--The Produce of various places--
Different Wines 1-57
BOOK II.--EPITOME.
Wine--Drinking--The evils of Drunkenness--Praises of Wine
--Water--Different kinds of Water--Sweetmeats--Couches and
Coverlets--Names of Fruits--Fruit and Herbs--Lupins--Names
of--Plants--Eggs--Gourds--Mushrooms--Asparagus--Onions--
Thrushes--Brains--The Head--Pickle--Cucumbers--Lettuce--
The Cactus--The Nile 57-121
BOOK III.
Cucumbers--Figs--Apples--Citrons--Limpets--Cockles--
Shell-fish--Oysters--Pearls--Tripe--Pigs' Feet--Music at
Banquets--Puns on Words--Banquets--Dishes at Banquets--
Fish--Shell-fish--Fish--Cuttle-fish--Bread--Loaves--Fish--
Water Drinking--Drinking Snow--Cheesecakes--Χόνδοος 121-210
BOOK IV.
Feast of Caranus--Supper of Iphicrates--Cooks--Dancing at
Banquets--The Attic Banquet--Athenian Feasts--The Copis--
The Phiditia--Cleomenes--Persian Banquets--Alexander the
Great--Cleopatra--Banquets at Phigalea--Thracian Banquets
--Celtic Banquets--Roman Banquets--Gladiatorial Combats--
Temperance of the Lacedæmonians--The Theory of Euxitheus--
Lentils--Spare Livers--Persæus--Diodorus--Extravagance--
Luxury of the Tarentines--Extravagance of Individuals--
Cooks' Apparatus--Use of Certain Words--Tasters--The
Delphians--Musical Instruments--Kinds of Flutes--Wind
Instruments 210-287
BOOK V.
Banquets--Baths--Banquets--The Banquets described by Homer
--Banquets--The Palaces of Homer's Kings--Conversation at
Banquets--Customs in Homer's Time--Attitudes of Guests--
Feast given by Antiochus--Extravagance of Antiochus--
Ptolemy Philadelphus--Procession of Ptolemy Philadelphus--
A large Ship built by Ptolemy--The Ship of Ptolemy
Philopator--Hiero's Ship--Banquet given by Alexander--
Athenio--The Valour of Socrates--Plato's account of
Socrates--Socrates--The Gorgons 287-352
BOOK VI.
Tragedy--Fishmongers--Misconduct of Fishmongers--Use of
particular Words--Use of Silver Plate--Silver Plate--
Golden Trinkets--Use of Gold in different Countries--
Parasites--Gynæconomi--Parasites--Flatterers of Dionysius
--Flatterers of Kings--Flattery of the Athenians--
Flatterers--The Tyrants of Chios--The Conduct of Philip--
Flatterers and Parasites--The Mariandyni--Slaves--Drimacus
--Condition of Slaves--Slaves--Banquets--The Effects of
Hunger--The Mothaces--Slaves under the Romans--The Fannian
Law 353-432
BOOK VII.
The Phagesia--Fish--Epicures--Fish--Cooks--Sharks--Fish--
Glaucus--Eels--The Tunny-Fish--Fish--Pike--Fish--The
Polybus--Fish 433-521
THE DEIPNOSOPHISTS,
OR
THE BANQUET OF THE LEARNED.[1:1]
_The first two Books, and a portion of the third, as is known to the
scholar, exist only in Epitome._
BOOK I.--EPITOME.
1. Athenæus is the author of this book; and in it he is discoursing with
Timocrates: and the name of the book is the Deipnosophists. In this work
Laurentius is introduced, a Roman, a man of distinguished fortune,
giving a banquet in his own house to men of the highest eminence for
every kind of learning and accomplishment; and there is no sort of
gentlemanly knowledge which he does not mention in the conversation
which he attributes to them; for he has put down in his book, fish, and
their uses, and the meaning of their names; and he has described divers
kinds of vegetables, and animals of all sorts. He has introduced also
men who have written histories, and poets, and, in short, clever men of
all sorts; and he discusses musical instruments, and quotes ten thousand
jokes: he talks of the different kinds of drinking cups, and of the
riches of kings, and the size of ships, and numbers of other things
which I cannot easily enumerate, and the day would fail me if I
endeavoured to go through them separately.
And the arrangement of the conversation is an imitation of a sumptuous
banquet; and the plan of the book follows the arrangement of the
conversation. This, then, is the delicious feast of words which this
admirable master of the feast, Athenæus, has prepared for us; and
gradually surpassing himself, like the orator at Athens, as he warms
with his subject, he bounds on towards the end of the book in noble
strides.
2. And the Deipnosophists who were present at this banquet were,
_Masyrius_, an expounder of the law, and one who had been no superficial
student of every sort of learning; _Magnus_... [Myrtilus] a poet; a
man who in other branches of learning was inferior to no one, and who
had devoted himself in no careless manner to the whole circle of arts
and learning; for in everything which he discussed, he appeared as if
that was the sole thing which he had studied; so great and so various
was his learning from his childhood. And he was an iambic poet, inferior
to no one who has ever lived since the time of Archilochus. There were
present also _Plutarchus_, and _Leonidas_ of Elis, and _Æmilianus_ the
Mauritanian, and _Zöilus_, all the most admirable of grammarians.
And of philosophers there were present _Pontianus_ and _Democritus_,
both of Nicomedia; men superior to all their contemporaries in the
extent and variety of their learning; and _Philadelphus_ of Ptolemais, a
man who had not only been bred up from his infancy in philosophical
speculation, but who was also a man of the highest reputation in every
part of his life. Of the Cynics, there was one whom he calls _Cynulcus_,
who had not only two white dogs following him, as they did Telemachus
when he went to the assembly, but a more numerous pack than even Actæon
had. And of rhetoricians there was a whole troop, in no respect inferior
to the Cynics. And these last, as well, indeed, as every one else who
ever opened his mouth, were run down by _Uppianus_ the Tyrian, who, on
account of the everlasting questions which he keeps putting every hour
in the streets, and walks, and booksellers' shops, and baths, has got a
name by which he is better known than by his real one, _Ceitouceitus_.
This man had a rule of his own, to eat nothing without saying κεῖται; ἢ
οὐ κεῖται; In this way, "Can we say of the word ὥρα, that it κεῖται, or
is applicable to any part of the day? And is the word μέθυσο, or drunk,
applicable to a man? Can the word μήτρα, or paunch, be applied to any
eatable food? Is the name σύαγρος a compound word applicable to a
boar?"--And of physicians there were present _Daphnus_ the Ephesian, a
man holy both in his art and by his manners, a man of no slight insight
into the principles of the Academic school; and _Galenus_ of Pergamos,
who has published such numbers of philosophical and medical works as to
surpass all those who preceded him, and who is inferior to none of the
guests in the eloquence of his descriptions. And _Rufinus_ of
Mylæa.--And of musicians, _Alcides_ of Alexandria, was present. So that
the whole party was so numerous that the catalogue looks rather like a
muster-roll of soldiers, than the list of a dinner party.
3. And Athenæus dramatises his dialogue in imitation of the manner of
Plato. And thus he begins:--
TIMOCRATES. ATHENÆUS.
_Tim._ Were you, Athenæus, yourself present at that delightful
party of the men whom they now call Deipnosophists; which has
been so much talked of all over the city; or is it only from
having heard an account of it from others that you spoke of it
to your companions?
_Ath._ I was there myself, Timocrates.
_Tim._ I wish, then, that you would communicate to us also
some of that agreeable conversation which you had over your
cups;
Make your hand perfect by a third attempt,
as the bard of Cyrene[3:1] says somewhere or other; or must we
ask some one else?
4. Then after a little while he proceeds to the praises of Laurentius,
and says that he, being a man of a munificent spirit, and one who
collected numbers of learned men about him, feasted them not only with
other things, but also with conversation, at one time proposing
questions deserving of investigation, and at another asking for
information himself; not suggesting subjects without examination, or in
any random manner, but as far as was possible with a critical and
Socratic discernment; so that every one marvelled at the systematic
character of his questions. And he says, too, that he was appointed
superintendant of the temples and sacrifices by that best of all
sovereigns Marcus;[3:2] and that he was no less conversant with the
literature of the Greeks than with that of his own countrymen. And he
calls him a sort of Asteropæus,[4:1] equally acquainted with both
languages. And he says that he was well versed in all the religious
ceremonies instituted by Romulus, who gave his name to the city, and by
Numa Pompilius; and that he is learned in all the laws of politics; and
that he has arrived at all this learning solely from the study of
ancient decrees and resolutions; and from the collection of the laws
which (as Eupolis, the comic writer, says of the poems of Pindar) are
already reduced to silence by the disinclination of the multitude for
elegant learning. He had also, says he, such a library of ancient Greek
books, as to exceed in that respect all those who are remarkable for
such collections; such as Polycrates of Samos, and Pisistratus who was
tyrant of Athens, and Euclides who was himself also an Athenian, and
Nicorrates the Samian, and even the kings of Pergamos, and Euripides the
poet, and Aristotle the philosopher, and Nelius his librarian; from whom
they say that our countryman Ptolemæus, surnamed Philadelphus, bought
them all, and transported them with all those which he had collected at
Athens and at Rhodes to his own beautiful Alexandria. So that a man may
fairly quote the verses of Antiphanes and apply them to him:--
You court the heav'nly muse with ceaseless zeal,
And seek to open all the varied stores
Of high philosophy.
And as the Theban lyric poet[4:2] says:--
Nor less renown'd his hand essays
To wake the muse's choicest lays,
Such as the social feast around
Full oft our tuneful band inspire.
And when inviting people to his feasts, he causes Rome to be looked upon
as the common country of all of them. For who can regret what he has
left in his own country, while dwelling with a man who thus opens his
house to all his friends. For as Apollodorus the comic poet says:--
Whene'er you cross the threshhold of a friend,
How welcome you may be needs no long time
To feel assured of; blithe the porter looks,
The house-dog wags his tail, and rubs his nose
Against your legs; and servants hasten quick,
Unbidden all, since their lord's secret wish
Is known full well, to place an easy chair
To rest your weary limbs.
5. It would be a good thing if other rich men were like him; since when
a man acts in a different manner, people are apt to say to him, "Why are
you so mean? Your tents are full of wine."
Call the elders to the feast,
Such a course befits you best.
Such as this was the magnanimity of the great Alexander. And Conon,
after he had conquered the Lacedæmonians in the sea-fight off Cnidus,
and fortified the Piræus, sacrificed a real hecatomb, which deserved the
name, and feasted all the Athenians. And Alcibiades, who conquered in
the chariot race at the Olympic games, getting the first, and second,
and fourth prizes, (for which victories Euripides wrote a triumphal
ode,) having sacrificed to Olympian Jupiter, feasted the whole assembly.
And Leophron did the same at the Olympic games, Simonides of Ceos
writing a triumphal ode for him. And Empedocles of Agrigentum, having
gained the victory in the horse race at the Olympic games, as he was
himself a Pythagorean, and as such one who abstained from meat, made an
image of an ox of myrrh, and frankincense, and the most expensive
spices, and distributed it among all who came to that festival. And Ion
of Chios, having gained the tragic crown at Athens, gave a pot of Chian
wine to every Athenian citizen. For Antiphanes says:--
For why should any man wealth desire,
And seek to pile his treasures higher,
If it were not to aid his friends in their need,
And to gain for himself love's and gratitude's meed?
For all can drink and all can eat,
And it is not only the richest meat,
Or the oldest wine in the well-chased bowl
Which can banish hunger and thirst from the soul.
And Xenophanes of Chalcedon, and Speusippus the Academic philosopher,
and Aristotle, have all written drinking songs.
And in the same manner Gellias of Agrigentum, being a very hospitable
man, and very attentive to all his guests, gave a tunic and cloak to
every one of five hundred horsemen who once came to him from Gela in the
winter season.
6. The sophist uses the word Dinnerchaser, on which Clearchus says that
Charmus the Syracusan adopted some little versicles and proverbs very
neatly to whatever was put on the table. As on seeing a fish, he says:--
I come from the salt depths of Ægeus' sea.
And when he saw some ceryces he said--
Hail holy heralds (κήρυκες), messengers of Jove.
And on seeing tripe,
Crooked ways, and nothing sound.
When a well-stuffed cuttlefish is served up,
Good morrow, fool.
When he saw some pickled char,
O charming sight; hence with the vulgar crowd.
And on beholding a skinned eel,
Beauty when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.
Many such men then as these, he says, were present at Laurentius's
supper; bringing books out of their bags, as their contribution to the
picnic. And he says also that Charmus, having something ready for
everything that was served up, as has been already said, appeared to the
Massenians to be a most accomplished man; as also did Calliphanes, who
was called the son of Parabrycon, who having copied out the beginnings
of many poems and other writings, recollected three or four stanzas of
each, aiming at a reputation for extensive learning. And many other men
had in their mouths turbots caught in the Sicilian sea, and swimming
eels, and the trail of the tunny-fish of Pachynum, and kids from Melos,
and mullets from Symæthus. And, of dishes of less repute, there were
cockles from Pelorum, anchovies from Lipara, turnips from Mantinea, rape
from Thebes, and beet-root from the Ascræans. And Cleanthes the
Tarentine, as Clearchus says, said everything while the drinking lasted,
in metres. And so did Pamphilus the Sicilian, in this way:--
Give me a cup of sack, that partridge leg,
Likewise a pot, or else at least a cheesecake.
Being, says he, men with fair means, and not forced to earn their dinner
with their hands,--
Bringing baskets full of votes.
7. Archestratus the Syracusan or Geloan, in his work to which Chrysippus
gives the title of Gastronomy, but Lynceus and Callimachus of Hedypathy,
that is Pleasure, and which Clearchus calls Deipnology, and others
Cookery, (but it is an epic poem, beginning,
Here to all Greece I open wisdom's store;)
says,
A numerous party may sit round a table,
But not more than three, four, or five on one sofa;
For else it would be a disorderly Babel,
Like the hireling piratical band of a rover.
But he does not know that at the feast recorded by Plato there were
eight and twenty guests present.
How keenly they watch for a | 1,688.899195 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by Cornell University Digital Collections)
Transcriber's Note: Table of Contents / Illustrations added.
* * * * *
TRINITY COLLEGE, HARTFORD.
BY SAMUEL HART, D.D., PROFESSOR OF LATIN.
Illustrations:
Trinity College In 1869.
T. C. Brownell.
Trinity College In 1828.
J. Williams.
Statue Of Bishop Brownell, On The Campus.
Proposed New College Buildings.
Geo Williamson Smith.
James Williams, Forty Years Janitor Of Trinity College.
Bishop Seabury's Mitre, In The Library.
Chair Of Gov. Wanton, Of Rhode Island, In The Library.
Trinity College In 1885.
(Signature) N. S. Wheaton
(Signature) Silas Totten
(Signature) D. R. Goodwin
(Signature) Samuel Eliot
(Signature) J. B. Kerfoot
(Signature) A. Jackson
(Signature) T. R. Pynchon
The New Gymnasium.
College Logo.
THE WEBSTER FAMILY.
BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.
Illustration:
Marshfield--Residence Of Daniel Webster.
TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR EUROPE.
BY EDWARD P. GUILD.
A ROMANCE OF KING PHILIP'S WAR.
BY FANNY BULLOCK WORKMAN.
THE PICTURE.
BY MARY D. BRINE.
NEW BEDFORD.
BY HERBERT L. ALDRICH.
Illustrations:
Old Whalers And Barrels Of Oil.
City Hall And Depot.
Front Street And Fish Markets Along The Wharves.
The Head Of The River.
Along The Wharfs And Relics Of The Last Century.
New Station Of The Old Colony Railroad.
Custom House.
Court House.
Grace Episcopal Church.
Looking Down Union Street.
Unitarian Church, Union Street.
Mandell's House, Hawthorne Street.
Residence Of Mayor Rotch.
The Stone Church And Yacht Club House.
Fish Island.
Seamen's Bethel And Sailor's Home.
Merchants' And Mechanics' Bank.
Residence Of Joseph Grinnell.
Friends Meeting-House.
Public Library.
HENRY BARNARD--THE AMERICAN EDUCATOR.
BY THE LATE HON. JOHN D. PHILBRICK.
A DAUGHTER OF THE PURITANS.
BY ANNA B. BENSEL.
JUDICIAL FALSIFICATIONS OF HISTORY.
BY CHARLES COWLEY, LL.D.
DORRIS'S HERO.
A ROMANCE OF THE OLDEN TIME.
BY MARJORIE DAW.
EDITOR'S TABLE.
HISTORICAL RECORD.
NECROLOGY.
LITERATURE.
INDEX TO MAGAZINE LITERATURE.
Illustration:
MARK HOPKINS, D.D., LL.D.
* * * * *
THE
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
AND
BAY STATE MONTHLY.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
OLD SERIES, MAY, 1886. NEW SERIES,
VOL. IV. NO. 5. VOL. I. NO. 5.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1886, by Bay State Monthly Company. All rights reserved.
#TRINITY COLLEGE, HARTFORD.#
BY SAMUEL HART, D.D., PROFESSOR OF LATIN.
[Illustration: TRINITY COLLEGE IN 1869.]
The plan for the establishment of a second college in Connecticut was
not carried into effect until after the time of the political and
religious revolution which secured the adoption of a State Constitution
in 1818. Probably no such plan was seriously entertained till after the
close of the war of Independence. The Episcopal church in Connecticut
had, one may almost say, been born in the library of Yale College; and
though Episcopalians, with other dissenters from the "standing order,"
had been excluded from taking any part in the government or the
instruction of the institution, they did not forget how much they owed
to it as the place where so many of their clergy had received their
education. In fact, when judged by the standards of that day, it would
appear that they had at first little cause to complain of illiberal
treatment, while on the other hand they did their best to assist the
college in the important work which it had in hand. But Yale College,
under the presidency of Dr. Clap, assumed a more decidedly theological
character than before, and set itself decidedly in opposition to those
who dissented from the Westminster Confession of Faith and the Saybrook
Platform of Discipline. Besides, King's College, which had been lately
founded in New York, drew away some Episcopal students from Connecticut
and made others dissatisfied; and had not the war with the mother
country rudely put a stop to the growth of Episcopacy in the colony, it
would seem that steps might have been soon taken for the establishment
of some institution of learning, at least a school of theology, under
the care of the clergy of the Church of England.
[Illustration: (signature) T. C. Brownell]
[Illustration: TRINITY COLLEGE IN 1828.]
At any rate no sooner was it known that the war was ended than the
churchmen of Connecticut sent the Rev. Dr. Seabury across the ocean
to seek consecration as a bishop; and it was not long after his return
that the diocese, now fully organized, set on foot a plan for the
establishment of an institution of sound learning, and in 1795 the
Episcopal Academy of Connecticut was founded at Cheshire. It was
sometimes called Seabury College, and, under its learned principals, it
fitted many young men for entrance upon their theological studies, and
gave them part at least of their professional training. But its charter,
which was granted by the General Assembly of the State in 1801, did not
give it the power of conferring degrees, and the frequent petitions for
an extension of charter rights, so as to make of the academy a
collegiate institution, were refused. For a time, owing to determined
opposition in the State, to the vacancy in the episcopate, and to other
causes, the project was postponed. But a combination of events, social,
political, and religious, led at length to the great revolution in
Connecticut, in which all dissenters from the standing order united
in opposition | 1,688.955815 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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A MERE CHANCE.
A NOVEL.
BY ADA CAMBRIDGE,
AUTHOR OF "IN TWO YEARS TIME," &c.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II | 1,689.001127 |
2023-11-16 18:45:13.0380650 | 1,637 | 34 | FRANCE***
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 25842-h.htm or 25842-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/8/4/25842/25842-h/25842-h.htm)
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ROYAL PALACES AND PARKS OF FRANCE
* * * * *
_WORKS OF
FRANCIS MILTOUN_
_Rambles on the Riviera_ $2.50
_Rambles in Normandy_ 2.50
_Rambles in Brittany_ 2.50
_The Cathedrals and Churches of the Rhine_ 2.50
_The Cathedrals of Northern France_ 2.50
_The Cathedrals of Southern France_ 2.50
_In the Land of Mosques and Minarets_ 3.00
_Royal Palaces and Parks of France_ 3.00
_Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine and the Loire Country_ 3.00
_Castles and Chateaux of Old Navarre and the Basque Provinces_ 3.00
_Castles and Chateaux of Old Burgundy and the Border Provinces_ 3.00
_Italian Highways and Byways from a Motor Car_ 3.00
_The Automobilist Abroad_ net 3.00
(_Postage Extra_)
_L. C. Page and Company_
_53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass._
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Terrace of Henri IV, Saint Germain_ (_See page 286_)]
[Illustration]
ROYAL PALACES AND PARKS OF FRANCE
by
FRANCIS MILTOUN
Author of "Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine," "Castles
and Chateaux of Old Burgundy," "Rambles in Normandy,"
"Italian Highways and Byways
from a Motor-Car," etc.
With Many Illustrations
Reproduced from paintings made on the spot by Blanche Mcmanus
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
1910
Copyright, 1910.
by L. C. Page & Company.
(Incorporated)
All rights reserved
First Impression, November, 1910
Printed by
The Colonial Press
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U. S. A.
Preface
"A thousand years ago, by the rim of a tiny spring, a monk who had
avowed himself to the cult of Saint Saturnin, robed, cowled and
sandalled, knelt down to say a prayer to his beloved patron saint.
Again he came, this time followed by more of his kind, and a wooden
cross was planted by the side of the "Fontaine Belle Eau," by this
time become a place of pious pilgrimage. After the monk came a
king, the latter to hunt in the neighbouring forest."
It was this old account of fact, or legend, that led the author and
illustrator of this book to a full realization of the wealth of historic
and romantic incidents connected with the French royal parks and
palaces, incidents which the makers of guidebooks have passed over in
favour of the, presumably, more important, well authenticated facts of
history which are often the bare recitals of political rises and falls
and dull chronologies of building up and tearing down.
Much of the history of France was made in the great national forests and
the royal country-houses of the kingdom, but usually it has been only
the events of the capital which have been passed in review. To a great
extent this history was of the gallant, daring kind, often written in
blood, the sword replacing the pen.
At times gayety reigned supreme, and at times it was sadness; but always
the pageant was imposing.
The day of pageants has passed, the day when lords and ladies moved
through stately halls, when royal equipages hunted deer or boar on royal
preserves, when gay cavalcades of solemn corteges thronged the great
French highways to the uttermost frontiers and ofttimes beyond. Those
days have passed; but, to one who knows the real France, a ready-made
setting is ever at hand if he would depart a little from the beaten
paths worn smooth by railway and automobile tourists who follow only the
lines of conventional travel.
France, even to-day, the city and the country alike, is the paradise of
European monarchs on a holiday. One may be met at Biarritz on the shores
of the Gascon gulf; another may be taking the waters at Aix or Vichy,
shooting pigeons under the shadow of the Tete de Chien, or hunting at
Rambouillet. This is modern France, the most cosmopolitan meeting place
and playground of royalty in the world.
French royal parks and palaces, those of the kings and queens of
mediaeval, as well as later, times, differ greatly from those of other
lands. This is perhaps not so much in their degree of splendour and
luxury as in the sentiment which attaches itself to them. In France
there has ever been a spirit of gayety and spontaneity unknown
elsewhere. It was this which inspired the construction and maintenance
of such magnificent royal residences as the palaces of Saint
Germain-en-Laye, Fontainebleau, Versailles, Compiegne, Rambouillet,
etc., quite different from the motives which caused the erection of the
Louvre, the Tuileries or the Palais Cardinal at Paris.
Nowhere else does there exist the equal of these inspired royal
country-houses of France, and, when it comes to a consideration of their
surrounding parks and gardens, or those royal hunting preserves in the
vicinity of the Ile de France, or of those still further afield, at
Rambouillet or in the Loire country, their superiority to similar
domains beyond the frontiers is even more marked.
In plan this book is a series of itineraries, at least the chapters are
arranged, to a great extent in a topographical sequence; and, if the
scope is not as wide as all France, it is because of the prominence
already given to the parks and palaces of Touraine and elsewhere in the
old French provinces in other works in which the artist and author have
collaborated. It is for this reason that so little consideration has
been given to Chambord, Amboise or Chenonceaux, which were as truly
royal as any of that magnificent group of suburban Paris palaces which
begins with Conflans and ends with Marly and Versailles.
Going still further afield, there is in the Pyrenees that chateau, royal
from all points of view, in which was born the gallant Henri of France
and Navarre, but a consideration of that, too, has already been included
in another volume.
The present survey includes the royal dwellings of the capital, those of | 1,689.058105 |
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Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1905 to 1906
Lucy Maud Montgomery was born at Clifton (now New London), Prince
Edward Island, Canada, on November 30, 1874. She achieved
international fame in her lifetime, putting Prince Edward Island and
Canada on the world literary map. Best known for her "Anne of Green
Gables" books, she was also a prolific writer of short stories and
poetry. She published some 500 short stories and poems and twenty
novels before her death in 1942. The Project Gutenberg collection of
her short stories was gathered from numerous sources and is presented
in chronological publishing order:
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1896 to 1901
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1902 to 1903
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1904
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1905 to 1906
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to 1908
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1909 to 1922
* * * * *
Short Stories 1905 to 1906
A Correspondence and a Climax 1905
An Adventure on Island Rock 1906
At Five O'Clock in the Morning 1905
Aunt Susanna's Birthday Celebration 1905
Bertie's New Year 1905
Between the Hill and the Valley 1905
Clorinda's Gifts 1906
Cyrilla's Inspiration 1905
Dorinda's Desperate Deed 1906
Her Own People 1905
Ida's New Year Cake 1905
In the Old Valley 1906
Jane Lavinia 1906
Mackereling Out in the Gulf 1905
Millicent's Double 1905
The Blue North Room 1906
The Christmas Surprise At Enderly Road 1905
The Dissipation of Miss Ponsonby 1906
The Falsoms' Christmas Dinner 1906
The Fraser Scholarship 1905
The Girl at the Gate 1906
The Light on the Big Dipper 1906
The Prodigal Brother 1906
The Redemption of John Churchill 1906
The Schoolmaster's Letter 1905
The Story of Uncle Dick 1906
The Understanding of Sister Sara 1905
The Unforgotten One 1906
The Wooing of Bessy 1906
Their Girl Josie 1906
When Jack and Jill Took a Hand 1905
A Correspondence and A Climax
At sunset Sidney hurried to her room to take off the soiled and faded
cotton dress she had worn while milking. She had milked eight cows and
pumped water for the milk-cans afterward in the fag-end of a hot
summer day. She did that every night, but tonight she had hurried more
than usual because she wanted to get her letter written before the
early farm bedtime. She had been thinking it out while she milked the
cows in the stuffy little pen behind the barn. This monthly letter was
the only pleasure and stimulant in her life. Existence would have
been, so Sidney thought, a dreary, unbearable blank without it. She
cast aside her milking-dress with a thrill of distaste that tingled to
her rosy fingertips. As she slipped into her blue-print afternoon
dress her aunt called to her from below. Sidney ran out to the dark
little entry and leaned over the stair railing. Below in the kitchen
there was a hubbub of laughing, crying, quarrelling children, and a
reek of bad tobacco smoke drifted up to the girl's disgusted nostrils.
Aunt Jane was standing at the foot of the stairs with a lamp in one
hand and a year-old baby clinging to the other. She was a big
shapeless woman with a round good-natured face--cheerful and vulgar as
a sunflower was Aunt Jane at all times and occasions.
"I want to run over and see how Mrs. Brixby is this evening, Siddy,
and you must take care of the baby till I get back."
Sidney sighed and went downstairs for the baby. It never would have
occurred to her to protest or be petulant about it. She had all her
aunt's sweetness of disposition, if she resembled her in nothing else.
She had not grumbled because she had to rise at four that morning, get
breakfast, milk the cows, bake bread, prepare seven children for
school, get dinner, preserve twenty quarts of strawberries, get tea,
and milk the cows again. All her days were alike as far as hard work
and dullness went, but she accepted them cheerfully and
uncomplainingly. But she did resent having to look after the baby when
she wanted to write her letter.
She carried the baby to her room, spread a quilt on the floor for him
to sit on, and gave him a box of empty spools to play with.
Fortunately he was a phlegmatic infant, fond of staying in one place,
and not given to roaming about in search of adventures; but Sidney
knew she would have to keep an eye on him, and it would be distracting
to literary effort.
She got out her box of paper and sat down by the little table at the
window with a small kerosene lamp at her elbow. The room was small--a
mere box above the kitchen which Sidney shared with two small cousins.
Her bed and the cot where the little girls slept filled up almost all
the available space. The furniture was poor, but everything was
neat--it was the only neat room in the house, indeed, for tidiness was
no besetting virtue of Aunt Jane's.
Opposite Sidney was a small muslined and befrilled toilet-table, above
which hung an eight-by-six-inch mirror, in which Sidney saw herself
reflected as she devoutly hoped other people did not see her. Just at
that particular angle one eye appeared to be as large as an orange,
while the other was the size of a pea, and the mouth zigzagged from
ear to ear. Sidney hated that mirror as virulently as she could hate
anything. It seemed to her to typify all that was unlovely in her
life. The mirror of existence into which her fresh young soul had
looked for twenty years gave back to her wistful gaze just such
distortions of fair hopes and ideals.
Half of the little table by which she sat was piled high with
books--old books, evidently well read and well-bred books, classics of
fiction and verse every one of them, and all bearing on the flyleaf
the name of Sidney Richmond, thereby meaning not the girl at the
table, but her college-bred young father who had died the day before
she was born. Her mother had died the day after, and Sidney thereupon
had come into the hands of good Aunt Jane, with those books for her
dowry, since nothing else was left after the expenses of the double
funeral had been paid.
One of the books had Sidney Richmond's name printed on the title-page
instead of written on the flyleaf. It was a thick little volume of
poems, published in his college days--musical, unsubstantial, pretty
little poems, every one of which the girl Sidney loved and knew by
heart.
Sidney dropped her pointed chin in her hands and looked dreamily out
into the moonlit night, while she thought her letter out a little more
fully before beginning to write. Her big brown eyes were full of
wistfulness and romance; for Sidney was romantic, albeit a faithful
and understanding acquaintance with her father's books had given to
her romance refinement and reason, and the delicacy of her own nature
had imparted to it a self-respecting bias.
Presently she began to write, with a flush of real excitement on her
face. In the middle of things the baby choked on a small twist spool
and Sidney had to catch him up by the heels and hold him head downward
until the trouble was ejected. Then she had to soothe him, and finally
write the rest of her letter holding him on one arm and protecting the
epistle from the grabs of his sticky little fingers. It was certainly
letter-writing under difficulties, but Sidney seemed to deal with them
mechanically. Her soul and understanding were elsewhere.
Four years before, when Sidney was sixteen, still calling herself a
schoolgirl by reason of the fact that she could be spared to attend
school four months in the winter when work was slack, she had been
much interested in the "Maple Leaf" department of the Montreal weekly
her uncle took. It was a page given over to youthful Canadians and
filled with their contributions in the way of letters, verses, and
prize essays. Noms de plume were signed to these, badges were sent to
those who joined the Maple Leaf Club, and a general delightful sense
of mystery pervaded the department.
Often a letter concluded with a request to the club members to
correspond with the writer. One such request went from Sidney under
the pen-name of "Ellen Douglas." The girl was lonely in Plainfield;
she had no companions or associates such as she cared for; the Maple
Leaf Club represented all that her life held of outward interest, and
she longed for something more.
Only one answer came to "Ellen Douglas," and that was forwarded to her
by the long-suffering editor of "The Maple Leaf." It was from John
Lincoln of the Bar N Ranch, Alberta. He wrote that, although his age
debarred him from membership in the club (he was twenty, and the limit
was eighteen), he read the letters of the department with much
interest, and often had thought of answering some of the requests for
correspondents. He never had done so, but "Ellen Douglas's" letter was
so interesting that he had decided to write to her. Would she be kind
enough to correspond with him? Life on the Bar N, ten miles from the
outposts of civilization, was lonely. He was two years out from the
east, and had not yet forgotten to be homesick at times.
Sidney liked the letter and answered it | 1,689.157413 |
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SANDRA BELLONI
By George Meredith
CONTENTS
BOOK 1
I. THE POLES PRELUDE
II. THE EXPEDITION BY MOONLIGHT
III. WILFRID'S DIPLOMACY
IV. EMILIA'S FIRST TRIAL IN PUBLIC
V. EMILIA PLAYS ON THE CORNET
VI. EMILIA SUPPLIES THE KEY TO HERSELF AND CONTINUES HER
PERFORMANCE ON THE CORNET
VII. THREATS OF A CRISIS IN THE GOVERNMENT OF BROOKFIELD:
AND OF THE VIRTUE RESIDENT IN A TAIL-COAT
VIII. IN WHICH A BIG DRUM SPEEDS THE MARCH OF
EMILIA'S HISTORY
IX. THE RIVAL CLUBS
X. THE LADIES OF BROOKFIELD AT SCHOOL
BOOK 2
XI. IN WHICH WE SEE THE MAGNANIMITY THAT IS IN BEER.
XII. SHOWING HOW SENTIMENT AND PASSION TAKE
THE DISEASE OF LOVE
XIII. CONTAINS A SHORT DISCOURSE ON PUPPETS
XIV. THE BESWORTH QUESTION
XV. WILFRID'S EXHIBITION OF TREACHERY
XVI. HOW THE LADIES OF BROOKFIELD CAME TO THEIR RESOLVE
XVII. IN THE WOODS
BOOK 3
XVIII. RETURN OF THE SENTIMENTALIST INTO BONDAGE
XIX. LIFE AT BROOKFIELD.
XX. BY WILMING WEIR
XXI. RETURN OF MR. PERICLES
XXII. THE PITFALL OF SENTIMENT
XXIII. WILFRID DIPLOMATIZES
XXIV. EMILIA MAKES A MOVE
XXV. A FARCE WITHIN A FARCE
BOOK 4
XXVI. SUGGESTS THAT THE COMIC MASK HAS SOME KINSHIP WITH A SKULL
XXVII. SMALL LIFE AT BROOKFIELD
XXVIII. GEORGIANA FORD
XXIX. FIRST SCOURGING OF THE FINE SHADES
XXX. OF THE DOUBLE-MAN IN US, AND THE GREAT FIGHT
WHEN THESE ARE FULL-GROWN
XXXI. BESWORTH LAWN
XXXII. THE SUPPER
XXXIII. DEFEAT AND FLIGHT OF MRS. CHUMP
BOOK 5
XXXIV. INDICATES THE DEGRADATION OF BROOKFIELD, TOGETHER
WITH CERTAIN PROCEEDINGS OF THE YACHT
XXXV. MRS. CHUMP'S EPISTLE
XXXVI. ANOTHER PITFALL OF SENTIMENT
XXXVII. EMILIA'S FLIGHT.
XXXVIII. SHE CLINGS TO HER VOICE
XXXIX. HER VOICE FAILS
BOOK 6
XL. SHE TASTES DESPAIR
XLI. SHE IS FOUND
XLII. DEFECTION OF MR. PERICLES FROM THE BROOKFIELD CIRCLE
XLIII. IN WHICH WE SEE WILFRID KINDLING
XLIV. ON THE HIPPOGRIFF IN AIR: IN WHICH THE
PHILOSOPHER HAS A SHORT SPELL.
XLV. ON THE HIPPOGRIFF ON EARTH.
XLVI. RAPE OF THE BLACK-BRIONY WREATH
XLVII. THE CALL TO ACTION
XLVIII. CONTAINS A FURTHER VIEW OF SENTIMENT
XLIX. BETWEEN EMILIA AND GEORGIANA
BOOK 7
L. EMILIA BEGINS TO FEEL MERTHYR'S POWER
LI. A CHAPTER INTERRUPTED BY THE PHILOSOPHER
LII. A FRESH DUETT BETWEEN WILFRID AND EMILIA
LIII. ALDERMAN'S BOUQUET
LIV. THE EXPLOSION AT BROOKFIELD
LV. THE TRAGEDY OF SENTIMENT
LVI. AN ADVANCE AND A CHECK.
LVII. CONTAINS A FURTHER ANATOMY OF WILFRID
LVIII. FROST ON THE MAY NIGHT.
LIX. EMILIA'S GOOD-BYE
SANDRA BELLONI
[ORIGINALLY EMILIA IN ENGLAND]
CHAPTER I
We are to make acquaintance with some serious damsels, as this English
generation knows them, and at a season verging upon May. The ladies
of Brookfield, Arabella, Cornelia, and Adela Pole, daughters of a
flourishing City-of-London merchant, had been told of a singular thing:
that in the neighbouring fir-wood a voice was to be heard by night, so
wonderfully sweet and richly toned, that it required their strong sense
to correct strange imaginings concerning it. Adela was herself the chief
witness to its unearthly sweetness, and her testimony was confirmed by
Edward Buxley, whose ear had likewise taken in the notes, though not on
the same night, as the pair publicly proved by dates. Both declared
that the voice belonged to an opera-singer or a spirit. The ladies
of Brookfield, declining the alternative, perceived that this was a
surprise furnished for their amusement by the latest celebrity of
their circle, Mr. Pericles, their father's business ally and
fellow-speculator; Mr. Pericles, the Greek, the man who held millions
of money as dust compared to a human voice. Fortified by this exquisite
supposition, their strong sense at once dismissed with scorn the idea
of anything unearthly, however divine, being heard at night, in the
nineteenth century, within sixteen miles of London City. They agreed
that Mr. Pericles had hired some charming cantatrice to draw them into
the woods and delightfully bewilder them. It was to be expected of his
princely nature, they said. The Tinleys, of Bloxholme, worshipped him
for his wealth; the ladies of Brookfield assured their friends that
the fact of his being a money-maker was redeemed in their sight by his
devotion to music. Music was now the Art in the ascendant at Brookfield.
The ladies (for it is as well to know at once that they were not of
that poor order of women who yield their admiration to a thing for its
abstract virtue only)--the ladies were scaling society by the help of
the Arts. To this laudable end sacrifices were now made to Euterpe to
assist them. As mere daughters of a merchant, they were compelled to
make their house not simply attractive, but enticing; and, seeing that
they liked music, it seemed a very agreeable device. The Tinleys of
Bloxholme still kept to dancing, and had effectually driven away Mr.
Pericles from their gatherings. For Mr. Pericles said: "If that they
will go'so,' I will be amused." He presented a top-like triangular
appearance for one staggering second. The Tinleys did not go `so' at
all, and consequently they lost the satirical man, and were called 'the
ballet-dancers' by Adela which thorny scoff her sisters permitted to
pass about for a single day, and no more. The Tinleys were their match
at epithets, and any low contention of this kind obscured for them the
social summit they hoped to attain; the dream whereof was their prime
nourishment.
That the Tinleys really were their match, they acknowledged, upon the
admission of the despicable nature of the game. The Tinleys had winged a
dreadful shaft at them; not in itself to be dreaded, but that it struck
a weak point; it was a common shot that exploded a magazine; and for a
time it quite upset their social policy, causing them to act like simple
young ladies who feel things and resent them. The ladies of Brookfield
had let it be known that, in their privacy together, they were Pole,
Polar, and North Pole. Pole, Polar, and North Pole were designations of
the three shades of distance which they could convey in a bow: a form of
salute they cherished as peculiarly their own; being a method they had
invented to rebuke the intrusiveness of the outer world, and hold away
all strangers until approved worthy. Even friends had occasionally to
submit to it in a softened form. Arabella, the eldest, and Adela,
the youngest, alternated Pole and Polar; but North Pole was shared by
Cornelia with none. She was the fairest of the three; a nobly-built
person; her eyes not vacant of tenderness when she put off her armour.
In her war-panoply before unhappy strangers, she was a Britomart.
They bowed to an iceberg, which replied to them with the freezing
indifference of the floating colossus, when the Winter sun despatches
a feeble greeting messenger-beam from his miserable Arctic wallet. The
simile must be accepted in its might, for no lesser one will express
the scornfulness toward men displayed by this strikingly well-favoured,
formal lady, whose heart of hearts demanded for her as spouse, a lord,
a philosopher, and a Christian, in one: and he must be a member of
Parliament. Hence her isolated air.
Now, when the ladies of Brookfield heard that their Pole, Polar, and
North Pole, the splendid image of themselves, had been transformed by
the Tinleys, and defiled by them to Pole, Polony, and Maypole, they
should have laughed contemptuously; but the terrible nerve of ridicule
quivered in witness against them, and was not to be stilled. They could
not understand why so coarse a thing should affect them. It stuck in
their flesh. It gave them the idea that they saw their features hideous,
but real, in a magnifying mirror.
There was therefore a feud between the Tinleys and the Poles; and when
Mr. Pericles entirely gave up the former, the latter rewarded him by
spreading abroad every possible kind interpretation of his atrocious bad
manners. He was a Greek, of Parisian gilding, whose Parisian hat flew
off at a moment's notice, and whose savage snarl was heard at the
slightest vexation. His talk of renowned prime-donne by their Christian
names, and the way that he would catalogue emperors, statesmen, and
noblemen known to him, with familiar indifference, as things below the
musical Art, gave a distinguishing tone to Brookfield, from which his
French accentuation of our tongue did not detract.
Mr. Pericles grimaced bitterly at any claim to excellence being set up
for the mysterious voice in the woods. Tapping one forefinger on the
uplifted point of the other, he observed that to sing abroad in the
night air of an English Spring month was conclusive of imbecility; and
that no imbecile sang at all. Because, to sing, involved the highest
accomplishment of which the human spirit could boast. Did the ladies
see? he asked. They thought they saw that he carried on a deception
admirably. In return, they | 1,689.158463 |
2023-11-16 18:45:13.1800680 | 172 | 12 | ACTIONS OF HIS GRACE JOHN, D. OF MARLBOROGH***
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, and the Online Distributed
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The Augustan Reprint Society
[DANIEL DEFOE]
A SHORT NARRATIVE OF THE
Life and Actions
Of His GRACE
_JOHN_, D. of Marlborough
(1711)
_Introduction by_
PAULA R. BACKSCHEIDER
Publication Number 168
William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
University Of California, Los Angeles
1974
GENERAL EDITORS
William E. Conway, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
George Robert Guffey, University of California, Los Angeles
Maximillian E. Novak, University of California, Los Angeles
David | 1,689.200108 |
2023-11-16 18:45:13.3374980 | 6,204 | 19 |
Produced by David Edwards, Ross Cooling and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet
Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: --It was long past midnight,--she had a heap of Mr.
L----'s old letters beside her. She denied that she was in tears.]
LEONORA
BY
MARIA EDGEWORTH
[Illustration]
"O lady Leonora! lady Leonora is ill!" exclaimed
every voice. The consternation was wonderful.
LONDON
J.M. DENT & Co. ALDINE HOUSE
69, GREAT EASTERN STREET, E.C.
1893
[Illustration]
NOTE.
Leonora, though not published until 1806, was commenced three years
before that date: the circumstances under which it was written were to a
certain extent unique in Maria Edgeworth's life; for we are told that
throughout the time occupied in writing the story, she had in mind the
offer of marriage made to her by Monsieur Edelcrantz, a Swedish
gentleman of good position, "of superior understanding and mild
manners," as she told her aunt in a letter partly written before the
proposal and finished afterwards. This seems, from the biographies, to
have been the only time this truly good and sensible woman was ever
sought in marriage by any man; and it shows some of the good qualities
she possessed, that though she refused him, yet from the respect she
bore him and the esteem in which she held him, this story was written to
a large extent with a view to his approbation, though we are told that
she never knew whether or no he had read it.
On the next page is appended a list of the principal editions of this
volume.
Leonora, by Maria Edgeworth, 2 vols., London, 1806.
---- Another edition, with _Letters on Several Subjects_, and
_An Essay on Self-Justification_ (forming Vol. IV. of _Tales
and Miscellaneous Pieces_, by Maria Edgeworth, 14 vols.), London,
1825.
---- Another edition (Vol. XIII. of _Novels and Tales_ of Maria
Edgeworth, 18 vols.), London, 1832-33.
Many reprints from the stereotype plates of this edition have been
issued in various forms and with varying arrangement of the stories.
Translated into French in 1807, and another edition in 1812.
F. J. S.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LEONORA.
Letter i.
_Lady Olivia to Lady Leonora L----._
What a misfortune it is to be born a woman! In vain, dear Leonora, would
you reconcile me to my doom. Condemned to incessant hypocrisy, or
everlasting misery, woman is the slave or the outcast of society.
Confidence in our fellow-creatures, or in ourselves, alike forbidden us,
to what purpose have we understandings, which we may not use? hearts,
which we may not trust? To our unhappy sex genius and sensibility are
the most treacherous gifts of Heaven. Why should we cultivate talents
merely to gratify the caprice of tyrants? Why seek for knowledge, which
can prove only that our wretchedness is irremediable? If a ray of light
break in upon us, it is but to make darkness more visible; to show us
the narrow limits, the Gothic structure, the impenetrable barriers of
our prison. Forgive me if on this subject I cannot speak--if I cannot
think--with patience. Is it not fabled, that the gods, to punish some
refractory mortal of the male kind, doomed his soul to inhabit upon
earth a female form? A punishment more degrading, or more difficult to
endure, could scarcely be devised by cruelty omnipotent. What dangers,
what sorrows, what persecutions, what nameless evils awaits the woman
who dares to rise above the prejudices of her sex!
"Ah! happy they, the happiest of their kind!"
who, without a struggle, submit their reason to be swathed by all the
absurd bandages of custom. What, though they <DW36> or distort their
minds; are not these deformities beauties in the eyes of fashion? and
are not these people the favoured nurslings of the _World_, secure of
her smiles, her caresses, her fostering praise, her partial protection,
through all the dangers of youth and all the dotage of age?
"Ah! happy they, the happiest of their kind!"
who learn to speak, and think, and act by rote; who have a phrase, or a
maxim, or a formula ready for every occasion; who follow--
"All the nurse and all the priest have taught."
And is it possible that Olivia can envy these _tideless-blooded_ souls
their happiness--their apathy? Is her high spirit so broken by
adversity? Not such the promise of her early years, not such the
language of her unsophisticated heart! Alas! I scarcely know, I scarcely
recollect, that proud self, which was wont to defy the voice of opinion,
and to set at nought the decrees of prejudice. The events of my life
shall be related, or rather the history of my sensations; for in a life
like mine sensations become events--a metamorphosis which you will see
in every page of my history. I feel an irresistible impulse to open my
whole heart to you, my dear Leonora. I ought to be awed by the
superiority of your understanding and of your character; yet there is
an indulgence in your nature, a softness in your temper, that dissipates
fear, and irresistibly attracts confidence.
You have generously refused to be prejudiced against me by busy,
malignant rumour; you have resolved to judge of me for yourself.
Nothing, then, shall be concealed. In such circumstances I cannot seek
to extenuate any of my faults or follies. I am ready to acknowledge them
all with self-humiliation more poignant than the sarcasms of my
bitterest enemies. But I must pause till I have summoned courage for my
confession. Dear Leonora, adieu!
Olivia.
Letter ij.
_Olivia to Leonora._
Full of life and spirits, with a heart formed for all the enthusiasm,
for all the delicacy of love, I married early, in the fond expectation
of meeting a heart suited to my own. Cruelly disappointed, I
found--merely a husband. My heart recoiled upon itself; true to my own
principles of virtue, I scorned dissimulation. I candidly confessed to
my husband, that my love was extinguished. I proved to him, alas! too
clearly, that we were not born for each other. The attractive moment of
illusion was past--never more to return; the repulsive reality remained.
The living was chained to the dead, and, by the inexorable tyranny of
English laws, that chain, eternally galling to innocence, can be severed
only by the desperation of vice. Divorce, according to our barbarous
institutions, cannot be obtained without guilt. Appalled at the thought,
I saw no hope but in submission. Yet to submit to live with the man I
could not love was, to a mind like mine, impossible. My principles and
my feelings equally revolted from this legal prostitution. We separated.
I sought for balm to my wounded heart in foreign climes.
To the beauties of nature I was ever feelingly alive. Amidst the sublime
scenes of Switzerland, and on the consecrated borders of her classic
lakes, I sometimes forgot myself to happiness. Felicity, how
transient!--transient as the day-dreams that played upon my fancy in the
bright morning of love. Alas! not all creation's charms could soothe me
to repose. I wandered in search of that which change of place cannot
afford. There was an aching void in my heart--an indescribable sadness
over my spirits. Sometimes I had recourse to books; but how few were in
unison with my feelings, or touched the trembling chords of my
disordered mind! Commonplace morality I could not endure. History
presented nothing but a mass of crimes. Metaphysics promised some
relief, and I bewildered myself in their not inelegant labyrinth. But to
the bold genius and exquisite pathos of some German novelists I hold
myself indebted for my largest portion of ideal bliss; for those rapt
moments, when sympathy with kindred souls transported me into better
worlds, and consigned vulgar realities to oblivion.
I am well aware, my Leonora, that you approve not of these my favourite
writers: but yours is the morality of one who has never known sorrow. I
also would interdict such cordials to the happy. But would you forbid
those to taste felicity in dreams who feel only misery when awake? Would
you dash the cup of Lethe from lips to which no other beverage is
salubrious or sweet?
By the use of these opiates my soul gradually settled into a sort of
pleasing pensive melancholy. Has it not been said, that melancholy is a
characteristic of genius? I make no pretensions to genius: but I am
persuaded that melancholy is the habitual, perhaps the natural state of
those who have the misfortune to feel with delicacy.
You, my dear Leonora, will class this notion amongst what you once
called my refined errors. Indeed I must confess, that I see in you an
exception so striking as almost to compel me to relinquish my theory.
But again let me remind you, that your lot in life has been different
from mine. Alas! how different! Why had not I such a friend, such a
mother as yours, early to direct my uncertain steps, and to educate me
to happiness? I might have been----. But no matter what I might have
been----. I must tell you what I have been.
Separated from my husband, without a guide, without a friend at the most
perilous period of my life, I was left to that most insidious of
counsellors--my own heart--my own weak heart. When I was least prepared
to resist the impression, it was my misfortune to meet with a man of a
soul congenial to my own. Before I felt my danger, I was entangled
beyond the possibility of escape. The net was thrown over my heart; its
struggles were to no purpose but to exhaust my strength. Virtue
commanded me to be miserable--and I was miserable. But do I dare to
expect your pity, Leonora, for such an attachment? It excites your
indignation, perhaps your horror. Blame, despise, detest me; all this
would I rather bear than deceive you into fancying me better than I
really am.
Do not, however, think me worse. If my views had been less pure, if I
had felt less reliance on the firmness of my own principles, and less
repugnance to artifice, I might easily have avoided some appearances,
which have injured me in the eyes of the world. With real contrition I
confess, that a fatal mixture of masculine independence of spirit, and
of female tenderness of heart, has betrayed me into many imprudences;
but of vice, and of that meanest species of vice, hypocrisy, I thank
Heaven, my conscience can acquit me. All I have now to hope is, that
you, my indulgent, my generous Leonora, will not utterly condemn me.
Truth and gratitude are my only claims to your friendship--to a
friendship, which would be to me the first of earthly blessings, which
might make me amends for all I have lost. Consider this before, unworthy
as I am, you reject me from your esteem. Counsel, guide, save me!
Without vanity, but with confidence I say it, I have a heart that will
repay you for affection. You will find me easily moved, easily governed
by kindness. Yours has already sunk deep into my soul, and your power is
unlimited over the affections and over the understanding of
Your obliged
Olivia.
Letter iij.
_From Lady Leonora L---- to her mother, the Duchess of ----,
enclosing the preceding letters._
I am permitted to send you, my dear mother, the enclosed letters. Mixed
with what you may not approve, you will, I think, find in them proofs of
an affectionate heart and superior abilities. Lady Olivia is just
returned to England. Scandal, imported from the continent, has had such
an effect in prejudicing many of her former friends and acquaintance
against her, that she is in danger of being excluded from that society
of which she was once the ornament and the favourite; but I am
determined to support her cause, and to do everything in my power to
counteract the effects of malignity. I cannot sufficiently express the
indignation that I feel against the mischievous spirit of scandal,
which destroys happiness at every breath, and which delights in the
meanest of all malignant feelings--the triumph over the errors of
superior characters. Olivia has been much blamed, because she has been
much envied.
Indeed, my dear mother, you have been prejudiced against her by false
reports. Do not imagine that her fascinating manners have blinded my
judgment: I assure you that I have discerned, or rather that she has
revealed to me, all her faults: and ought not this candour to make a
strong impression upon my mind in her favour? Consider how young, how
beautiful she was at her first entrance into fashionable life; how much
exposed to temptation, surrounded by flatterers, and without a single
friend. I am persuaded that she would have escaped all censure, and
would have avoided all the errors with which she now reproaches herself,
if she had been blessed with a mother such as mine.
Leonora L----
Letter iv.
_The Duchess of ---- to her daughter._
My dearest Child,
I must answer your last before I sleep--before I can sleep in peace. I
have just finished reading the rhapsody which it enclosed; and whilst my
mind is full and warm upon the subject, let me write, for I can write to
my own satisfaction at no other time. I admire and love you, my child,
for the generous indignation you express against those who trample upon
the fallen, or who meanly triumph over the errors of superior genius;
and if I seem more cold, or more severe, than you wish me to be,
attribute this to my anxiety for your happiness, and to that caution
which is perhaps the infirmity of age.
In the course of my long life I have, alas! seen vice and folly dressed
in so many different fashions, that I can find no difficulty in
detecting them under any disguise; but your unpractised eyes are almost
as easily deceived as when you were five years old, and when you could
not believe that your pasteboard nun was the same person in her various
changes of attire.
Nothing would tempt you to associate with those who have avowed
themselves regardless of right and wrong; but I must warn you against
another, and a far more dangerous class, who, professing the most
refined delicacy of sentiment, and boasting of invulnerable virtue,
exhibit themselves in the most improper and hazardous situations; and
who, because they are without fear, expect to be deemed free from
reproach. Either from miraculous good fortune, or from a singularity of
temper, these adventurous heroines may possibly escape with what they
call perfect innocence. So much the worse for society. Their example
tempts others, who fall a sacrifice to their weakness and folly. I would
punish the tempters in this case more than the victims, and for them the
most effectual species of punishment is contempt. Neglect is death to
these female lovers of notoriety. The moment they are out of fashion
their power to work mischief ceases. Those who from their character and
rank have influence over public opinion are bound to consider these
things in the choice of their associates. This is peculiarly necessary
in days when attempts are made to level all distinctions. You have
sometimes hinted to me, my dear daughter, with all proper delicacy, that
I am too strict in my notions, and that, unknown to myself, my pride
mixes with morality. Be it so: the pride of family, and the pride of
virtue, should reciprocally support each other. Were I asked what I
think the best guard to a nobility in this or in any other country, I
should answer, VIRTUE. I admire that simple epitaph in Westminster Abbey
on the Duchess of Newcastle:--"Her name was Margaret Lucas, youngest
sister to the Lord Lucas of Colchester;--a noble family, for all the
brothers were valiant and all the sisters virtuous."
I look to the temper of the times in forming rules for conduct. Of late
years we have seen wonderful changes in female manners. I may be like
the old marquis in Gil Blas, who contended that even the peaches of
modern days had deteriorated; but I fear that my complaints of the
degeneracy of human kind are better founded than his fears for the
vegetable creation. A taste for the elegant profligacy of French
gallantry was, I remember, introduced into this country before the
destruction of the French monarchy. Since that time, some sentimental
writers and pretended philosophers of our own and foreign countries have
endeavoured to confound all our ideas of morality. To every rule of
right they have found exceptions, and on these they have fixed the
public attention by adorning them with all the splendid decorations of
eloquence; so that the rule is despised or forgotten, and the exception
triumphantly established in its stead. These orators seem as if they had
been employed by Satan to plead the cause of vice; and, as if possessed
by the evil spirit, they speak with a vehemence which carries away their
auditors, or with a subtlety which deludes their better judgment. They
put extreme cases, in which virtue may become vice, or vice virtue: they
exhibit criminal passions in constant connexion with the most exalted,
the most amiable virtues; thus making use of the best feelings of human
nature for the worst purposes, they engage pity or admiration
perpetually on the side of guilt. Eternally talking of philosophy and
philanthropy, they borrow the terms only to perplex the ignorant and
seduce the imagination. They have their systems and their theories, and
in theory they pretend that the general good of society is their sole
immutable rule of morality, and in practice they make the variable
feelings of each individual the judges of this general good. Their
systems disdain all the vulgar virtues, intent upon some _beau ideal_ of
perfection or perfectibility. They set common sense and common honesty
at defiance. No matter: their doctrine, so convenient to the passions
and soporific to the conscience, can never want partisans; especially by
weak and enthusiastic women it is adopted and propagated with eagerness;
then they become personages of importance, and zealots in support of
their sublime opinions; and they can read--and they can write--and they
can talk--and they can _effect a revolution in public opinion_! I am
afraid, indeed, that they can; for of late years we have heard more of
sentiment than of principles; more of the rights of woman than of her
duties. We have seen talents disgraced by the conduct of their
possessors, and perverted in the vain attempt to defend what is
unjustifiable.
Where must all this end? Where the abuse of reason inevitably ends--in
the ultimate law of force. If in this age of reason women make a bad use
of that power which they have obtained by the cultivation of their
understanding, they will degrade and enslave themselves beyond
redemption; they will reduce their sex to a situation worse than it ever
experienced even in the ages of ignorance and superstition. If men find
that the virtue of women diminishes in proportion as intellectual
cultivation increases, they will connect, fatally for the freedom and
happiness of our sex, the ideas of female ignorance and female
innocence; they will decide that one is the effect of the other. They
will not pause to distinguish between the use and the abuse of reason;
they will not stand by to see further experiments tried at their
expense, but they will prohibit knowledge altogether as a pernicious
commodity, and will exert the superior power which nature and society
place in their hands, to enforce their decrees. Opinion obtained freedom
for women; by opinion they may be again enslaved. It is therefore the
interest of the female world, and of society, that women should be
deterred by the dread of shame from passing the bounds of discretion. No
false lenity, no partiality in favour of amusing talents or agreeable
manners, should admit of exceptions which become dangerous examples of
impunity. The rank and superior understanding of a _delinquent_ ought
not to be considered in mitigation, but as aggravating circumstances.
Rank makes ill conduct more conspicuous: talents make it more dangerous.
Women of abilities, if they err, usually employ all their powers to
justify rather than to amend their faults.
I am afraid, my dear daughter, that my general arguments are closing
round your Olivia; but I must bid you a good night, for my poor eyes
will serve me no longer. God bless you, my dear child.
Letter v.
_Leonora to her mother._
I agree with you, my dear mother, that in these times especially, it is
incumbent upon all persons, whose rank or reputation may influence
public opinion, to be particularly careful to support the cause of
female honour, of virtue, and religion. With the same object in view, we
may however differ in the choice of means for its attainment. Pleasure
as well as pain acts upon human creatures; and therefore, in governing
them, may not reward be full as efficacious as punishment? Our sex are
sufficiently apprised of the fatal consequences of ill conduct; the
advantages of well-earned reputation should be at least as great, as
certain, and as permanent.
In former times, a single finger pointed at the scutcheon of a knight
challenged him to defend his fame; but the defiance was open, the
defence was public; and if the charge proved groundless, it injured none
but the malicious accuser. In our days female reputation, which is of a
nature more delicate than the honour of any knight, may be destroyed by
the finger of private malice. The whisper of secret scandal, which
admits of no fair or public answer, is too often sufficient to dishonour
a life of spotless fame. This is the height, not only of injustice, but
of impolicy. Women will become indifferent to reputation, which it is so
difficult, even by the prudence of years, to acquire, and which it is so
easy to lose in a moment, by the malice or thoughtlessness of those who
invent or who repeat scandal. Those who call themselves the world often
judge without listening to evidence, and proceed upon suspicion with as
much promptitude and severity as if they had the most convincing proofs.
But because Caesar, nearly two thousand years ago, said, that his wife
ought not even to be suspected, and divorced her upon the strength of
this sentiment, shall we make it a general maxim, that suspicion
justifies punishment? We might as well applaud those, who when their
friends are barely suspected to be tainted with the plague, drive them
from all human comfort and assistance.
Even where women, from the thoughtless gaiety of youth, or the impulse
of inexperienced enthusiasm, may have given some slight cause for
censure, I would not have virtue put on all her gorgon terrors, nor
appear circled by the vengeful band of prudes; her chastening hand will
be more beneficially felt if she wear her more benign form. To place the
imprudent in the same class with the vicious is injustice and impolicy;
were the same punishment and the same disgrace to be affixed to small
and to great offences, the number of _capital_ offenders would certainly
increase. Those who were disposed to yield to their passions would, when
they had once failed in exact decorum, see no motive, no fear to
restrain them; and there would be no pause, no interval between error
and profligacy. Amongst females who have been imprudent, there are many
things to be considered which ought to recommend them to mercy. The
judge, when he is obliged to pronounce the immutable sentence of the
law, often, with tears, wishes that it were in his power to mitigate the
punishment: the decisions of opinion may and must vary with
circumstances, else the degree of reprobation which they inflict cannot
be proportioned to the offence, or calculated for the good of society.
Among the mitigating circumstances I should be inclined to name even
those which you bring in aggravation. Talents, and what is called
genius, in our sex are often connected with a warmth of heart, an
enthusiasm of temper, which expose to dangers from which the coldness of
mediocrity is safe. In the illuminated palace of ice, the lights which
render the spectacle splendid, and which raise the admiration of the
beholders, endanger the fabric and tend to its destruction.
But you will tell me, dear mother, that allusion is not argument--and I
am almost afraid to proceed, lest you should think me an advocate for
vice. I would not shut the gates of mercy, inexorably and
indiscriminately, upon all those of my own sex, who have even been _more
than imprudent_.
"He taught them shame, the sudden sense of ill--
Shame, Nature's hasty conscience, which forbids
Weak inclination ere it grows to will,
Or stays rash will before it grows to deeds."
Whilst a woman is alive to shame, she cannot be dead to virtue. But by
injudicious or incessant reproach, this principle, even where it is most
exquisite, may be most easily destroyed. The mimosa, when too long
exposed to each rude touch, loses its retractile sensibility. It ought
surely to be the care of the wise and benevolent to cherish that
principle, implanted in our nature as the guard of virtue, that
principle upon which legislators rest the force of punishment, and all
the grand interests of society.
My dear mother, perhaps you will be surprised at the style in which I
have been writing, and you will smile at hearing your Leonora discuss
the duties of legislators, and the grand interests of society. She has
not done so from presumption, or from affectation. She was alarmed by
your supposing that her judgment was deluded by fascinating manners, and
she determined to produce _general_ arguments, to convince you that she
is not actuated by particular prepossession. You see that I have at
least some show of reason on my side. I have forborne to mention
Olivia's name: but now that I have obviated, I hope by reasoning, the
imputation of partiality, I may observe that all my arguments are
strongly in her favour. She had been attacked by slander; _the world_
has condemned her upon suspicion merely. She has been imprudent; but I
repeat, in the strongest terms, that I am _convinced of her innocence_;
and that I should bitterly regret that a woman with such an affectionate
heart, such uncommon candour, and such superior abilities, should be
lost to society.
Tell me, my dear mother, that you are no longer in anxiety about the
consequences of my attachment to Olivia.
Your affectionate daughter,
Leonora.
Letter vi.
_The Duchess of ---- to her daughter._
You lament, my dear child, that such an affectionate heart, | 1,689.357538 |
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THE LAY ANTHONY
A Romance
By Joseph Hergesheimer
New York & London
Mitchell Kennerley 1914
"_... if in passing from this deceitful world into true life love is
not forgotten,... I know that among the most joyous souls of the third
heaven my Fiametta sees my pain. Pray her, if the sweet draught of Lethe
has not robbed me of her,... to obtain my ascent to her._"
--Giovanni Boccaccio
TO
DOROTHY
THIS
FIGMENT OF A PERPETUAL FLOWERING
THE LAY ANTHONY
I--A ROMANCE
NOT for the honor of winning the Vanderbilt Cup, nor for the glory of
pitching a major league baseball team into the world's championship,
would Tony Ball have admitted to the familiar and derisive group in the
drugstore that he was--in the exact, physical aspect of the word--pure.
Secretly, and in an entirely natural and healthy manner, he was ashamed
of his innocence. He carefully concealed it in an elaborate assumption
of wide worldly knowledge and experience, in an attitude of cynical
comprehension, and indifference toward _girls_.
But he might have spared himself the effort, the fictions, of his
pose--had he proclaimed his ignorance aloud from the brilliantly lighted
entrance to the drugstore no one who knew him in the midweek, night
throng on Ellerton's main street would have credited Anthony with
anything beyond a thin and surprising joke. He was, at twenty, the
absolute, adventurous opposite of any conscious or cloistered virtue:
the careless carriage of his big, loose frame; his frank, smiling grey
eyes and ample mouth; his very, drawling voice--all marked him for a
loiterer in the pleasant and sunny places of life, indifferent to the
rigors of a mental or moral discipline.
The accumulated facts of his existence fully bore this out: the number
of schools from which, playing superlative baseball, he had been still
obliged to leave, carrying with him the cordial good will of master
and fellow, for an unconquerable, irresponsible laxity; the number and
variety of occupations that had claimed him in the past three years,
every one of which at their inception certain, he felt confident, to
carry him beyond all dreams and necessity of avarice; and every one, in
his rapidly diminishing interest, attention, or because of persistent,
adverse conditions over which, he asseverated, he had no control,
turning into a fallow field, a disastrous venture; and, conclusively,
the group of familiars, the easy companions of idle hours, to which he
had gravitated.
He met his mates by appointment at Doctor Allhop's drugstore, or by an
elaborate system of whistled formulas from the street, at which he would
rise with a muttered excuse from the dinner table and disappear.--He
was rarely if ever sought outright at his father's house; it was quite
another sort of boy who met and discoursed easily with sisters, who
unperturbed greeted mothers face to face.
It would have been useless, had he known it, to protest his virtue
inside the drugstore or out; a curious chain of coincidents had
preserved it. Again and again he had been at the point of surrendering
his involuntary Eden, and always the accident, the interruption, had
befallen, always he had retired in a state of more or less orderly
celibacy. On the occasion of one of those nocturnal, metropolitan
escapades by which matured boys, in a warm, red veil of whiskey, assert
their manhood and independence, he had been thrust in a drunken stupor
into the baggage car of the "owl" train to Ellerton. Instances might
be multiplied: life, in | 1,689.554583 |
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Project)
THE SMUGGLER CHIEF
A NOVEL
BY
GUSTAVE AIMARD
AUTHOR OF "STRONGHAND," "BUCCANEER CHIEF," ETC.
LONDON
WARD AND LOCK, 158, FLEET STREET
MDCCCLXIV
PREFACE
The present is the most powerful story which Gustave Aimard has yet
written. While there is enough of startling incident and hairbreadth
escapes to satisfy the greatest craver after sensation, the plot is
carefully elaborated, and great attention is paid to developing the
character of the heroines. If there has been any fault in the author's
previous works, it is that the ladies introduced are too subordinate;
but in the present tale, the primary interest hinges upon them, and
they are the most prominent characters. For this reason I am inclined
to believe that the "Smuggler Chief" will become a greater favourite
with readers than any of its predecessors.
Lascelles Wraxall, Bart.
CONTENTS.
I. THE PROCESSION
II. THE COUNTRY HOUSE
III. THE CONVENT OF THE PURISIMA CONCEPCION
IV. THE SMUGGLERS
V. THE INCA OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
VI. THE BANIAN'S HOUSE
VII. THE NOVICE
VIII. A VISIT TO THE CONVENT
IX. ON THE SIERRA
X. INSIDE THE TENT
XI. THE SONS OF THE TORTOISE
XII. A HUMAN SACRIFICE
XIII. THE BALAS RUBY
XIV. THE RUPTURE
XV. A FIRST LOSS
XVI. THE PARUMO DE SAN JUAN BAUTISTA
XVII. THE ABDUCTION
XVIII. AFTER THE COMBAT
XIX. THE MANHUNT
XX. THE REDSKINS
XXI. THE INDIAN CITY
XXII. THE JAGOUAS OF THE HUILICHES
XXIII. A MIRACULOUS CURE
XXIV. THE RUINS OF THE HACIENDA
XXV. THE ARREST
XXVI. THE SCALP
XXVII. THE CAPTURE OF THE CONVENT
XXVIII. AN INDIAN VENGEANCE
XXIX. THE GREEN ROOM
XXX. THE CONFESSION
XXXI. THE CAMP OF THE MOLUCHOS
XXXII. THE SACK OF SANTIAGO
CHAPTER I.
THE PROCESSION.
America, a land not yet thoroughly explored, and whose immense
savannahs and gloomy virgin forests conceal so many mysterious secrets
and unknown dramas, sees at this moment all eyes fixed upon her, for
everyone is eager to know the strange customs of the semi-civilized
Indians and the semi-savage Europeans who people the vast solitudes
of that continent; for in the age of transformation in which we live,
they alone have remained stationary, contending inch by inch against
the civilization which invades and drives them back on all sides, and
guarding with a religious obstinacy the faith, manners, and customs of
their fathers--curious manners, full of interest, which require to be
studied carefully and closely to be understood.
It is to America, then, that we invite the reader to accompany us. But
he need not feel alarmed at the length of the voyage, for he can make
it while comfortably seated in his easy chair by the fireside.
The story we propose to tell has its scene laid at Valparaiso--a
Chilian city as regards the soil on which it is built, but English and
French, European or American, through the strange composite of its
population, which, is formed of people from all countries, who have
introduced every possible language and brought with them every variety
of trade.
Valparaiso! the name echoes in the ear like the soft sweet notes of a
love strain!
Valparaiso! the city of Paradise--the vast depot of the whole world.
A coquettish, smiling, and frolicsome city, slothfully reclining, like
a thoughtless Indian maid, at the base of three mountains and at the
end of a glorious bay, dipping the tips of her roseate feet in the
azure waters of the Pacific, and hiding her broad brilliant forehead
in the tempest-swollen clouds which float along from the crests of the
Cordilleras to make her a splendid diadem.
This city, the advanced sentinel of Transatlantic civilization, is the
first land which the traveller discovers after doubling Cape Horn, of
melancholy and ill-omened memory.
When at sunrise of a fine spring morning a vessel sails round the
lighthouse point situated at the extremity of the Playa-Aucha, this
charming oasis is perceived, half veiled by a transparent mist, only
allowing the white houses and lofty edifices to be distinguished in a
vague and fantastic way that conduces to reverie.
The atmosphere, impregnated with the sharp scents from the beach and
the sweet emanations of the trees and flowers, deliciously expands the
chest, and in a second causes the mariner, who comes back to life and
hope, to forget the three months of suffering and incessant danger
whose long hours have passed for him minute by minute, ere he reached
this long-desired haven.
On August 25th, 1833, two men were seated in a posada situated in the
Calle San Agostino, and kept by a Frenchman of the name of Crevel,
long established in the country, at a table on which stood two glasses
and a nearly empty bottle of aguardiente of Pisco, and were eagerly
conversing in a low voice about a matter which seemed to interest them
in the highest degree.
One of these men, about twenty-five years of age, wore a characteristic
costume of the guasos, a name by which the inhabitants of the interior
are designated; a wide poncho of llama wool, striped with different
brilliant colours, covered his shoulders and surrounded his bare neck
with an elegant and strangely-designed Indian embroidery. Long boots
of dyed wool were fastened above his knees by silk cords | 1,689.757106 |
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Helena's Path
_By_
ANTHONY HOPE
AUTHOR OF DOUBLE HARNESS
TRISTRAM OF BLENT
ETC.
[Illustration]
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1912
_Copyright, 1907, by Anthony Hope Hawkins_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I AMBROSE, LORD LYNBOROUGH 3
II LARGELY TOPOGRAPHICAL 15
III OF LAW AND NATURAL RIGHTS 33
IV THE MESSAGE OF A PADLOCK 52
V THE BEGINNING OF WAR 70
VI EXERCISE BEFORE BREAKFAST 90
VII ANOTHER WEDGE! 110
VIII THE MARCHESA MOVES 127
IX LYNBOROUGH DROPS A CATCH 148
X IN THE LAST RESORT 171
XI AN ARMISTICE 186
XII AN EMBASSAGE 206
XIII THE FEAST OF ST. JOHN BAPTIST 223
HELENA'S PATH
_Chapter One_
AMBROSE, LORD LYNBOROUGH
Common opinion said that Lord Lynborough ought never to have had a
peerage and forty thousand a year; he ought to have had a pound a week
and a back bedroom in Bloomsbury. Then he would have become an eminent
man; as it was, he turned out only a singularly erratic individual.
So much for common opinion. Let no more be heard of its dull utilitarian
judgements! There are plenty of eminent men--at the moment, it is
believed, no less than seventy Cabinet and ex-Cabinet Ministers (or
thereabouts)--to say nothing of Bishops, Judges, and the British
Academy,--and all this in a nook of the world! (And the world too is a
point!) Lynborough was something much more uncommon; it is not, however,
quite easy to say what. Let the question be postponed; perhaps the story
itself will answer it.
He started life--or was started in it--in a series of surroundings of
unimpeachable orthodoxy--Eton, Christ Church, the Grenadier Guards. He
left each of these schools of mental culture and bodily discipline, not
under a cloud--that metaphor would be ludicrously inept--but in an
explosion. That, having been thus shot out of the first, he managed to
enter the second--that, having been shot out of the second, he walked
placidly into the third--that, having been shot out of the third, he
suffered no apparent damage from his repeated propulsions--these are
matters explicable only by a secret knowledge of British institutions.
His father was strong, his mother came of stock even stronger; he
himself--Ambrose Caverly as he then was--was very popular, and
extraordinarily handsome in his unusual outlandish style.
His father being still alive--and, though devoted to him, by now
apprehensive of his doings--his means were for the next few years
limited. Yet he contrived to employ himself. He took a soup-kitchen and
ran it; he took a yacht and sank it; he took a public-house, | 1,689.758717 |
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A TREATISE
ON
ACUPUNCTURATION, &c.
DEDICATED, BY PERMISSION,
TO
ASTLEY COOPER, ESQ. F. R. S.
Plummer and Brewis, Printers, Love Lane, Eastcheap.
[Illustration: ACUPUNCTURATION NEEDLES.]
A TREATISE
ON
ACUPUNCTURATION;
BEING
A DESCRIPTION OF A SURGICAL OPERATION ORIGINALLY PECULIAR
TO THE JAPONESE AND CHINESE, AND BY THEM
DENOMINATED
ZIN-KING,
_Now introduced into European Practice_,
WITH
DIRECTIONS FOR ITS PERFORMANCE,
AND
CASES ILLUSTRATING ITS SUCCESS.
BY
_JAMES MORSS CHURCHILL_,
MEMBER OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF SURGEONS IN LONDON.
_LONDON_:
PUBLISHED BY SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL,
STATIONER’S COURT;
SOLD BY E. COX AND SON, ST. THOMAS’S STREET; J. CALLOW,
PRINCE’S STREET, SOHO; MESSRS. UNDERWOOD, FLEET STREET;
BURGESS AND HILL, WINDMILL STREET; AND J. COX, BERNERS STREET,
OXFORD STREET.
TO
ASTLEY COOPER, ESQ.
THE STEADY FRIEND AND PATRON OF HUMBLE MERIT,
THE AUTHOR RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBES
THIS LITTLE TREATISE;
LESS FROM PRESUMPTION OF ITS DESERVING
HIS APPROBATION,
THAN
AS A MARK OF RESPECT
FOR SPLENDID ACQUIREMENTS,
AND OF
GRATITUDE,
TOWARDS A GREAT MASTER.
TREATISE
ON
ACUPUNCTURATION.
_Preliminary Remarks._
If the medical profession merit the reproach, of being easily deluded
into an admiration of novelty, then I need use no apology for
introducing the following pages to notice, nor will my subject stand in
need of prefatory allurements to obtain attention; but if on the other
hand, a rational theory, built on sound logical reasoning, be the only
evidence to which any value can be attached, then will my efforts have
been unavailing and fruitless. Under the impression, however, that
there exists a desire for speculation and discovery on the one hand,
regulated and qualified by a moderate and proper degree of scepticism
on the other, I shall presume a medium of the two extremes, and
proceed without apology or preface to my subject, trusting, that the
interesting facts which I have to relate, will elicit such attention
and investigation, as will kindle a desire in some men, at least, to
become acquainted with a process, which appears to rival the most
successful operations for the relief of human sufferings.
I should not have taken the tales which are told of the wonderful cures
effected by this operation amongst the original founders of it, as
sufficient authority for recommending it, nor would I admit the fables
which are promulgated by these people, as evidence of its efficacy, had
not this efficacy been witnessed by European spectators on its native
soil, and at length experienced in our hemisphere; and even, latterly,
in our own country.
The operation of acupuncturation has been seen by so few Europeans,
that our books have made us acquainted with little more than its
name. It is of Asiatic origin, and China and Japan peculiarly claim
it as their own. A writer in the year 1802, mentions a discovery of
its having been practised by the natives of America, and refers to
Dampier’s voyages for an account of it; but I have in vain followed
Capt. Dampier’s relation of his adventures, in crossing from the
South to the North Sea, over the Isthmus of Darien, for any account
of the operation, for he does not so much as name it. He speaks of a
work intended to be published by his surgeon, Mr. Lionel Wafer, who
accompanied the expedition, and to which he refers his readers for an
account of the manners and customs of the interior of the country. Mr.
Wafer was detained, from an accident, a considerable time amongst
the Darien Indians, and did, on his return to England, publish this
book, which I have therefore been at the trouble of perusing, but do
not learn from it, that the operation of acupuncturation was practised
in that part of America: it is true, Mr. Wafer describes a method of
blood-letting employed by the natives, which is somewhat correspondent
to acupuncturation, but both the intention and the effect are widely
different. This operation is effected in the following manner: the
patient is taken to a river, and seated upon a stone in the middle of
it. A native, dexterous in the use of the bow, now shoots a number of
small arrows into various parts of the body. These arrows are prepared
purposely for this operation, and are so constructed, that they
cannot penetrate beyond the skin, the veins of which, opened by the
puncturation, furnish numerous streams of blood, which flow down the
body of the patient. If this be the operation which has given rise to
the idea, that acupuncturation is practised by the American natives,
the conclusion is evidently erroneous, as it is simply a method of
blood-letting, and is generally resorted to for the cure of fever.
Now, acupuncturation has no reference whatever to bleeding, and it
is rare, that even a drop of blood follows either the introduction
or withdrawing of the needle; nor does it appear, that the Chinese
and Japanese, with whom it originated, intended it as a method of
abstracting blood, which is proved, not only by the consequences of
the operation, but by the manner in which it is performed, and the
nature of the diseases to which it is applied. If it could have been
established, that the natives of the American Isthmus were acquainted
with it, it would have been a curious, as well as an interesting
enquiry, to ascertain whence they derived it.
It is a little strange, that the surprising efficacy, of which so
much has been boasted by its eastern professors, and the safety,
at least, with which acupuncturation may be performed, having been
so fully demonstrated; it is strange I repeat, that it has not met
with an earlier encouragement amongst us. It is probable, that the
hyperbole in which it has been related, has induced the sober minds
of our Northern soil, to treat these relations as the fictions of
Eastern imagination, and to reject them without examination, as
fables calculated only for amusement. There have not, however, been
wanting sensible minds, and men of talent and reputation, to recommend
this operation; and the names of Ten-Rhyne, Bidloo, Kœmpfer, and
Vicq-d’Azyr, stand conspicuous on the list of those who speak in its
favour; but still, neither of them had undertaken to put its merits
to the test, by actual experiment. Several practitioners in France,
however, have now taken up this neglected operation, and their
report verifies the praises which have been bestowed by others upon
it. My attention was lately directed to it by my friend Mr. Scott,
of Westminster, who, as far as my knowledge goes, was the first who
performed it in England, and some successful cases which I witnessed in
his practice, assured me of its efficacy, and led me to its adoption.
The success of my own subsequent practice, warrants a recommendation of
it, in almost any terms I could give it; but I shall content myself in
laying before my readers, the opinion and experience of some physicians
of eminence, accompanied by a relation of some cases of my own, where
the benefit of the operation has been decidedly successful; upon a
better foundation than which it cannot at present rest for public
examination; it remains for the medical profession to ascertain its
claims to attention by the test of experience, and having undergone
the ordeal of experimental enquiry, it will, I have no doubt, so
fully develope its merit, as to obtain a conspicuous rank in medical
estimation, as a valuable curative measure.
ACUPUNCTURATION.
The method of performing the operation of acupuncturation is simple
and easy, requiring neither practice to give dexterity, nor adroitness
that it may be done with propriety. Anatomical knowledge of the human
body is, however, necessary; as an imprudent application of it, by an
operator ignorant of the structure of the part into which he introduces
his needle, might be productive of bad consequences. To a surgeon,
however, properly qualified, (and no other ought to perform this or
any operation) no danger can arise; as the cautions are but few, and no
risk is incurred, if they are attended to. It is only necessary that
the operator, in introducing the needle, should avoid the course of
large vessels, of nervous trunks, and of the tendons of muscles. It is
not, however, proved, that the latter sustain injury from the puncture
of the needle; but it is as well to avoid the possibility of mischief,
by such a cautious mode of introducing the instrument, as shall be
divested of risk. I cannot better familiarize my subject to the reader,
than by a sketch of it in its native state; and as an excellent
description of the operation, as performed by the Japonese natives, is
given in the ninth volume of the “Modern part of an Universal History,
from the Earliest Account of Time,” I shall extract it, as containing
all that is known of its original practice.
“The place made choice of for the puncture, is commonly at a middle
distance between the navel and the pit of the stomach, but often as
much nearer to, or farther from either as the operator, after a due
scrutiny, thinks most proper; and in this, and the judging rightly
how deep the needle must be thrust below the skin, so as to reach the
seat of the morbific matter, and giving it a proper vent, consists the
main skill of the artist, and the success of the operation is said to
depend. Each row hath its particular name, which carries with it a
kind of direction, with regard to the depth of each puncture, and the
distance of the holes from each other, which last, seldom exceeds half
an inch in grown persons, in the perpendicular rows, though something
more in those which are made across the body, thus,
. . .
. . .
. . .
The needles which perform the operation are made, as was hinted at
first, either of the finest gold, or silver, and without the least
dross or alloy. They must be exquisitely slender, finely polished, and
carry a curious point, and with some degree of hardness, which is
given by the maker by tempering, and not by any mixture, in order to
facilitate their entrance, and penetrating the skin. But, though the
country abounds with expert artists, able to make them in the highest
perfection, yet none are allowed, but such as are licensed by the
emperor.
“These needles are of two sorts with respect to their structure, as
well as materials; the one, either of gold or silver indifferently,
and about four inches long, very slender, and ending in a sharp point,
and have at the other end a small twisted handle, which serves to turn
them round with the extremity of the middle finger and thumb, in order
to sink them into the flesh with greater ease and safety; the other
is chiefly of silver, and much like the first in length and shape,
but exceedingly small towards the point, with a short thick handle,
channelled for the same end of turning them about, and to prevent their
going in too deep; and for the same reason, some of them are cased in a
kind of copper tube, of the bigness of a goose quill, which serves as a
sort of guage, and lets the point in, just so far as the operator hath
determined it. The best sort of needles are carefully kept in a case
made of bull’s horn, lined with some soft downy stuff. This case is
shaped somewhat like a hammer, having on the striking side a piece of
lead, to give it a sufficient weight, and on the outside a compressed
round piece of leather to prevent a recoil, and with this they strike
the needle through the thickness of the skin; after which they keep
turning the handle about with the hand, till it is sunk to the depth
they design it, that is, till it is thought to have reached the seat of
the morbific virus, which in grown persons is seldom less than half, or
more than a whole inch: this done, he draws it out, and compresses the
part, in order to force the morbific vapour or spirit out.
“The directions and nice rules for the performing of this curious
operation are many, and require great skill and attention in the
operator; and when duly performed, may be of excellent use, not
only against the excruciating distemper, called Senki, but against
many other topical ones, which are most commonly cured by the Indian
Moxa, and other caustics. On the other hand, these last are often
tried against the distemper above mentioned, by applying the caustic
to the belly, on each side of the navel, and about two inches from
it | 1,689.856784 |
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CHRONICLES OF CANADA
Edited by George M. Wrong and H. H. Langton
In thirty-two volumes
Volume 2
THE MARINER OF ST MALO
A Chronicle of the Voyages of Jacques Cartier
By
STEPHEN LEACOCK
TORONTO, 1915
CONTENTS
I EARLY LIFE
II THE FIRST VOYAGE--NEWFOUNDLAND AND LABRADOR
III THE FIRST VOYAGE--THE GULF OF ST LAWRENCE
IV THE SECOND VOYAGE--THE ST LAWRENCE
V THE SECOND VOYAGE--STADACONA
VI THE SECOND VOYAGE--HOCHELAGA
VII THE SECOND VOYAGE--WINTER AT STADACONA
VIII THE THIRD VOYAGE
IX THE CLOSE OF CARTIER'S CAREER
ITINERARY OF CARTIER'S VOYAGES
BIBLIOGRAPHIC NOTE
CHAPTER I
EARLY LIFE
In the town hall of the seaport of St Malo there hangs a portrait of
Jacques Cartier, the great sea-captain of that place, whose name is
associated for all time with the proud title of 'Discoverer of Canada.'
The picture is that of a bearded man in the prime of life, standing on
the deck of a ship, his bent elbow resting upon the gunwale, his chin
supported by his hand, while his eyes gaze outward upon the western
ocean as if seeking to penetrate its mysteries. The face is firm and
strong, with tight-set jaw, prominent brow, and the full, inquiring eye
of the man accustomed both to think and to act. The costume marks the
sea-captain of four centuries ago. A thick cloak, gathered by a belt at
the waist, enwraps the stalwart figure. On his head is the tufted
Breton cap familiar in the pictures of the days of the great
navigators. At the waist, on the left side, hangs a sword, and, on the
right, close to the belt, the dirk or poniard of the period.
How like or unlike the features of Cartier this picture in the town
hall may be, we have no means of telling. Painted probably in 1839, it
has hung there for more than seventy years, and the record of the
earlier prints or drawings from which its artist drew his inspiration
no longer survives. We know, indeed, that an ancient map of the eastern
coast of America, made some ten years after the first of Cartier's
voyages, has pictured upon it a group of figures that represent the
landing of the navigator and his followers among the Indians of Gaspe.
It was the fashion of the time to attempt by such decorations to make
maps vivid. Demons, deities, mythological figures and naked savages
disported themselves along the borders of the maps and helped to
decorate unexplored spaces of earth and ocean. Of this sort is the
illustration on the map in question. But it is generally agreed that we
have no right to identify Cartier with any of the figures in the scene,
although the group as a whole undoubtedly typifies his landing upon the
seacoast of Canada.
There is rumour, also, that the National Library at Paris contains an
old print of Cartier, who appears therein as a bearded man passing from
the prime of life to its decline. The head is slightly bowed with the
weight of years, and the face is wanting in that suggestion of
unconquerable will which is the dominating feature of the portrait of
St Malo. This is the picture that appears in the form of a medallion,
or ring-shaped illustration, in more than one of the modern works upon
the great adventurer. But here again we have no proofs of | 1,689.955552 |
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MARTHA BY-THE-DAY
By JULIE M. LIPPMANN
1912
CHAPTER I
If you are one of the favored few, privileged to ride in chaises, you
may find the combination of Broadway during the evening rush-hour, in a
late November storm, stimulating--you may, that is, provided you have a
reliable driver. If, contrariwise, you happen to be of the class whose
fate it is to travel in public conveyances (and lucky if you have the
price!) and the car, say, won't stop for you--why--
Claire Lang had been standing in the drenching wet at the
street-crossing for fully ten minutes. The badgering crowd had been
shouldering her one way, pushing her the other, until, being a stranger
and not very big, she had become so bewildered that she lost her head
completely, and, with the blind impulse of a hen with paresis, darted
straight out, in amidst the crush of traffic, with all the chances
strong in favor of her being instantly trampled under foot, or ground
under wheel, and never a one to know how it had happened.
An instant, and she was back again in her old place upon the curbstone.
Something like the firm iron grip of a steam-derrick had fastened on her
person, hoisted her neatly up, and set her as precisely down, exactly
where she had started from.
It took her a full second to realize what had happened. Then, quick as a
flash, anger flamed up in her pale cheeks, blazed in her tired eyes.
For, of course, this was an instance of "insult" described by "the
family at home" as common to the experience of unprotected girls in New
York City. She groped about in her mind for the formula to be applied in
such cases, as recommended by Aunt Amelia. "Sir, you are no gentleman!
If you were a gentleman, you would not offer an affront to a young,
defenseless girl who--" The rest eluded her; she could not recall it,
try as she would. In desperate resolve to do her duty anyway, she tilted
back her umbrella, whereat a fine stream of water poured from the tip
directly over her upturned face, and trickled cheerily down the bridge
of her short nose.
"Sir--" she shouted resolutely, and then she stopped, for, plainly, her
oration was, in the premises, a misfit--the person beside her--the one
of the mortal effrontery and immortal grip, being a--woman. A woman of
masculine proportions, towering, deep-chested, large-limbed, but with a
face which belied all these, for in it her sex shone forth in a
motherliness unmistakable, as if the world at large were her family, and
it was her business to see that it was generously provided for, along
the pleasantest possible lines for all concerned.
"What car?" the woman trumpeted, gazing down serenely into Claire's
little wet, anxious, upturned face at her elbow.
"Columbus Avenue."
The stranger nodded, peering down the glistening, wet way, as if she
were a skipper sighting a ship.
"My car, too! First's Lexin'ton--next Broadway--then--here's ours!"
Again | 1,690.254333 |
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Makers of History
Richard II.
BY JACOB ABBOTT
WITH ENGRAVINGS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1901
Entered, according to Act of Congress, | 1,690.556536 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Andrew Templeton, Tonya
Allen, and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders.
HTML version by Al Haines.
TIVERTON TALES
BY
ALICE BROWN
1899
CONTENTS
DOORYARDS
A MARCH WIND
THE MORTUARY CHEST
HORN-O'-THE-MOON
A STOLEN FESTIVAL
A LAST ASSEMBLING
THE WAY OF PEACE
THE EXPERIENCE OF HANNAH PRIME
HONEY AND MYRRH
A SECOND MARRIAGE
THE FLAT-IRON LOT
THE END OF ALL LIVING
DOORYARDS
Tiverton has breezy, upland roads, and damp, sweet valleys; but should
you tarry there a summer long, you might find it wasteful to take many
excursions abroad. For, having once received the freedom of family
living, you will own yourself disinclined to get beyond dooryards,
those outer courts of domesticity. Homely joys spill over into them,
and, when children are afoot, surge and riot there. In them do the
common occupations of life find niche and channel. While bright weather
holds, we wash out of doors on a Monday morning, the wash-bench in the
solid block of shadow thrown by the house. We churn there, also, at the
hour when Sweet-Breath, the cow, goes afield, modestly unconscious of
her own sovereignty over the time. There are all the varying fortunes
of butter-making recorded. Sometimes it comes merrily to the tune of
"Come, butter, come!
Peter stands a-waiting at the gate,
Waiting for his butter-cake.
Come, butter, come!"
chanted in time with the dasher; again it doth willfully refuse, and
then, lest it be too cool, we contribute a dash of hot water, or too
hot, and we lend it a dash of cold. Or we toss in a magical handful of
salt, to encourage it. Possibly, if we be not the thriftiest of
householders, we feed the hens here in the yard, and then "shoo" them
away, when they would fain take profligate dust-baths under the
syringa, leaving unsightly hollows. But however, and with what
complexion, our dooryards may face the later year, they begin it with
purification. Here are they an unfailing index of the severer virtues;
for, in Tiverton, there is no housewife who, in her spring cleaning,
omits to set in order this outer pale of the temple. Long before the
merry months are well under way, or the cows go kicking up their heels
to pasture, or plants are taken from the south window and clapped into
chilly ground, orderly passions begin to riot within us, and we "clear
up" our yards. We gather stray chips, and pieces of bone brought in by
the scavenger dog, who sits now with his tail tucked under him,
oblivious of such vagrom ways. We rake the grass, and then, gilding
refined gold, we sweep it. There is a tradition that Miss Lois May once
went to the length of trimming her grass about the doorstone and
clothes-pole with embroidery scissors; but that was a too-hasty
encomium bestowed by a widower whom she rejected next week, and who
qualified his statement by saying they were pruning-shears.
After this preliminary skirmishing arises much anxious inspection of
ancient shrubs and the faithful among old-fashioned plants, to see
whether they have "stood the winter." The fresh, brown "piny" heads are
brooded over with a motherly care; wormwood roots are loosened, and the
horse-radish plant is given a thrifty touch. There is more than the
delight of occupation in thus stirring the wheels of the year. We are
Nature's poor handmaidens, and our labor gives us joy.
But sweet as these homespun spots can make themselves, in their mixture
of thrift and prodigality, they are dearer than ever at the points
where they register family traits, and so touch the humanity of us all.
Here is imprinted the story of the man who owns the farm, that of the
father who inherited it, and; the grandfather who reclaimed it from
waste; here have they and their womenkind set the foot of daily living
and traced indelible paths. They have left here the marks of tragedy,
of pathos, or of joy. One yard has a level bit of grassless ground
between barn and pump, and you may call it a battlefield, if you will,
since famine and desire have striven there together. Or, if you choose
to read fine meanings into threadbare things, you may see in it a field
of the cloth of gold, where simple love of life and childlike pleasure
met and sparkled for no eye to see. It was a croquet ground, laid out
in the days when croquet first inundated the land, and laid out by a
woman. This was Della Smith, the mother of two grave children, and the
wife of a farmer who never learned to smile. Eben was duller than the
ox which ploughs all day long for his handful of hay at night and his
heavy slumber; but Della, though she carried her end of the yoke with a
gallant spirit, had dreams and desires forever bursting from brown
shells, only to live a moment in the air, and then, like bubbles, die.
She had a perpetual appetite for joy. When the circus came to town, she
walked miles to see the procession; and, in a dream of satisfied
delight, dropped potatoes all the afternoon, to make up. Once, a
hand-organ and monkey strayed that way, and it was she alone who
followed them; for the children were little, and all the saner
house-mothers contented themselves with leaning over the gates till the
wandering train had passed. But Della drained her draught of joy to the
dregs, and then tilted her cup anew. With croquet came her supremest
joy,--one that leavened her days till God took her, somewhere, we hope,
where there is playtime. Della had no money to buy a croquet set, but
she had something far better, an alert and undiscouraged | 1,690.556631 |
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THE ABBOT.
BEING THE SEQUEL TO THE MONASTERY.
By Sir Walter Scott
[Illustration: ROLAND GRAEME AND CATHERINE SETON BEFORE QUEEN MARY.]
INTRODUCTION--(1831.)
From what is said in the Introduction to the Monastery, it must
necessarily be inferred, that the Author considered that romance as
something very like a failure. It is true, the booksellers did not
complain of the sale, because, unless on very felicitous occasions,
or on those which are equally the reverse, literary popularity is not
gained or lost by a single publication. Leisure must be allowed for the
tide both to flow and ebb. But I was conscious that, in my situation,
not to advance was in some Degree to rec | 1,690.556791 |
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Produced by Steve Klynsma, Suzanne Shell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
LIFE IN AN
INDIAN OUTPOST
[Illustration]
BOOKS OF TRAVEL
Demy 8vo. Cloth Bindings. All fully Illustrated
THROUGH INDIA AND BURMA
WITH PEN AND BRUSH
By A. HUGH FISHER. 15s. net
ALONE IN WEST AFRICA
By MARY GAUNT. 15s. net
CHINA REVOLUTIONISED
By J. S. THOMPSON. 12s. 6d. net
NEW ZEALAND
By Dr MAX HERZ. 12s. 6d. net
THE DIARY OF A SOLDIER OF
FORTUNE
By STANLEY PORTAL HYATT. 12s. 6d. net
OFF THE MAIN TRACK
By STANLEY PORTAL HYATT. 12s. 6d. net
WITH THE LOST LEGION IN
NEW ZEALAND
By Colonel G. HAMILTON-BROWNE
("Maori Browne"). 12s. 6d. net
A LOST LEGIONARY IN SOUTH
AFRICA
By Colonel G. HAMILTON-BROWNE
("Maori Browne"). 12s 6d.
MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS
By JULIUS M. PRICE. 10s. 6d. net
WITH GUN AND GUIDE IN
N.B. COLUMBIA
By T. MARTINDALE. 10s. 6d. net
SIAM
By PIERRE LOTI. 7s. 6d. net
[Illustration: AFTER THE PROCLAMATION PARADE.]
LIFE IN AN
INDIAN OUTPOST
BY
MAJOR GORDON CASSERLY
(INDIAN ARMY)
AUTHOR OF
"THE LAND OF THE BOXERS; OR CHINA UNDER THE ALLIES"; ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
LONDON
T. WERNER LAURIE LTD.
CLIFFORD'S INN
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
A FRONTIER POST
PAGE
Our first view of the Himalayas--Across India in a troop
train--A scattered regiment--An elephant-haunted
railway--Kinchinjunga--The great Terai
Jungle--Rajabhatkawa--In the days of Warren
Hastings--Hillmen--Roving Chinese--We arrive at Buxa
Road--Relieved officers--An undesirable outpost--March
through the forest--The hills--A mountain road--Lovely
scenery--Buxa Duar--A lonely Station--The labours of an
Indian Army officer--Varied work--The frontier of
Bhutan--A gate of India--A Himalayan paradise--The
fort--Intrusive monkeys--The cantonment--The Picquet
Towers--The bazaar--The cemetery--Forgotten
graves--Tragedies of loneliness--From Bhutan to the sea 1
CHAPTER II
LIFE ON OUTPOST
The daily routine--Drill in the Indian Army--Hindustani--A
lingua franca--The divers tongues of India--The sepoys'
lodging--Their ablutions--An Indian's fare--An Indian
regiment--Rajput customs--The hospital--The doctor at
work--Queer patients--A vicious bear--The Officers'
Mess--Plain diet--Water--The simple life--A bachelor's
establishment--A faithful Indian--Fighting the
trusts--Transport in the hills--My bungalow--Amusements
in Buxa--Dull days--Asirgarh--A lonely
outpost--Poisoning a General--A storied
fortress--Soldier ghosts--A spectral officer--The
tragedy of isolation--A daring panther--A day on an
elephant--Sport in the jungle--_Gooral_ stalking in the
hills--Strange pets--A friendly deer--A terrified
visitor--A walking menagerie--Elephants tame and
wild--Their training--Their caution--Their rate of
speed--Fondness for water--Quickly reconciled to
captivity--Snakes--A narrow escape--A king-cobra; the
hamadryad--Hindu worship of the cobra--General Sir
Hamilton Bower--An adventurous career--E. F.
Knight--The General's inspection 19
CHAPTER III
THE BORDERLAND OF BHUTAN
The races along our North-East Border--Tibet--The
Mahatmas--Nepal---Bhutan--Its geography--Its
founder--Its Government--Religious rule--Analogy
between Bhutan and old Japan--_Penlops_ and
_Daimios_--The Tongsa _Penlop_--Reincarnation of the
Shaptung Rimpoche--China's claim to Bhutan--Capture of
the Maharajah of Cooch Behar--Bogle's mission--Raids
and outrages--The Bhutan War of 1864-5--The Duars--The
annual subsidy--Bhutan to-day--Religion--An impoverished
land--Bridges--Soldiers in Bhutan--Thefeudal
system--Administration of | 1,690.560007 |
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THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
1882
CONTENTS
Introduction
The Great Stone Face
The Ambitious Guest
The Great Carbuncle
Sketches From Memory
INTRODUCTION
THE first three numbers in this collection are tales of the White Hills
in New Hampshire. The passages from Sketches from Memory show that
Hawthorne had visited the mountains in one of his occasional rambles
from home, but there are no entries in his Note Books which give
accounts of such a visit. There is, however, among these notes
the following interesting paragraph, written in 1840 and clearly
foreshadowing The Great Stone Face:
'The semblance of a human face to be formed on the side of a mountain,
or in the fracture of a small stone, by a lusus naturae [freak of
nature]. The face is an object of curiosity for years or centuries, and
by and by a boy is born whose features gradually assume the aspect of
that portrait. At some critical juncture the resemblance is found to be
perfect. A prophecy may be connected.'
It is not impossible that this conceit occurred to Hawthorne before he
had himself seen the Old Man of the Mountain, or the Profile, in the
Franconia Notch which is generally associated in the minds of readers
with The Great Stone Face.
In The Ambitious Guest he has made use of the incident still told to
travellers through the Notch, of the destruction of the Willey family
in August, 1826. The house occupied by the family was on the <DW72> of
a mountain, and after a long drought there was a terrible tempest which
not only raised the river to a great height but loosened the surface of
the mountain so that a great landslide took place. The house was in
the track of the slide, and the family rushed out of doors. Had they
remained within they would have been safe, for a ledge above the house
parted the avalanche so that it was diverted into two paths and swept
past the house on either side. Mr. and Mrs. Willey, their five children,
and two hired men were crushed under the weight of earth, rocks, and
trees.
In the Sketches from Memory Hawthorne gives an intimation of the tale
which he might write and did afterward write of The Great Carbuncle. The
paper is interesting as showing what were the actual experiences out of
which he formed his imaginative stories.
THE GREAT STONE FACE and Other Tales Of The White Mountains
THE GREAT STONE FACE
One afternoon, when the sun was going down, a mother and her little boy
sat at the door of their cottage, talking about the Great Stone Face.
They had but to lift their eyes, and there it was plainly to be seen,
though miles away, with the sunshine brightening all its features.
And what was the Great Stone Face? Embosomed amongst a family of
lofty mountains, there was a valley so spacious that it contained many
thousand inhabitants. Some of these good people dwelt in log-huts, with
the black forest all around them, on the steep and difficult hillsides.
Others had their homes in comfortable farm-houses, and cultivated the
rich soil on the gentle <DW72>s or level surfaces of the valley. Others,
again, were congregated into populous villages, where some wild,
highland rivulet, tumbling down from its birthplace in the upper
mountain region, had been caught and tamed by human cunning, and
compelled to turn the machinery of cotton-factories. The inhabitants of
this valley, in short, were numerous, and of many modes of life. But all
of them, grown people and children, had a kind of familiarity with the
Great Stone Face, although some possessed the gift of distinguishing
this grand natural phenomenon more perfectly than many of their
neighbors.
The Great Stone Face, then, was a work of Nature in her mood of majestie
playfulness, formed on the perpendicular side of a mountain by some
immense rocks, which had been thrown together in such a position as,
when viewed at a proper distance, precisely to resemble the features of
the human countenance. It seemed as if an enormous giant, or a Titan,
had sculptured his own likeness on the precipice. There was the broad
arch of the forehead, a hundred feet in height; the nose, with its long
bridge; and the vast lips, which, if they could have spoken, would have
rolled their thunder accents from one end of the valley to the other.
True it is, that if the spectator approached too near, he lost the
outline of the gigantic visage, and could discern only a heap of
ponderous and gigantic rocks, piled in chaotic ruin one upon another.
Retracing his steps, however, the wondrous features would again be seen;
and the farther he withdrew from them, the more like a human face, with
all its original divinity intact, did they appear; until, as it grew dim
in the distance, with the clouds and glorified vapor of the mountains
clustering about it, the Great Stone Face seemed positively to be alive.
It was a happy lot for children to grow up to manhood or womanhood with
the Great Stone Face before their eyes, for all the features were noble,
and the expression was at once grand and sweet, as if it were the glow
of a vast, warm heart, that embraced all mankind in its affections, and
had room for more. It was an education only to look at it. According to
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Produced by Michael Gray, Diocese of San Jose
LEO XIII, THE GREAT LEADER
By Rev. A. P. Doyle
Written in August 1903,
in _The Catholic World_, a monthly magazine,
on the occasion of the death of Pope Leo XIII.
[Portrait of Pope Leo XIII.]
_My course I've run of ninety lengthening years.
From Thee the gift. Crown them with endless bliss.
O hearken to Thy Leo's prayers and tears,
Lest useless they should prove, O grant him this._
Leo XIII.'s Message to the Twentieth Century:
The greatest misfortune is never to have known Jesus Christ. Christ is
the fountain-head of all good. Mankind can no more be saved without
His power than it can be redeemed without His mercy.
When Jesus Christ is absent human reason fails, being bereft of its
chief protection and light: and the very end is lost sight of for
which, under God's providence, human society has been built up.
To reject Dogma is simply to deny Christianity. It is evident that
they whose intellects reject the yoke of Christ are obstinately
striving against God. Having shaken off God's authority, they are by
no means freer, for they will fall beneath some human sway.
God alone is life. All other beings partake of life, but they are not
life. Christ, from all eternity and by His very nature, is "the Life,"
just as He is "the Truth," because He is God of God. If any one abide
not in Me, he shall be cast forth as a branch, and shall wither, and
they shall gather him up and cast him into the fire, and he burneth
(John xv. 6).
Once remove all impediments and allow the spirit of Christ to revive
and grow in a nation, and that nation shall be healed.
The world has heard enough of the so-called "rights of man." Let it
hear something of the rights of God.
The common welfare urgently demands a return to Him from whom we
should never have gone astray: to Him who is the Way, the Truth and
the Life,--and this on the part not only of individuals but of society
as a whole.
LEO XIII., THE GREAT LEADER.
BY REV. A. P. DOYLE.
THE aged Pontiff breathed his last at 4 P. M. on July 20. Because he
had lived for over ninety years, and not for any other immediate
reason, the end came. Though there was an apparent dissolution of his
body under the devastating hand of time, still the mind is as keen and
the heart as full of zeal, and the spirit as eager for work, as though
the years of his glorious pontificate were before him.
During the last fortnight the gaze of all the world has been eagerly
fixed on the death-bed of the expiring Pope, and under the white light
of the public gaze he has loomed up, the great man he is, in all his
gigantic proportions. The world saw the corporal feebleness of age and
the ravaging hand of disease, but it saw also the conquering and
unconquered spirit of the greatest man of his age--the noblest Roman
of them all.
It is not time as yet to write his eulogy. We are too near the massive
proportions of a great life to give a proper estimate of its
greatness. It will be necessary to stand off from it at some distance
in order to get the proper perspective. Still there are, however, some
things that have impressed the world, and from these we cannot get
away.
During these days of his mortal sickness, when the struggle with the
grim monster became the keenest, Leo never is anything but the
Christian gentleman. Men of dominating minds and inflexible wills,
especially if they have been accustomed to rule, are sometimes
thoughtless of others who are about them. They have been so accustomed
to brush away obstacles that the directness and force of their
determination seem to know no fear or favor in dealing with things
that surround them. Leo never forgets the chivalry of Christian
gentleness. When the cardinals come in to see him, though he is as
near prostrate in body as he may be, still he rises from his bed to
meet them, and asks them to be seated. When Dr. Lapponi asks to be
relieved for a short while to visit the sick bed of his daughter, Leo
apologizes for the trouble he is giving to every one around him, and
says that they have all become martyrs for his sake. When one of the
Vatican pigeons lights on his window-sill and gently taps at the
window, he awakes out of his weakness and asks that the window be
raised and the bird admitted, and he feeds the pigeon as it lights on
his bed, gently stroking its feathers. When every one is anticipating
his speedy dissolution, he rises from his bed, goes over to his
writing desk, and puts into poetry some beautiful thought that fills
his mind. And in the midst of all his suffering he is full of
devotion. He prays incessantly to the Mother of God. St. Leo's day
comes, and ever since his childhood he has not failed to be present at
Holy Mass on that day particularly; he directs that Mass be said in
the adjoining room, and he devoutly follows it. He was a member of the
Third Order of Franciscans, and in order to receive all the wonderful
privileges that are granted to the faithful who are identified with
that Third Order, he sends for the Capuchin cardinal to give him the
last blessing. His faith is strong and tender. In the visions that
pass before his mind the joys of paradise are vividly depicted. He
would stay to give his last breath for the Church, but the alluring
vision of heaven beckons him away. And in the midst of it all nothing
can quench his unconquerable desire for work. There are some things
that are unfinished; he calls Cardinal Rampolla and directs their
execution. The Biblical Commission is very close to his heart, and he
gives an admonition to his secretary that its work be prosecuted to a
speedy end. These and many other little touches of character coming
from the death chamber do not fail to paint the portrait of one of the
greatest Popes the world has ever known.
Leo has been a providential man in the fullest sense of the word. He
has been a Moses who has led the hosts of the Lord from a captivity
that was more galling than the slavery of Egypt of old through the
desert of suffering into the promised land. The forty years that have
elapsed since the breach of Porta Pia have brought untold victories to
the church. The Robber King battering at the gates of Rome is readily
offset in the eyes of discerning readers by the eager visits of the
Kaiser, the head of the Lutheran Church, and the English King, the
head of the Episcopal Church, to pay reverence and homage to the head
of the great Mother Church of Christendom, and everywhere throughout
the world, people who are outside the fold have been devoutly praying
that he might be spared to the world for many years to come. One
cannot help contrasting the feelings of non-Catholic people to-day
towards the Church of Rome with the sentiments of antagonism that were
expressed but a generation ago. Not a little of this is due to the
commanding, and at the same time attractive, figure of the great White
Shepherd of Christendom. There have been popes who have emphasized
certain characteristics, and they stand out in history as striking
types of these special characteristics. Innocent III. was a great
reformer; Sixtus V. a great statesman; Pius V. was crowned with the
aureole of sanctity; Gregory VI. was a man of great learning; but Leo
seems to have united in his own person in a very marked degree all
these great qualities. His gifts were of so universal a nature that it
is difficult to say which one belongs to him in the more pre-eminent
degree. His genius has illuminated every department of religious
activity, be it statecraft or be it letters; be it the devotional side
of the church, or the philosophical, or the diplomatic, or the purely
religious.
As a statesman he has rallied to the support of the church the
influences of the great civil powers. When he began his pontifical
career England was the enemy of the Papacy; Germany was persecuting
the Catholics of the Empire; the United States of America had
established no definite relations with the Holy See; while Spain, and
France, and Austria, Catholic at heart, were too much worried over
internal difficulties to be the earnest supporters of the Papacy that
they should be. After twenty-five years there is no stronger friend of
the dying Pope than the Emperor of Germany. The antagonisms that were
openly enunciated in the German Empire against Catholics have been
replaced by expressions of fealty. The Emperor has come to look upon
the moral power of the Papacy as one of the most potent supporters of
the throne. Leo has so stood for the authority of constituted
governments, and the Catholic religion has had such influence in
inculcating reverence and submission among the people, that were there
no force of this nature, it would be necessary to create one in order
that its work may be done. In Germany the people to-day are about
equally divided between the Catholics as loyal supporters of the
throne and the socialists, who, if their programme were carried out in
its entirety, would sweep the throne away and abolish the authority
that it stands for. In England the same is true, though perhaps not to
as large an extent as it is elsewhere. In Spain Leo has upheld the
throne that was tottering to a disastrous fall. If it were not for his
influence, Spain would to-day be in the grasp of the revolution or
broken up into a number of smaller states.
In the United States the devotion of twelve million Catholics has done
not a little to cement together the stones of our social fabric by
infusing the spirit of religion into the educational life of the
country, and by standing for the permanency of the family and the
integrity of the home.
Here is a sheaf of victories in the diplomatic world that would make
any man's life a blessing to the world. Of course it is a profound
pity that more has not been done in France. That it has not been done
is no fault of Leo's. If his advice had been taken, and if the
Catholics of France had rallied to the support of the existing
government, it may well be supposed that the present deplorable
condition of religious affairs would not have come to pass. Instead of
witnessing the religious orders persecuted by an infidel government,
there would probably have been a change of heart in the civil
authorities, and as of yore France would be the eldest daughter of the
church. The same may be said in Italy. The Italian people are more
loyal to the Holy See to-day than ever. The sympathy that has gone out
to the prisoner of the Vatican, as well as a certain sentiment of
co-suffering that the people, ground down by heavy taxation, have felt
with the Pope, have made them more loyal in their fealty to the head
of the church.
Not only in statecraft has Leo proved himself an adept, but as a
scholar he has elevated the standards of literary taste and of
ecclesiastical studies. In calling the professors of the Catholic
world back to the scholastic philosophy he has laid the foundations
deep and strong for theological science, and he has pointed out the
way back to the great truths of the supernatural order for much of the
rationalistic and scientific knowledge of the age. During the last
half of the nineteenth century agnostic science triumphed in most of
the universities of the world; but the human mind could not be content
with its barrenness and its negations, and in reaching out for
something more positive, as well as for a solution of the religious
problems that always perplex human hearts, the old philosophy of
Aristotle constituted the best vantage ground, and with this solid
basis to stand on the scholars of the day can much more readily reach
out for that amalgamation between the modern and ancient schools.
Historical science owes not a little to the man who threw open the
archives of the Vatican, and who wanted the truth to be told, no
matter who was injured thereby, and not a few scholars have profited
by the initiative of Leo, with the result that a good deal of the
history that was written in German and English under the influence of
the fierce antagonisms of the Protestant revolt will have to, and is
now being rewritten. In Biblical science the rationalizing Higher
Critics were having a free hand and a wide field, with the result that
the sacred books were torn into tatters and the old reverence for the
Scriptures as the word of God was dying out among non-Catholic people.
The Bible was all they had to depend upon, and when it was gone there
came a decadence of the religious spirit. Leo came to the rescue, and
there was nothing closer to his heart than the outcome of the Biblical
Commission he established, and amidst the suffering of his last
sickness one of his admonitions was to see that these investigations
were brought to a speedy and wholesome issue. So too in social
studies, which are now vexing the nations, Leo has given a Magna
Charta in his Encyclical on the "Condition of Labor." He has affirmed
principles there that seemed radical in their enunciation, but now
that they are being applied to practical difficulties, are doing not a
little to bring about the harmonization of Labor with Capital. The
Catholic University of America was born of his inspiration; the
universities in France and Germany and among the Slavonic peoples were
started through his initiative. Seminaries in Rome for the education
of the students of the Oriental rites owe their existence to his
generous gifts and derive their permanency from his largesses.
All these and many more great things that he has done for the
intellectual, make him the very prince among scholars.
In the midst of his many labors with governments and among scholars he
has not forgotten the devotional life of the people. His own spirit of
prayer has been imparted to the multitudes, so that there has been a
distinct revival in the devotional life of the church. The devotion to
the Sacred Heart, with its first Friday throngs, has received a
distinct impetus from his instructions. The time-honored Rosary has
become a more favorite devotion among all classes, and the October
devotions, as well as the prayers after daily Mass, have become
distinctive features of the devotional life of the church through his
directions. The same may be said of the devotion to the Holy Spirit
with its annual Pentecostal novena. He has not only known what to
suggest, but his practical sense has so arranged that his suggestions
were not mere ephemeral directions but were soon incorporated into the
very soul-life of the people. No one can look back over the last
generation and make any contrasts without saying that Leo has done as
much for the religious spirit of the world as any of his predecessors.
All these considerations convince us that Leo has been an all-round
great Pope. He has been a Leader among men. He has left the impress of
his spirit on his age. His life has spanned one of the most critical
periods of human activity. When the old order had been completely
changed, in the rearranging of the new elements and in the
re-establishing of new forces there was need of one with more than human
wisdom to guide our ways and to direct our feet. If ever in the world
there was need of a providential man; of one whose feet, while planted
on the earth, yet whose head was above the clouds, and whose heart was
in touch with divine things, it was during this marvellous age of
ours; and Leo has been such an interpreter of divine wisdom to the
children of men. His long life has covered the nineteenth century;
there were wrapped up in him the experiences of men and things through
this most fateful of all eras; and it has been permitted to lap over
into the twentieth century, so that with the wisdom of the past he may
point out the ways to greater triumphs in the years to come.
His Message to the Twentieth Century is one of the most thrilling
documents that have been sent out to the world. It ranks with the
Magna Charta of English history or the Declaration of Independence of
our own, and in the years to come it will be enshrined as they are in
the hearts of multitudes of people:
"To reject dogma is simply to deny Christianity. It is evident that
they whose intellects reject the yoke of Christ are obstinately
striving against God. Having shaken off God's authority, they are by
no means freer, for they will fall beneath some human sway.
"God alone is life. All other beings partake of life, but are not
life. Christ, from all eternity and by his very nature, is 'the Life,'
just as he is 'the Truth,' because he is God of God. If any one abide
not in Me, he shall be cast forth as a branch, and shall wither, and
they shall gather him up and cast him into the fire, and he burneth
(John xv. 6).
"Once remove all impediments and allow the spirit of Christ to revive
and grow in a nation, and that nation shall be healed.
"The world has heard enough of the so-called 'rights of man.' Let it
hear something of the rights of God.
"The common welfare urgently demands a return to him from whom we
should never have gone astray; to him who is the Way, the Truth, and
the Life,--and this on the part not only of individuals but of society
as a whole."
Leo, Great Pontiff of the age, thou mayest well lay down the burden of
thy four score years and ten! Thou deservest well of humanity. You
have been a great leader in the Church of God. The weary pilgrimage of
a desert land is over, and from Nebo's height there stretches before
you the Promised Land of rest and joy and everlasting bliss.
"Hail, Champion of the Faith! whose beacon light,
Held high in trembling hands, illum'ned the world
With such a blaze as ne'er before hath shone,
E'en from the torch that Gregory upheld
Or Pius kindled. Hark, the swelling sound
From many million throats! Thy children see
The Signal, and in serried legions stand
Before the grateful world, and with one voice
Demand for thee, Great Father and Great Friend,
The joy and peace that is thy due."
THE PAPACY NEVER DIES.
AT the present writing the question of choosing a successor to Leo
XIII. in the pontifical chair is of paramount importance. For this
reason the traditional method of selecting a Pope is a topic of more
than ordinary interest.
Popes may die, but the Papacy lives for ever. With temporal princes
their succession may come to an end. Reigning families may become
exhausted; dynasties have come and gone; but by divine right the line
of the Popes will last till the end of the world. The methods of
electing the successor of St. Peter have changed in the nineteen
centuries that the Popes have reigned, but as soon as one is
canonically elected he assumes unto himself all the prerogatives of
the Papal Chair. There is no prince in all Christendom whose power is
greater. The influence of the Vicar of Christ is not confined to any
race or people. It is not exercised by force of arms, nor is it
maintained through the civil power. His jurisdiction is over the
hearts of 260,000,000, and his word is obeyed with far more alacrity
and submission than is accorded to any other ruler in the world. He is
the successor of the Prince of the Apostles. He holds to all the
faithful the place of the Vicar of Christ, and they acknowledge his
infallibility in matters of faith and morals. These facts alone give
to the election of the Pope an importance that is not attributable to
any other event in history.
In the first place, it is a condemned proposition to maintain that the
laity have any strict right of suffrage in the election of the Pope.
In ancient times the vote of the Roman clergy, cast in the presence of
the faithful, was the elective power; but as the papal dignity
increased in wealth and splendor of temporal authority it often became
an object of human ambition. For this reason it was deemed necessary
to enact laws that definitely settled the mode of election. This was
done by Symmachus in the year 499.
The history of the interference of civil princes in the election of
the Popes fills many a dark chapter in the papal records. It is the
old story of the state, with its stronger power, laying its blighting
hand on the liberties of the church. It was not till 1059, under
Nicholas II., that the Papacy was completely emancipated from any
subjection to the Empire, and his successor, Gregory VII., the
glorious Hildebrand, was the last Pope who ever informed the emperor
of his election before proceeding to be consecrated and enthroned. The
Third General Council of the Lateran (1179) confined the right to
elect to the cardinals without reference to the rest of the Roman
clergy or of the people, and required a two-thirds vote for a valid
election.
The word conclave is of a little later origin. It originated in the
custom of selecting a hall whose door could be securely fastened (_cum
clavi_--with a key) behind the voting cardinals until they agreed by a
two-thirds majority on a candidate. In some instances, where the
stubborn electors held out, a diminishing quantity of food was served
so as to hasten an agreement, and in one instance, where a year and
one-half elapsed before a definite result was obtained, the roof was
removed and the venerable fathers were left to the inclemencies of the
weather until they came to a conclusion.
Any one may theoretically be elected Pope. He need not be a cardinal,
nor even a priest. He need not be an Italian. Not a few persons of
ignoble birth and of mean antecedents have been elected to the Papacy,
which they have illustrated by their virtues or their learning. Sixtus
V., 1585-1595, was a swineherd in his youth, and he repeatedly
affirmed the fact when he was Pope. It was Sixtus V. of whom Queen
Elizabeth of England said, when asked to marry, that she would offer
her hand in marriage to no one but Sixtus, and he would not accept it.
The present Cardinal Gotti's father was a stevedore. Almost every
nationality has had a representative in the chair of Peter, but for
several centuries the Italians have kept the accession within their
own nation, for the reason that the popedom has been a civil
principality.
As soon as the Pope breathes his last the Cardinal Chamberlain takes
possession of the Apostolic palace. He proceeds to the death chamber,
assures himself of, and instructs a notary to certify to, the fact
that the Pope is really dead. Then the ring of the Fisherman is broken
and the seal destroyed. The body is embalmed and carried in procession
to the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament in the Vatican basilica, where
it remains for three days, the feet protruding a little through an
opening in the iron railing which encloses the chapel, that the
faithful may approach and kiss the embroidered slipper. The nine days
of funeral services are gone through with. During the last three days
the services are performed about an elevated and magnificent
catafalque. On each of these days five cardinals in turn give the
absolution, and on the ninth day a funeral oration is pronounced. The
body is reverently put into a cyprus-wood coffin. This is put into a
leaden case properly inscribed, and then all is placed in a wooden box
covered with a red pall, and in this condition it is carried to the
last resting-place, previously selected by the deceased.
On the tenth day the cardinals assemble in the forenoon, and the
preparations are made for the Conclave. All the persons who are to
remain in the Conclave--as prelates, custodians, attendants on the
cardinals, physicians, barbers, masons--are passed in review and take
an oath not to speak even among themselves of matters concerning the
election. Every avenue leading to the Conclave, except the eight
loopholes, is walled up by the masons; but one door is left so that it
may be opened by the late coming cardinals or to let out any one who
may be expelled, or who for any good reason may be obliged to go out.
Any one who leaves cannot return. This only door has a combination
lock, to be opened by the key of the prince marshal outside and of the
cardinal chamberlain inside.
The food for the cardinals is introduced by a turn, so well known in
convents of cloistered communities.
The next day, after Mass of the Holy Ghost, the balloting begins, and
continues until some one receives the necessary two-thirds. The
ballots are cast into a chalice on the altar.
There are now 63 cardinals in the Sacred College. Some may, on account
of distance--as Cardinal Moran of Australia--or on account of age or
infirmities, be prevented from being present. If they were all present
it would require 42 votes to elect. It would seem from the present
aspect of the Sacred College that a good many ballots may be taken
before the requisite number is secured.
In the last Conclave Cardinal Pecci was so pre-eminently a leader that
it took but one ballot practically to settle the question of his
election. In all probability it will take more than one to settle the
choice in the present Conclave. It is ordinarily very foolish to
prophesy, but it is especially so when the subject matter of the
prophecy is the outcome of the Conclave. There is an old Roman proverb
which says, "He who enters the Conclave as Pope comes out of it as
Cardinal." It does not always happen that the verdict of the Cardinals
ratifies that of public opinion or of the public press. In fact the
more prominent cardinals, who are well known to the world at large,
are generally the leaders of parties, and are for that very reason the
less likely to draw unto themselves the suffrages of two-thirds of the
Sacred College. They are the ones who have positive characteristics
and practically stand for definite policies, and for that reason they
have awakened opposition to themselves. Moreover leaders are not
always necessary in the Papal Chair. Leo XIII. has been so
pre-eminently an aggressive character, and his brilliant mind has
illuminated so many departments of church work, and his organizing
hand has co-ordinated so many church activities, that a quiet, placid,
conservative man might easily maintain the _status quo_ for many years
to come. The meek and humble Cardinal Chiaramonti, who became Pius
VII., was far better fitted to withstand the eagle-like aggressiveness
of Napoleon the First than Cardinal Consalvi would have been, or a
dominating spirit like Sixtus the Fifth would have been. If the latter
were pitted against a Napoleon, there would have been wreck and ruin
throughout the Church.
Moreover, in discussing the _papabile_, one is often deceived in the
qualities of a cardinal's character. Cardinal Pecci was ranked among
the liberals, and it was expected that he would establish a policy of
agreement with the Italian government; but the very first act of Leo
XIII. was to affirm irrevocably the attitude of protest against the
usurper who ruled in the civil principality of the church. There is
always a reserve in the ecclesiastical world in Rome that the outside
world rarely penetrates, and consequently it knows little of the great
moving forces in the Sacred College.
These things have been said in order that too much weight may not be
placed on any conjectural list of would-be popes. Still it is
allowable to discuss the chances various candidates may have and the
characteristics that would seem best fitted to the times and the
difficulties before the church.
The question of the Christian Democracy is one of the great burning
problems. Socialism is a growing quantity in Germany and elsewhere. It
can be met in the best way by diffusing a deep and wide-spread
knowledge of the truest socialistic principles among the people. Hence
the propaganda of Christian Democracy was instituted by Leo XIII. The
next Pope must carry this work to its fullest perfection. The next
Pope must be one who will extend a warm hand of greeting to the
throngs who have been born amidst Protestantism and who now are as
sheep without a shepherd. Organized Protestantism is fast going to
pieces, and unless the next Pope opens wide the door | 1,690.856209 |
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IN THE LEVANT.
By Charles Dudley Warner,
Twenty Fifth Impression
Boston: Houghton, Mifflin And Company
1876
TO WILLIAM D. HOWELLS THESE NOTES OF ORIENTAL TRAVEL ARE FRATERNALLY
INSCRIBED.
CONTENTS
PREFACE
IN THE LEVANT.
I.—FROM JAFFA TO JERUSALEM.
II.—JERUSALEM.
III.—HOLY PLACES OP THE HOLY CITY.
IV.—NEIGHBORHOODS OF JERUSALEM.
V.—GOING DOWN TO JERICHO.
VI.—BETHLEHEM AND MAR SABA.
VII.—THE FAIR OF MOSES; THE ARMENIAN PATRIARCH.
VIII.—DEPARTURE FROM JERUSALEM.
IX.—ALONG THE SYRIAN CO | 1,690.957799 |
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THE KNICKERBOCKER.
VOL. XXII. DECEMBER, 1843. No. 6.
MIND OR INSTINCT.
AN INQUIRY CONCERNING THE MANIFESTATION OF MIND BY THE LOWER ORDERS OF
ANIMALS.
'IN some are found
Such teachable and apprehensive parts,
That man's attainments in his own concerns,
Matched with the expertness of the brutes in their's,
Are ofttimes vanquished and thrown far behind.'
COWPER.
OF THE REASON OR JUDGMENT OF THE PRINCIPLE CALLED INSTINCT.
A SURGEON of Leeds, (Eng.,) says BUFFON, found a
little spaniel who had been lamed. He carried the poor animal home,
bandaged up his leg, and, after two or three days, turned him out.
The dog returned to the surgeon's house every morning, till the leg
was perfectly well. At the end of several months, the spaniel again
presented himself, in company with another dog, who had also been
lamed; and he intimated, as well as piteous and intelligent looks could
intimate, that he desired the same kind assistance to be rendered to
his friend as had been bestowed upon himself. A similar circumstance is
stated to have occurred to MORANT, a celebrated French surgeon.
A fox, adds the same writer, having entered a hen-house through a small
aperture, which was the only opening, succeeded without disturbing
the family in destroying all the fowls, and in satiating his appetite
with part of them; but his voracity so enlarged his dimensions as to
prevent his egress. In the morning the farmer discovered the havoc of
the night, and the perpetrator himself sprawled out on the floor of the
coop, apparently dead from surfeit. He entered, and taking the creature
by the heels, carried him out and cast him beside the house. This was
no sooner done than the fox sprang up and bounded away with the speed
of a racer. This was communicated by the person.
A spaniel, OBSEND informs us, having discovered a mouse in a
shock of corn, jumped with his fore feet against it to frighten him
out; and then running quickly to the back side, succeeded in taking the
mouse as he attempted to escape.
BUFFON says: 'A number of beavers are employed together at
the foot of the tree in gnawing it down; and when this part of the
labor is accomplished, it becomes the business of others to sever the
branches, while a third party are engaged along the borders of the
river in cutting other trees, which though smaller than the first tree,
are yet as thick as the leg, if not the thigh, of a common-sized man.
These they carry with them by land to the brink of the river, and then
by water to the place allotted for their building; where sharpening
them at one end, and forming them into stakes, they fix them in the
ground, at a small distance from each other, and fill up the vacant
spaces with pliant branches. While some are thus employed in fixing
the stakes, others go in quest of clay, which they prepare for their
purpose with their tails and their feet. At the top of their <DW18>, or
mole, they form two or three openings. These they occasionally enlarge
or contract, as the river rises or falls. NOTE.--Should the
current be very gentle, the dam is carried nearly straight across;
but when the stream is swiftly flowing, it is uniformly made with a
considerable curve, having the convex part opposed to the current.
'Ac veluti ingentem formicae farris acervum
Cum populant, hyemis memores, tectoque reponunt:
It nigrum campis agmen, praedamque per herbas
Convectant calle augusto: pars grandia trudunt
Obnixae frumenta humeris: pars agmina cogunt,
Castigant que moras: opere omnis semita fervet.'
AENEID, IV., 402.
'In formica non modo sensus sed etiam mens, ratio, memoria.'--CIC.
'Si quis comparet onera corporibus earum (formicarum) fateatur nullis
portione. Vires esse majores. Gerunt ea morsu; majora aversae postremio
pedibus moliuntur, humeris obnoxae. Est iis Reip ratio memoria cura.
Semima arrosa condunt vie rursus in fruges exeant e terra. Majora
ad introitum (cavernae) dividunt Madefacta imbre proferunt atque
siccant.'--PLINY: lib. XI., cap. 30.
Many birds and other animals, BUFFON informs us, station a
watch, while they are feeding in the fields. Whenever marmots venture
abroad, one is placed as a sentinel, sitting on an elevated rock,
while the others amuse themselves in the fields below, or are engaged
in cutting grass and making it into hay for their future convenience;
and no sooner does their trusty sentinel perceive a man, an eagle, a
dog, or any other enemy approaching, than he gives notice to the rest
by a kind of whistle, and is himself the last that takes refuge in the
cell. It is asserted that when their hay is made, one of them lies upon
its back, permits the hay to be heaped between its paws, keeping them
upright to make greater room, and in this manner remaining still upon
its back, is dragged by the tail, hay and all, to their common retreat.
These instances could be multiplied indefinitely; but more than
sufficient have been cited. They prove in the first place, without need
of argument, that animals have a language by which they apprehend each
other. Concert of action and division of labor would be impossible
without it. They also exhibit the exercise of memory and abstraction;
and it now remains to ascertain whether their conduct was the result of
reason.
If a person should take a friend whose arm had been fractured to a
skilful surgeon who had before cured him of a similar wound, we should
infer the following course of reasoning: First, a comparison of facts,
to discover whether the injury in question was like the one he had
received; the ability of this surgeon over others in such cases; and
the presumption that the same skill and remedies will again produce
the same effects. These are the most obvious points. The dog, in the
cited case, had once been healed of a broken limb by a surgeon; and
having found a mate in a like situation, took him also to the same
surgeon. It is evident that his conduct was as wise as the man's. The
facts and actions in the two cases are parallel; and having seen that
animals obtain a perception of objects by the same agencies that man
does, it only remains to ascertain whether the intermediate reasoning
process between perception and action were essentially the same. Now,
we cannot prove directly that the mind of another passes through any
process whatever; because the proof of any process of our own mind
is consciousness, which cannot go beyond us; but we can infer the
train of reasoning in a given case with great correctness, taking
self-knowledge as a basis; and the similarity of conduct in another,
in view of premises, with what our own would have been. This is the
chief criterion by which much of our daily conduct is regulated, and
is the most substantial proof that can be reached. Hence, we can infer
with just as much certainty that the instinct of the dog passed through
the process mentioned, as that the mind of the man did in the case
supposed. We can also infer it with as much truth as that instinct is
susceptible of the process of memory, since the proof in both cases is
drawn from facts, and on the same principles.
Again: The beaver's dam is constructed at the very place a skilful
engineer would have selected for a similar purpose. This choice of one
place before another is necessarily founded on comparison, which is
a deliberative reasoning process. It is therefore inconsistent with
an impulse, which seems to be the action suggested, by instantaneous
perception and reasoning; a single, inflexible propulsion in one
direction; without a careful choice, and without deliberation: hence
the term impulsive cannot be applied to a large proportion of the
actions of animals; and having no reason for supposing the impulses of
animals supernatural, or unlike human impulses, the term itself should
be abandoned as vague and unmeaning. Gnawing the large tree upon the
inner side, that it might fall directly across the stream, also rises
above the utmost that we can understand by an inward persuasion; for
it is the incipient step, and has full relation to the subsequent work
of erecting a pier. We have seen that while one part are cutting down
the tree, another part go up the stream, cut smaller trees for stakes,
and draw them to the water's edge; while still a third division go in
quest of clay to prepare as a mortar. This completeness of plan, and
combination of means to execute it, is wholly inconsistent with the
common explanation of instinctive operations. Such exhibitions, as we
have already remarked, are simply the workings of a certain principle
they possess; performing for them the same office that mind does
for man; and the true direction of inquiry is to the nature of its
qualities. The actions themselves exhibit comparison, a knowledge of
the adaptation of means to an end, the combination of these means in
regular detail to effect the end, and the still higher intelligence
of future cause and effect, as evinced by the enlargement of the
water passage with the rise of the stream. These actions, then, being
ascertained to be uniformly the same in a great variety of cases, and
manifesting the operation of an intelligent principle in every act; and
being such as in man would have been in pursuance of the processes of
reason mentioned; we are clearly directed to the inference (indeed no
other rational one _can_ be made) that they compared the advantages of
different places, to enable them to select the best, having reference
to the construction of a dam; that they reasoned out the plan of this
dam and the adaptation of certain materials to its erection; that
they reflected upon the need | 1,690.957937 |
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GRADED MEMORY SELECTIONS
Arranged by
S. D. WATERMAN,
Superintendent of Schools, Berkeley, Cal.
J. W. McCLYMONDS,
Superintendent of Schools, Oakland, Cal.
C. C. HUGHES,
Superintendent of Schools, Alameda, Cal.
Educational Publishing Company
Boston
New York Chicago San Francisco
Copyrighted
by Educational Publishing Company
1903.
PREFACE.
It is unfortunately true that the terms education and culture are not
synonymous. Too often we find that the children in our public schools,
while possessed of the one, are signally lacking in the other. This is
a state of things that cannot be remedied by teaching mere facts. The
Greeks, many years ago, found the true method of imparting the latter
grace and we shall probably not be able to discover a better one
to-day. Their youths learned Homer and the other great poets as a part
of their daily tasks, and by thus constantly dwelling upon and storing
in their minds the noblest and most beautifully expressed thought in
their literature, their own mental life became at once refined and
strong.
The basis of all culture lies in a pure and elevated moral nature, and
so noted an authority as President Eliot, of Harvard University, has
said that the short memory gems which he learned as a boy in school,
have done him more good in the hour of temptation than all the sermons
he ever heard preached. A fine thought or beautiful image, once stored
in the mind, even if at first it is received indifferently and with
little understanding, is bound to recur again and again, and its
companionship will have a sure, if unconscious, influence. The mind
that has been filled in youth with many such thoughts and images will
surely bear fruit in fine and gracious actions.
To the teachers who are persuaded of this truth, the present
collection of poems has much to recommend it. The selections have been
chosen both for their moral influence and for their permanent value as
literature. They have been carefully graded to suit the needs of every
class from the primary to the high school. Either the whole poem or a
sufficiently long quotation has been inserted to give the child a
complete mental picture.
The teacher will thus escape the difficulty of choosing among a too
great abundance of riches, or the still greater one of finding for
herself, with few resources, what serves her purpose. This volume has
a further advantage over other books of selections. It is so moderate
in price that it will be possible to place it in the hands of the
children themselves.
The compilers desire to thank Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Charles
Scribner's Sons, Bowen, Merrill & Co., Whittaker & Ray Co., and
Doubleday & McClure Co., for their kindness in permitting the use of
copyrighted material.
S. D. WATERMAN.
CONTENTS.
FIRST GRADE.
The Baby _George Macdonald_
The Little Plant _Anon._
Sleep, Baby, Sleep _E. Prentiss_
One, Two, Three _Margaret Johnson_
Three Little Bugs in a Basket _Alice Cary_
Whenever a Little Child is Born _Agnes L. Carter_
Sweet and Low _Alfred Tennyson_
The Ferry for Shadowtown _Anon._
My Shadow _R. L. Stevenson_
Quite Like a Stocking _Anon._
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat _Edward Lear_
Forget-me-not _Anon._
Who Stole the Bird's Nest? _Anon._
Two Little Hands _Anon._
The Dandelion _Anon._
A Million Little Diamonds _M. Butts_
Daisy Nurses _Anon._
At Little Virgil's Window _Edwin Markham_
Dandelions _Anon._
Memory Gems _Selected_
SECOND GRADE.
Seven Times One _Jean Ingelow_
Christmas Eve _Anon._
Morning Song _Alfred Tennyson_
Suppose, My Little Lady _Phoebe Cary_
The Day's Eye _Anon._
The Night Wind _Eugene Field_
The Blue-bird's Song _Anon._
Suppose _Anon._
Autumn Leaves _Anon._
If I Were a Sunbeam _Lucy Larcom_
Meadow Talk _Caroline Leslie_
The Old Love _Charles Kingsley_
Bed in Summer _R. L. Stevenson_
Three Companions _Dinah M. Craik_
The Wind _R. L. Stevenson_
The Minuet _Mary Mapes Dodge_
Wynken, Blynken and Nod _Eugene Field_
Pretty Is That Pretty Does _Alice Cary_
Lullaby _J. G. Holland_
THIRD GRADE.
Discontent _Sarah O. Jewett_
Our Flag _Anon._
Song from "Pippa Passes" _Robert Browning_
Little Brown Hands _M. H. Krout_
Winter and Summer _Anon._
The Brook _Alfred Tennyson_
The Wonderful World _W. B. Rands_
Don't Give Up _Phoebe Cary_
We Are Seven | 1,691.155334 |
2023-11-16 18:45:15.2357400 | 3,361 | 10 |
Produced by Tiffany Vergon, Brendan Lane, Edward Johnson,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE GLORY OF THE TRENCHES
AN INTERPRETATION
By Coningsby Dawson
Author of "Carry On: Letters In Wartime," Etc.
With An Introduction By His Father, W. J. Dawson
"The glory is all in the souls of the men--it's nothing external."
--From "Carry On"
1917
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT CONINGSBY DAWSON]
TO YOU AT HOME
Each night we panted till the runners came,
Bearing your letters through the battle-smoke.
Their path lay up Death Valley spouting flame,
Across the ridge where the Hun's anger spoke
In bursting shells and cataracts of pain;
Then down the road where no one goes by day,
And so into the tortured, pockmarked plain
Where dead men clasp their wounds and point the way.
Here gas lurks treacherously and the wire
Of old defences tangles up the feet;
Faces and hands strain upward through the mire,
Speaking the anguish of the Hun's retreat.
Sometimes no letters came; the evening hate
Dragged on till dawn. The ridge in flying spray
Of hissing shrapnel told the runners' fate;
We knew we should not hear from you that day--
From you, who from the trenches of the mind
Hurl back despair, smiling with sobbing breath,
Writing your souls on paper to be kind,
That you for us may take the sting from Death.
CONTENTS
TO YOU AT HOME. (Poem)
HOW THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN
IN HOSPITAL. (Poem)
THE ROAD TO BLIGHTY
THE LADS AWAY. (Poem)
THE GROWING OF THE VISION
THE GLORY OF THE TRENCHES. (Poem)
GOD AS WE SEE HIM
HOW THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN
In my book, _The Father of a Soldier_, I have already stated the
conditions under which this book of my son's was produced.
He was wounded in the end of June, 1917, in the fierce struggle before
Lens. He was at once removed to a base-hospital, and later on to a
military hospital in London. There was grave danger of amputation of
the right arm, but this was happily avoided. As soon as he could use
his hand he was commandeered by the Lord High Commissioner of Canada
to write an important paper, detailing the history of the Canadian
forces in France and Flanders. This task kept him busy until the end
of August, when he obtained a leave of two months to come home. He
arrived in New York in September, and returned again to London in the
end of October.
The plan of the book grew out of his conversations with us and the
three public addresses which he made. The idea had already been
suggested to him by his London publisher, Mr. John Lane. He had
written a few hundred words, but had no very keen sense of the value
of the experiences he had been invited to relate. He had not even read
his own published letters in _Carry On_. He said he had begun to read
them when the book reached him in the trenches, but they made him
homesick, and he was also afraid that his own estimate of their value
might not coincide with ours, or with the verdict which the public has
since passed upon them. He regarded his own experiences, which we
found so thrilling, in the same spirit of modest depreciation. They
were the commonplaces of the life which he had led, and he was
sensitive lest they should be regarded as improperly heroic. No one
was more astonished than he when he found great throngs eager to hear
him speak. The people assembled an hour before the advertised time,
they stormed the building as soon as the doors were open, and when
every inch of room was packed they found a way in by the windows and a
fire-escape. This public appreciation of his message indicated a value
in it which he had not suspected, and led him to recognise that what
he had to say was worthy of more than a fugitive utterance on a public
platform. He at once took up the task of writing this book, with a
genuine and delighted surprise that he had not lost his love of
authorship. He had but a month to devote to it, but by dint of daily
diligence, amid many interruptions of a social nature, he finished his
task before he left. The concluding lines were actually written on the
last night before he sailed for England.
We discussed several titles for the book. _The Religion of Heroism_
was the title suggested by Mr. John Lane, but this appeared too
didactic and restrictive. I suggested _Souls in Khaki_, but this
admirable title had already been appropriated. Lastly, we decided on
_The Glory of the Trenches_, as the most expressive of his aim. He
felt that a great deal too much had been said about the squalor,
filth, discomfort and suffering of the trenches. He pointed out that a
very popular war-book which we were then reading had six paragraphs in
the first sixty pages which described in unpleasant detail the
verminous condition of the men, as if this were the chief thing to be
remarked concerning them. He held that it was a mistake for a writer
to lay too much stress on the horrors of war. The effect was bad
physiologically--it frightened the parents of soldiers; it was equally
bad for the enlisted man himself, for it created a false impression in
his mind. We all knew that war was horrible, but as a rule the soldier
thought little of this feature in his lot. It bulked large to the
civilian who resented inconvenience and discomfort, because he had
only known their opposites; but the soldier's real thoughts were
concerned with other things. He was engaged in spiritual acts. He was
accomplishing spiritual purposes as truly as the martyr of faith and
religion. He was moved by spiritual impulses, the evocation of duty,
the loyal dependence of comradeship, the spirit of sacrifice, the
complete surrender of the body to the will of the soul. This was the
side of war which men needed most to recognise. They needed it not
only because it was the true side, but because nothing else could
kindle and sustain the enduring flame of heroism in men's hearts.
While some erred in exhibiting nothing but the brutalities of war,
others erred by sentimentalising war. He admitted that it was
perfectly possible to paint a portrait of a soldier with the aureole
of a saint, but it would not be a representative portrait. It would be
eclectic, the result of selection elimination. It would be as unlike
the common average as Rupert Brooke, with his poet's face and poet's
heart, was unlike the ordinary naval officers with whom he sailed to
the AEgean.
The ordinary soldier is an intensely human creature, with an
"endearing blend of faults and virtues." The romantic method of
portraying him not only misrepresented him, but its result is far less
impressive than a portrait painted in the firm lines of reality. There
is an austere grandeur in the reality of what he is and does which
needs no fine gilding from the sentimentalist. To depict him as a Sir
Galahad in holy armour is as serious an offence as to exhibit him as a
Caliban of marred clay; each method fails of truth, and all that the
soldier needs to be known about him, that men should honour him, is
the truth.
What my son aimed at in writing this book was to tell the truth about
the men who were his comrades, in so far as it was given him to see
it. He was in haste to write while the impression was fresh in his
mind, for he knew how soon the fine edge of these impressions grew
dull as they receded from the immediate area of vision. "If I wait
till the war is over, I shan't be able to write of it at all," he
said. "You've noticed that old soldiers are very often silent men.
They've had their crowded hours of glorious life, but they rarely tell
you much about them. I remember you used to tell me that you once knew
a man who sailed with Napoleon to St Helena, but all he could tell you
was that Napoleon had a fine leg and wore white silk stockings. If
he'd written down his impressions of Napoleon day by day as he watched
him walking the deck of the _Bellerophon_, he'd have told you a great
deal more about him than that he wore white silk stockings. If I wait
till the war is over before I write about it, it's very likely I shall
recollect only trivial details, and the big heroic spirit of the thing
will escape me. There's only one way of recording an impression--catch
it while it's fresh, vivid, vital; shoot it on the wing. If you wait
too long it will vanish." It was because he felt in this way that he
wrote in red-hot haste, sacrificing his brief leave to the task, and
concentrating all his mind upon it.
There was one impression that he was particularly anxious to
record,--his sense of the spiritual processes which worked behind the
grim offence of war, the new birth of religious ideas, which was one
of its most wonderful results. He had both witnessed and shared this
renascence. It was too indefinite, too immature to be chronicled with
scientific accuracy, but it was authentic and indubitable. It was
atmospheric, a new air which men breathed, producing new energies and
forms of thought. Men were rediscovering themselves, their own
forgotten nobilities, the latent nobilities in all men. Bound together
in the daily obedience of self-surrender, urged by the conditions of
their task to regard duty as inexorable, confronted by the pitiless
destruction of the body, they were forced into a new recognition of
the spiritual values of life. In the common conventional use of the
term these men were not religious. There was much in their speech and
in their conduct which would outrage the standards of a narrow
pietism. Traditional creeds and forms of faith had scant authority for
them. But they had made their own a surer faith than lives in
creeds. It was expressed not in words but acts. They had freed their
souls from the tyrannies of time and the fear of death. They had
accomplished indeed that very emancipation of the soul which is the
essential evangel of all religions, which all religions urge on men,
but which few men really achieve, however earnestly they profess the
forms of pious faith.
This was the true Glory of the Trenches. They were the Calvaries of a
new redemption being wrought out for men by soiled unconscious
Christs. And, as from that ancient Calvary, with all its agony of
shame, torture and dereliction, there flowed a flood of light which
made a new dawn for the world, so from these obscure crucifixions
there would come to men a new revelation of the splendour of the human
soul, the true divinity that dwells in man, the God made manifest in
the flesh by acts of valour, heroism, and self-sacrifice which
transcend the instincts and promptings of the flesh, and bear witness
to the indestructible life of the spirit.
It is to express these thoughts and convictions that this book was
written. It is a record of things deeply felt, seen and
experienced--this, first of all and chiefly. The lesson of what is
recorded is incidental and implicit. It is left to the discovery of
the reader, and yet is so plainly indicated that he cannot fail to
discover it. We shall all see this war quite wrongly, and shall
interpret it by imperfect and base equivalents, if we see it only as a
human struggle for human ends. We shall err yet more miserably if all
our thoughts and sensations about it are drawn from its physical
horror, "the deformations of our common manhood" on the battlefield,
the hopeless waste and havoc of it all. We shall only view it in its
real perspective when we recognise the spiritual impulses which direct
it, and the strange spiritual efficacy that is in it to burn out the
deep-fibred cancer of doubt and decadence which has long threatened
civilisation with a slow corrupt death. Seventy-five years ago Mrs.
Browning, writing on _The Greek Christian Poets_, used a striking
sentence to which the condition of human thought to-day lends a new
emphasis. "We want," she said, "the touch of Christ's hand upon our
literature, as it touched other dead things--we want the sense of the
saturation of Christ's blood upon the souls of our poets that it may
cry through them in answer to the ceaseless wail of the Sphinx of our
humanity, expounding agony into renovation. Something of this has been
perceived in art when its glory was at the fullest." It is this glory
of divine sacrifice which is the Glory of the Trenches. It is because
the writer recognises this that he is able to walk undismayed among
things terrible and dismaying, and to expound agony into renovation.
W. J. DAWSON.
February, 1918.
IN HOSPITAL
Hushed and happy whiteness,
Miles on miles of cots,
The glad contented brightness
Where sunlight falls in spots.
Sisters swift and saintly
Seem to tread on grass;
Like flowers stirring faintly,
Heads turn to watch them pass.
Beauty, blood, and sorrow,
Blending in a trance--
Eternity's to-morrow
In this half-way house of France.
Sounds of whispered talking,
Laboured indrawn breath;
Then like a young girl walking
The dear familiar Death.
I
THE ROAD TO BLIGHTY
I am in hospital in London, lying between clean white sheets and
feeling, for the first time in months, clean all over. At the end of
the ward there is a swinging door; if I listen intently in the
intervals when the gramophone isn't playing, I can hear the sound of
bath-water running--running in a reckless kind of fashion as if it
didn't care how much was wasted. To me, so recently out of the
fighting and so short a time in Blighty, it seems the finest music in
the world. For the sheer luxury of the contrast I close my eyes
against the July sunlight and imagine myself back in one of those
narrow dug-outs where it isn't the thing to undress because the row
may start at any minute.
Out there in France we used to tell one another fairy-tales of how we
would spend the first year of life when war was ended. One man had a
baby whom he'd never seen; another a girl whom he was anxious to
marry. My dream was more prosaic, but no less ecstatic--it began and
ended with a large white bed and a large white bath. For the first
three hundred and sixty-five mornings after peace had been declared I
was to be wakened by the sound of my bath being filled; water was to
be so plentiful that I could tumble off to sleep again without | 1,691.25578 |
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E-text prepared by Greg Bergquist, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original | 1,691.498669 |
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Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy
of the Digital Library@Villanova University
(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)
THE ART
... OF...
KISSING.
[Illustration: SEVEN.
At seven!! a sly kiss is so sweet,
To steal one now and then’s a treat.]
Curiously,
Historically,
Humorously | 1,691.559103 |
2023-11-16 18:45:15.5852900 | 20 | 159 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Aldarondo, and
Project Gutenberg Distributed Proof | 1,691.60533 |
2023-11-16 18:45:15.5854900 | 2,484 | 23 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
[Every attempt has been made to replicate the original as printed.
Some typographical errors have been corrected; a list follows
the text. No attempt has been made to correct or normalize all
of the printed spelling of French names or words. (i.e. chateau,
Saint-Beauve, etc.) (note of etext transcriber.)]
Castles and Chateaux of Old Burgundy
and the Border Provinces
_WORKS OF FRANCIS MILTOUN_
[Illustration]
_Rambles on the Riviera_ $2.50
_Rambles in Normandy_ 2.50
_Rambles in Brittany_ 2.50
_The Cathedrals and Churches of the Rhine_ 2.50
_The Cathedrals of Northern France_ 2.50
_The Cathedrals of Southern France_ 2.50
_In the Land of Mosques and Minarets_ 3.00
_Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine and
the Loire Country_ 3.00
_Castles and Chateaux of Old Navarre and
the Basque Provinces_ 3.00
_Castles and Chateaux of Old Burgundy
and the Border Provinces_ 3.00
_Italian Highways and Byways from a
Motor Car_ 3.00
_The Automobilist Abroad_ _net_ 3.00
(_Postage Extra_)
[Illustration]
_L. C. Page and Company_
_New England Building, Boston, Mass._
[Illustration: _Chateau de Montbéliard_
(See page 194)
]
Castles and Chateaux
OF
OLD BURGUNDY
AND THE BORDER PROVINCES
BY FRANCIS MILTOUN
Author of "Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine," "Castles and
Chateaux of Old Navarre," "Rambles in Normandy," "Italian
Highways and Byways from a Motor-Car," etc.
_With Many Illustrations
Reproduced from paintings made on the spot_
BY BLANCHE MCMANUS
[Illustration]
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
1909
_Copyright, 1909_,
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, November, 1909
_Electrotyped and Printed by
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A._
[Illustration: CONTENTS]
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE REALM OF THE BURGUNDIANS 1
II. IN THE VALLEY OF THE YONNE 19
III. AVALLON, VEZELAY, AND CHASTELLUX 36
IV. SEMUR-EN-AUXOIS, ÉPOISSES AND BOURBILLY 50
V. MONTBARD AND BUSSY-RABUTIN 62
VI. "CHASTILLON AU NOBLE DUC" 75
VII. TONNERRE, TANLAY AND ANCY-LE-FRANC 84
VIII. IN OLD BURGUNDY 101
IX. DIJON THE CITY OF THE DUKES 131
X. IN THE COTE D'OR: BEAUNE, LA ROCHEPOT
AND ÉPINAC 113
XI. MAÇON, CLUNY AND THE CHAROLLAIS 153
XII. IN THE BEAUJOLAIS AND LYONNAIS 170
XIII. THE FRANCHE COMTÉ; AUXONNE AND BESANÇON 185
XIV. ON THE SWISS BORDER: BUGEY AND BRESSE 199
XV. GRENOBLE AND VIZILLE: THE CAPITAL OF THE
DAUPHINS 218
XVI. CHAMBÉRY AND THE LAC DU BOURGET 229
XVII. IN THE SHADOW OF LA GRANDE CHARTREUSE 245
XVIII. ANNECY AND LAC LEMAN 259
XIX. THE MOUNTAIN BACKGROUND OF SAVOY 278
XX. BY THE BANKS OF THE RHÔNE 290
XXI. IN THE ALPS OF DAUPHINY 300
XXII. IN LOWER DAUPHINY 313
INDEX 325
[Illustration: List _of_ ILLUSTRATIONS]
PAGE
CHATEAU DE MONTBÉLIARD (_see page_ 194) _Frontispiece_
GEOGRAPHICAL LIMITS COVERED BY CONTENTS (Map) x
THE HEART OF OLD BURGUNDY (Map) _facing_ 2
CHATEAU DE SAINT FARGEAU _facing_ 28
TOUR GAILLARDE, AUXERRE _facing_ 32
CHATEAU DE CHASTELLUX _facing_ 38
SEMUR-EN-AUXOIS _facing_ 50
CHATEAU D'ÉPOISSES _facing_ 54
ARNAY-LE-DUC _facing_ 60
CHATEAU DE BUSSY-RABUTIN _facing_ 68
CHATEAU DES DUCS, CHÂTILLON _facing_ 76
CHATEAU DE TANLAY _facing_ 90
CHATEAU AND GARDENS OF ANCY-LE-FRANC 94
CHATEAU OF ANCY-LE-FRANC _facing_ 96
MONOGRAMS FROM THE CHAMBRE DES FLEURS 98
BURGUNDY THROUGH THE AGES (Map) 101
THE DIJONNAIS AND THE BEAUJOLAIS (Map) _facing_ 112
KEY OF VAULTING, DIJON 113
CUISINES AT DIJON 119
CHATEAU DES DUCS, DIJON _facing_ 122
CLOS VOUGEOT.--CHAMBERTIN 137
HOSPICE DE BEAUNE _facing_ 144
CHATEAU DE LA ROCHEPOT _facing_ 148
CHATEAU DE SULLY _facing_ 150
CHATEAU DE CHAUMONT-LA-GUICHE _facing_ 154
HÔTEL DE VILLE, PARAY-LE-MONAIL _facing_ 156
CHATEAU DE LAMARTINE _facing_ 166
CHATEAU DE NOBLE 169
PALAIS GRANVELLE, BESANÇON _facing_ 192
THE LION OF BELFORT 195
WOMEN OF BRESSE _facing_ 200
CHATEAU DE VOLTAIRE, FERNEY _facing_ 204
TOWER OF THE PALAIS DE JUSTICE, GRENOBLE 219
CHATEAU D'URIAGE _facing_ 224
CHATEAU DE VIZILLE _facing_ 226
PORTAL OF THE CHATEAU DE CHAMBÉRY _facing_ 230
PORTAL ST. DOMINIQUE, CHAMBÉRY 231
CHATEAU DE CHAMBÉRY _facing_ 232
LES CHARMETTES 235
CHATEAU DE CHIGNIN _facing_ 238
ABBEY OF HAUTECOMBE _facing_ 240
MAISON DES DAUPHINS, TOUR-DE-PIN _facing_ 246
CHATEAU BAYARD _facing_ 248
LA TOUR SANS VENIN 255
CHATEAU D'ANNECY _facing_ 260
CHATEAU DE RIPAILLE _facing_ 272
ÉVIAN _facing_ 276
AIX-LES-BAINS TO ALBERTVILLE (Map) 279
MONTMELIAN 280
CHATEAU DE MIOLANS _facing_ 284
CONFLANS _facing_ 286
SEAL OF THE NATIVE DAUPHINS 290
TOWER OF PHILIPPE DE VALOIS, VIENNE _facing_ 292
CHATEAU DE CRUSSOL _facing_ 298
CHATEAU DE BRIANÇON _facing_ 304
BRIANÇON; ITS CHATEAU AND OLD FORTIFIED BRIDGE 305
CHATEAU QUEYRAS _facing_ 308
CHATEAU DE BEAUVOIR _facing_ 316
CHATEAU DE LA SONE _facing_ 320
[Illustration: Geographical Limits covered _by_ Contents]
Castles and Chateaux of Old Burgundy
and the Border Provinces
CHAPTER I
THE REALM OF THE BURGUNDIANS
"_La plus belle Comté, c'est Flandre;_
_La plus belle duché, c'est Bourgogne,_
_Le plus beau royaume, c'est France._"
This statement is of undeniable merit, as some of us, who so love _la
belle France_--even though we be strangers--well know.
The Burgundy of Charlemagne's time was a much vaster extent of territory
than that of the period when the province came to play its own kingly
part. From the borders of Neustria to Lombardia and Provence it extended
from the northwest to the southeast, and from Austrasia and Alamannia in
the northeast to Aquitania and Septimania in the southwest. In other
words, it embraced practically the entire watershed of the Rhône and
even included the upper reaches of the Yonne and Seine and a very large
portion of the Loire; in short, all of the great central plain lying
between the Alps and the Cevennes.
The old Burgundian province was closely allied topographically,
climatically and by ties of family, with many of its neighbouring
political divisions. Almost to the Ile de France this extended on the
north; to the east, the Franche Comté was but a dismemberment; whilst
the Nivernais and the Bourbonnais to the west, through the | 1,691.60553 |
2023-11-16 18:45:15.5865370 | 638 | 13 | VOLUME I (OF 3) ***
Produced by Al Haines.
*ADVENTURES*
*OF*
*AN AIDE-DE-CAMP:*
*OR,*
*A CAMPAIGN IN CALABRIA.*
BY
JAMES GRANT, ESQ.
AUTHOR OF "THE ROMANCE OF WAR."
_Claud._ I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye,
That liked, but had a rougher task in hand
Than to drive liking to the name of love:
But now I am returned, and that war thoughts
Have left their places vacant; in their rooms
Come thronging soft and delicate desires,
All prompting me how fair young Hero is,
Saying how I liked her ere I went to war.
SHAKSPEARE.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
SMITH, ELDER, AND CO., CORNHILL.
1848.
London:
Printed by STEWART and MURRAY,
Old Bailey.
*CONTENTS.*
CHAPTER
I.--The Landing in Calabria
II.--The Pigtail
III.--The Visconte Santugo
IV.--Double or Quit
V.--Truffi the Hunchback
VI.--The Calabrian Free Corps
VII.--The Battle of Maida
VIII.--The Cottage.--Capture of the Eagle
IX.--Lives for Ducats!--Bianca D'Alfieri
X.--A Night with the Zingari
XI.--The Hunchback Again!
XII.--The Hermitage
XIII.--The Hermit's Confession
XIV.--The Siege Of Crotona
XV.--The Abduction.--A Scrape
XVI.--The Summons of Surrender
XVII.--Marching 'Out' with the Honours of War
XVIII.--Another Dispatch
XIX.--Narrative of Castelermo
XX.--The Villa Belcastro
XXI.--Sequel to the Story of Castelermo
*PREFACE.*
The very favourable reception given by the Press and Public generally,
to "The Romance of War," and its "Sequel," has encouraged the Author to
resume his labours in another field.
Often as scenes of British valour and conquest have been described, the
brief but brilliant campaign in the Calabrias (absorbed, and almost
lost, amid the greater warlike operations in the Peninsula) has never,
he believes, been touched upon: though a more romantic land for
adventure and description cannot invite the pen of a novelist; more
especially when the singular social and political ideas of those unruly
provinces are remembered.
Indeed it is to be regretted that no narrative should have been
published of Sir John Stuart's Neapolitan campaign. It was an
expedition set on foot to drive the French from South Italy; and (but
for the indecision which sometimes characterized the ministry of those
days | 1,691.606577 |
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Produced by David Widger
AT SUNWICH PORT
BY
W. W. JACOBS
Drawings by Will Owen
Contents
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX | 1,691.702818 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team | 1,691.703707 |
2023-11-16 18:45:15.8856020 | 97 | 7 |
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
( | 1,691.905642 |
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Produced by Dagny; and John Bickers
BALZAC
BY
FREDERICK LAWTON
DEDICATED,
In remembrance of many pleasant and instructive
hours spent in his society, to the sculptor
AUGUSTE RODIN,
whose statue of Balzac, with its fine, synthetic
portraiture, first tempted the author to write
this book.
PASSY, PARIS, 1910.
PREFACE
Excusing himself for not undertaking to write a life of Balzac,
Monsieur Brunetiere, in his study of the novelist published
shortly before his death, refused somewhat disdainfully to admit
that acquaintance with a celebrated man's biography has
necessarily any value. "What do we know of the life of
Shakespeare?" he says, "and of the circumstances in which _Hamlet_
or _Othello_ was produced? If these circumstances were better
known to us, is it to be believed and will it be seriously
asserted that our admiration for one or the other play would be
augmented?" In penning this quirk, the eminent critic would seem
to have wilfully overlooked the fact that a writer's life may have
much or may have little to do with his works. In the case of
Shakespeare it was comparatively little--and yet we should be glad
to learn more of this little. In the case of Balzac it was much.
His novels are literally his life; and his life is quite as full
as his books of all that makes the good novel at once profitable
and agreeable to read. It is not too much to affirm that any one
who is acquainted with what is known to-day of the strangely
chequered career of the author of the _Comedie Humaine_ is in a
better position to understand and appreciate the different parts
which constitute it. Moreover, the steady rise of Balzac's
reputation, during the last fifty years, has been in some degree
owing to the various patient investigators who have gathered
information about him whom Taine pronounced to be, with
Shakespeare and Saint-Simon, the greatest storehouse of documents
we possess concerning human nature.
The following chapters are an attempt to put this information into
sequence and shape, and to insert such notice of the novels as
their relative importance requires. The author wishes here to
thank certain French publishers who have facilitated his task by
placing books for reference at his disposal, Messrs. Calmann-Levy,
Armand Colin, and Hetzel, in particular, and also the Curator of
the _Musee Balzac_, Monsieur de Royaumont who has rendered him
service on several occasions.
BALZAC
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
The condition of French society in the early half of the nineteenth
century--the period covered by Balzac's novels--may be compared to
that of a people endeavouring to recover themselves after an
earthquake. | 1,692.108648 |
2023-11-16 18:45:16.1804530 | 591 | 11 |
E-text prepared by Chris Whitehead, MWS, 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/legendaryyorkshi00ross
LEGENDARY YORKSHIRE
by
FREDERICK ROSS, F.R.H.S.,
Author of
"Celebrities of Yorkshire Wolds," "Yorkshire Family Romance,"
etc.
Hull:
William Andrews & Co., The Hull Press.
London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent, & Co., Limited.
1892.
_NOTE._
Of this book 500 copies have been printed, and this is
No....
Contents.
PAGE
THE ENCHANTED CAVE 1
THE DOOMED CITY 15
THE "WORM" OF NUNNINGTON 34
THE DEVIL'S ARROWS 51
THE GIANT ROAD-MAKER OF MULGRAVE 70
THE VIRGIN'S HEAD OF HALIFAX 80
THE DEAD ARM OF ST. OSWALD THE KING 100
THE TRANSLATION OF ST. HILDA 117
A MIRACLE OF ST. JOHN 131
THE BEATIFIED SISTERS OF BEVERLEY 147
THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY 168
THE MIRACLES AND GHOST OF WATTON 176
THE MURDERED HERMIT OF ESKDALE 195
THE CALVERLEY GHOST 214
THE BEWITCHED HOUSE OF WAKEFIELD 231
LEGENDARY YORKSHIRE.
The Enchanted Cave.
Who is there that has not heard of the famous and redoubtable hero of
history and romance, Arthur, King of the British, who so valiantly
defended his country against the pagan Anglo-Saxon invaders of the
island? Who has not heard of the lovely but frail Guenevera, his Queen,
and the galaxy of female beauty that constituted her Court at Caerleon?
Who has not heard of his companions-in-arms--the brave and chivalrous
Knights of the Round Table, who went forth as knights-errant to succour
the weaker sex, deliver the oppressed, liberate those who had fallen
into the clutches of enchanters, giants, or malicious dwarfs, and
especially in quest of the Holy Graal, that mystic chalice, in which
were caught the last drops of blood of the expiring Saviour, and
which, in consequence, became possessed of | 1,692.200493 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry Lamé 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
Text _between underscores_ represents text printed in italics, text
=between equal signs= represents blackletter text. _{D} represents a
subscript D. Small capitals have been transcribed as | 1,692.298454 |
2023-11-16 18:45:16.3407050 | 487 | 273 |
Produced by D. Alexander, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
TALES
FROM
"BLACKWOOD"
Contents of this Volume
_My English Acquaintance._ _By F. Hardman, Esq._
_The Murderer's Last Night._ _By T. Doubleday, Esq._
_Narration of Certain Uncommon Things that did formerly
happen to me, Herbert Willis, B.D._
_The Wags_
_The Wet Wooing: A Narrative of '98_
_Ben-na-Groich_
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
TALES FROM "BLACKWOOD."
MY ENGLISH ACQUAINTANCE.
BY FREDERICK HARDMAN, ESQ.
[_MAGA._ FEBRUARY 1848.]
"I believe I have the pleasure of seeing Mr ----," said a voice in
English, as I paused for a moment, my breakfast concluded, before the
door of a Palais Royal coffee-house, planning the disposal of my day.
I looked at the person who thus addressed me; and, although I pique
myself on rarely forgetting the face of an acquaintance, in this
instance my memory was completely at fault. But for his knowledge of
my name, I should have concluded my interlocutor mistaken as to my
identity. I was at least as much surprised at the perfectly good
English he spoke, as at having my acquaintance claimed by a person of
his profession and rank. He was a young man of about five-and-twenty,
attired in the handsome and well-fitting undress of a sergeant of
French light dragoons. His brown hair curled short and crisp from
under his smart green forage-cap, cavalierly placed upon one side of
his head; his clear blue eyes contrasted with the tawny colour of his
cheek, a tint for which it was evidently indebted to sun and weather;
his face was clean shaven, save and except small well-trimmed
mustaches and a chin-tuft. Altogether, he was as pretty a model of a
light cavalryman as I remember to have seen: square in the shoulder,
slender in the hip, well limbed, lithe and | 1,692.360745 |
2023-11-16 18:45:16.3815870 | 877 | 21 | BEXLEY***
Transcribed from the 1827 J. Hatchard and Son edition, by David Price,
email ccx074@pglaf.org
A
LETTER
TO
THE RIGHT HON. LORD BEXLEY,
CONTAINING A
STATEMENT MADE TO THE COMMITTEE
OF THE
British and Foreign Bible Society,
AS TO THE
RELATIONS OF THAT INSTITUTION,
WITH
FRANCE, THE VALLEYS OF
PIEDMONT, SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY.
* * * * *
BY FRANCIS CUNNINGHAM, M. A.
RECTOR OF PAKEFIELD, SUFFOLK.
* * * * *
LONDON:
J. HATCHARD AND SON, 187, PICCADILY.
1827.
* * * * *
LONDON:
IBOTSON AND PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND.
PREFACE
The circumstances which have given rise to the publication of the
following letter are briefly these:—At the departure of the Author for
the continent, in the month of April, 1826, he tendered his services
generally to the Committee of the British and Foreign Bible Society; and
received from that body the power of disposing of a certain number of
copies of Bibles and Testaments, at any opportunities which might present
themselves to him on his journey. Of this power he availed himself; and,
on his return to London, in the month of December, he went to the
Committee to give an account of the trust which had been committed to
him. Whilst he was doing this, it was natural that he should add to his
statement a few observations, connected with the objects of the
Institution itself; and more especially, as various errors, into which it
was charged with having fallen, had become the subjects of public
discussion, both in Scotland and in England. These observations Lord
Bexley, one of the Vice-Presidents of the Bible Society, then occupying
the Chair of the Committee, requested, in the name of those over whom he
presided, might be communicated in writing; and, in compliance with this
request, the following statement was sent.
After some delay, the author, at the suggestion of several friends, has
been led to make it public, hoping that it may supply to the supporters
of the Bible Society new motives for earnestly and generously persevering
in their efforts to promote the circulation of the Scriptures; and, to
the assailants of that Institution, an answer to some of the charges
which they, in his apprehension, have hastily and unwarrantably brought
forward.
The Author can only hope this document may be a means of forwarding the
interests of the Bible Society—an Institution, which, in his mind,
whatever may be the evil resulting from the circulation of the apocryphal
books, has sown the seed of more important benefits to mankind than even
the Reformation itself.
* * * * *
_Pakefield_, _April_ 5, 1827.
A
LETTER,
_&c._
* * * * *
MY LORD,
In compliance with a wish so kindly expressed by your Lordship, I shall
now endeavour to communicate in writing the substance of what I took the
liberty of stating in the Committee of the British and Foreign Bible
Society. The observations there made chiefly respected the state of
religion on the continent of Europe—especially as connected with that
institution whose Committee I had the honour of addressing; and they were
exclusively such as had been suggested to me during a journey of eight
months through the various countries, to which it was my endeavour to
draw the attention of your Lordship and the Committee.
I must beg leave, however, to preface this brief and inadequate statement
by two or three observations.
In the first place, I must intreat that if this written document should
not be found precisely to correspond in expression or detail with | 1,692.401627 |
2023-11-16 18:45:16.4343510 | 748 | 11 |
E-text prepared by Darleen Dove, Suzanne Shell, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page
images generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 32198-h.htm or 32198-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/cleekofscotlandy00hansrich
CLEEK OF SCOTLAND YARD
[Illustration: "My only kingdom is here... in this dear woman's
arms. Walk with me, Ailsa... as my queen _and_ my wife."]
The International Adventure Library
Three Owls Edition
CLEEK OF SCOTLAND YARD
Detective Stories
by
T. P. Hanshew
Author of "Cleek the Master Detective",
"Cleek's Government Cases" etc.
W. R. Caldwell & Co.
New York
Copyright, 1912, 1913, 1914, by
Doubleday, Page & Company
All rights reserved, including that of
translation into foreign languages,
including the Scandinavian.
Cleek of Scotland Yard
_PROLOGUE_
The Affair of the Man Who Vanished
Mr. Maverick Narkom, Superintendent at Scotland Yard, flung aside
the paper he was reading and wheeled round in his revolving
desk-chair, all alert on the instant, like a terrier that scents a
rat.
He knew well what the coming of the footsteps toward his private
office portended; his messenger was returning at last.
Good! Now he would get at the facts of the matter, and be relieved
from the sneers of carping critics and the pin pricks of overzealous
reporters, who seemed to think that the Yard was to blame, and all
the forces connected with it to be screamed at as incompetents if
every evildoer in London was not instantly brought to book and his
craftiest secrets promptly revealed.
Gad! Let them take on his job, then, if they thought the thing so
easy! Let them have a go at this business of stopping at one's post
until two o'clock in the morning trying to patch up the jumbled
fragments of a puzzle of this sort, if they regarded it as such
child's play--finding an assassin whom nobody had seen and who struck
with a method which neither medical science nor legal acumen could
trace or name. _Then_, by James....
The door opened and closed, and Detective Sergeant Petrie stepped
into the room, removing his hat and standing at attention.
"Well?" rapped out the superintendent, in the sharp staccato of
nervous impatience. "Speak up! It was a false alarm, was it not?"
"No, sir. It's even worse than reported. Quicker and sharper than
any of the others. He's gone, sir."
"Gone? Good God! you don't mean _dead_?"
"Yes, sir. Dead as Julius Caesar. Total collapse about twenty minutes
after my arrival and went off like that"--snapping his fingers and
giving his hand an | 1,692.454391 |
2023-11-16 18:45:16.4343840 | 202 | 8 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
OLLA PODRIDA
BY
CAPTAIN MARRYAT
[Illustration]
LONDON
J. M. DENT AND CO.
BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN AND CO.
MDCCCXCVI
Contents
THE MONK OF SEVILLE 1
_Metropolitan Magazine_, 1833.
THE GIPSY 85
_Metropolitan Magazine_, 1834.
ILL-WILL 159
_New Monthly Magazine_, 1837.
HOW TO WRITE A FASHIONABLE NOVEL 179
_Metropolitan Magazine_, 1833.
HOW TO WRITE A BOOK OF TRAVELS 200
_Metropolitan Magazine_ 1833, 1834.
HOW TO WRITE A ROMANCE 214
_Metropolitan | 1,692.454424 |
2023-11-16 18:45:16.4354010 | 1,671 | 11 |
E-text prepared by D Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 41397-h.htm or 41397-h.zip:
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or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41397/41397-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/unclewaltwaltma00maso
UNCLE WALT
[Illustration: To George Matthew Adams
From his Accomplice Walt Mason]
UNCLE WALT
[WALT MASON]
[Illustration]
The Poet Philosopher
Chicago
George Matthew Adams
1910
Copyright, 1910, by George Matthew Adams.
Registered in Canada in accordance with
the copyright law. Entered at Stationers'
Hall, London. All rights reserved.
Contents
A Glance at History 17
Longfellow 18
In Politics 19
The Human Head 20
The Universal Help 21
Little Sunbeam 22
The Flag 23
Doc Jonnesco 24
Little Girl 25
The Landlady 26
Twilight Reveries 27
King and Kid 28
Little Green Tents 29
Geronimo Aloft 31
The Venerable Excuse 32
Silver Threads 33
The Poet Balks 34
The Penny Saved 35
Home Life 36
Eagles and Hens 37
The Sunday Paper 38
The Nation's Hope 39
Football 40
Health Food 41
Physical Culture 43
The Nine Kings 44
The Eyes of Lincoln 45
The Better Land 46
Knowledge Is Power 47
The Pie Eaters 48
The Sexton's Inn 49
He Who Forgets 50
Poor Father 51
The Idle Question 52
Politeness 53
Little Pilgrims 55
The Wooden Indian 56
Home and Mother 57
E. Phillips Oppenheim 58
Better than Boodle 59
The Famous Four 60
Niagara 61
A Rainy Night 62
The Wireless 63
Helpful Mr. Bok 64
Beryl's Boudoir 65
Post-Mortem Honors 67
After A While 68
Pretty Good Schemes 69
Knowledge by Mail 70
Duke and Plumber 71
Human Hands 72
The Lost Pipe 73
Thanksgiving 74
Sir Walter Raleigh 75
The Country Editor 76
Useless Griefs 77
Fairbanks' Whiskers 78
Letting It Alone 79
The End of the Road 80
The Dying Fisherman 81
George Meredith 82
The Smart Children 83
The Journey 85
Times Have Changed 86
My Little Dog "Dot" 87
Harry Thurston Peck 88
Tired Man's Sleep 89
Tomorrow 90
Toothache 91
Auf Wiedersehen 92
After the Game 93
Nero's Fiddle 94
The Real Terror 95
The Talksmiths 96
Woman's Progress 97
The Magic Mirror 99
The Misfit Face 100
A Dog Story 101
The Pitcher 102
Lions and Ants 103
The Nameless Dead 104
Ambition 105
Night's Illusions 106
Before and After 107
Luther Burbank 108
Governed Too Much 109
Success in Life 110
The Hookworm Victim 111
Alfred Austin 112
Weary Old Age 113
Lullaby 114
The School Marm 115
Poe 116
Gay Parents 117
Dad 118
John Bunyan 119
A Near Anthem 121
The Yellow Cord 122
The Important Man 123
Toddling Home 124
Trifling Things 125
Trusty Dobbin 126
The High Prices 127
Omar Khayyam 128
The Grouch 129
The Pole 130
Wilhelmina 131
Wilbur Wright 132
The Broncho 133
Schubert's Serenade 135
Mazeppa 136
Fashion's Devotee 137
Christmas 138
The Tightwad 139
Blue Blood 140
The Cave Man 141
Rudyard Kipling 142
In Indiana 143
The Colonel at Home 144
The June Bride 145
At The Theatre 146
Club Day Dirge 147
Washington 149
Hours and Ponies 150
The Optimist 151
A Few Remarks 152
Little Things 153
The Umpire 154
Sherlock Holmes 155
The Sanctuary 156
The Newspaper Graveyard 157
My Lady's Hair 158
The Sick Minstrel 159
The Beggar 160
Looking Forward 161
The Depot Loafers 162
The Foolish Husband 163
Halloween 165
Rienzi To The Romans 166
The Sorrel Colt 167
Plutocrat and Poet 168
Mail Order Clothes 169
Evening 170
They All Come Back 171
The Cussing Habit 172
John Bull 173
An Oversight 174
The Traveler 175
Saturday Night 176
Lady Nicotine 177
Up-To-Date Serenade 179
The Consumer 180
Advice To A Damsel 181
The New Year Vow 182
The Stricken Toiler 183
The Law Books 184
Sleuths of Fiction 185
Put It On Ice 186
The Philanthropist 187
Other Days 188
The Passing Year 189
List of Illustrations
Page
Frontispiece 12
"A Glance at History" 16
"Geronimo Aloft" 30
"Physical Culture" 42
"Little Pilgrims" 54
"Post-M | 1,692.455441 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: THEY TACKLES ANYTHING I LEADS 'EM UP TO]
Side-stepping
with Shorty
_By_
Sewell Ford
_Illustrated by_
_Francis Vaux Wilson_
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1908, by Mitchell Kennerley_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. SHORTY AND THE PLUTE
II. ROUNDING UP MAGGIE
III. UP AGAINST BENTLEY
IV. THE TORTONIS' STAR ACT
V. PUTTING PINCKNEY ON THE JOB
VI. THE SOARING OF THE SAGAWAS
VII. RINKEY AND THE PHONY LAMP
VIII. PINCKNEY AND THE TWINS
IX. A LINE ON PEACOCK ALLEY
X. SHORTY AND THE STRAY
XI. WHEN ROSSITER CUT LOOSE
XII. TWO ROUNDS WITH SYLVIE
XIII. GIVING BOMBAZOULA THE HOOK
XIV. A HUNCH FOR LANGDON
XV. SHORTY'S GO WITH ART
XVI. WHY WILBUR DUCKED
XVII. WHEN SWIFTY WAS GOING SOME
XVIII. PLAYING WILBUR TO SHOW
XIX. AT HOME WITH THE DILLONS
XX. THE CASE OF RUSTY QUINN
ILLUSTRATIONS
THEY TACKLES ANYTHING I LEADS 'EM TO...... _Frontispiece_
THE TWINS ORGANIZE A GAME OF TAG
"WE--E--E--OUGH! GLORY BE!" YELLS HANK, LETTIN' OUT AN EARSPLITTER
HE HAS THE PO'TRY TAP TURNED ON FULL BLAST
I
SHORTY AND THE PLUTE
Notice any gold dust on my back? No? Well it's a wonder there ain't,
for I've been up against the money bags so close I expect you can find
eagle prints all over me.
That's what it is to build up a rep. Looks like all the fat wads in
New York was gettin' to know about Shorty McCabe, and how I'm a sure
cure for everything that ails 'em. You see, I no sooner take hold of
one down and outer, sweat the high livin' out of him, and fix him up
like new with a private course of rough house exercises, than he passes
the word along to another; and so it goes.
This last was the limit, though. One day I'm called to the 'phone by
some mealy mouth that wants to know if this is the Physical Culture
Studio.
"Sure as ever," says I.
"Well," says he, "I'm secretary to Mr. Fletcher Dawes."
"That's nice," says I. "How's Fletch?"
"Mr. Dawes," says he, "will see the professah at fawh o'clock this
awfternoon."
"Is that a guess," says I, "or has he been havin' his fortune told?"
"Who is this?" says the gent at the other end of the wire, real sharp
and sassy.
"Only me," says I.
"Well, who are you?" says he.
"I'm the witness for the defence," says I. "I'm Professor McCabe, P.
C. D., and a lot more that I don't use on week days."
"Oh!" says he, simmerin' down a bit. "This is Professor McCabe
himself, is it? Well, Mr. Fletcher Dawes requiahs youah services. You
are to repawt at his apartments at fawh o'clock this awfternoon--fawh
o'clock, understand?"
"Oh, yes," says I. "That's as plain as a dropped egg on a plate of
hash. But say, Buddy; you tell Mr. Dawes that next time he wants me
just to pull the string. If that don't work, he can whistle; and when
he gets tired of whistlin', and I ain't there, he'll know I ain't
comin'. Got them directions? Well, think hard, and maybe you'll
figure it out later. Ta, ta, Mister Secretary." With that I hangs up
the receiver and winks at Swifty Joe.
"Swifty," says I, "they'll be usin' us for rubber stamps if we don't
look out."
"Who was the guy?" says he.
"Some pinhead up to Fletcher Dawes's," says I.
"Hully chee!" says Swifty.
Funny, ain't it, how most everyone'll prick up their ears at that name?
And it don't mean so much money as John D.'s or Morgan's does, either.
But what them two and Harriman don't own is divided up among Fletcher
Dawes and a few others. Maybe it's because Dawes is such a free
spender that he's better advertised. Anyway, when you say Fletcher
Dawes you think of a red-faced gent with a fistful of thousand-dollar
bills offerin' to buy the White House for a stable.
But say, he might have twice as much, and I wouldn't hop any quicker.
I'm only livin' once, and it may be long or short, but while it lasts I
don't intend to do the lackey act for anyone.
Course, I thinks the jolt I gave that secretary chap closes the
incident. But around three o'clock that same day, though, I looks down
from the front window and sees a heavy party in a fur lined overcoat
bein' helped out of a shiny benzine wagon by a pie faced valet, and
before I'd done guessin' where they was headed for they shows up in the
office door.
"My name is Dawes. Fletcher Dawes," says the gent in the overcoat.
"I could have guessed that," says I. "You look somethin' like the
pictures they print of you in the Sunday papers."
"I'm sorry to hear it," says he.
But say, he's less of a prize hog than you'd think, come to get
near--forty-eight around the waist, I should say, and about a number
sixteen collar. You wouldn't pick him out by his face as the kind of a
man that you'd like to have holdin' a mortgage on the old homestead,
though, nor one you'd like to sit opposite to in a poker game--eyes
about a quarter of an inch apart, lima bean ears button | 1,692.45552 |
2023-11-16 18:45:16.4827020 | 7,437 | 15 |
Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
OAK OPENINGS
By James Fennimore Cooper
PREFACE.
It ought to be matter of surprise how men live in the midst of marvels,
without taking heed of their existence. The slightest derangement of
their accustomed walks in political or social life shall excite all
their wonder, and furnish themes for their discussions, for months;
while the prodigies that come from above are presented daily to their
eyes, and are received without surprise, as things of course. In a
certain sense, this may be well enough, inasmuch as all which comes
directly from the hands of the Creator may be said so far to exceed the
power of human comprehension, as to be beyond comment; but the truth
would show us that the cause of this neglect is rather a propensity to
dwell on such interests as those over which we have a fancied control,
than on those which confessedly transcend our understanding. Thus is it
ever with men. The wonders of creation meet them at every turn, without
awakening reflection, while their minds labor on subjects that are not
only ephemeral and illusory, but which never attain an elevation higher
than that the most sordid interests can bestow.
For ourselves, we firmly believe that the finger of Providence is
pointing the way to all races, and colors, and nations, along the path
that is to lead the east and the west alike to the great goal of
human wants. Demons infest that path, and numerous and unhappy are
the wanderings of millions who stray from its course; sometimes in
reluctance to proceed; sometimes in an indiscreet haste to move faster
than their fellows, and always in a forgetfulness of the great rules of
conduct that have been handed down from above. Nevertheless, the main
course is onward; and the day, in the sense of time, is not distant,
when the whole earth is to be filled with the knowledge of the Lord, "as
the waters cover the sea."
One of the great stumbling-blocks with a large class of well-meaning,
but narrow-judging moralists, are the seeming wrongs that are permitted
by Providence, in its control of human events. Such persons take a
one-sided view of things, and reduce all principles to the level of
their own understandings. If we could comprehend the relations which the
Deity bears to us, as well as we can comprehend the relations we bear
to him, there might be a little seeming reason in these doubts; but when
one of the parties in this mighty scheme of action is a profound mystery
to the other, it is worse than idle, it is profane, to attempt to
explain those things which our minds are not yet sufficiently cleared
from the dross of earth to understand. Look at Italy, at this very
moment. The darkness and depression from which that glorious peninsula
is about to emerge are the fruits of long-continued dissensions and an
iron despotism, which is at length broken by the impulses left behind
him by a ruthless conqueror, who, under the appearance and the phrases
of Liberty, contended only for himself. A more concentrated egotism than
that of Napoleon probably never existed; yet has it left behind it seeds
of personal rights that have sprung up by the wayside, and which are
likely to take root with a force that will bid defiance to eradication.
Thus is it ever, with the progress of society. Good appears to arise
out of evil, and the inscrutable ways of Providence are vindicated by
general results, rather than by instances of particular care. We leave
the application of these remarks to the intelligence of such of our
readers as may have patience to peruse the work that will be found in
the succeeding pages.
We have a few words of explanation to say, in connection with the
machinery of our tale. In the first place, we would remark, that the
spelling of "burr-oak," as given in this book, is less our own than
an office spelling. We think it should be "bur-oak," and this for the
simple reason, that the name is derived from the fact that the acorn
borne by this tree is partially covered with a bur. Old Sam Johnson,
however, says that "burr" means the lobe, or lap of the ear; and those
who can fancy such a resemblance between this and the covering of our
acorn, are at liberty to use the two final consonants. Having commenced
stereotyping with this supernumerary, for the sake of uniformity that
mode of spelling, wrong as we think it, has been continued through-out
the book.
There is nothing imaginary in the fertility of the West. Personal
observation has satisfied us that it much surpasses anything that exists
in the Atlantic States, unless in exceptions, through the agency of
great care and high manuring, or in instances of peculiar natural soil.
In these times, men almost fly. We have passed over a thousand miles of
territory within the last few days, and have brought the pictures at the
two extremes of this journey in close proximity in our mind's eye. Time
may lessen that wonderful fertility, and bring the whole country more
on a level; but there it now is, a glorious gift from God, which it
is devoutly to be wished may be accepted with due gratitude and with
a constant recollection of his unwavering rules of right and wrong, by
those who have been selected to enjoy it.
June, 1848.
THE OAK OPENINGS.
CHAPTER I.
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day,
From every opening flower.
WATTS' HYMNS FOR CHILDREN.
We have heard of those who fancied that they beheld a signal instance
of the hand of the Creator in the celebrated cataract of Niagara. Such
instances of the power of sensible and near objects to influence certain
minds, only prove how much easier it is to impress the imaginations
of the dull with images that are novel, than with those that are less
apparent, though of infinitely greater magnitude. Thus it would seem to
be strange indeed, that any human being should find more to wonder at
in any one of the phenomena of the earth, than in the earth itself; or
should especially stand astonished at the might of Him who created the
world, when each night brings into view a firmament studded with other
worlds, each equally the work of His hands!
Nevertheless, there is (at bottom) a motive for adoration, in the study
of the lowest fruits of the wisdom and power of God. The leaf is as
much beyond our comprehension of remote causes, as much a subject of
intelligent admiration, as the tree which bears it: the single tree
confounds our knowledge and researches the same as the entire forest;
and, though a variety that appears to be endless pervades the world,
the same admirable adaptation of means to ends, the same bountiful
forethought, and the same benevolent wisdom, are to be found in the
acorn, as in the gnarled branch on which it grew.
The American forest has so often been described, as to cause one
to hesitate about reviving scenes that might possibly pall, and in
retouching pictures that have been so frequently painted as to be
familiar to every mind. But God created the woods, and the themes
bestowed by his bounty are inexhaustible. Even the ocean, with its
boundless waste of water, has been found to be rich in its various
beauties and marvels; and he who shall bury himself with us, once more,
in the virgin forests of this widespread land, may possibly discover new
subjects of admiration, new causes to adore the Being that has brought
all into existence, from the universe to its most minute particle.
The precise period of our legend was in the year 1812, and the season
of the year the pleasant month of July, which had now drawn near to its
close. The sun was already approaching the western limits of a wooded
view, when the actors in its opening scene must appear on a stage that
is worthy of a more particular description.
The region was, in one sense, wild, though it offered a picture that
was not without some of the strongest and most pleasing features of
civilization. The country was what is termed "rolling," from some
fancied resemblance to the surface of the ocean, when it is just
undulating with a long "ground-swell."
Although wooded, it was not, as the American forest is wont to grow,
with tail straight trees towering toward the light, but with intervals
between the low oaks that were scattered profusely over the view, and
with much of that air of negligence that one is apt to see in grounds
where art is made to assume the character of nature. The trees, with
very few exceptions, were what is called the "burr-oak," a small
variety of a very extensive genus; and the spaces between them, always
irregular, and often of singular beauty, have obtained the name of
"openings"; the two terms combined giving their appellation to this
particular species of native forest, under the name of "Oak Openings."
These woods, so peculiar to certain districts of country, are not
altogether without some variety, though possessing a general character
of sameness. The trees were of very uniform size, being little taller
than pear-trees, which they resemble a good deal in form; and having
trunks that rarely attain two feet in diameter. The variety is produced
by their distribution. In places they stand with a regularity resembling
that of an orchard; then, again, they are more scattered and less
formal, while wide breadths of the land are occasionally seen in which
they stand in copses, with vacant spaces, that bear no small affinity to
artificial lawns, being covered with verdure. The grasses are supposed
to be owing to the fires lighted periodically by the Indians in order to
clear their hunting-grounds.
Toward one of these grassy glades, which was spread on an almost
imperceptible acclivity, and which might have contained some fifty or
sixty acres of land, the reader is now requested to turn his eyes. Far
in the wilderness as was the spot, four men were there, and two of them
had even some of the appliances of civilization about them. The woods
around were the then unpeopled forest of Michigan; and the small winding
reach of placid water that was just visible in the distance, was an
elbow of the Kalamazoo, a beautiful little river that flows westward,
emptying its tribute into the vast expanse of Lake Michigan. Now, this
river has already become known, by its villages and farms, and railroads
and mills; but then, not a dwelling of more pretension than the wigwam
of the Indian, or an occasional shanty of some white adventurer,
had ever been seen on its banks. In that day, the whole of that fine
peninsula, with the exception of a narrow belt of country along the
Detroit River, which was settled by the French as far back as near the
close of the seventeenth century, was literally a wilderness. If a white
man found his way into it, it was as an Indian trader, a hunter, or an
adventurer in some other of the pursuits connected with border life and
the habits of the savages.
Of this last character were two of the men on the open glade just
mentioned, while their companions were of the race of the aborigines.
What is much more remarkable, the four were absolutely strangers to each
other's faces, having met for the first time in their lives, only an
hour previously to the commencement of our tale. By saying that they
were strangers to each other, we do not mean that the white men were
acquaintances, and the Indians strangers, but that neither of the four
had ever seen either of the party until they met on that grassy glade,
though fame had made them somewhat acquainted through their reputations.
At the moment when we desire to present this group to the imagination of
the reader, three of its number were grave and silent observers of
the movements of the fourth. The fourth individual was of middle size,
young, active, exceedingly well formed, and with a certain open
and frank expression of countenance, that rendered him at least
well-looking, though slightly marked with the small-pox. His real name
was Benjamin Boden, though he was extensively known throughout the
northwestern territories by the sobriquet of Ben Buzz--extensively as
to distances, if not as to people. By the voyageurs, and other French
of that region, he was almost universally styled le Bourdon or the
"Drone"; not, however, from his idleness or inactivity, but from the
circumstances that he was notorious for laying his hands on the
products of labor that proceeded from others. In a word, Ben Boden was
a "bee-hunter," and as he was one of the first to exercise his craft in
that portion of the country, so was he infinitely the most skilful and
prosperous. The honey of le Bourdon was not only thought to be purer and
of higher flavor than that of any other trader in the article, but it
was much the most abundant. There were a score of respectable families
on the two banks of the Detroit, who never purchased of any one else,
but who patiently waited for the arrival of the capacious bark canoe of
Buzz, in the autumn, to lay in their supplies of this savory nutriment
for the approaching winter. The whole family of griddle cakes, including
those of buckwheat, Indian rice, and wheaten flour, were more or less
dependent on the safe arrival of le Bourdon, for their popularity and
welcome. Honey was eaten with all; and wild honey had a reputation,
rightfully or not obtained, that even rendered it more welcome than that
which was formed by the labor and art of the domesticated bee.
The dress of le Bourdon was well adapted to his pursuits and life. He
wore a hunting-shirt and trousers, made of thin stuff, which was dyed
green, and trimmed with yellow fringe. This was the ordinary forest
attire of the American rifleman; being of a character, as it was
thought, to conceal the person in the woods, by blending its hues with
those of the forest. On his head Ben wore a skin cap, somewhat smartly
made, but without the fur; the weather being warm. His moccasins were
a good deal wrought, but seemed to be fading under the exposure of many
marches. His arms were excellent; but all his martial accoutrements,
even to a keen long-bladed knife, were suspended from the rammer of his
rifle; the weapon itself being allowed to lean, in careless confidence,
against the trunk of the nearest oak, as if their master felt there was
no immediate use for them.
Not so with the other three. Not only was each man well armed, but each
man kept his trusty rifle hugged to his person, in a sort of jealous
watchfulness; while the other white man, from time to time, secretly,
but with great minuteness, examined the flint and priming of his own
piece.
This second pale-face was a very different person from him just
described. He was still young, tall, sinewy, gaunt, yet springy and
strong, stooping and round-shouldered, with a face that carried a very
decided top-light in it, like that of the notorious Bardolph. In short,
whiskey had dyed the countenance of Gershom Waring with a tell-tale
hue, that did not less infallibly betray his destination than his speech
denoted his origin, which was clearly from one of the States of New
England. But Gershom had been so long at the Northwest as to have
lost many of his peculiar habits and opinions, and to have obtained
substitutes.
Of the Indians, one, an elderly, wary, experienced warrior, was
a Pottawattamie, named Elksfoot, who was well known at all the
trading-houses and "garrisons" of the northwestern territory, including
Michigan as low down as Detroit itself. The other red man was a young
Chippewa, or O-jeb-way, as the civilized natives of that nation now tell
us the word should be spelled. His ordinary appellation among his own
people was that of Pigeonswing; a name obtained from the rapidity
and length of his flights. This young man, who was scarcely turned
of five-and-twenty, had already obtained a high reputation among the
numerous tribes of his nation, as a messenger, or "runner."
Accident had brought these four persons, each and all strangers to one
another, in communication in the glade of the Oak Openings, which has
already been mentioned, within half an hour of the scene we are about
to present to the reader. Although the rencontre had been accompanied
by the usual precautions of those who meet in a wilderness, it had been
friendly so far; a circumstance that was in some measure owing to the
interest they all took in the occupation of the bee-hunter. The three
others, indeed, had come in on different trails, and surprised le
Bourdon in the midst of one of the most exciting exhibitions of his
art--an exhibition that awoke so much and so common an interest in the
spectators, as at once to place its continuance for the moment above all
other considerations. After brief salutations, and wary examinations of
the spot and its tenants, each individual had, in succession, given his
grave attention to what was going on, and all had united in begging
Ben Buzz to pursue his occupation, without regard to his visitors. The
conversation that took place was partly in English, and partly in one
of the Indian dialects, which luckily all the parties appeared to
understand. As a matter of course, with a sole view to oblige the
reader, we shall render what was said, freely, into the vernacular.
"Let's see, let's see, STRANger," cried Gershom, emphasizing the
syllable we have put in italics, as if especially to betray his origin,
"what you can do with your tools. I've heer'n tell of such doin's, but
never see'd a bee lined in all my life, and have a desp'rate fancy for
larnin' of all sorts, from 'rithmetic to preachin'."
"That comes from your Puritan blood," answered le Bourdon, with a quiet
smile, using surprisingly pure English for one in his class of life.
"They tell me you Puritans preach by instinct."
"I don't know how that is," answered Gershom, "though I can turn my hand
to anything. I heer'n tell, across at Bob Ruly (Bois Brulk [Footnote:
This unfortunate name, which it may be necessary to tell a portion of
our readers means "burnt wood," seems condemned to all sorts of abuses
among the linguists of the West. Among other pronunciations is that of
"Bob Ruly"; while an island near Detroit, the proper name of which is
"Bois Blanc," is familiarly known to the lake mariners by the name of
"Bobolo."]) of sich doin's, and would give a week's keep at Whiskey
Centre, to know how 'twas done."
"Whiskey Centre" was a sobriquet bestowed by the fresh-water sailors
of that region, and the few other white adventurers of Saxon origin who
found their way into that trackless region, firstly on Gershom himself,
and secondly on his residence. These names were obtained from the
intensity of their respective characters, in favor of the beverage
named. L'eau de mort was the place termed by the voyagers, in a sort
of pleasant travesty on the eau de vie of their distant, but still
well-remembered manufactures on the banks of the Garonne. Ben Boden,
however, paid but little attention to the drawling remarks of Gershom
Waring. This was not the first time he had heard of "Whiskey Centre,"
though the first time he had ever seen the man himself. His attention
was on his own trade, or present occupation; and when it wandered at
all, it was principally bestowed on the Indians; more especially on the
runner. Of Elk's foot, or Elksfoot, as we prefer to spell it, he had
some knowledge by means of rumor; and the little he knew rendered him
somewhat more indifferent to his proceedings than he felt toward those
of the Pigeonswing. Of this young redskin he had never heard; and, while
he managed to suppress all exhibition of the feeling, a lively curiosity
to learn the Chippewa's business was uppermost in his mind. As for
Gershom, he had taken HIS measure at a glance, and had instantly set
him down to be, what in truth he was, a wandering, drinking, reckless
adventurer, who had a multitude of vices and bad qualities, mixed up
with a few that, if not absolutely redeeming, served to diminish the
disgust in which he might otherwise have been held by all decent people.
In the meanwhile, the bee-hunting, in which all the spectators took
so much interest, went on. As this is a process with which most of our
readers are probably unacquainted, it may be necessary to explain the
modus operandi, as well as the appliances used.
The tools of Ben Buzz, as Gershom had termed these implements of his
trade, were neither very numerous nor very complex. They were all
contained in a small covered wooden pail like those that artisans and
laborers are accustomed to carry for the purpose of conveying their
food from place to place. Uncovering this, le Bourdon had brought his
implements to view, previously to the moment when he was first seen by
the reader. There was a small covered cup of tin; a wooden box; a sort
of plate, or platter, made also of wood; and a common tumbler, of a very
inferior, greenish glass. In the year 1812, there was not a pane, nor a
vessel, of clear, transparent glass, made in all America! Now, some of
the most beautiful manufactures of that sort, known to civilization, are
abundantly produced among us, in common with a thousand other articles
that are used in domestic economy. The tumbler of Ben Buzz, however, was
his countryman in more senses than one. It was not only American, but
it came from the part of Pennsylvania of which he was himself a native.
Blurred, and of a greenish hue, the glass was the best that Pittsburg
could then fabricate, and Ben had bought it only the year before, on the
very spot where it had been made.
An oak, of more size than usual, had stood a little remote from its
fellows, or more within the open ground of the glade than the rest of
the "orchard." Lightning had struck this tree that very summer, twisting
off its trunk at a height of about four feet from the ground. Several
fragments of the body and branches lay near, and on these the spectators
now took their seats, watching attentively the movements of the
bee-hunter. Of the stump Ben had made a sort of table, first levelling
its splinters with an axe, and on it he placed the several implements of
his craft, as he had need of each in succession.
The wooden platter was first placed on this rude table. Then le Bourdon
opened his small box, and took out of it a piece of honeycomb, that was
circular in shape, and about an inch and a half in diameter. The little
covered tin vessel was next brought into use. Some pure and beautifully
clear honey was poured from its spout into the cells of the piece of
comb, until each of them was about half filled. The tumbler was next
taken in hand, carefully wiped, and examined, by holding it up before
the eyes of the bee-hunter. Certainly, there was little to admire in it,
but it was sufficiently transparent to answer his purposes. All he asked
was to be able to look through the glass in order to see what was going
on in its interior.
Having made these preliminary arrangements, Buzzing Ben--for the
sobriquet was applied to him in this form quite as often as in the
other--next turned his attention to the velvet-like covering of the
grassy glade. Fire had run over the whole region late that spring, and
the grass was now as fresh, and sweet and short, as if the place were
pastured. The white clover, in particular, abounded, and was then
just bursting forth into the blossom. Various other flowers had
also appeared, and around them were buzzing thousands of bees. These
industrious little animals were hard at work, loading themselves with
sweets; little foreseeing the robbery contemplated by the craft of
man. As le Bourdon moved stealthily among the flowers and their humming
visitors, the eyes of the two red men followed his smallest movement, as
the cat watches the mouse; but Gershom was less attentive, thinking the
whole curious enough, but preferring whiskey to all the honey on earth.
At length le Bourdon found a bee to his mind, and watching the moment
when the animal was sipping sweets from a head of white clover, he
cautiously placed his blurred and green-looking tumbler over it, and
made it his prisoner. The moment the bee found itself encircled with the
glass, it took wing and attempted to rise. This carried it to the upper
part of its prison, when Ben carefully introduced the unoccupied hand
beneath the glass, and returned to the stump. Here he set the tumbler
down on the platter in a way to bring the piece of honeycomb within its
circle.
So much done successfully, and with very little trouble, Buzzing Ben
examined his captive for a moment, to make sure that all was right. Then
he took off his cap and placed it over tumbler, platter, honeycomb, and
bee. He now waited half a minute, when cautiously raising the cap again,
it was seen that the bee, the moment a darkness like that of its hive
came over it, had lighted on the comb, and commenced filling itself with
the honey. When Ben took away the cap altogether, the head and half of
the body of the bee was in one of the cells, its whole attention being
bestowed on this unlooked-for hoard of treasure. As this was just what
its captor wished, he considered that part of his work accomplished. It
now became apparent why a glass was used to take the bee, instead of a
vessel of wood or of bark. Transparency was necessary in order to watch
the movements of the captive, as darkness was necessary in order to
induce it to cease its efforts to escape, and to settle on the comb.
As the bee was now intently occupied in filling itself, Buzzing Ben, or
le Bourdon, did not hesitate about removing the glass. He even ventured
to look around him, and to make another captive, which he placed over
the comb, and managed as he had done with the first. In a minute, the
second bee was also buried in a cell, and the glass was again removed.
Le Bourdon now signed for his companions to draw near.
"There they are, hard at work with the honey," he said, speaking in
English, and pointing at the bees. "Little do they think, as they
undermine that comb, how near they are to the undermining of their own
hive! But so it is with us all! When we think we are in the highest
prosperity we may be nearest to a fall, and when we are poorest and
hum-blest, we may be about to be exalted. I often think of these things,
out here in the wilderness, when I'm alone, and my thoughts are acTYVE."
Ben used a very pure English, when his condition in life is remembered;
but now and then, he encountered a word which pretty plainly proved he
was not exactly a scholar. A false emphasis has sometimes an influence
on a man's fortune, when one lives in the world; but it mattered little
to one like Buzzing Ben, who seldom saw more than half a dozen human
faces in the course of a whole summer's hunting. We remember an
Englishman, however, who would never concede talents to Burr, because
the latter said, a L'AmEricaine, EurOpean, instead of EuropEan.
"How hive in danger?" demanded Elksfoot, who was very much of a
matter-of-fact person. "No see him, no hear him--else get some honey."
"Honey you can have for asking, for I've plenty of it already in my
cabin, though it's somewhat 'arly in the season to begin to break in
upon the store. In general, the bee-hunters keep back till August, for
they think it better to commence work when the creatures"--this word
Ben pronounced as accurately as if brought up at St. James's, making it
neither "creatur'" nor "creatOOre"--"to commence work when the creatures
have had time to fill up, after winter's feed. But I like the old stock,
and, what is more, I feel satisfied this is not to be a common summer,
and so I thought I would make an early start."
As Ben said this, he glanced his eyes at Pigeonswing, who returned the
look in a way to prove there was already a secret intelligence between
them, though neither had ever seen the other an hour before.
"Waal!" exclaimed Gershom, "this is cur'ous, I'll allow THAT; yes, it's
cur'ous--but we've got an article at Whiskey Centre that'll put the
sweetest honey bee ever suck'd, altogether out o' countenance!"
"An article of which you suck your share, I'll answer for it, judging
by the sign you carry between the windows of your face," returned Ben,
laughing; "but hush, men, hush. That first bee is filled, and begins to
think of home. He'll soon be off for HONEY Centre, and I must keep my
eye on him. Now, stand a little aside, friends, and give me room for my
craft."
The men complied, and le Bourdon was now all intense attention to his
business. The bee first taken had, indeed, filled itself to satiety, and
at first seemed to be too heavy to rise on the wing. After a few moments
of preparation, however, up it went, circling around the spot, as if
uncertain what course to take. The eye of Ben never left it, and when
the insect darted off, as it soon did, in an air-line, he saw it for
fifty yards after the others had lost sight of it. Ben took the range,
and was silent fully a minute while he did so.
"That bee may have lighted in the corner of yonder swamp," he said,
pointing, as he spoke, to a bit of low land that sustained a growth of
much larger trees than those which grew in the "opening," "or it has
crossed the point of the wood, and struck across the prairie beyond,
and made for a bit of thick forest that is to be found about three miles
further. In the last case, I shall have my trouble for nothing."
"What t'other do?" demanded Elksfoot, with very obvious curiosity.
"Sure enough; the other gentleman must be nearly ready for a start,
and we'll see what road HE travels. 'Tis always an assistance to a
bee-hunter to get one creature fairly off, as it helps him to line the
next with greater sartainty."
Ben WOULD say acTYVE, and SARtain, though he was above saying creatoore,
or creatur'. This is the difference between a Pennsylvanian and
a Yankee. We shall not stop, however, to note all these little
peculiarities in these individuals, but use the proper or the peculiar
dialect, as may happen to be most convenient to ourselves.
But there was no time for disquisition, the second bee being now ready
for a start. Like his companion, this insect rose and encircled the
stump several times, ere it darted away toward its hive, in an air-line.
So small was the object, and so rapid its movement, that no one but the
bee-hunter saw the animal after it had begun its journey in earnest. To
HIS disappointment, instead of flying in the same direction as the
bee first taken, this little fellow went buzzing off fairly at a right
angle! It was consequently clear that there were two hives, and that
they lay in very different directions.
Without wasting his time in useless talk, le Bourdon now caught another
bee, which was subjected to the same process as those first taken. When
this creature had filled it-self, it rose, circled the stump as usual,
as if to note the spot for a second visit, and darted away, directly in
a line with the bee first taken. Ben noted its flight most accurately,
and had his eye on it, until it was quite a hundred yards from the
stump. This he was enabled to do, by means of a quick sight and long
practice.
"We'll move our quarters, friends," said Buzzing Ben, good-humoredly, as
soon as satisfied with this last observation, and gathering together his
traps for a start. "I must angle for that hive, and I fear it will turn
out to be across the prairie, and quite beyond my reach for to-day."
The prairie alluded to was one of those small natural meadows, or
pastures, that are to be found in Michigan, and may have contained
| 1,692.502742 |
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Produced by Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
[Illustration: MARCONI READING A MESSAGE]
STORIES OF INVENTORS
The Adventures Of Inventors And Engineers.
True Incidents And Personal Experiences
By
RUSSELL DOUBLEDAY
1904
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
The author and publishers take pleasure in acknowledging the courtesy of
_The Scientific American_
_The Booklovers Magazine_
_The Holiday Magazine_, and
Messrs. Wood & Nathan Company
for the use of a number of illustrations in this book.
From _The Scientific American_, illustrations facing pages 16, 48,
78, 80, 88, 94, 118, 126, 142, and 162.
From _The Booklovers Magazine_, illustrations facing pages 184, 190,
194, and 196.
From _The Holiday Magazine_, illustrations facing pages 100 and 110.
CONTENTS
How Guglielmo Marconi Telegraphs Without Wires
Santos-Dumont and His Air-Ship
How a Fast Train Is Run
How Automobiles Work
The Fastest Steamboats
The Life-Savers and Their Apparatus
Moving Pictures--Some Strange Subjects and How They Were Taken
Bridge Builders and Some of Their Achievements
Submarines in War and Peace
Long-Distance Telephony--What Happens When You Talk into a
Telephone Receiver
A Machine That Thinks--A Type-Setting Machine That Makes
Mathematical Calculations
How Heat Produces Cold--Artificial Ice-Making
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Marconi Reading a Message _Frontispiece_
Marconi Station at Wellfleet, Massachusetts
The Wireless Telegraph Station at Glace Bay
Santos-Dumont Preparing | 1,692.656523 |
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E-text prepared by the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from digital material generously made available
by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/ethicsofcopera00tuftuoft
THE ETHICS OF COOPERATION
* * * * *
Barbara Weinstock Lectures on The Morals of Trade
THE ETHICS OF COOPERATION.
By JAMES H. TUFTS.
HIGHER EDUCATION AND BUSINESS STANDARDS.
By WILLARD EUGENE HOTCHKISS.
CREATING CAPITAL: MONEY-MAKING AS AN AIM IN BUSINESS.
By FREDERICK L. LIPMAN.
IS CIVILIZATION A DISEASE?
By STANTON COIT.
SOCIAL JUSTICE WITHOUT SOCIALISM.
By JOHN BATES CLARK.
THE CONFLICT BETWEEN PRIVATE MONOPOLY AND GOOD CITIZENSHIP.
By JOHN GRAHAM BROOKS.
COMMERCIALISM AND JOURNALISM.
By HAMILTON HOLT.
THE BUSINESS CAREER IN ITS PUBLIC RELATIONS.
By ALBERT SHAW.
* * * * *
THE ETHICS OF COOPERATION
by
JAMES H. TUFTS
Professor of Philosophy in the University of Chicago
Boston and New York
Houghton Mifflin Company
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1918
Copyright, 1918, by the Regents of the
University of California
All Rights Reserved
Published September 1918
BARBARA WEINSTOCK
LECTURES ON THE MORALS OF TRADE
This series will contain essays by representative scholars and men of
affairs dealing with the various phases of the moral law in its bearing
on business life under the new economic order, first delivered at the
University of California on the Weinstock foundation.
THE ETHICS OF COOPERATION
I
According to Plato's famous myth, two gifts of the gods equipped man
for living: the one, arts and inventions to supply him with the means
of livelihood; the other, reverence and justice to be the ordering
principles of societies and the bonds of friendship and conciliation.
Agencies for mastery over nature and agencies for cooperation among men
remain the two great sources of human power. But after two thousand
years, it is possible to note an interesting fact as to their relative
order of development in civilization. Nearly all the great skills and | 1,693.054399 |
2023-11-16 18:45:17.3378380 | 392 | 11 |
Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
THE GOOD SOLDIER
By Ford Madox Ford
PART I
I
THIS is the saddest story I have ever heard. We had known the
Ashburnhams for nine seasons of the town of Nauheim with an extreme
intimacy--or, rather with an acquaintanceship as loose and easy and yet
as close as a good glove's with your hand. My wife and I knew Captain
and Mrs Ashburnham as well as it was possible to know anybody, and yet,
in another sense, we knew nothing at all about them. This is, I believe,
a state of things only possible with English people of whom, till today,
when I sit down to puzzle out what I know of this sad affair, I knew
nothing whatever. Six months ago I had never been to England, and,
certainly, I had never sounded the depths of an English heart. I had
known the shallows.
I don't mean to say that we were not acquainted with many English
people. Living, as we perforce lived, in Europe, and being, as we
perforce were, leisured Americans, which is as much as to say that we
were un-American, we were thrown very much into the society of the
nicer English. Paris, you see, was our home. Somewhere between Nice and
Bordighera provided yearly winter quarters for us, and Nauheim always
received us from July to September. You will gather from this statement
that one of us had, as the saying is, a "heart", and, from the statement
that my wife is dead, that she was the sufferer.
Captain Ashburnham also had a heart. But, whereas a yearly month or so
at Nauheim tuned him up to exactly the right pitch for the rest of the
tw | 1,693.357878 |
2023-11-16 18:45:17.3639660 | 577 | 6 |
Produced by Simon Page
THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS
By B. M. Bower
CHAPTER I. IN SEARCH OF THE WESTERN TONE
"What do you care, anyway?" asked Reeve-Howard philosophically. "It
isn't as if you depended on the work for a living. Why worry over the
fact that a mere pastime fails to be financially a success. You don't
need to write--"
"Neither do you need to slave over those dry-point things," Thurston
retorted, in none the best humor with his comforter "You've an income
bigger than mine; yet you toil over Grecian-nosed women with untidy hair
as if each one meant a meal and a bed."
"A meal and a bed--that's good; you must think I live like a king."
"And I notice you hate like the mischief to fail, even though."
"Only I never have failed," put in Reeve-Howard, with the amused
complacency born of much adulation.
Thurston kicked a foot-rest out of his way. "Well, I have. The fashion
now is for swashbuckling tales with a haze of powder smoke rising
to high heaven. The public taste runs to gore and more gore, and
kidnappings of beautiful maidens-bah!"
"Follow the fashion then--if you must write. Get out of your pink tea
and orchid atmosphere, and take your heroines out West--away out, beyond
the Mississippi, and let them be kidnapped. Or New Mexico would do."
"New Mexico is also beyond the Mississippi, I believe," Thurston hinted.
"Perhaps it is. What I mean is, write what the public wants, since you
don't relish failure. Why don't you do things about the plains? It
ought to be easy, and you were born out there somewhere. It should come
natural."
"I have," Thurston sighed. "My last rejection states that the local
color is weak and unconvincing. Hang the local color!" The foot-rest
suffered again.
Reeve-Howard was getting into his topcoat languidly, as he did
everything else. "The thing to do, then," he drawled, "is to go out and
study up on it. Get in touch with that country, and your local color
will convince. Personally though, I like those little society skits you
do--"
"Skits!" exploded Thurston. "My last was a four-part serial. I never did
a skit in my life."
"Beg pardon-which is more than you did after accusing my studies of
having untidy hair. Don't look so gl | 1,693.384006 |
2023-11-16 18:45:17.3892560 | 976 | 11 |
Produced by Margaret Willden, Mormon Texts Project Intern
(http://mormontextsproject.org/)
TREASURES IN HEAVEN
FIFTEENTH BOOK OF THE
FAITH PROMOTING SERIES
DESIGNED FOR THE INSTRUCTION
AND ENCOURAGEMENT OF YOUNG
LATTER-DAY SAINTS
COMPILED AND PUBLISHED BY
GEO. C. LAMBERT
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH
1914
OFFICIAL SANCTION
April 8, 1914
To the First Presidency, City.
Dear Brethren:
I have had a desire for a long time past to resume the publication
of the Faith Promoting Series that I originated and published
something like thirty-five years ago, but which has been suspended
for almost thirty years.
I received the sanction of the Church authorities when the
publication of this series was commenced, and had ample evidence
afterwards of the popularity of the volumes issued, and of the
general benefit resulting therefrom. I now desire your sanction
in what I may do in publishing additional volumes; and hope to
subserve the interests of the Church and promote true faith only in
what I publish.
If you deem it necessary to appoint a committee to whom I may
refer any matter concerning which there may be a question as to
propriety, etc., I shall be glad to have you do so.
I am prepared to assume all financial responsibility, and believe,
with the experience I have had, I shall be able to do effective
work in the selection and preparation of the matter.
I intend to make the volumes about one hundred pages each, and hope
to be able to sell them at twenty-five cents per volume.
I have the matter partially prepared for two volumes, the first to
relate to Temple work, and to be called "Treasures in Heaven," the
second to contain a variety of incidents and experiences, and to be
called "Choice Memories."
A waiting your kind consideration and reply, and with kindest
regards, I remain
Your Brother,
GEO. C. LAMBERT.
April 30, 1914
Elder George C. Lambert, City.
Dear Brother:
We learn by yours of the 28th inst. that you desire to resume the
publication of the "Faith Promoting Series," discontinued some
thirty years ago, and we take pleasure in informing you that you
have our sanction to do this, and that we have appointed Elders
George F. Richards, A. W. Ivins and Joseph F. Smith, Jr. as a
committee to read the manuscript.
With kind regards,
Your Brethren,
JOSEPH F. SMITH, ANTHON H. LUND, CHARLES W. PENROSE,
First Presidency.
PREFACE
No lesson taught by the Savior during his ministry in mortality was
more frequently and thoroughly impressed than that of unselfish
service. Of those who labored solely for the things of this world,
or for praise or the honors that men can bestow, He had a habit of
saying: "They have their reward." If they obtained that which they
strove for they were already repaid: they were entitled to nothing
more. Of the rich He said, "Ye have received your consolation." It
was not sufficient that man should seek to benefit or bring happiness
alone to those they loved. Even that He evidently regarded as a species
of selfishness, as implied by the saying: "For if ye love them which
love you, what reward have ye?" "For sinners do even the same." His
exhortation was: "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where
moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal;
but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor
rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal."
All this was not intended to imply that wealth itself was intrinsically
bad, or that poverty had any essential virtue, except as a means to
an end. The rule was, as expressed by the great Teacher, that "where
the treasure is, there will the heart be also." A sublime test upon
this point was that made of the young man who applied to the Savior
upon one occasion to know what good thing he could do to gain eternal
life. Though he was able to say that | 1,693.409296 |
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