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Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
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[Transcriber's Note: Underscores are used as delimiter for _italics_]
An
American Girl
in Munich
Impressions of a Music Student
By
Mabel W. Daniels
Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
1905
Copyright, 1905,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
All rights reserved
Published March, 1905
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
_To Muetterchen_
I
MUNICH, _September 15, 1902_.
_Dear Cecilia_:--
Here I am in my Mecca at last after a "calm sea and prosperous voyage."
Would that you were with me to share my pleasures, and, yes, I am
selfish enough to add, my troubles, too, for you have such a magical
power of charming away the latter that they seem but trifling vexations.
Then I should so enjoy watching your delicious blue eyes open wide at
these Germans and their queer customs, and oh! how you would elevate the
tip of your aristocratic nose at my box of a study, which, however, I
consider the height of cosiness and comfort--from a German standpoint.
Lest by this last remark I've imperilled my reputation for patriotism,
let me hasten to assure you that I am as far from adopting a foreign
point of view in my contemplation of Man and the Universe as when we
| 1,699.703584 |
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Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines.
A DOUBLE STORY
BY GEORGE MACDONALD.
NEW YORK:
A DOUBLE STORY
I.
There was a certain country where things used to go rather oddly. For
instance, you could never tell whether it was going to rain or hail, or
whether or not the milk was going to turn sour. It was impossible to
say whether the next baby would be a boy, or a girl, or even, after he
was a week old, whether he would wake sweet-tempered or cross.
In strict accordance with the peculiar nature of this country of
uncertainties, it came to pass one day, that in the midst of a shower
of rain that might well be called golden, seeing the sun, shining as it
fell, turned all its drops into molten topazes, and every drop was good
for a grain of golden corn, or a yellow cowslip, or a buttercup, or a
dandelion at least;--while this splendid rain was falling, I say, with
a musical patter upon the great leaves of the horse-chestnuts, which
hung like Vandyke collars about the necks of the creamy, red-spotted
blossoms, and on the leaves of the sycamores, looking as if they had
blood in their veins, and on a multitude of flowers, of which some
stood up and boldly held out their cups to catch their share, while
others cowered down, laughing, under the soft patting blows of the
heavy warm drops;--while this lovely rain was washing all the air clean
from the motes, and the bad odors, and the poison-seeds that had
escaped from their prisons during the long drought;--while it fell,
splashing and sparkling, with a hum, and a rush, and a soft
clashing--but stop! I am stealing, I find, and not that only, but with
clumsy hands spoiling what I steal:--
"O Rain! with your dull twofold sound,
The clash hard by, and the murmur all round:"
--there! take it, Mr. Coleridge;--while, as I was saying, the lovely
little rivers whose fountains are the clouds, and which cut their own
channels through the air, and make sweet noises rubbing against their
banks as they hurry down and down, until at length they are pulled up
on a sudden, with a musical plash, in the very heart of an odorous
flower, that first gasps and then sighs up a blissful scent, or on the
bald head of a stone that never says, Thank you;--while the very sheep
felt it blessing them, though it could never reach their skins through
the depth of their long wool, and the veriest hedgehog--I mean the one
with the longest spikes--came and spiked himself out to impale as many
of the drops as he could;--while the rain was thus falling, and the
leaves, and the flowers, and the sheep, and the cattle, and the
hedgehog, were all busily receiving the golden rain, something
happened. It was not a great battle, nor an earthquake, nor a
coronation, but something more important than all those put together. A
BABY-GIRL WAS BORN; and her father was a king; and her mother was a
queen; and her uncles and aunts were princes and princesses; and her
first-cousins were dukes and duchesses; and not one of her
second-cousins was less than a marquis or marchioness, or of their
third-cousins less than an earl or countess: and below a countess they
did not care to count. So the little girl was Somebody; and yet for all
that, strange to say, the first thing she did was to cry. I told you it
was a strange country.
As she grew up, everybody about her did his best to convince her that
she was Somebody; and the girl herself was so easily persuaded of it
that she quite forgot that anybody had ever told her so, and took it
for a fundamental, innate, primary, first-born, self-evident,
necessary, and incontrovertible idea and principle that SHE WAS
SOMEBODY. And far be it from me to deny it. I will even go so far as to
assert that in this odd country there was a huge number of Somebodies.
Indeed, it was one of its oddities that every boy and girl in it, was
rather too ready to think he or she was Somebody; and the worst of it
was that the princess never thought of there being more than one
Somebody--and that was herself.
Far away to the north in the same country, on the side of a bleak hill,
where a horse-chestnut or a sycamore was never seen, where were no
meadows rich with buttercups, only steep, rough, breezy <DW72>s, covered
with dry prickly furze and its flowers of red gold, or moister, softer
broom with its flowers of yellow gold, and great sweeps of purple
heather, mixed with bilberries, and crowberries, and cranberries--no, I
am all wrong: there was nothing out yet but a few furze-blossoms; the
rest were all waiting behind their doors till they were called; and no
full, slow-gliding river with meadow-sweet along its oozy banks, only a
little brook here and there, that dashed past without a moment to say,
"How do you do?"--there (would you believe it?) while the same cloud
that was dropping down golden rain all about the queen's new baby was
dashing huge fierce handfuls of hail upon the hills, with such force
that they flew spinning off the rocks and stones, went burrowing in the
sheep's wool, stung the cheeks and chin of the shepherd with their
sharp spiteful little blows, and made his dog wink and whine as they
bounded off his hard wise head, and long sagacious nose; only, when
they dropped plump down the chimney, and fell hissing in the little
fire, they caught it then, for the clever little fire soon sent them up
the chimney again, a good deal swollen, and harmless enough for a
while, there (what do you think?) among the hailstones, and the
heather, and the cold mountain air, another little girl was born, whom
the shepherd her father, and the shepherdess her mother, and a good
many of her kindred too, thought Somebody. She had not an uncle or an
aunt that was less than a shepherd or dairymaid, not a cousin, that was
less than a farm-laborer, not a second-cousin that was less than a
grocer, and they did not count farther. And yet (would you believe it?)
she too cried the very first thing. It WAS an odd country! And, what is
still more surprising, the shepherd and shepherdess and the dairymaids
and the laborers were not a bit wiser than the king and the queen and
the dukes and the marquises and the earls; for they too, one and all,
so constantly taught the little woman that she was Somebody, that she
also forgot that there were a great many more Somebodies besides
herself in the world.
It was, indeed, a peculiar country, very different from ours--so
different, that my reader must not be too much surprised when I add the
amazing fact, that most of its inhabitants, instead of enjoying the
things they had, were always wanting the things they had not, often
even the things it was least likely they ever could have. The grown men
and women being like this, there is no reason to be further astonished
that the Princess Rosamond--the name her parents gave her because it
means Rose of the World--should grow up like them, wanting every thing
she could and every thing she couldn't have. The things she could have
were a great many too many, for her foolish parents always gave her
what they could; but still there remained a few things they couldn't
give her, for they were only a common king and queen. They could and
did give her a lighted candle when she cried for it, and managed by
much care that she should not burn her fingers or set her frock on
fire; but when she cried for the moon, that they could not give her.
They did the worst thing possible, instead, however; for they pretended
to do what they could not. They got her a thin disc of brilliantly
polished silver, as near the size of the moon as they could agree upon;
and, for a time she was delighted.
But, unfortunately, one evening she made the discovery that her moon
was a little peculiar, inasmuch as she could not shine in the dark. Her
nurse happened to snuff out the candles as she was playing with it; and
instantly came a shriek of rage, for her moon had vanished. Presently,
through the opening of the curtains, she caught sight of the real moon,
far away in the sky, and shining quite calmly, as if she had been there
all the time; and her rage increased to such a degree that if it had
not passed off in a fit, I do not know what might have come of it.
As she grew up it was still the same, with this difference, that not
only must she have every thing, but she got tired of every thing almost
as soon as she had it. There was an accumulation of things in her
nursery and schoolroom and bedroom that was perfectly appalling. Her
mother's wardrobes were almost useless to her, so packed were they with
things of which she never took any notice. When she was five years old,
they gave her a splendid gold repeater, so close set with diamonds and
rubies, that the back was just one crust of gems. In one of her little
tempers, as they called her hideously ugly rages, she dashed it against
the back of the chimney, after which it never gave a single tick; and
some of the diamonds went to the ash-pit. As she grew older still, she
became fond of animals, not in a way that brought them much pleasure,
or herself much satisfaction. When angry, she would beat them, and try
to pull them to pieces, and as soon as she became a little used to
them, would neglect them altogether. Then, if they could, they would
run away, and she was furious. Some white mice, which she had ceased
feeding altogether, did so; and soon the palace was swarming with white
mice. Their red eyes might be seen glowing, and their white skins
gleaming, in every dark corner; but when it came to the king's finding
a nest of them in his second-best crown, he was angry and ordered them
to be drowned. The princess heard of it, however, and raised such a
clamor, that there they were left until they should run away of
themselves; and the poor king had to wear his best crown every day till
then. Nothing that was the princess's property, whether she cared for
it or not, was to be meddled with.
Of course, as she grew, she grew worse; for she never tried to grow
better. She became more and more peevish and fretful every
day--dissatisfied not only with what she had, but with all that was
around her, and constantly wishing things in general to be different.
She found fault with every thing and everybody, and all that happened,
and grew more and more disagreeable to every one who had to do with
her. At last, when she had nearly killed her nurse, and had all but
succeeded in hanging herself, and was miserable from morning to night,
her parents thought it time to do something.
A long way from the palace, in the heart of a deep wood of pine-trees,
lived a wise woman. In some countries she would have been called a
witch; but that would have been a mistake, for she never did any thing
wicked, and had more power than any witch could have. As her fame was
spread through all the country, the king heard of her; and, thinking
she might perhaps be able to suggest something, sent for her. In the
dead of the night, lest the princess should know it, the king's
messenger brought into the palace a tall woman, muffled from head to
foot in a cloak of black cloth. In the presence of both their
Majesties, the king, to do her honor, requested her to sit; but she
declined, and stood waiting to hear what they had to say. Nor had she
to wait long, for almost instantly they began to tell her the dreadful
trouble they were in with their only child; first the king talking,
then the queen interposing with some yet more dreadful fact, and at
times both letting out a torrent of words together, so anxious were
they to show the wise woman that their perplexity was real, and their
daughter a very terrible one. For a long while there appeared no sign
of approaching pause. But the wise woman stood patiently folded in her
black cloak, and listened without word or motion. At length silence
fell; for they had talked themselves tired, and could not think of any
thing more to add to the list of their child's enormities.
After a minute, the wise woman unfolded her arms; and her cloak
dropping open in front, disclosed a garment made of a strange stuff,
which an old poet who knew her well has thus described:--
"All lilly white, withoutten spot or pride,
That seemd like silke and silver woven neare;
But neither silke nor silver therein did appeare."
"How very badly you have treated her!" said the wise woman. "Poor
child!"
"Treated her badly?" gasped the king.
"She is a very wicked child," said the queen; and both glared with
indignation.
"Yes, indeed!" returned the wise woman. "She is very naughty indeed,
and that she must be made to feel; but it is half your fault too."
"What!" stammered the king. "Haven't we given her every mortal thing
she wanted?"
"Surely," said the wise woman: "what else could have all but killed
her? You should have given her a few things of the other sort. But you
are far too dull to understand me."
"You are very polite," remarked the king, with royal sarcasm on his
thin, straight lips.
The wise woman made no answer beyond a deep sigh; and the king and
queen sat silent also in their anger, glaring at the wise woman. The
silence lasted again for a minute, and then the wise woman folded her
cloak around her, and her shining garment vanished like the moon when a
great cloud comes over her. Yet another minute passed and the silence
endured, for the smouldering wrath of the king and queen choked the
channels of their speech. Then the wise woman turned her back on them,
and so stood. At this, the rage of the king broke forth; and he cried
to the queen, stammering in his fierceness,--
"How should such an old hag as that teach Rosamond good manners? She
knows nothing of them herself! Look how she stands!--actually with her
back to us."
At the word the wise woman walked from the room. The great folding
doors fell to behind her; and the same moment the king and queen were
quarrelling like apes as to which of them was to blame for her
departure. Before their altercation was over, for it lasted till the
early morning, in rushed Rosamond, clutching in her hand a poor little
white rabbit, of which she was very fond, and from which, only because
it would not come to her when she called it, she was pulling handfuls
of fur in the attempt to tear the squealing, pink-eared, red-eyed thing
to pieces.
"Rosa, RosaMOND!" cried the queen; whereupon Rosamond threw the rabbit
in her mother's face. The king started up in a fury, and ran to seize
her. She darted shrieking from the room. The king rushed after her;
but, to his amazement, she was nowhere to be seen: the huge hall was
empty.--No: just outside the door, close to the threshold, with her
back to it, sat the figure of the wise woman, muffled in her dark
cloak, with her head bowed over her knees. As the king stood looking at
her, she rose slowly, crossed the hall, and walked away down the marble
staircase. The king called to her; but she never turned her head, or
gave the least sign that she heard him. So quietly did she pass down
the wide marble stair, that the king was all but persuaded he had seen
only a shadow gliding across the white steps.
For the princess, she was nowhere to be found. The queen went into
hysterics; and the rabbit ran away. The king sent out messengers in
every direction, but in vain.
In a short time the palace was quiet--as quiet as it used to be before
the princess was born. The king and queen cried a little now and then,
for the hearts of parents were in that country strangely fashioned; and
yet I am afraid the first movement of those very hearts would have been
a jump of terror if the ears above them had heard the voice of Rosamond
in one of the corridors. As for the rest of the household, they could
not have made up a single tear amongst them. They thought, whatever it
might be for the princess, it was, for every one else, the best thing
that could have happened; and as to what had become of her, if their
heads were puzzled, their hearts took no interest in the question. The
lord-chancellor alone had an idea about it, but he was far too wise to
utter it.
II.
The fact, as is plain, was, that the princess had disappeared in the
folds of the wise woman's cloak. When she rushed from the room, the
wise woman caught her to her bosom and flung the black garment around
her. The princess struggled wildly, for she was in fierce terror, and
screamed as loud as choking fright would permit her; but her father,
standing in the door, and looking down upon the wise woman, saw never a
movement of the cloak, so tight was she held by her captor. He was
indeed aware of a most angry crying, which reminded him of his
daughter; but it sounded to him so far away, that he took it for the
passion of some child in the street, outside the palace-gates. Hence,
unchallenged, the wise woman carried the princess down the marble
stairs, out at the palace-door, down a great flight of steps outside,
across a paved court, through the brazen gates, along half-roused
streets where people were opening their shops, through the huge gates
of the city, and out into the wide road, vanishing northwards; the
princess struggling and screaming all the time, and the wise woman
holding her tight. When at length she was too tired to struggle or
scream any more, the wise woman unfolded her cloak, and set her down;
and the princess saw the light and opened her swollen eyelids. There
was nothing in sight that she had ever seen before. City and palace had
disappeared. They were upon a wide road going straight on, with a ditch
on each side of it, that behind them widened into the great moat
surrounding the city. She cast up a terrified look into the wise
woman's face, that gazed down upon her gravely and kindly. Now the
princess did not in the least understand kindness. She always took it
for a sign either of partiality or fear. So when the wise woman looked
kindly upon her, she rushed at her, butting with her head like a ram:
but the folds of the cloak had closed around the wise woman; and, when
the princess ran against it, she found it hard as the cloak of a bronze
statue, and fell back upon the road with a great bruise on her head.
The wise woman lifted her again, and put her once more under the cloak,
where she fell asleep, and where she awoke again only to find that she
was still being carried on and on.
When at length the wise woman again stopped and set her down, she saw
around her a bright moonlit night, on a wide heath, solitary and
houseless. Here she felt more frightened than before; nor was her
terror assuaged when, looking up, she saw a stern, immovable
countenance, with cold eyes fixedly regarding her. All she knew of the
world being derived from nursery-tales, she concluded that the wise
woman was an ogress, carrying her home to eat her.
I have already said that the princess was, at this time of her life,
such a low-minded creature, that severity had greater influence over
her than kindness. She understood terror better far than tenderness.
When the wise woman looked at her thus, she fell on her knees, and held
up her hands to her, crying,--
"Oh, don't eat me! don't eat me!"
Now this being the best SHE could do, it was a sign she was a low
creature. Think of it--to kick at kindness, and kneel from terror. But
the sternness on the face of the wise woman came from the same heart
and the same feeling as the kindness that had shone from it before. The
only thing that could save the princess from her hatefulness, was that
she should be made to mind somebody else than her own miserable
Somebody.
Without saying a word, the wise woman reached down her hand, took one
of Rosamond's, and, lifting her to her feet, led her along through the
moonlight. Every now and then a gush of obstinacy would well up in the
heart of the princess, and she would give a great ill-tempered tug, and
pull her hand away; but then the wise woman would gaze down upon her
with such a look, that she instantly sought again the hand she had
rejected, in pure terror lest she should be eaten upon the spot. And so
they would walk on again; and when the wind blew the folds of the cloak
against the princess, she found them soft as her mother's camel-hair
shawl.
After a little while the wise woman began to sing to her, and the
princess could not help listening; for the soft wind amongst the low
dry bushes of the heath, the rustle of their own steps, and the
trailing of the wise woman's cloak, were the only sounds beside.
And this is the song she sang:--
Out in the cold,
With a thin-worn fold
Of withered gold
Around her rolled,
Hangs in the air the weary moon.
She is old, old, old;
And her bones all cold,
And her tales all told,
And her things all sold,
And she has no breath to croon.
Like a castaway clout,
She is quite shut out!
She might call and shout,
But no one about
Would ever call back, "Who's there?"
There is never a hut,
Not a door to shut,
Not a footpath or rut,
Long road or short cut,
Leading to anywhere!
She is all alone
Like a dog-picked bone,
The poor old crone!
She fain would groan,
But she cannot find the breath.
She once had a fire;
But she built it no higher,
And only sat nigher
Till she saw it expire;
And now she is cold as death.
She never will smile
All the lonesome while.
Oh the mile after mile,
And never a stile!
And never a tree or a stone!
She has not a tear:
Afar and anear
It is all so drear,
But she does not care,
Her heart is as dry as a bone.
None to come near her!
No one to cheer her!
No one to jeer her!
No one to hear her!
Not a thing to lift and hold!
She is always awake,
But her heart will not break:
She can only quake,
Shiver, and shake:
The old woman is very cold.
As strange as the song, was the crooning wailing tune that the wise
woman sung. At the first note almost, you would have thought she wanted
to frighten the princess; and so indeed she did. For when people WILL
be naughty, they have to be frightened, and they are not expected to
like it. The princess grew angry, pulled her hand away, and cried,--
"YOU are the ugly old woman. I hate you!"
Therewith she stood still, expecting the wise woman to stop also,
perhaps coax her to go on: if she did, she was determined not to move a
step. But the wise woman never even looked about: she kept walking on
steadily, the same pace as before. Little Obstinate thought for
certain she would turn; for she regarded herself as much too precious
to be left behind. But on and on the wise woman went, until she had
vanished away in the dim moonlight. Then all at once the princess
perceived that she was left alone with the moon, looking down on her
from the height of her loneliness. She was horribly frightened, and
began to run after the wise woman, calling aloud. But the song she had
just heard came back to the sound of her own running feet,--
All all alone,
Like a dog-picked bone!
and again,--
She might call and shout,
And no one about
Would ever call back, "Who's there?"
and she screamed as she ran. How she wished she knew the old woman's
name, that she might call it after her through the moonlight!
But the wise woman had, in truth, heard the first sound of her running
feet, and stopped and turned, waiting. What with running and crying,
however, and a fall or two as she ran, the princess never saw her until
she fell right into her arms--and the same moment into a fresh rage;
for as soon as any trouble was over the princess was always ready to
begin another. The wise woman therefore pushed her away, and walked on;
while the princess ran scolding and storming after her. She had to run
till, from very fatigue, her rudeness ceased. Her heart gave way; she
burst into tears, and ran on silently weeping.
A minute more and the wise woman stooped, and lifting her in her arms,
folded her cloak around her. Instantly she fell asleep, and slept as
soft and as soundly as if she had been in her own bed. She slept till
the moon went down; she slept till the sun rose up; she slept till he
climbed the topmost sky; she slept till he went down again, and the
poor old moon came peaking and peering out once more: and all that time
the wise woman went walking on and on very fast. And now they had
reached a spot where a few fir-trees came to meet them through the
moonlight.
At the same time the princess awaked, and popping her head out between
the folds of the wise woman's cloak--a very ugly little owlet she
looked--saw that they were entering the wood. Now there is something
awful about every wood, especially in the moonlight; and perhaps a
fir-wood is more awful than other woods. For one thing, it lets a
little more light through, rendering the darkness a little more
visible, as it were; and then the trees go stretching away up towards
the moon, and look as if they cared nothing about the creatures below
them--not like the broad trees with soft wide leaves that, in the
darkness even, look sheltering. So the princess is not to be blamed
that she was very much frightened. She is hardly to be blamed either
that, assured the wise woman was an ogress carrying her to her castle
to eat her up, she began again to kick and scream violently, as those
of my readers who are of the same sort as herself will consider the
right and natural thing to do. The wrong in her was this--that she had
led such a bad life, that she did not know a good woman when she saw
her; took her for one like herself, even after she had slept in her
arms.
Immediately the wise woman set her down, and, walking on, within a few
paces vanished among the trees. Then the cries of the princess rent the
air, but the fir-trees never heeded her; not one of their hard little
needles gave a single shiver for all the noise she made. But there were
creatures in the forest who were soon quite as much interested in her
cries as the fir-trees were indifferent to them. They began to hearken
and howl and snuff about, and run hither and thither, and grin with
their white teeth, and light up the green lamps in their eyes. In a
minute or two a whole army of wolves and hyenas were rushing from all
quarters through the pillar like stems of the fir-trees, to the place
where she stood calling them, without knowing it. The noise she made
herself, however, prevented her from hearing either their howls or the
soft pattering of their many trampling feet as they bounded over the
fallen fir needles and cones.
One huge old wolf had outsped the rest--not that he could run faster,
but that from experience he could more exactly judge whence the cries
came, and as he shot through the wood, she caught sight at last of his
lamping eyes coming swiftly nearer and nearer. Terror silenced her. She
stood with her mouth open, as if she were going to eat the wolf, but
she had no breath to scream with, and her tongue curled up in her mouth
like a withered and frozen leaf. She could do nothing but stare at the
coming monster. And now he was taking a few shorter bounds, measuring
the distance for the one final leap that should bring him upon her,
when out stepped the wise woman from behind the very tree by which she
had set the princess down, caught the wolf by the throat half-way in
his last spring, shook him once, and threw him from her dead. Then she
turned towards the princess, who flung herself into her arms, and was
instantly lapped in the folds of her cloak.
But now the huge army of wolves and hyenas had rushed like a sea around
them, whose waves leaped with hoarse roar and hollow yell up against
the wise woman. But she, like a strong stately vessel, moved unhurt
through the midst of them. Ever as they leaped against her cloak, they
dropped and slunk away back through the crowd. Others ever succeeded,
and ever in their turn fell, and drew back confounded. For some time
she walked on attended and assailed on all sides by the howling pack.
Suddenly they turned and swept away, vanishing in the depths of the
forest. She neither slackened nor hastened her step, but went walking
on as before.
In a little while she unfolded her cloak, and let the princess look
out. The firs had ceased; and they were on a lofty height of moorland,
stony and bare and dry, with tufts of heather and a few small plants
here and there. About the heath, on every side, lay the forest, looking
in the moonlight like a cloud; and above the forest, like the shaven
crown of a monk, rose the bare moor over which they were walking.
Presently, a little way in front of them, the princess espied a
whitewashed cottage, gleaming in the moon. As they came nearer, she saw
that the roof was covered with thatch, over which the moss had grown
green. It was a very simple, humble place, not in the least terrible to
look at, and yet, as soon as she saw it, her fear again awoke, and
always, as soon as her fear awoke, the trust of the princess fell into
a dead sleep. Foolish and useless as she might by this time have known
it, she once more began kicking and screaming, whereupon, yet once
more, the wise woman set her down on the heath, a few yards from the
back of the cottage, and saying only, "No one ever gets into my house
who does not knock at the door, and ask to come in," disappeared round
the corner of the cottage, leaving the princess alone with the
moon--two white faces in the cone of the night.
III.
The moon stared at the princess, and the princess stared at the moon;
but the moon had the best of it, and the princess began to cry. And now
the question was between the moon and the cottage. The princess thought
she knew the worst of the moon, and she knew nothing at all about the
cottage, therefore she would stay with the moon. Strange, was it not,
that she should have been so long with the wise woman, and yet know
NOTHING about that cottage? As for the moon, she did not by any means
know the worst of her, or even, that, if she were to fall asleep where
she could find her, the old witch would certainly do her best to twist
her face.
But she had scarcely sat a moment longer before she was assailed by all
sorts of fresh fears. First of all, the soft wind blowing gently
through the dry stalks of the heather and its thousands of little bells
raised a sweet rustling, which the princess took for the hissing of
serpents, for you know she had been naughty for so long | 1,699.800466 |
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MILDRED ARKELL.
A Novel.
by
MRS. HENRY WOOD,
Author of
"East Lynne," "Lord Oakburn's Daughters," "Trevlyn Hold,"
etc. etc.
In Three Volumes.
VOL. II.
London:
Tinsley Brothers, Catherine Street, Strand.
1865.
All rights of Translation and Reproduction are reserved.
London:
Savill and Edwards, Printers, Chandos-Street,
Covent-Garden.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE SCHOOL-BOY'S LOVE 1
II. THE TOUR OF DAVID DUNDYKE, ESQUIRE 20
III. A MEETING AT GRENOBLE 37
IV. A MYSTERY 65
V. HOME IN DESPAIR 87
VI. NEWS FOR WESTERBURY 102
VII. ROBERT CARR'S VISIT 118
VIII. GOING OVER TO SQUIRE CARR'S 137
IX. A STARTLED LUNCHEON-TABLE 153
X. A MISSIVE FOR SQUIRE CARR 175
XI. THE LAST OF ROBERT CARR 191
XII. MR. RICHARDS' MORNING CALL 214
XIII. A DISLIKE THAT WAS TO BEAR ITS FRUITS 230
XIV. THE EXAMINATION 251
XV. A NIGHT WITH THE GHOSTS 272
XVI. PERPLEXITY 294
XVII. A SHADOW OF THE FUTURE 315
MILDRED ARKELL.
CHAPTER I.
THE SCHOOL-BOY'S LOVE.
A brilliant evening in July. The sun had been blazing all day with
intense force, glittering on the white pavement of the streets,
scorching the dry and thirsty earth; and it was not until his beams
shone from the very verge of the horizon that the gay butterflies of
humanity ventured to come forth.
Groups were wending their way to the Bishop's Garden: not the private
garden of the respected prelate who reigned over the diocese of
Westerbury, but a semi-public garden-promenade called by that name. In
the years long gone by, a bishop of Westerbury caused a piece of waste
land belonging to the grounds of his palace to be laid out as an
ornamental garden. Broad sunny walks for the cold of winter, shady
winding ones for the heat of summer, shrubberies and trees, flower-beds
and grass-plots, miniature rocks and a fountain, were severally formed
there; and then the bishop threw it open to the public, and it had ever
since gone by the name of the Bishop's Garden. Not to the public
indiscriminately--only to those of superior degree; the catering for the
recreation of the public indiscriminately had not come into fashion
then. It had always lain especially under the patronage of the residents
of the grounds, and they took care--or the Cerberus of a gatekeeper did
for them--that no inferior person should dare venture within yards of
it: a tradesman might not so much as put his nose through the iron
railings to take a peep in.
The garden was getting full when a college boy--he might be known by his
trencher--passed the gate with a slow step. A party had just gone in
whose movements his eyes had eagerly followed, but he was not near
enough to speak. As he looked after them wistfully, his eye caught
something glittering on the ground, and he stooped and picked it up. It
was a small locket of gold, bearing the initials "G. B."
He knew to whom it belonged. He would have given half his remaining
life, as it seemed, to go in and restore it to its owner. But that might
not be; for the college boys, whether king's scholars or private pupils,
were rigorously excluded by custom from the Bishop's Garden. And
Williams, the gatekeeper, was stealing up then.
He was tall of his age, looking about sixteen, though he was not quite
so much; tall enough to lean over the iron railings, which he did with
intense eagerness; and never did woman's face betray more beauty,
whether of form or colouring, than did his.
It was Henry Arkell. For the years have gone on, and the lovely boy of
ten or eleven, has grown into this handsome youth. Other people and
other things have grown with him.
"Now then! What be you doing here? You just please to take yourself off,
young gentleman."
He quitted the railings in obedience; the college boys never thought of
disputing the orders of the gatekeeper. Stepping backwards with a sort
of spring, he stepped upon the foot of some one who was approaching the
gate.
"Take care, Arkell."
He turned hastily and raised his trencher. The speaker was the
good-natured Bishop of Westerbury; his widowed daughter on his arm.
"I beg your lordship's pardon."
"Too intent to see me, eh! You were gazing into the garden as if you
longed to be there."
"I was looking for Miss Beauclerc, sir; I thought she might be coming
near the gate. I have just picked up this, which she must have dropped
going in."
"How do you know it is Miss Beauclerc's?" cried the bishop, glancing at
the gold locket.
"I know it's hers, sir; and her initials are on it." But Henry turned
his face out of sight, as he spoke. And lest any critic should set up a
cavil at the bishop being addressed as "sir," it may be as well to
mention that it was the custom with the college boys. Very few of them
could bring their shy lips to utter any other title.
"Go in and give it to Miss Beauclerc, if it is hers," cried the bishop.
"The gatekeeper will not let me," said Henry, with a smile. "He tells us
all that it is as much as his place is worth to admit a college boy."
"They ain't fit for such a place as this, nohow, my lord," spoke up the
keeper. "Once let 'em in, and they'd be for playing at hare and hounds
over the flower-beds."
"Nonsense!" said the bishop. "I don't see what harm there would be in
admitting the seniors. You need not be so over-strict, Williams. Come in
with me, Arkell, if you wish to find Miss Beauclerc; and come in
whenever you like. Do you hear, Williams, I give this young gentleman
the _entree_ of the garden."
The bishop laid his hand on Henry's shoulder, and they walked in
together, all three, his daughter on his other side. Many a surprised
eye-glass was lifted; many an indignant eye regarded them.
Never yet had a college boy--St. John always excepted--ventured within
the pale of that guarded place. And if the bishop and his daughter had
appeared accompanied by a fiery serpent, it could not have caused more
inward commotion. But nobody dared betray it: the bishop was the bishop,
and not to be interfered with.
"There's Miss Beauclerc, my lad."
And in a few minutes--Henry could not tell how, in his mind's tumultuous
confusion--Georgina Beauclerc had turned into a side walk with him, and
they were alone. Georgina was the same Georgina as ever--impulsive,
wilful, and daringly independent. Everybody paid court to the dean's
daughter.
"Did you drop this in coming in, Miss Beauclerc?"
"My locket! Of course I must have dropped it. Harry, I would not have
lost it for the world."
His sensitive cheek wore a crimson flush at the words. _He_ had given it
to her on her last birthday, when she was eighteen. As she took it from
him, their fingers touched. That touch thrilled through his veins, while
hers were unconscious, or at best heedless of the contact.
It was the not uncommon tale; the tale that has been enacted many times
in life, and which Lord Byron has made familiar to us as being his own
heart's history--
"The maid was on the eve of womanhood:
The boy had fewer summers; but his heart had far outgrown his years:
And to his sight there was but one fair face on earth,
And that was shining on him."
It has been intimated that Georgina Beauclerc had inherited the dean's
innate taste for what is called beauty, both human and statuesque. In
the dean it was very marked. This, it may have been, that first drew
forth her regard for Henry Arkell. Certain it was, she saw him
frequently, and took no pains to disguise her admiration. He was a great
favourite of the dean's--was often invited to the deanery. That he was
no common boy, in nature, mind, or form, was apparent to the dean, as it
was to many others, and Dr. Beauclerc evinced his regard openly.
Georgina did the same. At first she had merely liked to patronize the
young college boy; rather to domineer over him, looking upon him as a
child in comparison with herself. But as they grew older, the difference
in their years became less marked, and now they appeared nearly of the
same age, for he looked older than he was, and Georgina younger. She was
very pretty, with her large | 1,699.806764 |
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been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
THE
SECOND JUNGLE BOOK
[Illustration: Rudyard Kipling]
[Illustration]
THE
SECOND JUNGLE BOOK
BY
RUDYARD KIPLING
[Illustration]
DECORATED BY
JOHN LOCKWOOD KIPLING, C.I.E.
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1906
Copyright, 1895, by THE CENTURY CO.
How Fear Came, The Law of the Jungle;
The Miracle of Purun Bhagat, a Song of Kabir;
The Undertakers, a Ripple-song.
Copyright, 1894, by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller.
Quiquern, "Angutivun tina."
Copyright, 1895, by Irving Bacheller.
The Spring Running, The Outsong.
Copyright, 1895, by John Brisben Walker.
Letting in the Jungle, Mowgli's Song Against People.
Copyright, 1894, by Rudyard Kipling.
Red Dog, Chil's Song.
Copyright, 1895, by Rudyard Kipling.
The King's Ankus, The Song of the Little Hunter.
Copyright, 1895, by The Century Co.
THE | 1,699.808844 |
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The
House
Opposite
A Mystery
By
Elizabeth Kent
[Illustration]
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1903
COPYRIGHT 1902
BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Published, August, 1902
Reprinted, January, 1903; March, 1903; October, 1903
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
THROUGH MY NEIGHBOUR'S WINDOWS 1
CHAPTER II
I AM INVOLVED IN THE CASE 7
CHAPTER III
A CORONER'S INQUEST 25
CHAPTER IV
UNWILLING WITNESSES 36
CHAPTER V
MRS. ATKINS HOLDS SOMETHING BACK 49
CHAPTER VI
A LETTER AND ITS ANSWER 66
CHAPTER VII
MR. MERRITT INSTRUCTS ME 72
CHAPTER VIII
AN IDENTIFICATION 93
CHAPTER IX
I INSTRUCT MR. MERRITT 107
CHAPTER X
THE MISSING HAT 129
CHAPTER XI
MADAME ARGOT'S MAD HUSBAND 148
CHAPTER XII
A PROFESSIONAL VISIT OUT OF TOWN 160
CHAPTER XIII
MR. AND MRS. ATKINS AT HOME 179
CHAPTER XIV
MY HYSTERICAL PATIENT 198
CHAPTER XV
A SUDDEN FLIGHT 208
CHAPTER XVI
THAT TACTLESS DETECTIVE 220
CHAPTER XVII
ONE WOMAN EXONERATED 231
CHAPTER XVIII
THE TRUTH OF THE WHOLE MATTER 249
THE HOUSE OPPOSITE
CHAPTER I
THROUGH MY NEIGHBOUR'S WINDOWS
What I am about to relate occurred but a few years ago--in the summer
of '99, in fact. You may remember that the heat that year was something
fearful. Even old New Yorkers, inured by the sufferings of many summers,
were overcome by it, and everyone who could, fled from the city. On
the particular August day when this story begins, the temperature had
been even more unbearable than usual, and approaching night brought
no perceptible relief. After dining with Burton (a young doctor like
myself), we spent the evening wandering about town trying to discover
a cool spot.
At last, thoroughly exhausted by our vain search, I decided to turn in,
hoping to sleep from sheer fatigue; but one glance at my stuffy little
bedroom discouraged me. Dragging a divan before the window of the front
room, I composed myself for the night with what resignation I could
muster.
I found, however, that the light and noise from the street kept me
awake; so, giving up sleep as a bad job, I decided to try my luck on the
roof. Arming myself with a rug and a pipe, I stole softly upstairs. It
was a beautiful starlight night, and after spreading my rug against a
chimney and lighting my pipe I concluded that things really might be
worse.
Across the street loomed the great Rosemere apartment-house, and I noted
with surprise that, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour and of
the season, several lights were still burning there. From two windows
directly opposite, and on a level with me, light filtered dimly through
lowered shades, and I wondered what possible motive people could have
for shutting out the little air there was on such a night. My neighbours
must be uncommonly suspicious, I thought, to fear observation from so
unlikely a place as my roof; and yet that was the only spot from which
they could by any chance be overlooked.
The only other light in the building shone clear and unobstructed
through the open windows of the corresponding room two floors higher up.
I was too far below to be able to look into this room, but I caught a
suggestion of sumptuous satin hangings and could distinguish the tops of
heavy gilt frames and of some flowering plants and palms.
As I sat idly looking upwards at these latter windows, my attention was
suddenly arrested by the violent movement of one of the lace curtains.
It was rolled into a cord by some unseen person who was presumably on
the floor, and then dragged across the window. A dark object, which I
took to be a human head, moved up and down among the palms, one of which
fell with an audible crash. At the same moment I heard a woman's voice
raised in a cry of terror. I leaped to my feet in great excitement, but
nothing further occurred.
After a minute or so the curtain fell back into its accustomed folds,
and I distinctly saw a man moving swiftly away from the window
supporting on his shoulder a fair-haired woman. Soon afterwards the
lights in this room were extinguished, to be followed almost immediately
by the illumination of the floor above.
What I had just seen and heard would not have surprised me in a
tenement, but that such scenes could take place in a respectable house
like the Rosemere, inhabited largely by fashionable people, was indeed
startling. Who could the couple be? And what could have happened?
Had the man, coming home drunk, proceeded to beat the woman and been
partially sobered by her cry; or was the woman subject to hysteria, or
even insane? I remembered that the apartments were what are commonly
known as double-deckers. That is to say: each one contained two
floors, connected by a private staircase--the living rooms below, the
bedrooms above. So I concluded, from seeing a light in what was in all
probability a bedroom, that the struggle, or whatever the commotion had
been, was over, and that the victim and her assailant, or perhaps the
patient and her nurse, had gone quietly, and I trusted amicably, to bed.
Still ruminating over these different conjectures, I heard a
neighbouring clock strike two. I now noticed for the first time signs of
life in the lower apartment which I first mentioned; shadows, reflected
on the blinds, moved swiftly to and fro, and, growing gigantic,
vanished.
But not for long. Soon they reappeared, and the shades were at last
drawn up. I had now an unobstructed view of the room, which proved to
be a drawing-room, as I had already surmised. It was dismantled for the
summer, and the pictures and furniture were hidden under brown holland.
A man leant against the window with his head bowed down, in an attitude
expressive of complete exhaustion or of great grief. It was too dark
for me to distinguish his features; but I noticed that he was tall and
dark, with a youthful, athletic figure.
After standing there a few minutes, he turned away. His actions now
struck me as most singular. He crawled on the floor, disappeared under
sofas, and finally moved even the heavy pieces of furniture from their
places. However valuable the thing which he had evidently lost might be,
yet 2 A.M. seemed hardly the hour in which to undertake a search for it.
Meanwhile, my attention had been a good deal distracted from the man by
observing a woman in one of the bedrooms of the floor immediately above,
and consequently belonging to the same suite. When I first caught sight
of her, the room was already ablaze with light and she was standing by
the window, gazing out into the darkness. At last, as if overcome by her
emotions, she threw up her hands in a gesture of despair, and, kneeling
down with her elbows on the window sill, buried her head in her arms.
Her hair was so dark that, as she knelt there against the light, it was
undistinguishable from her black dress.
I don't know how long she stayed in this position, but the man below had
given up his search and turned out the lights long before she moved.
Finally, she rose slowly up, a tall black-robed figure, and disappeared
into the back of the room. I waited for some time hoping to see her
again, but as she remained invisible and nothing further happened, and
the approaching dawn held out hopes of a more bearable temperature
below, I decided to return to my divan; but the last thing I saw before
descending was that solitary light, keeping its silent vigil in the
great black building.
CHAPTER II
I AM INVOLVED IN THE CASE
It seemed to me that I had only just got to sleep on my divan when I was
awakened by a heavy truck lumbering by. The sun was already high in the
heavens, but on consulting my watch I found that it was only ten minutes
past six. Annoyed at having waked up so early I was just dozing off
again when my | 1,699.897867 |
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by The Internet Archive)
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriberʼs note:
Due to the error in the numbering of the chapters in the original
(no chapter number II and no chapter number for chapter “OF FASHION”),
chapters have been renumbered as follows:
I->I, III->II, IV->III, V->IV, VI->V, VII->VI, VIII->VII, IX-VIII,
X->IX, XI->X, XII->XI, XIII->XII, (OF FASHION)->XIII, XV->XIV, XVI->XV,
XVII->XVI.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
THE “CHARACTERS”
OF
JEAN DE LA BRUYÈRE
_PUBLISHERʼS NOTE._
_Three hundred copies of this book printed for England, and two
hundred, with an American imprint, for sale in that country. No more
will be printed._
_No. 13_
[Illustration: JEAN DE LA BRUYÈRE]
_LA BRUYÈRE_
THE “CHARACTERS”
OF
JEAN DE LA BRUYÈRE
_NEWLY RENDERED INTO ENGLISH_
BY HENRI VAN LAUN
With an Introduction, a Biographical Memoir
and Notes
_ILLUSTRATED WITH TWENTY-FOUR ETCHINGS_
BY B. DAMMAN AND V. FO | 1,700.003305 |
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made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE GOLDEN RULE COOK BOOK
SIX HUNDRED RECIPES FOR MEATLESS
DISHES. ORIGINATED COLLECTED AND
ARRANGED BY M. R. L. SHARPE. NEW
EDITION PUBLISHED BY LITTLE, BROWN,
AND COMPANY, BOSTON, 1912
It was Margaret More who said, "The world needs not so
much to be taught, as reminded." May this book remind
many of the Love they owe to every living creature.
And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed,
which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the
which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be
for meat.
And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air,
and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there
is life, I have given every green herb for meat; and it was so.
Genesis i. 29, 30
CONTENTS
Page
INTRODUCTION 11
THE KITCHEN 29
THE DINING ROOM 35
SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS 39
SOUPS 45
VEGETABLES 79
VEGETABLE COMBINATIONS 167
NUT DISHES 177
RICE, MACARONI, ETC. 185
CROQUETTES 197
TIMBALES AND PATTIES 209
SAUCES 217
EGGS 231
CHEESE 249
SALADS 257
SAVOURIES 273
SANDWICHES 281
PASTRY, PATTY CASES, ETC. 287
A FEW HOT BREADS 293
PLUM PUDDING AND MINCE PIE 299
MENUS 303
INDEX 315
Let none falter who thinks he is right.
Abraham Lincoln.
INTRODUCTION
The arranging of this help for those who are seeking to obey the call
to a higher humanitarianism, which is put forth by non-flesh-eating
men and women, has been a labour of love: the labour, the result of
an earnest endeavour to so write the receipts that "the way-faring
woman may not err therein," the love, of a kind whose integrity
may not be questioned, since it has inspired to the never easy task
of going against the stream of habit and custom, and to individual
effort in behalf of the myriads of gentle and amenable creatures,
which an animality that defiles the use of the word has accustomed
man to killing and eating.
The name Vegetarian has come to mean one who abstains from animal
flesh as food; and, as some designation is necessary, it is perhaps
a sufficiently suitable one. This term did not, however, originally
classify those who used a bloodless diet, but is derived from the
Latin <DW25> Vegitus, which words described to the Romans a strong,
vigorous man. The definition of the word Vegitus, as given in
Thomas Holyoke's Latin Dictionary, is "whole, sound, quick, fresh,
lively, lusty, gallant, trim, brave," and of Vegito, "to refresh,
to re-create." Professor Mayor of England adds to these definitions:
"The word vegetarian belongs to an illustrious family; vegetable,
which has been called its mother, is really its niece."
The word has unfortunately become intermingled with various dietetic
theories, but the Vegetarian who is one because his conscience
for one reason or another condemns the eating of flesh, occupies a
very different place in the world of ethics from one who is simply
refraining from meat eating in an effort to cure bodily ills.
Indeed, the dyspeptic frequenting the usual Vegetarian restaurant
has little opportunity to know much about vegetables as food,
the menu being, as a rule, so crowded with various mixtures which
are supposedly "meat substitutes" that vegetables pure and simple
find small place. This book contains no meat substitutes, as such,
but receipts for the palatable preparation of what is called by many
"live foods,"--that is, food which has no blood to shed and does not,
therefore, become dead before it can be eaten.
There will also be found lacking from the index such dishes as
"Vegetarian | 1,700.100248 |
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THE MOTOR GIRLS
ON CRYSTAL BAY
Or
The Secret of the Red Oar
By
MARGARET PENROSE
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1914, by
Cupples & Leon Company
----------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A Worried Girl 1
II. Freda'S Story 15
III. Crystal Bay 26
IV. The Red Oar 36
V. Two Men 47
VI. The "Chelton" 55
VII. In The Motely Mote 67
VIII. Frights Or Fancies 76
IX. A Merry Time 83
X. Too Much Joy 93
XI. The Rescue 102
XII. The Calm 109
XIII. Suspicion 120
XIV. An Angry Druggist 129
XV. An Alarm 141
XVI. A Bad Case Of Nerves 156
XVII. A Little Race 164
XVIII. More Suspicions 171
XIX. Odd Talk 176
XX. The Night Plot 184
XXI. The Breakdown 196
XXII. At The Cabin 202
XXIII. Unexpected Help 208
XXIV. Denny'S Soliloquy 214
XX | 1,700.104276 |
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* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: The original publication has been replicated
faithfully except as shown in the TRANSCRIBER'S AMENDMENTS near the end
of the text. To preserve the alignment of tables and headers, this etext
presumes a mono-spaced font on the user's device, such as Courier New.
Words in italics are indicated like _this_.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
[Illustration: COLUMBIA PRESENTING STANLEY TO EUROPEAN SOVEREIGNS.]
STANLEY
IN AFRICA.
THE
WONDERFUL DISCOVERIES
AND
THRILLING ADVENTURES
OF
THE GREAT AFRICAN EXPLORER
AND OTHER
TRAVELERS, PIONEERS AND MISSIONARIES.
BEAUTIFULLY AND ELABORATELY ILLUSTRATED WITH
ENGRAVINGS, PLATES AND MAPS
BY
JAMES P. BOYD, A.M.
Author of "Political History of the United States"
and "Life of Gen. U. S. Grant," etc.
ROSE PUBLISHING CO.,
TORONTO, CANADA.
Copyright, 1889
BY
JAMES P. BOYD.
INTRODUCTION.
A volume of travel, exploration and adventure is never without
instruction and fascination for old and young. There is that within us
all which ever seeks for the mysteries which are bidden behind mountains,
closeted in forests, concealed by earth or sea, in a word, which are
enwrapped by Nature. And there is equally that within us which is touched
most sensitively and stirred most deeply by the heroism which has
characterized the pioneer of all ages of the world and in every field of
adventure.
How like enchantment is the story of that revelation which the New
America furnished the Old World! What a spirit of inquiry and exploit it
opened! How unprecedented and startling, adventure of every kind became!
What thrilling volumes tell of the hardships of daring navigators or of
the perils of brave and dashing landsmen! Later on, who fails to read
with the keenest emotion of those dangers, trials and escapes which
enveloped the intrepid searchers after the icy secrets of the Poles, or
confronted those who would unfold the tale of the older civilizations and
of the ocean's island spaces.
Though the directions of pioneering enterprise change, yet more and more
man searches for the new. To follow him, is to write of the wonderful.
Again, to follow him is to read of the surprising and the thrilling. No
prior history of discovery has ever exceeded in vigorous entertainment
and startling interest that which centers in "The Dark Continent" and has
for its most distinguished hero, Henry M. Stanley. His coming and going
in the untrodden and hostile wilds of Africa, now to rescue the stranded
pioneers of other nationalities, now to explore the unknown waters of
a mighty and unique system, now to teach cannibal tribes respect for
decency and law, and now to map for the first time with any degree of
accuracy, the limits of new dynasties, make up a volume of surpassing
moment and peculiar fascination.
All the world now turns to Africa as the scene of those adventures which
possess such a weird and startling interest for readers of every class,
and which invite to heroic exertion on the part of pioneers. It is the
one dark, mysterious spot, strangely made up of massive mountains, lofty
and extended plateaus, salt and sandy deserts, immense fertile stretches,
climates of death and balm, spacious lakes, gigantic rivers, dense
forests, numerous, grotesque and savage peoples, and an animal life of
fierce mien, enormous strength and endless variety. It is the country of
the marvelous, yet none of its marvels exceed its realities.
And each exploration, each pioneering exploit, each history of adventure
into its mysterious depths, but intensifies the world's view of it and
enhances human interest in it, for it is there the civilized nations are
soon to set metes and bounds to their grandest acquisitions--perhaps in
peace, perhaps in war. It is there that white colonization shall try its
boldest problems. It is there that Christianity shall engage in one of
its hardest contests.
Victor Hugo says, that "Africa will be the continent of the twentieth
century." Already the nations are struggling to possess it. Stanley's
explorations proved the majesty and efficacy of equipment and force amid
these dusky peoples and through the awful mazes of the unknown. Empires
watched with eager eye the progress of his last daring journey. Science
and civilization stood ready to welcome its results. He comes to light
again, having escaped ambush, flood, the wild beast and disease, and
his revelations set the world aglow. He is greeted by kings, hailed by
savants, and looked to by the colonizing nations as the future pioneer of
political power and commercial enterprise in their behalf, as he has been
the most redoubtable leader of adventure in the past.
This miraculous journey of the dashing and intrepid explorer, completed
against obstacles which all believed to be insurmountable, safely ended
after opinion had given him up as dead, together with its bearings on the
fortunes of those nations who are casting anew the chart of Africa, and
upon the native peoples who are to be revolutionized or exterminated by
the last grand surges of progress, all these render a volume dedicated to
travel and discovery, especially in the realm of "The Dark Continent,"
surprisingly agreeable and useful at this time.
[Illustration: MARCHING THROUGH EQUATORIAL AFRICA.]
CONTENTS.
HENRY M. STANLEY, 19
Stanley is safe; the world's rejoicings; a new volume in African
annals; who is "this wizard of travel?" story of Stanley's life;
a poor Welsh boy; a work-house pupil; teaching school; a sailor
boy; in a New Orleans counting-house; an adopted child; bereft
and penniless; a soldier of the South; captured and a prisoner;
in the Federal Navy; the brilliant correspondent; love of travel
and adventure; dauntless amid danger; in Asia-Minor and Abyssinia;
at the court of Spain; in search of Livingstone; at Ujiji on
Tanganyika; the lost found; across the "dark continent;" down the
dashing Congo; boldest of all marches; acclaim of the world.
THE CONGO FREE STATE, 27
A Congo's empire; Stanley's grand conception; European ambitions; the
International Association; Stanley off for Zanzibar; enlists his
carriers; at the mouth of the Congo; preparing to ascend the river;
his force and equipments; the river and river towns; hippopotamus
hunting; the big chiefs of Vivi; the "rock-breaker;" founding
stations; making treaties; tribal characteristics; Congo scenes;
elephants, buffaloes and water-buck; building houses and planting
gardens; making roads; rounding the portages; river crocodiles and
the steamers; foraging in the wilderness; products of the country;
the king and the gong; no more war fetish; above the cataracts;
Stanley Pool and Leopoldville; comparison of Congo with other
rivers; exploration of the Kwa; Stanley sick; his return to Europe;
further plans for his "Free State;" again on the Congo; Bolobo and
its chiefs; medicine for wealth; a free river, but no land; scenery
on the upper Congo; the Watwa dwarfs; the lion and his prey; war
at Bolobo; the Equator station; a long voyage ahead; a modern
Hercules; tropical scenes; a trick with a tiger skin; hostile
natives; a canoe brigade; the Aruwimi; ravages of slave traders;
captive women and children; to Stanley Falls; the cataracts;
appointing a chief; the people and products; wreck of a steamer; a
horrible massacre; down the Congo to Stanley Pool; again at Bolobo;
a burnt station; news from missionaries; at Leopoldville; down to
Vivi; the treaties with chiefs; treaty districts; the Camaroon
country; oil river region; Stanley's return to London; opinions
of African life; thirst for rum; adventures and accidents; advice
to adventurers; outlines of the Congo Free State; its wealth and
productions; commercial value; the Berlin conference; national
jurisdiction; constitution of the Congo Free States; results.
THE SEARCH FOR EMIN, 139
Stanley's call; the Belgian king; the Emin Pasha relief committee;
Stanley in charge of the expedition; off for Central Africa;
rounding the cataracts; the rendezvous at Stanley Pool; who
is Emin? his life and character; a favorite of Gordon; fall
of Khartoum; Emin cut off in equatorial Soudan; rising of the
Mahdi; death of Gordon; Emin lost in his equatorial province; his
capitals and country; Stanley pushes to the Aruwimi; Tippoo Tib
and his promises; Barttelot and the camps; trip up the Aruwimi;
wanderings in the forest; battles with the dwarfs; sickness,
starvation and death; lost in the wilds; the plains at last; grass
and banana plantations; arrival at Albert Nyanza; no word of Emin;
back to the Aruwimi for boats; another journey to the lake; Emin
found; tantalizing consultations; Stanley leaves for his forest
stations; treachery of Tippoo Tib; massacre of Barttelot; the
Mahdi influence; again for the Lake to save Emin; willing to leave
Africa; the start for Zanzibar; hardships of the trip; safe arrival
at Zanzibar; accident to Emin; the world's applause; Stanley a
hero.
EGYPT AND THE NILE, 185
Shaking hands at Ujiji; Africa a wonderland; Mizriam and Ham; Egypt
a gateway; mother of literature, art and religion; the Jews
and Egypt; mouths of the Nile; the Rosetta stone; Suez Canal;
Alexandria; Pharos, a "wonder of the world;" Cleopatra's needles;
Pompey's Pillar; the catacombs; up the Nile to Cairo; description
of Cairo; Memphis; the Pyramids and Sphinx; convent of the pulley;
Abydos its magnificent ruins; City of "the Hundred Gates;" temple
of Luxor; statues of Memnon; the palace temple of Thebes; the
old Theban Kings; how they built; ruins of Karnak; most imposing
in the world; temples of Central Thebes; wonderful temple of
Edfou; the Island of Philae; the | 1,700.104502 |
2023-11-16 18:45:24.0853720 | 1,055 | 10 | Project Gutenberg's Etext of The Life of General Francis Marion*
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The Life of General Francis Marion
by Mason Locke Weems
March, 1997 [Etext #846]
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THE SECRET ROSE:
By W.B. Yeats
THE SECRET ROSE:
DEDICATION TO A.E.
TO THE SECRET ROSE
THE CRUCIFIXION OF THE OUTCAST
OUT OF THE ROSE
THE WISDOM OF THE KING
THE HEART OF THE SPRING
THE CURSE OF THE FIRES AND OF THE SHADOWS
THE OLD MEN OF THE TWILIGHT
WHERE THERE IS NOTHING, THERE IS GOD
OF COSTELLO THE PROUD, OF OONA THE DAUGHTER OF DERMOTT, | 1,700.201708 |
2023-11-16 18:45:24.2775070 | 2,601 | 24 |
Produced by Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE FLAGS OF OUR FIGHTING ARMY
[Illustration:
=1.= Second Troop of Horse Guards, 1687.
]
[Illustration:
=2.= 5th Dragoon Guards, 1687.
]
[Illustration]
[Illustration:
=3.= and =4.= 2nd Dragoon Guards, 1742.
]
[Illustration:
=5.= General Grove’s Regiment (10th Foot), 1726.
]
[Illustration:
=6.= 27th Inniskilling Regiment, 1747.
]
[Illustration:
=7.= 103rd Regiment, 1780.
]
[Illustration:
=8.= 14th Regiment (Second Battalion), 1812.
]
PLATE 1. EARLY REGIMENTAL COLOURS AND STANDARDS
THE FLAGS
OF OUR FIGHTING ARMY
INCLUDING STANDARDS, GUIDONS, COLOURS AND DRUM BANNERS
BY STANLEY C. JOHNSON,
M.A., D.Sc., F.R.E.S.
Author of “The Medals of Our Fighting Men,” “Peeps at Postage Stamps,”
etc.
WITH EIGHT FULL-PAGE
PLATES IN COLOUR
A. & C. BLACK, LTD.
4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W. 1
TO MY BROTHER
IN THE
ROYAL GARRISON ARTILLERY.
A UNIT OF THE ARMY IN
WHICH THE GUNS SERVE THE
PURPOSE OF REGIMENTAL
STANDARDS.
Published, 1918.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE
Very little has been written in the past dealing with the subject of the
standards, guidons, colours, etc., of the British Army. Scattered
amongst Regimental histories, biographies of illustrious soldiers, and
military periodicals, a fair amount of information may be discovered,
but it is, of necessity, disjointed and difficult of viewing in proper
perspective. Many years ago, a capital book was written by the late Mr.
S. M. Milne, entitled “Standards and Colours of the British Army.”
Unfortunately, this work was published privately and, accordingly, did
not receive the full measure of appreciation which it merited.
Students of Army Flags should consult this book whenever possible; also
“Ranks and Badges of the Army and Navy,” by Mr. O. L. Perry; and the
articles which appeared in _The Regiment_ during the latter weeks of
1916. Messrs. Gale & Polden’s folders dealing with Army Flags are also
instructive.
The author wishes to acknowledge his indebtedness to Mr. Milne, Mr. O.
L. Perry, and the Editor of _The Regiment_. He is also very grateful for
the assistance extended to him by Lieutenant J. Harold Watkins and
Lieutenant C. H. Hastings, Officers in charge of the Canadian War
Records.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.— INTRODUCTION 1
II.— A HISTORY OF MILITARY COLOURS 6
III.— STANDARDS, GUIDONS AND DRUM BANNERS OF THE HOUSEHOLD 36
CAVALRY, DRAGOON GUARDS AND CAVALRY OF THE LINE
IV.— YEOMANRY GUIDONS AND DRUM BANNERS 47
V.— THE COLOURS OF THE FOOT GUARDS 54
VI.— THE COLOURS OF THE INFANTRY 64
VII.— COLOURS OF OUR OVERSEAS DOMINIONS 115
VIII.— MISCELLANEOUS COLOURS 121
IX.— BATTLE HONOURS 124
Appendix.— REGIMENTAL COLOURS OF CANADIAN INFANTRY BATTALIONS 139
INDEX 147
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
IN COLOUR
1.—EARLY REGIMENTAL COLOURS AND STANDARDS _Frontispiece._
FACING PAGE
2.—CAVALRY STANDARDS, GUIDONS AND DRUM BANNERS 36
3.—COLOURS OF THE FOOT GUARDS 54
4.—SAVING THE COLOURS OF THE BUFFS AT ALBUHERA 68
5.—COLOURS OF THE INFANTRY OF THE LINE (REGULAR 80
BATTALIONS)
6.—REGIMENTAL COLOURS OF THE TERRITORIAL FORCE 98
7.—COLOUR PARTY OF THE 15TH SIKHS 116
8.—MISCELLANEOUS GUIDONS AND COLOURS 122
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE FLAGS OF OUR
FIGHTING ARMY.
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
Ever since the time when the Romans went into battle, inspired by the
vexillum or labarum, military flags or colours have commanded a respect
bordering almost on the sacred. Our own history is crowded with
incidents which go to prove this contention. Who is there, for instance,
who has not heard of the gallant deeds of Melvill and Coghill, two
heroes who lost their lives in an endeavour to preserve the Queen’s
colour after the disastrous Zulu encounter at Isandlwana? Or let us take
the case of Lieutenant Anstruther, a youngster of eighteen, in the Welsh
Fusiliers. In defending the colour he carried up the treacherous heights
of the Alma, a shot laid him low, and eager hands snatched up the emblem
without a moment’s hesitation lest it should fall into the possession of
the enemy. No one thought of the danger which might overtake them whilst
guarding the cherished but conspicuous banner; all were resolved to
perish rather than it should be wrested from their grasp. And, let it be
said, five men won the Victoria Cross that day at the Alma for their
gallant defence of the colours. At the battle of Albuhera, in 1811, a
colour of the 3rd Buffs was carried by Ensign Thomas. The French
attacked in great force, and, surrounding Thomas, called upon him to
give up the silken banner. Thomas’s answer was discourteous, but to the
point; a moment later he lay dead, and the French bore away the flag
with triumph. To the credit of the Buffs, we must add that the emblem
was back in their possession before nightfall. These are just a few
cases in which men have been ready, and even eager, to make the great
sacrifice rather than lose their colours. They could be readily
multiplied a hundredfold.
Fortunately, we have now reached an age when valuable lives can be no
longer spent in defending military flags against the onslaughts of enemy
rivals, for, to-day, there is a rule in our army regulations which
forbids the taking of colours into the field of action. Before setting
out to meet the foe, they are placed in safe keeping, and the rites
which attend this ceremony partake of the utmost solemnity.
If military flags, which comprise the standards, guidons and drum
banners of the cavalry, and also the colours of the infantry, have been
reverenced in war, they are equally respected in peace time. They may
never be sent from place to place without a properly constituted escort,
which “will pay them the customary honours,” and an army regulation says
that “standards, guidons, and colours when uncased are, at all times, to
be saluted with the highest honours, viz., arms presented, trumpets or
bugles sounding the salute, drums beating a ruffle.” When new colours
are taken into service their reception is impressively conducted, and
the old ones are trooped before being cased and taken to the rear.
* * * * *
The following miscellaneous instructions are given in the King’s
Regulations with respect to military flags in general:—
“Standards and guidons of cavalry will be carried by squadron
serjeant-majors. Colours of infantry will be carried by two senior
second-lieutenants, but on the line of march all subaltern officers
will carry them in turn.
“Standards, guidons and colours are not to be altered without the
King’s special permission signified through the Army Council.
“The consecration of colours will be performed by chaplains to the
forces, acting chaplains, or officiating clergymen in accordance
with an authorised Form of Prayer.
“The standard of cavalry, or the King’s colour of battalions of
infantry, is not to be carried by any guard or trooped, except in
the case of a guard mounted over the King, the Queen, and Queen
Mother, or any member of the Royal Family, or over a Viceroy, and is
only to be used at guard mounting, or other ceremonials, when a
member of the Royal Family or a Viceroy is present, and on occasions
when the National Anthem is appointed to be played; at all other
times it is to remain with the regiment. The King’s colour will be
lowered to the King, the Queen, the Queen Mother, and members of the
Royal Family, the Crown, and Viceroys only.”
Special regulations apply to the Brigade of Guards, as follows:—
“The colours of the brigade will be lowered to His Majesty the King,
Her Majesty the Queen, the Queen Mother, members of the Royal
Family, the Crown, Foreign Crowned Heads, Presidents of Republican
States, and members of Foreign Royal Families.
“The King’s colour is never to be carried by any guard except that
which mounts upon the person of His Majesty the King, or Her Majesty
the Queen, or the Queen Mother.
“The regimental colours will only be lowered to a field marshal, who
is not a member of the Royal Family, when he is colonel of the
regiment to which the colour belongs.
“A battalion with uncased colours meeting the King’s Life Guards or
King’s Guard, will pass on with sloped arms, paying the compliment
‘eyes right’ or ‘eyes left’ as required.
“A battalion with cased colours or without colours, or a detachment,
guard, or relief, meeting the King’s Life Guard or the King’s Guard
with uncased standard or colour, will be ordered to halt, turn in
the required direction, and present arms; but will pass on with
sloped arms, paying the compliment of ‘eyes right’ or ‘eyes left’ as
required, if the standard or colour of the King’s Life Guard or
King’s Guard is cased.”
Two regulations which affect the whole of the Army may well be given in
conclusion:—
“Officers or soldiers passing troops with uncased colours will
salute the colours and the C.O. (if senior).
“Officers, soldiers, and colours, passing a military funeral, will
salute the body.”
CHAPTER II
A HISTORY OF MILITARY COLOURS
In the period 1633-1680, the first five infantry regiments, as we know
them to-day, were established, and this may be taken as a convenient
point from which to begin a study of the standards and colours of our
Army. Before this time the military forces of England and Scotland went
into battle with a full array of waving emblems, decorated with rampant
lions, powdered leopards, | 1,700.297547 |
2023-11-16 18:45:24.5794180 | 170 | 11 |
Produced by Col Choat. HTML version by Al Haines.
Laperouse
by
Ernest Scott
DEDICATION
To my friend T.B.E.
CONTENTS
I. FAMILY, YOUTH and INFLUENCES.
II. THE FRENCH NAVAL OFFICER.
III. THE LOVE STORY OF LAPEROUSE.
IV. THE VOYAGE OF EXPLORATION.
V. THE EARLY PART OF THE VOYAGE.
VI. LAPEROUSE IN THE PACIFIC.
VII. AT BOTANY BAY.
VIII. THE MYSTERY, AND THE SECRET OF THE SEA.
IX. CAPTAIN DILLON'S DISCOVERY.
X. THE FAME OF LAP | 1,700.599458 |
2023-11-16 18:45:24.6821040 | 1,043 | 76 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Paul Marshall and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
YALE UNIVERSITY
MRS. HEPSA ELY SILLIMAN MEMORIAL LECTURES
PROBLEMS OF GENETICS
SILLIMAN MEMORIAL LECTURES
PUBLISHED BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
ELECTRICITY AND MATTER. _By_ JOSEPH JOHN THOMSON,
D.SC., LL.D., PH.D., F.R.S., _Fellow of Trinity College,
Cambridge, Cavendish Professor of Experimental Physics, Cambridge_.
_Price $1.25 net; postage 10 cents extra._
THE INTEGRATIVE ACTION OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM.
_By_ CHARLES S. SHERRINGTON,
D.SC., M.D., HON. LL.D., TOR., F.R.S.,
_Holt Professor of Physiology in the University of Liverpool_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 25 cents extra._
RADIOACTIVE TRANSFORMATIONS. _By_ ERNEST RUTHERFORD,
D.SC., LL.D., F.R.S., _Macdonald Professor of Physics,
McGill University_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 22 cents extra._
EXPERIMENTAL AND THEORETICAL APPLICATIONS OF
THERMODYNAMICS TO CHEMISTRY.
_By_ DR. WALTHER NERNST, _Professor and Director of the
Institute of Physical Chemistry in the University of Berlin_.
_Price $1.25 net; postage 10 cents extra._
THE PROBLEMS OF GENETICS. _By_ WILLIAM BATESON, M.A.,
F.R.S., _Director of the John Innes Horticultural Institution,
Merton Park, Surrey, England_.
_Price $4.00 net; postage 25 cents extra._
STELLAR MOTIONS.
WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO MOTIONS DETERMINED BY MEANS OF
THE SPECTROGRAPH. _By_ WILLIAM WALLACE CAMPBELL, SC.D., LL.D.,
_Director of the Lick Observatory, University of California_.
_Price $4.00 net; postage 30 cents extra._
THEORIES OF SOLUTIONS. _By_ SVANTE AUGUST ARRHENIUS,
PH.D., SC.D., M.D., _Director of the Physico-Chemical
Department of the Nobel Institute, Stockholm, Sweden_.
_Price $2.25 net; postage 15 cents extra._
IRRITABILITY.
A PHYSIOLOGICAL ANALYSIS OF THE GENERAL EFFECT OF
STIMULI IN LIVING SUBSTANCES.
_By_ MAX VERWORN,
_Professor at Bonn Physiological Institute_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 20 cents extra._
THE EVOLUTION OF MODERN MEDICINE.
_By_ SIR WILLIAM OSLER, BART., M.D., LL.D., SC.D.,
_Regius Professor of Medicine, Oxford University_.
_Price $3.00 net; postage 40 cents extra._
PROBLEMS OF GENETICS
BY
WILLIAM BATESON, M.A., F.R.S.
DIRECTOR OF THE JOHN INNES HORTICULTURAL INSTITUTION,
HON. FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
AND FORMERLY PROFESSOR OF BIOLOGY IN THE UNIVERSITY
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
[Illustration]
NEW HAVEN: YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
MCMXIII
Copyright, 1913
By YALE UNIVERSITY
First printed August, 1913, 1000 copies
[** Transcriber's Note:
Underscores "_" before and after a word or phrase indicate ITALICS
in the original text.
Hyphenation was used inconsistently by the author and has been
left as in the original text. ]
THE SILLIMAN FOUNDATION
In the year 1883 a legacy of about eighty-five thousand dollars was left
to the President and Fellows of Yale College in the city of New Haven,
to be held in trust, as a gift from her children, in memory of their
beloved and honored mother, Mrs. Hepsa Ely Silliman.
On this foundation Yale College was requested and directed to establish
an annual course of lectures designed to illustrate the presence and
providence, the wisdom and goodness of God, as manifested in the natural
and moral world | 1,700.702144 |
2023-11-16 18:45:24.7794680 | 2,491 | 7 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE HUBBLE-SHUE.
BY
MISS CARSTAIRS.
Harry, harry, hobillischowe!
Se quha is cummyn nowe.
THE CRYING OF ANE PLAYE.
[THIRTY COPIES PRINTED.]
EDINBURGH:
Printed by ANDREW SHORTREDE, Thistle Lane.
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.
If originality be a test of genius, the authoress of the _Hubble-Shue_
bids fair to rank highest amongst the dramatic writers of the last
century. This rare merit even the most fastidious critic must allow:
but her histrionic essay is, in another respect, equally remarkable. We
are told that obscurity is one of the sources of the sublime; and who
will presume to deny that this drama is not sufficiently obscure?
Perhaps the most remarkable feature in it is that singular, partially
intelligible mystification, which we in vain look for in other writers:
thus, when Gustard enters with his sword drawn, is it possible to
figure any thing more intelligible and natural than that the cat should
run in beneath the bed? But, on the other hand, who was Gustard?--why
was his sword drawn?--what did he want?--how came the cat there? are
questions, the solution of which is not easy. Then we have the
interesting Lady Gundie, who flits across the stage without saying a
word, like one of the phantom kings in Macbeth, leaving the beholder in
a state of the most feverish excitement. In short, so much is left to
the imagination, that the mind gets quite bewildered, and we regard
with most profound veneration a drama capable of producing such
extraordinary sensations.
Perhaps there is not in the forcible vernacular of our country, a more
touching description than the interesting child's graphic account of
the horrid crocodile devouring a yellow Indian for his luncheon, with
as much relish, and as little remorse, as the pitiless black men seized
upon the blessed missionary, and "eat him all up."[1] Hard must that
heart be, which cannot feel for the situation of the hapless
daughter--who but a Cannibal or a Whig would refuse a tear of
sympathy?--and who does not fondly hope that the charming little story
teller will be relieved by the "little senna," and "the puke" which the
tender apothecary, in the fulness of his heart, prescribes for her?
Touches such as these mark the poet. Were we, however, to dwell upon
all the beauties, our pages would swell into a large folio; but we must
restrain our inclinations, as we intend gratifying our readers with a
few extracts from the poetical lucubrations of the amiable writer, of
whose personal history, we regret to say, little is known.
[1] The lamentable occurrence, to which allusion is here made, is
as follows:--
A venerable missionary was put ashore on one of the South Sea
Islands, where he was most graciously received by the king,
queen, and the rest of the royal family. During the time the
vessel remained, which was only a few days, this useful person
was fed most luxuriously, and every attention was paid to
him--the result of which was, that in a short time he became
uncommonly plump. The vessel which brought him, had occasion a
few months afterwards to touch at the island, and inquiry was
made for the excellent person who had been left there. But the
king and court did not seem inclined to afford much information,
merely contenting themselves with answering, "Squi wab squob
squavarab skoi rig," which, being interpreted, runs thus, "Very
fine man the missionary." At last the captain got the king and
some of the chiefs to dinner, when his majesty, (after having got
drunk, in answer to an inquiry after the missionary,) exclaimed,
"Squi wab squob squavarab skoi rig, skadery shoy oy lig baggary
bhum;" meaning, "Fine man the missionary--eat him all up one
day."
It turned out that the missionary, in consequence of good usage,
had got so fat and sleek, that the king and chiefs could not
resist the inclination, which, during the progress of his
fattening had been increasing; so they gave a public feast, at
which the missionary, cooked in a variety of ways, formed the
standing dish.
Her name, it is understood, was Carstairs. She was by occupation a
governess, and was nearly related to the Bruce Carstairs, a family of
great respectability in Fifeshire.
In the year 1786, there was published "Original Poems, by a Lady,
dedicated to Miss Ann Henderson. A tribute to gratitude and
friendship." Edinburgh, 4to. To the copy presently before the editor,
the following note is attached: "These poems, neatly stitched in
marbled paper, price 6sh. Commissions to be sent to Mr Andrew Steel,[2]
writer, Adam's Court; Mr F. Fraser, writer, James's Court; and Mrs
Robertson, foot of New Street." Besides the internal evidence,
sufficient in itself to fix the authorship upon Miss Carstairs, she
has herself removed all dubiety by mentioning upon the first number,
that this poetical banquet has been prepared "by the author of the
Hubble-Shue."
[2] Afterwards a Writer to the Signet--better known as the great
Peat Moss Philosopher.
Where there is such a variety of sweets, selection is difficult, but we
will do our best. There is one charming little song entitled "The
Basket of Flowers," in which the sentiment and versification are alike
admirable. There is a touching simplicity about it, with which the
reader will doubtlessly be enraptured:--
Profusely gay, they catch the eye,
This one I chuse and most admire.
&c.
Such as the rose may MARY be,
When youth is fled. She's good to me.
&c.
Stranger I came without a name,
All these fine flowers she brought to me.
&c.
Softly, my lyre--that silken string,
Tuned to a gift so sweet to sing.
&c.
The blushing rose, and jessamine,
Sweet is that air--sweet lyre again.
&c.
Than blushing rose or jessamine,
Dearer to me in friendship's name.
&c.
Softly, my lyre, that trembling string,
Friendship so new, a fleeting thing!
&c.
No, strike! nor tremble, tremble so,
Friendship and virtue thou art one.
Friendship and virtue, &c.
The lamentable fate of the hapless Mary has been made the subject of a
series of fragments, from which it would be unpardonable not to give a
specimen. Can there be any thing more affecting than the following?
--Had she, as thou! Lucretia--durst--
But here the soul! superior by her faith,
Triumph'd--and for her country and her son,
Endured, in misery, all her cruel fate,
Accursed marriage!--deep laid Malice. O MARY!
Their vill'nous designs--were here accomplish'd,--
And stabb'd thy fame! But time shall bring to light
Their darkest deeds--and heal thy wounded name.
--Avaunt thou!--Murray, Morton, Bothwell,
And thou Elizabeth, great as a Queen,
But deadly in thy hate--as desperate by thy love.
Mary and Essex, victims of thy ire,
Bright stars that fell by thy malignant breath,
Yet, yet I weep for thee--thy woman's weakness,
And thy jealous mind,--
O they were punishment enough--forgive,
Forgive, O mighty God! forgive.
Many have written on this subject, but certainly none more effectively
than Miss Carstairs, although passages do occur in the magnificent
historical poem of Mary Queen of Scots, by Margaretta Wedderburn,[3]
which may admit of a comparison. We may instance that in which the
unfortunate Mary is made to say,
In history, my foul catastrophe
Is told by Dr Robertson, and others,
In colours lively, delicate, and just.
[3] Bannatyne Club Edition. Edin. 1811.
As every one must be familiar with a poem, which will be read when
Shakespeare and Byron are not, a simple reference only is necessary.
One of the first poets of the age has more recently enriched the pages
of the New Scots Magazine with verses on the same subject, yet we
must confess, in our humble estimation, that the Carstairs remains
inviolate--_virgo intacta_. That our readers, however, may judge
for themselves, we subjoin a stanza or two.
I dwell upon a mournful theme; however dark it be,
It is no vague, no empty dream, that visions such to me:
Were all my numbers flowing rills, all glittering stars my dots,
Yet could I never sing the ills of--Mary Queen of Scots!
Oh! she was bright and beautiful--her charms her birth enhance;
Descended from a hundred kings--the Dowager of France.
Yet she was born in grief, to bear the trials Heaven allots--
To which, "alas! all flesh is heir"--e'en Mary Queen of Scots!
Yes, she was bright and beautiful--unfortunate and fair;
The captive of a tyrant Queen, the victim of despair;
What youthful heart from folly's free? what star hath not its spots?
The virtues veil the faults we see in Mary Queen of Scots.
* * * * *
Away! away!--the breezes swell--the surging waters foam!
"Farewell! beloved France; farewell, my country, and my home!
"I'll never, never see thee more, tho' dear to all my thots:"[4]
Thus sobb'd, as sunk the fading shore, poor Mary Queen of Scots.[5]
[4] Poetice for thoughts.
[5] Ascribed to the immortal quill of Mr Charles Doyne Sillery.
See _New Scots Mag._ vol. ii. p. 168.
We cannot pass over the little gem entitled
THE NIGHTINGALE.
Oh! could my sweet plaint lull to rest,
Soften one sigh--as thou dream'st,
I'd sit the whole night on thy tree,
And sing, ---- ---- sing, ---- ----
With the thorn at my breast.
We omit innumerable beauties to insert this sweet song to the tune of
"Here awa', there awa'."
Farewell my Betty, and farewell my Annie,
And farewell my Ammie, and farewell my friends.
&c.
Farewell to these plains and to innocent freedom,
Believe me, my heart was akin to these scenes.
&c.
In each cheerful moment I meant you a | 1,700.799508 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
HISTORY
OF THE
THIRTY-SIXTH REGIMENT
MASSACHUSETTS VOLUNTEERS.
1862-1865.
_BY A COMMITTEE OF THE REGIMENT._
BOSTON:
PRESS OF ROCKWELL AND CHURCHILL.
89 ARCH STREET.
1884.
TO
Our Comrades
OF THE
_THIRTY-SIXTH MASSACHUSETTS VOLUNTEERS_
THIS RECORD OF A COMMON EXPERIENCE
IS
_AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED_.
_Ah, never shall the land forget_
_How gushed the life-blood of her brave,--_
_Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,--_
_Upon the soil they sought to save._
_Now all is calm, and fresh, and still;_
_Alone the chirp of flitting bird,_
_And talk of children on the hill,_
_And bell of wand'ring kine, are heard._
_No solemn host goes trailing by,_
_The black-mouthed gun and stag'ring wain;_
_Men start not at the battle-cry;_
_Oh, be it never heard again!_
--WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
PREFACE.
Not long after the close of the war a plan was proposed, by some of
the officers of the regiment, for the preparation of a history of the
Thirty-sixth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers; but the plan was
not carried into execution. At the regimental reunions, in subsequent
years, parts of such a history were read by Comrades White, Ranlett,
and Hodgkins, and the desire for a complete history of the regiment,
which found expression on these occasions, was so strong that, at the
reunion of the regiment at Worcester, in September, 1876, a committee,
consisting of Comrades White, Ranlett, Burrage, and Hodgkins, was
appointed to procure materials for a history of the regiment.
Some progress was made by the committee in the performance of the
work thus assigned to them; but it was not so great as they, or their
comrades of the Thirty-sixth, desired. At the reunion, September 2,
1879, the matter was again considered, and it was finally voted, "that
Comrades White, Ranlett, Hodgkins, Burrage, and Noyes, be chosen a
committee to have charge of the compiling, revising, and printing the
history of the regiment, to be ready for delivery at our next reunion;
and that the committee have power to procure any help they may need."
Many difficulties were encountered in the progress of the work, and it
was found that it would be impossible to prepare, within the limit of
time prescribed, such a history as would be worthy of the regiment. The
different members of the committee, amid the activities of busy lives,
could give to the work only such intervals of leisure as they could
find amid their daily tasks. At the annual reunions of 1880, 1881, and
1882,--testing the patience of their comrades who had entrusted to them
this important task,--they were compelled to report progress only. In
September, 1883,--the last reunion,--however, they were able to say
that the work was already in press, and would be ready for delivery in
the course of a few weeks.
In the table of contents will be found the names of the authors of
the different chapters. The work of Comrades White, Ranlett, Olin,
and Noyes, entitles them to the hearty thanks of all their companions
in arms. Especially, however, are such thanks due to Comrade W. H.
Hodgkins, not only for his own contribution to the history, but
also for his careful attention to the innumerable details which the
preparation of such a work required. Indeed, without his unwearied
endeavors in gathering materials, securing the coöperation of others,
and attending to the business of publication, the history would not so
soon, and might never, have been completed.
To the writer of these lines was assigned the editorial supervision
of the work. From the materials placed in his hands he arranged the
history of the regiment as it now appears. Two proofs of the entire
work have passed under his eye, and in this part of his task he has had
the invaluable assistance of Major Hodgkins. The history, of course,
is not free from errors of statement; and it will doubtless be found
that there are omissions which the writers of the different chapters,
as well as their comrades, will deeply deplore. Yet, with all its
imperfections, this volume is believed to be substantially a faithful
history of the part which the regiment had in the great conflict for
the preservation of the National Union, which was waged during the
years 1862-1865; and, as such, it is certainly a history of which all
those who participated in it may well be proud.
H. S. B.
PORTLAND, ME., Sept. 26, 1883.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
ORGANIZATION OF THE REGIMENT.--ALONZO A. WHITE 1-10
CHAPTER II.
TO THE FRONT.--ALONZO A. WHITE 11-18
CHAPTER III.
IN VIRGINIA.--ALONZO A. WHITE 19-36
CHAPTER IV.
THE KENTUCKY CAMPAIGN.--S. ALONZO RANLETT 37-48
CHAPTER V.
IN THE REAR OF VICKSBURG.--S. ALONZO RANLETT 49-57
CHAPTER VI.
THE MOVEMENT ON JACKSON.--S. ALONZO RANLETT 58-72
CHAPTER VII.
THE RETURN TO KENTUCKY.--S. ALONZO RANLETT 73-78
CHAPTER VIII.
IN EAST TENNESSEE.--S. ALONZO RANLETT 79-87
CHAPTER IX.
THE RETREAT FROM LENOIR'S AND THE BATTLE OF CAMPBELL'S
STATION.--HENRY S. BURRAGE 88-100
CHAPTER X.
THE SIEGE OF KNOXVILLE.--HENRY S. BURRAGE 101-122
CHAPTER XI.
SUBSEQUENT OPERATIONS IN EAST TENNESSEE.--HENRY S. BURRAGE 123-134
CHAPTER XII.
REORGANIZATION.--WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 135-145
CHAPTER XIII.
IN THE WILDERNESS.--WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 146-159
CHAPTER XIV.
AT SPOTTSYLVANIA.--WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 160-177
CHAPTER XV.
ON THE NORTH ANNA AND THE PAMUNKEY.--WILLIAM H.
HODGKINS 178-187
CHAPTER XVI.
AT COLD HARBOR.--WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 188-200
CHAPTER XVII.
THE MOVEMENT ON PETERSBURG.--WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 201-215
CHAPTER XVIII.
IN THE TRENCHES.--WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 216-222
CHAPTER XIX.
DIARY OF THE SIEGE.--WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 223-232
CHAPTER XX.
THE MINE AFFAIR.--WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 233-241
CHAPTER XXI.
THE SIEGE CONTINUED.--WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 242-252
CHAPTER XXII.
IN THE PINES.--EDMUND W. NOYES 253-257
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE ACTION AT PEGRAM FARM.--EDMUND W. NOYES 258-265
CHAPTER XXIV.
AGAIN IN THE TRENCHES.--EDMUND W. NOYES 266-275
CHAPTER XXV.
IN WINTER QUARTERS.--WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 276-281
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE FINAL ASSAULT AT PETERSBURG.--WILLIAM M. OLIN 282-291
CHAPTER XXVII.
CLOSING SCENES.--WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 292-311
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CONCLUSION.--WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 312-315
ROSTER AND RECORD OF THE THIRTY-SIXTH REGIMENT OF
MASSACHUSETTS VOLUNTEERS, COMPILED AND CORRECTED
BY WILLIAM H. HODGKINS 316
RECAPITULATION 385
NAMES OF MEMBERS OF THE REGIMENT WHO DIED IN REBEL
PRISONS 386
NARRATIVE OF ISRAEL H. SMITH 387
INDEX 391
THIRTY-SIXTH REGIMENT,
MASSACHUSETTS VOLUNTEERS.
CHAPTER I.
ORGANIZATION OF THE REGIMENT.
Early in July, 1862, when the war of | 1,700.900183 |
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REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY
BY HIS SON,
Count Ilya Tolstoy
Translated By George Calderon
REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY (Part I.)
IN one of his letters to his great-aunt, Alexandra Andreyevna Tolstoy,
my father gives the following description of his children:
The eldest [Sergei] is fair-haired and good-looking; there is something
weak and patient in his expression, and very gentle. His laugh is not
infectious; but when he cries, I can hardly refrain from crying, too.
Every one says he is like my eldest brother.
I am afraid to believe it. It is too good to be true. My brother's chief
characteristic was neither egotism nor self-renunciation, but a strict
mean between the two. He never sacrificed himself for any one else; but
not only always avoided injuring others, but also interfering with them.
He kept his happiness and his sufferings entirely to himself.
Ilya, the third, has never been ill in his life; broad-boned, white and
pink, radiant, bad at lessons. Is always thinking about what he is told
not to think about. Invents his own games. Hot-tempered and violent,
wants to fight at once; but is also tender-hearted and very sensitive.
Sensuous; fond of eating and lying still doing nothing.
Tanya [Tatyana] is eight years old. Every one says that she is like
Sonya, and I believe them, although I am pleased about that, too; I
believe it only because it is obvious. If she had been Adam's eldest
daughter and he had had no other children afterward, she would have
passed a wretched childhood. The greatest pleasure that she has is to
look after children.
The fourth is Lyoff. Handsome, dexterous, good memory, graceful. Any
clothes fit him as if they had been made for him. Everything that others
do, he does very skilfully and well. Does not understand much yet.
The fifth, Masha [Mary] is two years old, the one whose birth nearly
cost Sonya her life. A weak and sickly child. Body white as milk, curly
white hair; big, queer blue eyes, queer by reason of their deep, serious
expression. Very intelligent and ugly. She will be one of the riddles;
she will suffer, she will seek and find nothing, will always be seeking
what is least attainable.
The sixth, Peter, is a giant, a huge, delightful baby in a mob-cap,
turns out his elbows, strives eagerly after something. My wife falls
into an ecstasy of agitation and emotion when she holds him in | 1,700.900258 |
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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.
MAY & JUNE
1662
May 1st. Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Pen, and myself, with our clerks, set
out this morning from Portsmouth very early, and got by noon to
Petersfield; several officers of the Yard accompanying us so far. Here we
dined and were merry. At dinner comes my Lord Carlingford from London,
going to Portsmouth: tells us that the Duchess of York is brought to bed
of a girl,--[Mary, afterwards Queen of England.]--at which I find nobody
pleased; and that Prince Rupert and the Duke of Buckingham are sworn of
the Privy Councell. He himself made a dish with eggs of the butter of the
Sparagus, which is very fine meat, which I will practise hereafter. To
horse again after dinner, and got to Gilford, where after supper I to bed,
having this day been offended by Sir W. Pen's foolish talk, and I
offending him with my answers. Among others he in discourse complaining
of want of confidence, did ask me to lend him a grain or two, which I told
him I thought he was better stored with than myself, before Sir George.
So that I see I must keep a greater distance than I have done, and I hope
I may do it because of the interest which I am making with Sir George. To
bed all alone, and my Will in the truckle bed.
[According to the original Statutes of Corpus Christi Coll. Oxon,
a Scholar slept in a truckle bed below each Fellow. Called also
"a trindle bed." Compare Hall's description | 1,701.001055 |
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Produced by sp1nd, Mebyon, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
GOBLIN TALES OF LANCASHIRE.
BY JAMES BOWKER, F.R.G.S.I.
AUTHOR OF 'PHOEBE CAREW, A NORTH COAST STORY,'
'NAT HOLT'S FORTUNE,' ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM DRAWINGS
BY THE LATE CHARLES GLIDDON._
'Of Faery-land yet if he more enquire,
By certain signes here sett in sondrie place,
He may itt fynd.'
SPENSER
'La veuve du meme Plogojovits declara que son mari depuis
sa mort lui etait venu demander des souliers.'
CALMET, _Traite sur les Apparitions_, 1751.
London
W. SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO.
PATERNOSTER ROW
TO
THE MOST NOBLE
THE MARQUIS OF HARTINGTON, P.C., D.C.L.
THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS DEDICATED
IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF
MUCH KINDNESS.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION,
I.--THE SKRIKER,
II.--THE UNBIDDEN GUEST,
III.--THE FAIRY'S SPADE,
IV.--THE KING OF THE FAIRIES,
V.--MOTHER AND CHILD,
VI.--THE SPECTRAL CAT,
VII.--THE CAPTURED FAIRIES,
VIII.--THE PILLION LADY,
IX.--THE FAIRY FUNERAL,
X.--THE CHIVALROUS DEVIL,
XI.--THE ENCHANTED FISHERMAN,
XII.--THE SANDS OF COCKER,
XIII.--THE SILVER TOKEN,
XIV.--THE HEADLESS WOMAN,
XV.--THE RESCUE OF MOONBEAM,
XVI.--THE WHITE DOBBIE,
XVII.--THE LITTLE MAN'S GIFT,
XVIII.--SATAN'S SUPPER,
XIX.--THE EARTHENWARE GOOSE,
XX.--THE PHANTOM OF THE FELL,
XXI.--ALLHALLOW'S NIGHT,
XXII.--THE CHRISTMAS-EVE VIGIL,
XXIII.--THE CRIER OF CLAIFE,
XXIV.--THE DEMON OF THE OAK,
XXV.--THE BLACK COCK,
XXVI.--THE INVISIBLE BURDEN,
APPENDIX.--COMPARATIVE NOTES,
INTRODUCTION.
For many of the superstitions which still cling to him the Lancashire
man of the present day is indebted to his Celtic and Scandinavian
ancestors. From them the Horse and Worm stories, and the Giant lore of
the northern and southern mountains and fells, have come down, while
the relationship of the 'Jinny Greenteeth,' the presiding nymph of the
ponds and streams, with allusions to whom the Lancastrian mother
strives to deter her little ones from venturing near the pits and
brooks; to the water-spirits of the Gothic mythology, is too evident
to admit of any doubt. The source of the 'Gabriel Ratchets,' the
hell-hounds whose fear-inspiring yelps still are heard by the
benighted peasant, who finds in the dread sound a warning of the
approach of the angel of death; in the Norse Aasgaardsveia, the souls
condemned to ride about the world until doomsday, and who gallop
through the midnight storm with shrieks and cries which ring over the
lonely moors; or in that other troop of souls of the brave ones who
had died in battle, being led by the storm-god Woden to Walhalla, also
is undeniable.
Striking, however, as are the points of similitude between some of the
Lancastrian traditions and those of the north of Europe, others seem
to be peculiar to the county, and that these are of a darker and
gloomier cast than are the superstitions of districts less wild and
mountainous, and away from the weird influence of the sea, with its
winter thunderings suggestive of hidden and awful power, may in a
great measure be correctly attributed to the nature of the scenery.
It is easy to understand how the unlettered peasant would people with
beings of another world either the bleak fells, the deep and gloomy
gorges, the wild cloughs, the desolate moorland wastes two or three
thousand feet above the level of the sea, of the eastern portion of
the county; or the salt marshes where the breeze-bent and
mysterious-looking trees waved their spectral boughs in the wind; the
dark pools fringed with reeds, amid which the 'Peg-o'-Lantron'
flickered and danced, and over which came the hollow cry of the
bittern and the child-like plaint of the plover; and the dreary glens,
dark lakes, and long stretches of sand of the north and west.
To him the forest, with its solemn Rembrandtesque gloom,
Where Druids erst heard victims groan,
the lonely fir-crowned pikes, and the mist-shrouded mountains, would
seem fitting homes for the dread shapes whose spite ended itself in
the misfortunes and misery of humanity. Pregnant with mystery to such
a mind would be the huge fells, with their shifting 'neetcaps' of
cloud, the towering bluffs, the swampy moors, and trackless morasses,
across which the setting sun cast floods of blood-red light; and
irresistible would be the influence of such scenery upon the lonely
labourer who would go about his daily tasks with a feeling that he was
surrounded by the supernatural.
And wild as are many parts of the county to-day, it is difficult to
conceive its condition a century or two ago, when much of the land
was not only uncultivated, but was, for at least a portion of the
year, covered by sheets of water, the highways being little more than
bridle roads, or, if wider than usual, very sloughs of despond, the
carts in several of the rural districts being laid aside in winter as
utterly useless, and grain and other commodities, even in summer time,
being conveyed from place to place on the backs of long strings of
pack-horses.
Living in lonely houses and cottages shut out from civilisation by the
difficulties of communication, and hemmed in by floating mists and by
much that was awe-inspiring, with in winter additional barriers of
storm, snow and flood, it is easy to imagine how in the fancy of the
yeoman, shepherd, farmer, or solitary lime burner, as 'th' edge o'
dark' threw its weird glamour over the scene, boggarts and phantoms
would begin to creep about to the music of the unearthly voices heard
in every sough and sigh of the wandering wind as it wailed around the
isolated dwellings.
In everything weird they found a message from the unknown realms of
death. The noise of the swollen waters of the Ribble or the Lune, or
the many smaller streams hurrying down to the sea, was to them the
voice of the Water Spirit calling for its victim, and the howling of
their dogs bade the sick prepare to meet 'the shadow with the keys.'
All around them were invisible beings harmful or mischievous, and to
them they traced much of the misfortune which followed the stern
working of nature's laws.
The superstitions which date from, as well as the actual annals of the
Witch Mania in Lancashire, in some slight degree confirm this theory,
for whereas in the flat and more thickly-populated districts the hag
contented herself with stealing milk from her neighbour's cows,
spoiling their bakings, and other practical jokes of a comparatively
harmless kind, in the wilder localities--the region of pathless moors
and mist-encircled mountains--the witch ever was raising terrible
storms, bringing down the thunder, killing the cattle, dealing out
plagues and pestilence at will, wreaking evil of every conceivable
kind upon man and beast, and, hot from her sabbath of devil-worship,
even casting the sombre shadows and dread darkness of death over the
households of those who had fallen under the ban of her hate.
Lancashire has, however, an extensive ghost lore to which this theory
has no reference, consisting as it does of stories of haunted houses
and churchyards, indelible blood-stains, and all the paraphernalia of
the
Shapes that walk
At dead of night, and clank their chains and wave
The torch of hell around the murderer's bed.
The sketch in this volume, 'Mother and Child,' for the skeleton of
which tradition I am indebted to the late Mr. J. Stanyan Bigg, may be
considered a fair specimen of these stories. In most cases these
legends are not simply the vain creations of ignorance and darkness,
although they fade before the light of knowledge like mists before the
sun, for under many of them may be found a moral and a warning, or a
testimony to the beauty of goodness, hidden it is true beneath the
covering of a rude fable, just as inscriptions rest concealed below
the moss of graveyards. The well-known legend of the Boggart of
Townley Hall, with its warning cry of 'Lay out, lay out!' and its
demand for a victim every seventh year, is a striking example of
traditions of this class--emphatic protests against wrong, uttered in
the form of a nerve-affecting fable. In more than one of the stories
of this kind to which I have listened, the ghost of the victim has
re-visited 'the pale glimpses of the moon,' and made night so hideous
to the wrong-doer, that, in despair and remorse, he has put an end to
himself; and trivial as these things may seem to Mr. Gradgrind and his
school, they have, like other and nobler parables, influenced minds
impervious to dry fact.
To the devil lore of the county, however, the theory certainly will
apply, for surely it is in a gloomy gorge, through which forked
lightnings flash and chase each other, and the thunder rolls and
reverberates, or on a dark and lonesome moor, rather than upon the
shady side of Pall Mall, one would expect to meet the Evil One.
Yet, undoubtedly, other causes contributed to enrich the store of
ta | 1,701.001911 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's notes:
(1) Numbers following letters (without space) like C2 were originally
printed in subscript. Letter subscripts are preceded by an
underscore, like C_n.
(2) Characters following a carat (^) were printed in superscript.
(3) Side-notes were relocated to function as titles of their respective
paragraphs.
(4) Macrons and breves above letters and dots below letters were not
inserted.
(5) [root] stands for the root symbol; [:] for division sign; [+-] for
| 1,701.099735 |
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AVICENA’S OFFERING
_to the_
PRINCE
«E l’anima umana la qual è colla nobiltà della
potenzia ultima, cioè ragione, participa della
divina natura a guisa di sempiterna Intelligenza;
perocchè l’anima è tanto in quella sovrana potenzia
nobilitata, e dinudata da materia, che la divina
luce, come in Angiolo, raggia in quella; e però è
l’uomo divino animale da’ Filosofi chiamato.»[1]
(=Dante=, _Convito_, III, 2.)
STAMPERIA DI NICOLA PADERNO
_S. Salvatore Corte Regia, 10_
VERONA, ITALIA
A
COMPENDIUM
ON THE
SOUL,
BY
_Abû-'Aly al-Husayn Ibn 'Abdallah Ibn Sînâ:_
TRANSLATED, FROM THE ARABIC ORIGINAL,
BY
EDWARD ABBOTT van DYCK,
WITH
Grateful Acknowledgement of the Substantial Help
OBTAINED
From Dr. S. Landauer’s Concise German Translation,
AND FROM
James Middleton
MacDonald’s Literal English Translation;
AND
PRINTED
AT
_VERONA, ITALY, in THE YEAR 1906_,
For the Use of Pupils and Students of Government Schools
IN
_Cairo, Egypt_.
PREFACE
Several sources out of which to draw information and seek guidance as
to Ibn Sînâ’s biography and writings, and his systems of medicine and
philosophy, are nowadays easily accessible to nearly every one. Among
such sources the following are the best for Egyptian students:
1. Ibn Abi Uçaybi´ah’s “Tabaqât-ul-Atib-ba,” and Wuestenfeld’s
“Arabische Aertzte.”
2. Ibn Khallikân’s “Wafâyât-ul-A´ayân.”
3. Brockelmann’s “Arabische Literatur.”
4. F. Mehren’s Series of Essays on Ibn Sînâ in the Periodical “Muséon”
from the year 1882 and on.
5. Clément Huart’s Arabic Literature, either in the French Original or
in the English Translation.
6. Carra de Vaux’s “Les Grands Philosophes: Avicenna,” Paris, Felix
Alcan, 1900, pp. vii et 302.
7. T. de Boer’s “History of Philosophy in Islâm,” both in Dutch and in
the English translation.
The “Offering to the Prince in the Form of a Compendium on the Soul,”
of which the present Pamphlet is my attempt at an English Translation,
is the least known throughout Egypt and Syria of all Ibn Sînâ’s
many and able literary works: indeed I have failed, after repeated
and prolonged enquiry, to come across so much as one, among my many
Egyptian acquaintances, that had even heard of it.
Doctor Samuel Landauer of the University of Strassburg published
both the Arabic text, and his own concise German translation, of
this Research into the Faculties of the Soul, in volume 29 for the
year 1875 of the Z.d.D.M.G., together with his critical notes
and exhaustively erudite confrontations of the original Arabic with
many Greek passages from Plato, Aristotle, Alexander Aphrodisias, and
others, that Ibn Sînâ had access to, it would appear, second hand,
i.e. through translations. Doctor Landauer made use also of a very rare
Latin translation by Andreas Alpagus, printed at Venice in 1546; and
of the Cassel second edition of Jehuda Hallévy’s religious Dialogue
entitled Khusari, which is in rabbinical Hebrew, and on pages 385 to
400 of which the views of “philosophers” on the Soul are set forth,
Doctor Landauer having discovered to his agreeable surprise that those
15 pages are simply a word for word excerpt from this Research by Ibn
Sînâ. For the Arabic text itself, he had at his command only two
manuscript copies, the one, preserved in the Library at Leyden, being
very faulty; and the other, in the Biblioteca Ambrosiana at Milan,
being far more accurate and correct.
This text was reprinted talis qualis, but with omission of every kind
of note, in 1884 at Beirût, Syria, by Khalîl Sarkîs: this reprint is
very hard to find.
James Middleton MacDonald, M.A., made a studiedly literal English
translation or rather a construe of it in 1884, of which he got a small
number printed in pamphlet form at Beirût, and by Khalîl Sarkîs also:
this English Version too is very rare, and almost unknown.
* * * * *
My present English rendering of this Essay by Avicena on the Powers of
the Soul has been made directly and finally from the Arabic Original as
given in the Landauer Text, with constant consultation however of both
the Landauer German translation and the MacDonald English construe: it
has been made not for European scholars and Arabists but solely for
pupil students in Egypt, which circumstance called in a great measure
for the use of two or more nearly synonymous words where the Arabic
original often has but one only. Indeed I am not ashamed to say further
that in some places I have failed to follow the drift and understand
the purport of Ibn Sînâ’s argument; so that in such passages I am
only too conscious of how far my rendering may perhaps have wandered
from the right and true sense. But the author himself declares that
psychology is one of the deepest and darkest of studies; and he relates
of himself in his autobiography that he had read one of Aristotle’s
writings forty times over, until he had got it by heart, and yet had
failed to see the point. And he goes on to tell of how it was that
he one day stumbled across and then read over al-Fârâbî’s “Maqâçid
Aristotle,” whereupon mental light dawned upon him as to the purport of
that writing.
Those for whom I have made it now know why this my English version is
often timid and wavering, nay sometimes even wordy and hazy.
* * * * *
The end of the next year’s session will in all likelihood bring with it
the cessation of my connection with the Khedivial School of Law. More
than this: I am getting well on in life, so that this translation will
most likely be the last serious work that I shall ever perform in the
service of Young Egypt. Such reflections awaken in my inmost soul all
sorts of feelings and thoughts about the shortness and fleetingness of
this earthly life, the happiness of childhood and youth, the darkness
of the grave, and the utter despair that will surely engulf the soul
at the last hours, unless--mark my words--unless the strong arm of our
Heavenly Father lay hold upon this soul that is now within me, and
take it off and up, to be joined unto the millions of souls of all,
all those who have gone before, whither too shall follow so many, many
other millions; in a word, unless GOD have mercy upon me, even as He
has had mercy upon my forefathers and mothers since many generations.
This hope in His mercy and grace is my ever-strengthening prop and
stay, the older and feebler I get. Nor will any of those for whom I
write these lines ever find a stronger or a better. And the time will
very soon come when each and every one of them, however long may be his
life here below, will surely need it, to save him from sinking into the
black nothingness of doubt, indifference, and despair.
EDWARD ABBOTT van DYCK.
VERONA, _August, 1906_.
Wer fertig ist, dem ist nichts recht zu machen:
Ein werdender wird immer dankbar sein.[2]
[Lustige Person, in Goethe’s Faust]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _Note added by transcriber_: From the translation of Dante's _Il
Convito_ (The Banquet) by Elizabeth Sayer Price (in Project Gutenberg:
http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12867):
And the Human Soul possessing the nobility of the highest power,
which is Reason, participates in the Divine Nature, after the manner
of an eternal Intelligence: for the Soul is ennobled and denuded of
matter by that Sovereign Power in proportion as the Divine Light of
Truth shines into it, as into an Angel; and Man is therefore called
by the Philosophers the Divine Animal.
[2] _Note added by the transcriber_: From the translation
of Goethe's _Faust_ by Bayard Taylor (in Project Gutenberg:
http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14591):
A mind once formed, is never suited after;
One yet in growth will ever grateful be.
[Funny Person, in Goethe’s Faust]
INTRODUCTION
In the Name of GOD, the Merciful, the Compassionate: May GOD bless
our Lord Muhammad and his Kinsfolk, and give them peace. O my God
facilitate [this undertaking]; and make [it] end in good, O Thou
Bounteous Being!
Abu-´Aly, Ibn Sînâ, the chief elder, learnèd and erudite leader, the
precise and accurate researcher, Truth’s plea against mankind, the
physician of physicians, the philosopher of Islâm, may the Most High
GOD have mercy upon him, saith:--
The best of beginnings is that which is adorned with praise to the
Giver of strength for praising Him; and for invoking blessing and peace
upon our Lord Muhammad, His prophet and servant, and upon his good and
pure offspring after him. And after this beginning, he saith further:--
Had not custom given leave to the small and low to reach up to the
great and high, it would be most difficult for them ever to tread those
paths in going over which they need to lay hold of their upholding
arm[3] and seek the help of their superior strength; to attain to
a position in their service, and join themselves to their social
circle; to pride themselves on having become connected with them, and
openly declare their reliance upon them. Nay, the very bond which
joins the common man to the man of élite would be severed, and the
reliance of the flock upon its shepherd would cease; the frail would
no longer become powerful through the strength of the mighty, nor the
low-born rise through the protection and countenance of the high-born;
the foolish would not be able to correct his folly and ignorance by
intercourse with the prudent and wise; nor the wise draw nigh to the
ignorant and foolish.
And whereas I find that custom has trod along this highroad, and
prescribed this usage, I avail myself of such a precedent and excuse
to warrant my reaching up and aspiring to the Prince, GOD give him
long life, with an offering [an acceptable present]; and I have given
prevalence to the thought that my choice ought to fall upon an object
which will at once be most acceptable to him, and best calculated to
attain my aim of ingratiating myself into his favor; and this, after
coming to the | 1,701.298398 |
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DIARY AND NOTES OF HORACE TEMPLETON,
Late Secretary Of Legation At --------.
By Charles Lever,
Author Of "Harry Lorrequer," "Knight Of Gwynne," Etc. Etc.
In Two Volumes. Vol. II.
Second Edition.
London: Chapman And Hall, 186 Strand.
HORACE TEMPLETON.
CHAPTER I.
The Ortl'er is the Mont Blanc of the Tyrol, and seen | 1,701.299819 |
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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 | 1,701.597491 |
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FROM WORKHOUSE TO WESTMINSTER
[Illustration: WILL CROOKS, M.P.
_Photo: G. Dendry._]
FROM WORKHOUSE TO WESTMINSTER
The Life Story of WILL CROOKS, M.P.
By
GEORGE HAW
WITH INTRODUCTION BY G. K. CHESTERTON
FOUR FULL-PAGE PLATES
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED
LONDON, NEW YORK, TORONTO AND MELBOURNE
MCMIX
First Edition _February 1907_.
Reprinted _March, June and | 1,701.899307 |
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the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
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MANNERS AND RULES
OF
GOOD SOCIETY
_OR SOLECISMS TO BE AVOIDED_
BY A MEMBER
OF THE ARISTOCRACY
THIRTY-EIGHTH EDITION | 1,701.997582 |
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Produced by Judith Smith and Natalie Salter
THE DIVINE COMEDY: PURGATORY
BY DANTE ALIGHIERI
Complete
Translated By
The Rev. H. F. Cary
PURGATORY
Cantos 1 - 33
CANTO I
O'er better waves to speed her rapid course
The light bark of my genius lifts the sail,
Well pleas'd to leave so cruel sea behind;
And of that second region will I sing,
In which the human spirit from sinful blot
Is purg'd, and for ascent to Heaven prepares.
Here, O ye hallow'd Nine! for in your train
I follow, here the deadened strain revive;
Nor let Calliope refuse to sound
A somewhat higher song, of that loud tone,
Which when the wretched birds of chattering note
Had heard, they of forgiveness lost all hope.
Sweet hue of eastern sapphire, that was spread
O'er the serene aspect of the pure air,
High up as the first circle, to mine eyes
Unwonted joy renew'd, soon as I'scap'd
Forth from the atmosphere of deadly gloom,
That had mine eyes and bosom fill'd with grief.
The radiant planet, that to love invites,
Made all the orient laugh, and veil'd beneath
The Pisces' light, that in his escort came.
To the right hand I turn'd, and fix'd my mind
On the' other pole attentive, where I saw
Four stars ne'er seen before save by the ken
Of our first parents. Heaven of their rays
Seem'd joyous. O thou northern site, bereft
Indeed, and widow'd, since of these depriv'd!
As from this view I had desisted, straight
Turning a little tow'rds the other pole,
There from whence now the wain had disappear'd,
I saw an old man standing by my side
Alone, so worthy of rev'rence in his look,
That ne'er from son to father more was ow'd.
Low down his beard and mix'd with hoary white
Descended, like his locks, which parting fell
Upon his breast in double fold. The beams
Of those four luminaries on his face
So brightly shone, and with such radiance clear
Deck'd it, that I beheld him as the sun.
"Say who are ye, that stemming the blind stream,
Forth from th' eternal prison-house have fled?"
He spoke and moved those venerable plumes.
"Who hath conducted, or with lantern sure
Lights you emerging from the depth of night,
That makes the infernal valley ever black?
Are the firm statutes of the dread abyss
Broken, or in high heaven new laws ordain'd,
That thus, condemn'd, | 1,702.002308 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http | 1,702.198296 |
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Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
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 un-italicized text by
=equal signs=.
SMITH COLLEGE STORIES
SMITH COLLEGE STORIES
TEN STORIES BY
JOSEPHINE DODGE DASKAM
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
MCM
_Copyright, 1900, by Charles Scribner's Sons_
_D. B. Updike, The Merrymount Press, Boston_
_To my Mother, who sent me to college,
I offer these impressions of it._
_J. D. D._
PREFACE
If these simple tales serve to deepen in the slightest degree the
rapidly growing conviction that the college girl is very much like any
other girl--that this likeness is, indeed, one of her most striking
characteristics--the author will consider their existence abundantly
justified.
J. D. D.
CONTENTS
I
_The Emotions of a Sub-guard_ 1
II
_A Case of Interference_ 37
III
_Miss Biddle of Bryn Mawr_ 67
IV
_Biscuits ex Machina_ 85
V
_The Education of Elizabeth_ 123
VI
_A Family Affair_ 151
VII
_A Few Diversions_ 205
VIII
_The Evolution of Evangeline_ 247
IX
_At Commencement_ 279
X
_The End of It_ 321
THE FIRST STORY
_THE EMOTIONS OF A SUB-GUARD_
I
THE EMOTIONS OF A SUB-GUARD
Theodora pushed through the yellow and purple crowd, a sea of flags
and ribbons and great paper flowers, caught a glimpse of the red and
green river that flowed steadily in at the other door, and felt her
heart contract. What a lot of girls! And the freshmen were always
beaten--
"Excuse me, but I _can't_ move! You'll have to wait," said some one.
Theodora realized that she was crowding, and apologized. A tall girl
with a purple stick moved by the great line that stretched from the
gymnasium to the middle of the campus, and looked keenly at Theodora.
"How did you get here?" she asked. "You must go to the end--we're not
letting any one slip in at the front. The jam is bad enough as it is."
Theodora blushed. "I'm--I'm on the Sub-team," she murmured, "and I'm
late. I--"
"Oh!" said the junior. "Why did you come in here? You go in the other
door. Just pass right in here, though," and Theodora, quite crimson
with the consciousness of a hundred eyes, pulled her mackintosh about
her and slipped in ahead of them all.
Oh, _here's_ to Ninety-_yellow_,
And her _praise_ we'll ever _tell_--_oh_,
Drink her _down_, drink her _down_, drink her _down_,
_down_, _down_!
the line called after her, and her mouth trembled with excitement. She
could just hear the other line:
Oh, _here's_ to Ninety-_green_,
She's the _finest_ ever _seen_!
and then the door slammed and she was upstairs on the big empty floor.
A member of the decorating committee nodded at her from the gallery.
"Pretty, isn't it?" she called down.
"Beautiful!" said Theodora, earnestly. One half of the gallery--her
half--was all trimmed with yellow and purple. Great yellow
chrysanthemums flowered on every pillar, and enormous purple shields
with yellow numerals lined the wall. Crossed banners and flags filled
in the intervals, and from the middle beam depended a great purple
butterfly with yellow wings, flapping defiance at a red and green
insect of indistinguishable species that decorated the other side. A
bevy of ushers in white duck, with _boutonnieres_ of English violets
or single American beauties, took their places and began to pin on
crepe paper sunbonnets of yellow or green, chattering and watching
the clock. A tall senior, with a red silk waist and a green scarf
across her breast, was arranging a box near the centre of the
sophomore side and practising maintaining her balance on it while she
waved a red baton. She was the leader of the Glee Club, and she would
lead the sophomore songs. Theodora heard a confused scuffle on the
stairs, and in a few seconds the galleries were crowded with the
rivers of color that poured from the entrance doors. It seemed that
they were full now, but she knew that twice as many more would crowd
in. She walked quickly to the room at the end of the hall and opened
the door. Beneath and all around her was the hum and rumble of
countless feet and voices, but in the room all was still. The Subs
lounged in the window-seats and tried to act as if it wasn't likely to
be any affair of theirs: one little yellow-haired girl confided
flippantly to her neighbor that she'd "only accepted the position so
as to be able to sit on the platform and be sure of a good place." The
Team were sitting on the floor staring at their captain, who was
talking earnestly in a low voice--giving directions apparently. The
juniors who coached them opened the door and grinned cheerfully. They
attached great purple streamers to their shirt-waists, and addressed
themselves to the freshmen generally.
"Your songs are great! That 'Alabama <DW53>' one was awfully good! You
make twice the noise that they do!"
The Team brightened up. "I think they're pretty good," the captain
said, with an attempt at a conversational tone. "Er--when do we
begin?"
"The Subs can go out now," said one of the coaches, opening the door
importantly. "Now, girls, remember not to wear yourselves out with
kicking and screaming. You're right under the President, and he'll
have a fit if you kick against the platform. Miss Kassan says that
this _must_ be a quiet game! She _will not_ have that howling! It's
her particular request, she says. Now, go on. And if anything happens
to Grace, Julia Wilson takes her place, _and look out for Alison
Greer_--she pounds awfully. Keep as still as you can!"
They trotted out and ranged themselves on the platform, and when
Theodora got to the point of lifting her eyes from the floor to gaze
down at the sophomore Subs across the hall in front of another
audience, the freshmen were off in another song. To her excited eyes
there were thousands of them, brilliant in purple and yellow, and
shouting to be heard of her parents in Pennsylvania. A junior in
yellow led them with a great purple stick, and they chanted, to a
splendid march tune that made even the members of the Faculty keep
time on the platform, their hymn to victory.
_Hurrah!_ _hurrah!_ the _yellow_ is on _top_!
_Hurrah!_ _hurrah!_ the _purple_ cannot _drop_!
_We_ are Ninety-_yellow_ and our _fame_ shall never _stop_,
_'Rah_, _'rah_, _'rah_, for the _freshmen_!
They sang so well and so loud and strong, shouting out the words so
plainly and keeping such splendid time, that as the verse and chorus
died away audience and sophomores alike clapped them vigorously, much
to their delight and pride. Theodora looked up for the first time and
| 1,702.199868 |
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Produced by Tom Roch, ronnie sahlberg and the Online
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file was produced from images produced by Core Historical
Literature in Agriculture (CHLA), Cornell University)
[Illustration: Hon. R. W. Dunlap, Kingston, Ohio, graduate of course in
agriculture, Ohio State University, 1895, noted football player, state
senator, state dairy and food commissioner. Farmer and institute
lecturer. Introduced alfalfa fourteen years ago into his farm and
community. Introduced commercial fertilizers and raised thereby more
wheat from 50 acres than his father did from 150 acres, thus convincing
his father and neighbors that when rightly used commercial fertilizers
paid. Mr. Dunlap claimed that the agricultural college made him a farmer,
because when he left for college he had no intention of returning to the
farm.]
The
Young Farmer
Some Things He Should Know
_By_
THOMAS F. HUNT
Imperial man! Co-worker with the wind
And rain and light and heat and cold, and all
The agencies of God to feed and clothe
And render beautiful and glad the world!
--_Stockard_
NEW YORK
ORANGE JUDD COMPANY
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., Limited
1913
----------------------------------------------------------------------
ORANGE JUDD COMPANY
----------
Entered at Stationers' Hall
_LONDON, ENGLAND_
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I ESSENTIALS OF SUCCESS 1
II MEANS OF ACQUIRING LAND 14
III FARM ORGANIZATION 31
IV OPPORTUNITIES IN AGRICULTURE 44
V WHERE TO LOCATE 57
VI SIZE OF FARM 64
VII SELECTION OF FARM 71
VIII THE FARM SCHEME 88
IX THE ROTATION OF CROPS 101
X THE EQUIPMENT 109
XI HOW TO ESTIMATE PROFITS 117
XII GRAIN AND HAY FARMING 135
XIII THE COST OF FARMING OPERATIONS 148
XIV THE PLACE OF INTENSIVE FARMING 162
XV REASONS FOR ANIMAL HUSBANDRY 172
XVI RETURNS FROM ANIMALS 185
XVII FARM LABOR 195
XVIII SHIPPING 210
XIX MARKETING 220
XX LAWS AFFECTING LAND AND LABOR 233
XXI RURAL LEGISLATION 248
XXII RURAL FORCES 268
THE YOUNG FARMER:
SOME THINGS HE SHOULD KNOW
----------
CHAPTER I
ESSENTIALS OF SUCCESS
Columella, the much traveled Spanish-Roman writer of the first century
A. D., said that for successful farming three things are essential:
knowledge, capital and love for the calling. This statement is just as
true today as it was when written 1900 years ago by this early writer
on European agriculture.
Every man who loves the calling and has an ambition to become a
successful farmer should understand that no two of these essentials
are sufficient, but that all three are necessary. Although this is so
simple as to be almost axiomatic, it is indeed surprising how few
people believe a knowledge of farming is really essential to success.
America is strewn with cases of failure, in farming, by men investing
capital acquired in other business. In nine cases out of ten failure
has been due to lack of knowledge of farming.
There is known to the writer an expert mineralogist and metallurgist.
On the subject of coal and gold mining he can give the most valuable
information. His advice is constantly sought on all such matters.
Instead of investing his money in mining, on which he is a recognized
authority, he has invested it in a farm, about which he knows next to
nothing. He has not even had the advantage of being raised on a farm,
since his father was a railroad man.
A mechanical engineer remarked that if he had $25,000 he would invest
it in a farm. This man is supposed to be an expert in business methods
as applied to manufacturing in general, and he is especially
conversant with the manufacture and trade in automobiles. About all he
has seen of farming he has observed from the window of a Pullman car
or from the steering wheel of an automobile. Instead of investing his
earnings in some manufacturing business, about which he has spent
years of study and in which he has had some training, he would invest
it in farming, of which he has only the most rudimentary knowledge, if
only he had sufficient capital. As a matter of fact, he is more in
need of knowledge than of capital.
Even farmers of experience do not always realize the training required
to succeed in farming. A letter was received by the dean of a certain
agricultural college saying that a graduate of another agricultural
college had taken one of the poorest farms in his neighborhood and was
raising better potatoes than anyone else could raise. The letter asked
that information be sent by return mail as to how this young man could
be beaten in raising potatoes. Of course the answer had to be sent
that while information upon raising potatoes could easily be supplied,
although not in the limits of an ordinary letter, the training in
observation, judgment and reasoning faculties essential to meet the
daily problems as they arise could not be supplied.
There is no objection to men of other vocations adopting farming as an
avocation if they can afford it. It is a rational form of pleasure for
wealthy people, and one in which they can often be of great service.
This cannot be said of all forms of relaxation. Wealthy men have been
of special service to the cause of agriculture by promoting the
breeding of improved live stock. Men in other callings should clearly
understand, however, that if they have a farm merely as a place to
spend a week end, that they may expect to find the financial returns
unsatisfactory.
To no one is there more significance in the old school aphorism
"knowledge is power" than to the young man who is to become a farmer.
While it is not necessary to be educated in schools in order to gain
knowledge, yet the schoolroom with all its limitations is usually the
most economical and most efficient method of acquiring certain forms of
knowledge essential to every successful man or woman. A farm-to-farm
canvass of a certain region of the state of New York discloses the fact
that farmers with college training are obtaining a higher income from
their farms than those whose school days ended with high school.
Similarly, those who have finished the high school are more prosperous
financially than those who never advanced beyond the grades. The
investigation showed, for example, that with the farmers under
observation the high school education was equivalent to $6,000 worth of
5% bonds. Farming is an occupation requiring keen observation, sound
judgment and accurate reasoning, all attributes which are strengthened
greatly by proper education. This is so true that many men, perhaps
most men, are forty before they have grasped the problems which the
truly successful farmer must solve.
A considerable part of the knowledge essential to success in any
pursuit is acquired by actually working at the occupation, or, as we
say, by practical experience. Some features of any occupation can be
obtained in no other way. A preliminary education may, however,
great | 1,702.302211 |
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Produced by Sigal Alon, Christine P. Travers and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected, all
other inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling
has been maintained.
Captions marked with [TN] have been added while producing this file.]
[Illustration: Attila, "The Scourge of God".]
GREAT MEN AND FAMOUS WOMEN
_A Series of Pen and Pencil Sketches of_
THE LIVES OF MORE THAN 200 OF THE MOST PROMINENT PERSONAGES IN HISTORY
VOL. I.
Copyright, 1894, | 1,702.499581 |
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[Illustration]
ENCYCLOPEDIA OF
DIET
_A Treatise on the Food Question_
IN FIVE VOLUMES
EXPLAINING, IN PLAIN LANGUAGE, THE
CHEMISTRY OF FOOD AND THE CHEMISTRY OF
THE HUMAN BODY, TOGETHER WITH THE ART OF
UNITING THESE TWO BRANCHES OF SCIENCE IN THE
PROCESS OF EATING SO AS TO ESTABLISH NORMAL
DIGESTION AND ASSIMILATION OF FOOD AND
NORMAL ELIMINATION OF WASTE, THEREBY
REMOVING THE CAUSES OF STOMACH,
INTESTINAL, AND ALL OTHER
DIGESTIVE DISORDERS
BY
EUGENE CHRISTIAN, F. S. D.
VOLUME I
NEW YORK CITY
CORRECTIVE EATING SOCIETY, INC.
1917
COPYRIGHT 1914
BY
EUGENE CHRISTIAN
ENTERED AT
STATIONERS HALL, LONDON
SEPTEMBER, 1914
BY
EUGENE CHRISTIAN, F. S. D.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PUBLISHED AUGUST, 1914
TO THE
MOTHERS
AND TO THE NOBLE WORKERS
IN THE GREAT CAUSE OF HUMAN HEALTH
AND OF HUMAN SUFFERING
THESE VOLUMES ARE
Dedicated
BY
THE AUTHOR
PREFACE
Countless centuries have come and gone and have left on the earth myriad
forms of life; but just what life is, from whence it came, whether
or not there is purpose or design behind it, whether or not all the
sacred books are mere conceptions of the infant mind, of the whence and
whither, we do not know; but when we put life beneath the searchlight of
science, we do know that it is a mere assembling of ionic matter into
organic forms, and that this strange work is done in accordance with
certain well-defined laws.
We know that these laws are a part of the great cosmic scheme. In
harmony with them works evolution, which tends to lift to higher and
higher degrees of perfection all forms of both animate and inanimate
life. We believe that if all the natural laws governing life could be
ascertained and obeyed, the number of disorders or interferences with
Nature's scheme would be very greatly decreased.
Man's system of co-operating with his fellow-creatures, which we call
civilization, has imposed certain | 1,702.499717 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
GRAPES OF WRATH
GRAPES OF
WRATH
BY
BOYD CABLE
AUTHOR OF
"BETWEEN THE LINES," "ACTION FRONT,"
AND "DOING THEIR BIT"
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & CO.
681 FIFTH AVENUE
COPYRIGHT, 1917,
BY
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
_TO
ALL RANKS OF THE NEW ARMIES_
_Men of the Old Country, Men of the Overseas, and those good men
among the Neutrals who put all else aside to join up and help us to
Victory, this book is dedicated with pride and admiration by_
_THE AUTHOR_
_In the Field,
20th January, 1917_
THE AUTHOR'S ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Acknowledgments are due to the Editors of _The Cornhill Magazine_,
_Land and Water_, and _Pearson's Magazine_ for permission to reprint
such portions of this book as have appeared in their pages.
[Illustration]
BOYD CABLE--A PREFATORY NOTE
The readers of Boyd Cable's "Between the Lines," "Action Front," and
"Doing Their Bit," have very naturally had their curiosity excited
as to an author who, previously unheard of, has suddenly become the
foremost word-painter of active fighting at the present day, and the
greatest "literary discovery" of the War.
Boyd Cable is primarily a man of action; and for half of his not very
long life he has been doing things instead of writing them. At the
age of twenty he joined a corps of Scouts in the Boer War, and saw
plenty of fighting in South Africa. After the close of that war, his
life consisted largely of traveling in Great Britain and the principal
countries of Europe and the Mediterranean, his choice always leading
him from the beaten track. He also spent some time in Australia
and in New Zealand, not only in the cities, but in the outposts of
civilization, on the edge of the wilderness, both there and in the
Philippines, Java, and other islands of the Pacific.
When he travels, Mr. Cable does not merely take a steamer-berth or
a railway-ticket and write up his notes from an observation car or
a saloon deck. He looks out after a job, and puts plenty of energy
into it while he is at it; in fact, so many different things has he
done, that he says himself that it is easier to mention the things he
has not done than the ones he has. He has been an ordinary seaman,
typewriter agent, a steamer-fireman, office-manager, hobo, farmhand,
gold prospector, coach-driver, navvy, engine-driver, and many other
things. And strangely enough, though he knows so much from practical
experience, he has, until recently, never thought of writing down what
he has seen.
Before this present War, he was on the staff of a London advertising
agency. At the outbreak of hostilities, he offered his services and was
accepted in 1914, being one of the first men not in the regular army to
get a commission and be sent to the front.
It was his experience as "Forward Officer" (or observation officer
in the artillery) that gave him the material which he began to use in
"Between the Lines."
In this dangerous and responsible position, his daily life of literally
"hairbreadth" escapes afforded him experiences as thrilling as any he
has described in his books. On one occasion, for instance, when his
position had been "spotted" by enemy sharp-shooters, he got a bullet
through his cap, one through his shoulder-strap, one through the inside
of his sleeve close to his heart, and fifty-three others near enough
for him to hear them pass--all in less than an hour.
After eighteen months of this death-defying work, without even a
wound, Mr. Boyd Cable was naturally disgusted at being invalided home
on account of stomach trouble; but it was only this enforced leisure
that gave him really time to take up writing seriously. As may be
remembered, the British Government selected him officially to make the
rounds of the munition factories and write an account of what was being
done in them, with the purpose of circulating it among the men at the
front, to let them see that the workers at home were "doing their bit."
The following letter has just been received from Mr. Boyd Cable by
the publishers, and they venture to include it here, entirely without
the writer's consent (since that would be impossible to get within the
necessary time), and fully realizing that the letter was not written
with a view to publication. They feel that it will give the reader
an intimate view of the author, such as no amount of description or
explanation could do.
"... Many thanks for all the trouble you have taken trying to place
my stories in magazines. It certainly is odd that British in U. S.
A. are not more interested in the war. I only hope the States won't
have one of its own to be interested in, but honestly I expect it
within very few years.
I am very glad you like "Grapes of Wrath" and hope the further
chapters (which Smith, Elder & Company tell me they have sent
you) will equally please. I may not tell you where I am or what
I'm doing since the Censor forbids, but may just say that since I
came out again I've seen plenty of the Somme "Push" and have been
able to make "Grapes of Wrath" the more accurate and up to date in
details.
Now we're all awaiting the Spring with full anticipations of going
in for the last round and the knock-out to Germany. We're all very
confident she can't stand the pace we've set for next year.
We're having some bitter weather--fierce cold and wet and snow, but
we're putting up with it, more or less cheered by the assurance
that the Huns are feeling it every bit as bad as we are and
probably a bit worse.
With all regards and every good wish for the coming year...."
It only remains to add that the importance of Mr. Boyd Cable's work may
be judged by the fact that of "Between the Lines" considerably over a
hundred thousand copies have been printed in Great Britain alone.
THE PUBLISHERS.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. TOWARDS THE PUSH 15
II. THE OVERTURE OF THE GUNS 26
III. THE EDGE OF BATTLE 37
IV. ACROSS THE OPEN 50
V. ON CAPTURED GROUND 69
VI. TAKING PUNISHMENT 79
VII. BLIND MAN'S BUFF 98
VIII. OVER THE TOP 112
IX. A SIDE SHOW 134
X. THE COUNTER ATTACK 152
XI. FORWARD OBSERVING 179
XII. A VILLAGE AND A HELMET 201
XIII. WITH THE TANKS 229
XIV. THE BATTLE HYMN 244
XV. CASUALTIES 253
XVI. PLAY OUT THE GAME 275
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC
_Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fatal lightning of His terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on._
_I have seen Him in the watch fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps:
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:
His day is marching on._
_I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My grace shall deal";
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with His heel!
Since God is marching on!_
_He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat,
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat;
Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on._
_In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born, across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me;
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on._
_He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave;
He is wisdom to the mighty, He is succor to the brave;
So the world shall be His footstool and the soul of time His slave:
Our God is marching on._
JULIA WARD HOWE.
AUTHOR'S FOREWORD
It is possible that this book may be taken for an actual account of
the Somme battle, but I warn readers that although it is in the bulk
based on the fighting there and is no doubt by the fact that
the greater part of it was written in the Somme area or between visits
to it, I make no claim for it as history or as an historical account.
My ambition was the much lesser one of describing as well as I could
what a Big Push is like from the point of view of an ordinary average
infantry private, of showing how much he sees and knows and suffers in
a great battle, of giving a glimpse perhaps of the spirit that animates
the New Armies, the endurance that has made them more than a match for
the Germans, the acceptance of appalling and impossible horrors as the
work-a-day business and routine of battle, the discipline and training
that has fused such a mixture of material into tempered fighting metal.
For the tale itself, I have tried to put into words merely the sort
of story that might and could be told by thousands of our men to-day.
I hope, in fact, I have so "told the tale" that such men as I have
written of may be able to put this book in your hands and say: "This
chapter just describes our crossing the open," or "That is how we were
shelled," or "I felt the same about my Blighty one."
It may be that before this book is complete in print another, a
greater, a longer and bloodier, and a last battle may be begun, and I
wish this book may indicate the kind of men who will be fighting it,
the stout hearts they will bring to the fight, the manner of faith and
assurance they will feel in Victory, complete and final to the gaining
of such Peace terms as we may demand.
THE AUTHOR.
In the Field
20th January, 1917.
GRAPES OF WRATH
CHAPTER I
TOWARDS THE PUSH
The rank and file of the 5/6 Service Battalion of the Stonewalls
knew that "there was another push on," and that they were moving up
somewhere into the push; but beyond that and the usual crop of wild and
loose-running rumors they knew nothing. Some of the men had it on the
most exact and positive authority that they were for the front line
and "first over the parapet"; others on equally positive grounds knew
that they were to be in reserve and not in the attack at all; that they
were to be in support and follow the first line; that there was to be
nothing more than an artillery demonstration and no infantry attack at
all; that the French were taking over our line for the attack; that
we were taking over the French line. The worst of it was that there
were so many tales nobody could believe any of them, but, strangely
enough, that did not lessen the eager interest with which each in turn
was heard and discussed, or prevent each in turn securing a number of
supporters and believers.
But all the rumors appeared to be agreed that up to now the push had
not begun, so far as the infantry were concerned, and also that, as
Larry Arundel put it, "judging by the row the guns are making it's
going to be some push when it does come."
The Stonewalls had been marching up towards the front by easy stages
for three days past, and each day as they marched, and, in fact,
each hour of this last day, the uproar of artillery fire had grown
steadily greater and greater, until now the air trembled to the violent
concussions of the guns, the shriek and rumble of the shells, and
occasionally to the more thrilling and heart-shaking shriek of an enemy
shell, and the crash of its burst in our lines.
It was almost sunset when the Stonewalls swung off the road and halted
in and about a little orchard. The lines of an encampment--which
was intended for no more than a night's bivouac--were laid out,
and the men unbuckled their straps, laid off their packs, and sank
thankfully to | 1,702.599477 |
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Produced by Bryan Ness, Eric Hutton and the Online
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book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
SIR WILLIAM HERSCHEL
HIS LIFE AND WORKS
[Illustration: Sir William Herschel]
SIR WILLIAM HERSCHEL
HIS LIFE AND WORKS
BY
EDWARD S. HOLDEN
UNITED STATES NAVAL OBSERVATORY, WASHINGTON
[Illustration: Coelis Exploratis]
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
743 AND 745 BROADWAY
1881
COPYRIGHT, 1880,
BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
PRESS OF J. J. LITTLE & CO.,
NOS. 10 TO 20 ASTOR PLACE, NEW YORK.
Please see the end of the text for TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
PREFACE.
In the following account of the life and works of Sir WILLIAM HERSCHEL,
I have been obliged to depend strictly upon data already in print--the
_Memoir_ of his sister, his own scientific writings and the memoirs and
diaries of his cotemporaries. The review of his published works will, I
trust, be of use. It is based upon a careful study of all his papers in
the _Philosophical Transactions_ and elsewhere.
A life of HERSCHEL which shall be satisfactory in every particular can
only be written after a full examination of the materials which are
preserved at the family seat in England; but as two generations have
passed since his death, and as no biography yet exists which approaches
to completeness, no apology seems to me to be needed for a
conscientious attempt to make the best use of the scanty material which
we do possess.
This study will, I trust, serve to exhibit so much of his life as
belongs to the whole public. His private life belongs to his family,
until the time is come to let the world know more of the greatest of
practical astronomers and of the inner life of one of its most profound
philosophers,--of a great and ardent mind, whose achievements are and
will remain the glory of England.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
EARLY YEARS; 1738-1772, 1
CHAPTER II.
LIFE IN BATH; 1772-1782, 33
CHAPTER III.
LIFE AT DATCHET, CLAY HALL, AND SLOUGH; 1782-1822, 68
CHAPTER IV.
REVIEW OF THE SCIENTIFIC LABORS OF HERSCHEL, 118
BIBLIOGRAPHY, 215
INDEX OF NAMES, 235
LIFE AND WORKS
OF
WILLIAM HERSCHEL.
CHAPTER I.
EARLY YEARS; 1738-1772.
Of the great modern philosophers, that one of whom least is known, is
WILLIAM HERSCHEL. We may appropriate the words which escaped him when
the barren region of the sky near the body of _Scorpio_ was passing
slowly through the field of his great reflector, during one of his
sweeps, to express our own sense of absence of light and knowledge:
_Hier ist wahrhaftig ein Loch im Himmel._
HERSCHEL prepared, about the year 1818, a biographical memorandum, which
his sister CAROLINA placed among his papers.
This has never been made public. The only thoroughly authentic sources
of information in possession of the world, are a letter written by
HERSCHEL himself, in answer to a pressing request for a sketch of his
life, and the _Memoir and Correspondence of CAROLINE HERSCHEL_ (London,
1876), a precious memorial not only of his life, but of one which
otherwise would have remained almost unknown, and one, too, which the
world could ill afford to lose. The latter, which has been ably edited
by Mrs. MARY CORNWALLIS HERSCHEL,[1] is the only source of knowledge in
regard to the early years of the great astronomer, and together with the
all too scanty materials to be gained from a diligent search through the
biography of the time, affords the data for those personal details of
his life, habits, and character, which seem to complete the distinct,
though partial conception of him which the student of his philosophical
writings acquires.
The letter referred to was published in the Goettingen Magazine of
Science and Literature, III., 4, shortly after the name of HERSCHEL had
become familiar to every ear through his discovery of _Uranus_, but
while the circumstances of the discovery, and the condition of the
amateur who made it, were still entirely unknown.
The editor (LICHTENBERG) says:
"Herr HERSCHEL was good enough to send me, some time since, through
Herr MAGELLAN, copies of his Dissertations on Double Stars, on the
Parallax of the Fixed Stars, and on a new Micrometer. In the letter
which conveyed to him my thanks for his gift, I requested him to
note down a few facts in regard to his life, for publication in this
magazine, since various accounts, more or less incorrect, had
appeared in several journals. In answer, I received a very obliging
letter from him and what follows is that portion of it relating to
my request, which was sent me with full permission to make it
public."
"DATCHET, NEAR WINDSOR,
_Nov. 15, 1783._
"I was born in Hanover, November, 1738. My father, who was a
musician, destined me to the same profession, hence I was
instructed betimes in his art. That I might acquire a perfect
knowledge of the theory as well as of the practice of music, I was
set at an early age to study mathematics in all its
branches--algebra, conic sections, infinitesimal analysis, and the
rest.
"The insatiable desire for knowledge thus awakened resulted next in
a course of languages; I learned French, English, and Latin, and
steadfastly resolved henceforth to devote myself wholly to those
sciences from the pursuit of which I alone looked for all my future
happiness and enjoyment. I have never been either necessitated or
disposed to alter this resolve. My father, whose means were limited,
and who consequently could not be as liberal to his children as he
would have desired, was compelled to dispose of them in one way or
another at an early age; consequently in my fifteenth year I
enlisted in military service, only remaining in the army, however,
until I reached my nineteenth year, when I resigned and went over to
England.
"My familiarity with the organ, which I had carefully mastered
previously, soon procured for me the position of organist in
Yorkshire, which I finally exchanged for a similar situation at Bath
in 1766, and while here the peculiar circumstances of my post, as
agreeable as it was lucrative, made it possible for me to occupy
myself once more with my studies, especially with mathematics. When,
in the course of time, I took up astronomy, I determined to accept
nothing on faith, but to see with my own eyes everything which
others had seen before me. Having already some knowledge of the
science of optics, I resolved to manufacture my own telescopes, and
after many continuous, determined trials, I finally succeeded in
completing a so-called Newtonian instrument, seven feet in length.
From this I advanced to one of ten feet, and at last to one of
twenty, for I had fully made up my mind to carry on the improvement
of my telescopes as far as it could possibly be done. When I had
carefully and thoroughly perfected the great instrument in all its
parts, I made systematic use of it in my observations of the
heavens, first forming a determination never to pass by any, the
smallest, portion of them without due investigation. This habit,
persisted in, led to the discovery of the new planet (_Georgium
Sidus_). This was by no means the result of chance, but a simple
consequence of the position of the planet on that particular
evening, since it occupied precisely that spot in the heavens which
came in the order of the minute observations that I had previously
mapped out for myself. Had I not seen it just when I did, I must
inevitably have come upon it soon after, since my telescope was so
perfect that I was able to distinguish it from a fixed star in the
first minute of observation.
"Now to bring this sketch to a close. As the king had expressed a
desire to see my telescope, I took it by his command to Greenwich,
where it was compared with the instruments of my excellent friend,
Dr. MASKELYNE, not only by himself, but by other experts, who
pronounced it as their opinion that my instrument was superior to
all the rest. Thereupon the king ordered that the instrument be
brought to Windsor, and since it there met with marked approval, his
majesty graciously awarded me a yearly pension, that I might be
enabled to relinquish my profession of music, and devote my whole
time to astronomy and the improvement of the telescope. Gratitude,
as well as other considerations specified by me in a paper presented
to the Royal Society, of which I am a member, has induced me to call
the new planet _Georgium Sidus_.
"'Georgium Sidus.--jam nunc assuesce vocari.'--(_Virgil._)
And I hope it will retain the name."
We know but little of the family of HERSCHEL. The name is undoubtedly
Jewish, and is found in Poland, Germany, and England. We learn that the
ancestors of the present branch left Moravia about the beginning of the
XVIIth century, on account of their change of religion to Protestantism.
They became possessors of land in Saxony. HANS HERSCHEL, the
great-grandfather of WILLIAM, was a brewer in Pirna (a small town near
Dresden). Of the two sons of HANS, one, ABRAHAM (born in 1651, died
1718), was employed in the royal gardens at Dresden, and seems to have
been a man of taste and skill in his calling. Of his eldest son,
EUSEBIUS, there appears to be little trace in the records of the family.
The second son, BENJAMIN, died in infancy; the third, ISAAC, was born in
1707 (Jan. 14), and was thus an orphan at eleven years of age. ISAAC was
the father of the great astronomer.
He appears to have early had a passionate fondness for music, and this,
added to a distaste for his father's calling, determined his career. He
was taught music by an oboe-player in the royal band, and he also
learned the violin. At the age of twenty-one he studied music for a year
under the Cappelmeister PABRICH, at Potsdam, and in August, 1731, he
became oboist in the band of the Guards, at Hanover. In August, 1732, he
married ANNA ILSE MORITZEN. She appears to have been a careful and busy
wife and mother, possessed of no special faculties which would lead us
to attribute to her care any great part of the abilities of her son.
She could not herself write the letters which she sent to her husband
during his absences with his regiment. It was her firm belief that the
separations and some of the sorrows of the family came from too much
learning; and | 1,702.799282 |
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Life: Its True Genesis
By R. W. Wright
[Masoretic Hebrew.]--אֲׁשֶֽר זַרְעוׄ־בִל עַל־הָאָ֑רֶע׃.--
Οὗ τὸ σπέρμα αὐτοῦ ἐν αὐτῷ χατὰ γένος ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς. [Septuagint.]
"Whose general principle of life, each in itself after its own kind, is
upon the earth." [Correct Translation.]
Second Edition
1884
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
TO
ARTHUR E. HOTCHKISS, ESQ.
OF CHESHIRE, CONN.
Contents.
Prefatory
Chapter I. Introductory.
Chapter II. Life--Its True Genesis.
Chapter III. Alternations of Forest Growths.
Chapter IV. The Distribution and Vitality of Seeds.
Chapter V. Plant Migration and Interglacial Periods.
Chapter VI. Distribution and Permanence of Species.
Chapter VII. What Is Life? Its Various Theories.
Chapter VIII. Materialistic Theories of Life Refuted.
Chapter IX. Force-Correlation, Differentiation and Other Life Theories.
Chapter X. Darwinism Considered from a Vitalistic Stand-point.
Preface to Second Edition.
Here is the law of life, as laid down by the eagle-eyed prophet Isaiah, in
that remarkable chapter commencing, "Ho, every one that
thirsteth"--whether it be after knowledge, or any other earthly or
spiritual good--come unto me and I will give you that which you seek. This
is the spirit of the text, and these are the words at the commencement of
the tenth verse:
"As the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not
thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it (_the earth_) bring forth
and bud (_not first bud, bear seed, and then bring forth_), that it (_the
earth_) may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater (_man being the
only sower of seed and eater of bread_): so shall my Word be (_the Word of
Life_) that goeth forth out of my mouth (_the mouth of the Lord_); it
shall not return unto me void (_i.e., lifeless_), but it shall accomplish
that which I (_the Lord Jehovah_) please, and it (_the living Word_) shall
prosper in the thing whereto I sent it."
This formula of life is as true now as it was over two thousand six
hundred years ago, when it was penned by the divinely inspired prophet,
and it is as true now as it was then, that "Instead of the thorn shall
come up the fir tree, and instead of the briar shall come up the myrtle
tree; and it shall be to the Lord for a name, for an everlasting sign that
shall not be cut off." That is, as the rains descend and the floods come
and change the face of the earth, a law, equivalent to the divine command,
"Let the earth bring forth," is forever operative, changing the face of
nature and causing it to give expression to new forms of life as the
conditions thereof are changed, and these forms are spoken into existence
by the divine fiat.
In all the alternations of forest growths that are taking place to-day, on
this continent or elsewhere, this one vital law is traceable everywhere.
In the course of the next year, it will be as palpable in the Island of
Java, recently desolated by the most disastrous earthquake recorded in
history, as in any other portion of the earth, however free from such
volcanic action. On the very spot where mountain ranges disappeared in a
flaming sea of fire, and other ranges were thrown up in parallel lines but
on different bases, and where it was evident that every seed, plant, tree,
and thing of life perished in one common vortex of ruin, animal as well as
vegetable life will make its appearance in obedience to this law, as soon
as the rains shall again descend, cool the basaltic and other rocks, and
the life-giving power referred to by Isaiah once more become operative.
There is no more doubt of this in the mind of the learned naturalist, than
in that of the most devout believer of the Bible, from which this most
remarkable formula is taken.
We have no disposition to arraign the American and European "Agnostics,"
as they are pleased to call themselves, for using the term "Nature"
instead of God, in their philosophical writings.
As long as they are evidently earnest seekers after _Truth_ as it is to be
found in | 1,702.800895 |
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by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: The Burland Desbarats Lith. Co. Montreal
RUINS OF THE GERMAIN ST. BAPTIST CHURCH BY MOONLIGHT.
From a Sketch by John C. Miles, Artist.]
THE STORY
OF THE
=Great Fire in St. John, N.B.=
JUNE 20TH, 1877.
BY
GEORGE STEWART, JR.,
_OF ST. JOHN, N.B._
=Toronto:=
BELFORD BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS.
ST. JOHN, N.B.: R. A. H. MORROW; MONTREAL, P. Q.:
DAWSON BROS.; TORONTO, ONT.: JAS. CLARKE &
CO.; DETROIT, MICH.: CRAIG & TAYLOR;
BOSTON: LOCKWOOD, BROOKS & CO.
[Illustration: PAPER MANUFACTURED BY CANADA PAPER COY MONTREAL]
Entered according to the Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thousand eight hundred and seventy-seven, by BELFORD BROTHERS, in the
office of the Minister of Agriculture.
HUNTER, ROSE, & CO,
PRINTERS AND BINDERS.
TORONTO.
TO
_GILBERT MURDOCH, C. E._,
MY FIRST FRIEND,
I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME.
=The Author.=
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
The Great Fire--Its Extent--Its Terrible Rapidity--A Glance
Backward--What the People Passed Through--The First Fire--
Protective Movements--The People who Lent the City Money--
Minor Fires--Fire of 1823--The Great Fire of 1837--The
Calamity of 1839--The Trials of 1841--The King Street Fire 9
CHAPTER II.
The Late Fire--Its Origin--Bravery of the Firemen--The High
Wind--The Fire's Career--Fighting the Flames--Almost Lost--
The Escape from the Burning Building--Destruction of Dock
Street--Smyth Street in Flames--The Wharves--Demolition of
Market Square--Something about the Business Houses there--
The Banks--Fire Checked at North Street 19
CHAPTER III.
The Fire in King Street--Recollections--The Old Coffee House
Corner--The Stores in King Street--The Old Masonic Hall--The
St. John Hotel--Its Early Days--The Bell Tower--King Square--
A Night of Horror--The Vultures at Work--Plundering the
Destitute 27
CHAPTER IV.
The Fire in Germain Street--The First Brick House in St. John
--Old Trinity--The Loyalists--Curious Ideas about Insurance--
The Rectors of Trinity--The Clock--The Royal Arms 36
CHAPTER V.
The Old Curiosity Shop on Germain Street--A Quaint Old Place
--"Rubbish Shot Here"--Notman's Studio--The Mother of Methodism
--Destruction of the Germain Street Methodist Church--Burning
of the Academy of Music--The Old Grammar School--Presbyterians
among the Loyalists--The "Auld Kirk"--Saint Andrew's--The Grants
of Land--Legislation--The Building of the Kirk--Ministers--The
"Victoria" in Flames--Fascination of the Fire--The "Victoria"
in Ruins--What might have saved it 48
CHAPTER VI.
The Odd Fellows' Hall--The Fire in Horsfield Street--The sweep
along Germain Street--The Old Baptist Church--Some Early
Ministers--Two Fiery Ordeals--The Brick Church--The Ruins--The
Bay View Hotel--An Old Landmark Gone--The Blazing Barracks--St.
James's--The Hazon House--St. Malachi's Chapel--The First Roman
Catholic Church 65
CHAPTER VII.
A Hard-Working Manager--The Dramatic Lyceum--The Temperance
Hall--The Water-Works Building--A Hard Fight--Another Rush
of the Homeless--The Weary March of the Unfortunates--History
of the Water Supply--Early Struggles--Changes--The Old Way--
The St. John Water Company--Placed in Commission--The Company
to-day 76
CHAPTER VIII.
Burning of the Leinster Street Baptist Church--The Varley
School--Centenary Chapel--The Gas Works--$17,000 worth of Coal
burned in Ten Days--The Tall Sentinel--St. David's Kirk--The
Reformed Presbyterian Church--The Victoria School--Gigantic
Ruins--An Accident--Sketch of the School-house 90
CHAPTER IX.
Queen Square--Incidents in the Burning--The Old Pitcher--"God
is burning up the World, and He won't make another"--Saved
from the Flames--Overtaken by Fire Three Times--The Night of
Terror on Queen Square--Alone amidst Perils--The Lone House
on the Square--Three People under a Table--The Sailor--"If I
die to-night, sir, hunt them up"--The Escape--The Deserted
Streets--An Anomaly--The Marine Hospital--What a few Buckets
of Water did--The Wiggins Orphan Asylum--The Block in
Canterbury Street--The _News_ Office--Savings Bank 101
CHAPTER X.
Incidents--An Old Corner Burned Down--The Lenders and Borrowers
--"Twenty per Cent."--The Shylocks of the Curbstone--The Human
Barometers--The Vultures of Commerce--Chubbe's Corner--The
Old Commercial Bank--The _Telegraph_ Office--The Bank of
New Brunswick--A Hard Worked Cashier--The Post Office--Not
a Mail Lost--Quick Dispatch--The Nethery House and Orangemen
--The Royal Hotel--The Custom House--The Dead of the
Conflagration 114
CHAPTER XI.
The Old House on the Hill--A Wily Commissary--The Bags of
Gold--What was Done at Midnight--The Dead of Night Deposit--
The Old Vault--A Timid Money Lender--Mr. Peter Johnson--The
Board of Commissioners--The Old Gentleman's Little Joke--The
Inspection--How it was Discovered--The Fight with the Flames
--"How much will I Get"--What he Got--The Oil Barrels--Dashing
the Water on the Kerosene--A Lively Time on Reed's Point
Wharf--The Bridge of Fire--On the Ferry-Boat--The Western
Union Telegraph Office--The First Despatch 129
CHAPTER XII.
A Thrilling Incident--The Burning House--The Tall Figure on
the Hall--Escape Cut Off--The Only Way Out--The Street of
Fire--Walking on Coals--The Open Boat--The Way to the Wharf
--Terrible Suffering--The Awful Death on the Street--Worn
Out--The Escape--Saved--The Firemen--How they Fought the Flames 144
CHAPTER XIII.
A Chapter of Incidents--Agony on Board--Coming Up the Harbour
--The Story of the Moths--The Newly Married Lady's Story--No
Flour--Moving Out--Saving the Drugs--The Man with the Corn
Plasters--Incendiarism--Scenes--Thievery--The Newspapers--
Enterprise--Blowing Down the Walls--An Act of Bravery--The Fatal
Blast--Danger and Death in the Walls--Accidents--The Fire and
the Church--The Ministers 155
CHAPTER XIV.
"I went againe to the ruines, for it was no longer a Citty"--
The Drive by Moonlight--Through the Ruins--After the Fire--A
City of Ashes--The Buried Silver--The Sentinel Chimneys--The
Home of Luxuriance--A Recollection--The Moon and the Church--
Back again 167
CHAPTER XV.
Aid for St. John--The First Days--How the Poor were Fed--
Organization of the St. John Relief and Aid Society--Its
System--How it operates--The Rink--The Car Shed--List of
Moneys and Supplies received--The Noble Contributions 175
CHAPTER XVI.
The Odd Fellows and the Fire--Relief Committee at Work--
Searching out the Destitute Brethren--Helping the Sufferers
--The Secret Distribution of Aid--List of Donations 203
CHAPTER XVII.
The Losses of the Masonic Fraternity--Great Destruction of
Masonic | 1,703.400586 |
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LUTHER'S
SMALL CATECHISM
_Explained in Questions and Answers_
BY
H. U. Sverdrup,
Late Pastor in the Church of Norway.
ABRIDGED
Translated from the Norwegian
By H. A. URSETH
THIRD EDITION
MINNEAPOLIS, MINN.
THE FREE CHURCH BOOK CONCERN
1906.
COPYRIGHTED BY
THE FREE CHURCH BOOK CONCERN
1900.
PREFACE.
In 1897 the present publishers issued in Norwegian an Explanation of
Luther's Small Catechism by Pastor H. U. Sverdrup, being an abridged
edition of a larger work by the same author, based on Dr.
Pontoppidan's Explanation of the Catechism. Some alterations were made
in the answers to questions 244-252. The present work is a translation
of this abridged and slightly altered edition.
A literal translation has been avoided rather than sought; an attempt
has been made to render the original in the simplest and strongest
English, and to avoid words and expressions with which the young are
little familiar.
In the catechism proper the Standard English Catechism Version has
been followed when it did not interfere with the plan stated above.
But departures have been made reluctantly and only when simplicity and
clearness seemed to be gained thereby. It is not thought that these
few changes will cause any disturbance.
Scripture quotations have been added somewhat freely from the larger
edition.
As the needs of our English speaking young people have been constantly
borne in mind during the preparation of this translation, it is hoped
that the book may not fail to carry some blessing to them.
October, 1900.
_The Translator._
LUTHER'S SMALL CATECHISM.
PART ONE.
THE TEN COMMANDMENTS.
THE FIRST COMMANDMENT.
=Thou shalt have no other gods before me.=
_That is_,
We should fear, love, and trust in God above all things.
THE SECOND COMMANDMENT.
=Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the
Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.=
_That is_,
We should fear and love God, and not curse, swear, conjure, lie, or
deceive by His name, but call upon His name in every time of need, and
worship Him with prayer, praise, and thanksgiving.
THE THIRD COMMANDMENT.
=Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy.=
_That is_,
We should fear and love God, and not despise or neglect His Word, but
deem it holy and gladly hear and learn it.
THE FOURTH COMMANDMENT.
=Honor thy father and thy mother, that it may be well with thee, and
thou mayest live long on the earth.=
_That is_,
We should fear and love God, and not despise or give offense to our
parents or superiors; but honor, serve, obey, love, and esteem them.
THE FIFTH COMMANDMENT.
=Thou shalt not kill.=
_That is_,
We should fear and love God, and not hurt or harm our neighbor in his
body, but help and befriend him in all bodily distress.
THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT.
=Thou shalt not commit adultery.=
_That is_,
We should fear and love God, and live a chaste and pure life, in words
and deeds, husband and wife loving and honoring each other.
THE SEVENTH COMMANDMENT.
=Thou shalt not steal.=
_That is_,
We should fear and love God, and not take our neighbor's money or
property, nor get it by unfair dealing or other dishonesty, but help
him to improve and protect his property and living.
THE EIGHTH COMMANDMENT.
=Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.=
_That is_,
We should fear and love God, and not tell lies about our neighbor, nor
betray, slander, or defame him; but excuse him, speak well of him, and
look upon all his acts as well-meant.
THE NINTH COMMANDMENT.
=Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house.=
_That is_,
We should fear and love God, and not by deceit or craft seek to gain
our neighbor's inheritance or home, nor try to get it though we seem
to have some right thereto, but help him to keep his own.
THE TENTH COMMANDMENT.
=Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his man-servant, nor
his maid-servant, nor his cattle, nor anything that is his.=
_That is_,
We should fear and love God, and not estrange, force, or entice away
from our neighbor, his wife, servants, or cattle, but urge them to
stay and do their duty.
_What does God say of all his commandments?_
=I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the
fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them
that hate me; and showing mercy unto thousands of them that love me,
and keep my commandments.=
_That is_,
God threatens to punish all who transgress these commandments; we
should therefore fear His wrath, and do nothing against them.
On the other hand He promises grace and every blessing to all who keep
these commandments; we should therefore love Him and trust in Him, and
gladly do according to His commandments.
PART TWO.
THE THREE ARTICLES OF THE CREED.
THE FIRST ARTICLE.
CONCERNING CREATION.
=I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth.=
_That is_,
I believe that God has made me and all other creatures; that He has
given me body and soul, eyes, ears, and all other members, my reason,
and all my senses.
I also believe that He preserves all He has made, and that He daily
provides me with all I need, giving me clothing and food, home and
family, and every good thing.
I further believe that He protects me from all danger, and keeps me
from all evil; not because I have deserved it, but because He is a
loving and merciful Father.
For all these blessings it is my duty to serve Him thankfully and
obediently all the days of my life.
All this is certainly true.
THE SECOND ARTICLE.
CONCERNING REDEMPTION.
=I believe in Jesus Christ His only Son, our Lord; who was conceived
by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary; suffered under Pontius
Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; He descended into hell; the
third day He arose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven, and
sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from whence He
shall come to judge the quick and the dead.=
_That is_,
I believe that Jesus Christ is true God, begotten of the Father from
eternity; I also believe that He is true man, born of the Virgin Mary;
that He is my Lord, who has redeemed me, a lost and condemned sinner;
who has freed me from sin, from death, and from the power of Satan,
not with gold or silver but with His holy and precious blood and His
innocent death.
All this He has done that I might be His own, and that I might serve
Him in righteousness, innocence, and happiness, and live and reign
with Him in His kingdom forever, even as He arose from the dead, lives
and reigns through all eternity.
All this is certainly true.
THE THIRD ARTICLE.
CONCERNING SANCTIFICATION.
=I believe in the Holy Ghost; the holy Christian church, the communion
of saints; the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and
life everlasting. Amen.=
_That is_,
I believe that I cannot through my own strength believe in Jesus
Christ my Lord, or come to Him. This is the work of the Holy Spirit
alone, who has called me through the gospel, enlightened me with His
gifts, and sanctified and preserved me in the true faith;
Even as he calls, gathers, enlightens, and sanctifies the whole
Christian church on earth, and preserves it in fellowship with Jesus
Christ in the one true faith.
In this Christian church He daily forgives me and all believers all
our sins, and He will raise up me and all the dead on the last day,
and will give me and all believers everlasting life.
All this is certainly true.
PART THREE.
THE LORD'S PRAYER.
=Our Father who art in heaven.=
_That is_,
God would hereby tenderly invite us to believe that He is truly our
Father, and we are truly His children, so that we may ask of Him with
all cheerfulness and confidence, as dear children ask of their dear
father.
THE FIRST PETITION.
=Hallowed be Thy name.=
_That is_,
The name of God is indeed holy in itself; but we pray in this petition
that it may be hallowed also among us.
This is done when the Word of God is rightly taught, and when we as
the children of God live holy lives in obedience to the Word. This
grant us, heavenly Father.
THE SECOND PETITION.
=Thy kingdom come.=
_That is_,
The kingdom of God comes indeed of itself, without our prayer, but we
pray in this petition that it may come also to us.
This is done when our heavenly Father gives us His Holy Spirit, so
that by His grace we believe the Word of God, and live holy and
Christ-like lives here in time, and in heaven forever.
THE THIRD PETITION.
=Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.=
_That is_,
The good and gracious will of God is done indeed without our prayer;
but we pray in this petition that it may be done also among us.
This is done when God brings to nothing all evil plans and purposes of
the devil, the world, and our own flesh, that would hinder the
hallowing of His name and the coming of His kingdom.
On the other hand, it is the good and gracious will of God to strengthen
us and keep us steadfast in His Word and in faith, until death.
THE FOURTH PETITION.
=Give us this day our daily bread.=
_That is_,
God gives daily bread indeed without our prayer even to the wicked;
but we pray in this petition that He would help us to appreciate His
benefits, that we may receive our daily bread with thanksgiving.
By daily bread is meant all those things which are needed for our
support and well-being in life, as food and clothing, home and property,
happy family relations, a good government, favorable weather, peace and
health, faithful friends, good neighbors, and the like.
THE FIFTH PETITION.
=And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass
against us.=
_That is_,
We pray in this petition that our Father in heaven would not look upon
our sins, nor, on account of them, deny our prayer, for we are not
worthy of anything we ask, neither have we deserved it; but we pray
that He would give it to us out of His mercy; for we sin every day,
and deserve nothing but punishment.
And we on our part will heartily forgive those who have sinned against
us, and return good for evil.
THE SIXTH PETITION.
=And lead us not into temptation.=
_That is_,
God indeed tempts no one, but we pray in this petition that He would
guard and keep us from the devil, the world, and our own flesh, that
we fall not, through their deceit, into unbelief, despair, or other
sins; but we pray that although we be thus tempted, we may overcome
the temptation, and remain victorious.
THE SEVENTH PETITION.
=But deliver us from evil.=
_That is_,
We pray in this petition, in general, that our Father in heaven would
deliver us from all evil, affecting body and soul, property and honor,
and at last grant us a blessed end, and graciously take us from this
world of sorrow to Himself in heaven.
_What are the closing words of the Lord's Prayer?_
=For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and
ever. Amen.=
_That is_,
We should remember that God is able to answer our prayer, and that the
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POACHERS AND POACHING
"Knowledge never learned in schools."
[Illustration: LURCHERS.]
POACHERS AND POACHING
By
JOHN WATSON, F.L.S.
AUTHOR OF
"NATURE AND WOODCRAFT," "SYLVAN FOLK," "BRITISH SPORTING FISHES,"
EDITOR OF "THE CONFESSIONS OF A POACHER."
With a Frontispiece
LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL
LIMITED
1891
[_All Rights reserved_]
WESTMINSTER:
PRINTED BY NICHOLS AND SONS,
25, PARLIAMENT STREET.
Transcriber's Note: Minor spelling and typographical errors have
been corrected without note. Dialect spellings, contractions and
inconsistencies have been retained as printed.
NOTE.
These chapters originally appeared as articles in _Macmillan's
Magazine_, the _Cornhill Magazine_, the _National Review_, the
_Gentleman's Magazine_, the _St. James's Gazette_ and the _Pall Mall
Gazette_; and I have to thank the Editors and Proprietors of these
periodicals for permission to reprint them. The chapter entitled
"Water Poachers" is reprinted by permission from the _Nineteenth
Century_.
As to the facts in the volume, they are mainly taken at first hand
from nature.
J. W.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
POACHERS AND POACHING.--I 1
CHAPTER II.
POACHERS AND POACHING.--II 17
CHAPTER III.
BADGERS AND OTTERS 33
CHAPTER IV.
COURIERS OF THE AIR 44
CHAPTER V.
THE SNOW-WALKERS 86
CHAPTER VI.
WHEN DARKNESS HAS FALLEN 94
CHAPTER VII.
BRITISH BIRDS, THEIR NESTS AND EGGS 118
CHAPTER VIII.
MINOR BRITISH GAME BIRDS 143
CHAPTER IX.
WATER POACHERS 162
CHAPTER X.
WILD DUCKS AND DUCK DECOYING 195
CHAPTER XI.
FIELD AND COVERT POACHERS 223
CHAPTER XII.
HOMELY TRAGEDY 245
CHAPTER XIII.
WORKERS IN WOODCRAFT 266
CHAPTER XIV.
SKETCHES FROM NATURE 287
POACHERS AND POACHING.
CHAPTER I.
POACHERS AND POACHING.--I.
The poacher is a product of sleepy village life, and usually "mouches"
on the outskirts of country towns. His cottage is roughly adorned in
fur and feather, and abuts on the fields. There is a fitness in this,
and an appropriateness in the two gaunt lurchers stretched before the
door. These turn day into night on the sunny roadside in summer, and
before the cottage fire in winter. Like the poacher, they are active
and silent when the village community is asleep.
Our Bohemian has poached time out of mind. His family have been
poachers for generations. The county justices, the magistrates' clerk,
the county constable, and the gaol books all testify to the same fact.
The poacher's lads have grown up under their father's tuition, and
follow in his footsteps. Even now they are inveterate poachers, and
have a special instinct for capturing field-mice and squirrels. They
take moles in their runs, and preserve their skins. When a number of
these are collected they are sold to the labourers' wives, who make
them into vests. In wheat-time the farmers employ the lads to keep down
sparrows and finches. Numbers of larks are taken in nooses, and in
spring lapwings' eggs yield quite a rich harvest from the uplands and
ploughed fields. A shilling so earned is to the young poacher riches
indeed; money so acquired is looked upon differently from that earned
by steady-going labour on the field or farm. In their season he gathers
cresses and blackberries, the embrowned nuts constituting an autumn in
themselves. Snipe and woodcock, which come to the marshy meadows in
severe weather, are taken in "gins" and "springes." Traps are laid for
wild ducks in the runners when the still mountain tarns are frozen
over. When our poacher's lads attain to sixteen they become in turn the
owner of an old flintlock, an heirloom, which has been in the family
for generations. Then larger game can be got at. Wood-pigeons are
waited for in the larches, and shot as they come to roost. Large
numbers of plover are bagged from time to time, both green and grey.
These feed in the water meadows through autumn and winter, and are
always plentiful. In spring the rare dotterels were sometimes shot as
they stayed on their way to the hills; or a gaunt heron was brought
down as it flew heavily from a ditch. To the now disused mill-dam ducks
came on wintry evening--teal, mallard, and pochards. The lad lay coiled
up behind a willow root, and waited during the night. Soon the
whistling of wings was heard, and dark forms appeared against the
skyline. The old duck-gun was out, a sharp report tore the darkness,
and a brace of teal floated down stream and washed on to the mill
island. In this way half-a-dozen ducks would be bagged, and dead or
dying were left where they fell, and retrieved next morning. Sometimes
big game was obtained in the shape of a brace of wild geese, the least
wary of a flock; but these only came in the severest weather.
At night the poacher's dogs embody all his senses. An old black bitch
is his favourite; for years she has served him faithfully--in the whole
of that time never having once given mouth. Like all good lurchers, she
is bred between the greyhound and sheepdog. The produce of this cross
have the speed of the one, and the "nose" and intelligence of the
other. Such dogs never bark, and, being rough coated, are able to stand
the exposure of cold nights. They take long to train, but when
perfected are invaluable to the poacher. Upon them almost wholly
depends success.
Poaching is one of the fine arts, and the most successful poacher is
always a specialist. He selects one kind of game, and his whole
knowledge of woodcraft is directed against it. In autumn and winter the
"Otter" knows the whereabouts of every hare in the parish; not only the
field in which it is but the very clump of rushes in which is its
"form." As puss goes away from the prickly gorse bush, or flies down
the turnip "rigg," he notes her every twist and double, and takes in
the minutest details. He is also careful to examine the "smoots" and
gates through which she passes, and these spots he always approaches
laterally. He leaves no scent of hand nor print of foot, and does not
disturb rough herbage. Late afternoon brings him home, and upon the
clean sanded floor his wires and nets are spread. There is a peg to
sharpen and a broken mesh to mend. Every now and then he looks out upon
the darkening night, always directing his glance upward. His dogs whine
impatiently to be gone. In an hour, with bulky pockets, | 1,703.99934 |
2023-11-16 18:45:28.2789560 | 1,503 | 9 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Web Archive (The Library of Congress)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: The Web Archive,
https://archive.org/details/yellowface00whit
(The Library of Congress)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
3. Hyphenation of compound words is as presented in the original
book.
THE YELLOW FACE
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
The Crimson Blind
The Corner House
The Weight of the Crown
THE YELLOW FACE
BY
FRED M. WHITE
Author of
"_The Crimson Blind_," "_The Corner House_,"
"_The Midnight Guest," etc_.
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
18 EAST SEVENTEENTH STREET, NEW YORK
------------------------------------
F. V. WHITE & CO., LONDON
Copyright, 1907
By R. F. Fenno & Company
"_The Yellow Face_"
CONTENTS
I. Nostalgo.
II. The Chopin Nocturne.
III. The Mystery of the Strings.
IV. The Speaking Likeness.
V. A Vanished Clue.
VI. Vanished!
VII. No. 4, Montrose Place.
VIII. The Chopin Fantasie.
IX. The Man with the Fair Moustache.
X. What Did She Know?
XI. The Shadow on the Wall.
XII. Locked In!
XIII. The Parable.
XIV. Nostalgo Again.
XV. Lady Barmouth.
XVI. The Bosom of Her Family.
XVII. Which Man Was It?
XVIII. The Empty Room.
XIX. A Broken Melody.
XX. The Mouse in the Trap.
XXI. A Leader of Society.
XXII. The Portrait.
XXIII. Face to Face.
XXIV. In the Square.
XXV. On the Track.
XXVI. Serena Again.
XXVII. In the Smoking Room.
XXVIII. The Lamp Goes Out.
XXIX. The Silver Lamp.
XXX. Bedroom 14.
XXXI. A Chance Encounter.
XXXII. Lady Barmouth's Jewels.
XXXIII. Gems Or Paste?
XXXIV. In the Vault.
XXXV. The Cellini Plate.
XXXVI. A Stroke Of Policy.
XXXVII. A Pregnant Message.
XXXVIII. The Cry in the Night.
XXXIX. Preparing The Way.
XL. The Magician Speaks.
XLI. The Worm Turns.
XLII. A Piece of Music.
XLIII. The Trap is Baited.
XLIV. The Substitute.
XLV. Caught.
XLVI. The Music Stops.
XLVII. "A Woman Scorned."
XLVIII. The Proof of the Camera.
XLIX. Proof Positive.
L. On the Brink.
LI. Against the World.
LII. The End of it All.
THE YELLOW FACE
THE YELLOW FACE
CHAPTER I.
NOSTALGO.
The flickering firelight fell upon the girl's pretty, thoughtful face;
her violet eyes looked like deep lakes in it. She stood with one small
foot tapping the polished brass rail of the fender. Claire Helmsley
was accounted fortunate by her friends, for she was pretty and rich,
and as popular as she was good-looking. The young man by her side, who
stood looking moodily into the heart of the ship-log fire, was also
popular and good-looking, but Jack Masefield was anything but rich. He
had all the brain and all the daring ambition that makes for success,
but he was poor and struggling yet, and the briefs that he dreamed of
at the Bar had not come.
But he was not thinking of the Bar now as he stood by Claire
Helmsley's side. They were both in evening dress, and obviously
waiting for dinner. Jack's arm was around Claire's slender waist, and
her head rested on his shoulder, so that by looking up she could just
see the shadow on his clean-cut face. Though the pressure of his arm
was strong and tender, he seemed as if he had forgotten all about the
presence of the girl.
"Why so silent?" the girl said. "What are you thinking about, Jack?"
"Well, I was thinking about you, dearest," Jack replied. "About you
and myself. Also of your guardian, Anstruther. I was wondering why he
asks me so often and leaves us so much together when he has not the
slightest intention of letting me marry you."
The girl slightly. The expression in her violet eyes was one
of pain.
"You have never asked my guardian," she said. "We have been engaged
now for over six months, Jack, and at your request I have kept the
thing a dead secret. Why should we keep the matter a secret? You are
certain to get on in your profession, and you would do no worse if the
world knew that you had a rich wife. My guardian is kindness itself.
He has never thwarted me in a single wish. He would not be likely to
try and cross my life's happiness."
Jack Masefield made no reply for a moment. It was perhaps a singular
prejudice on his part, but he did not like the brilliant and volatile
Dr. Spencer Anstruther, who was Claire's guardian. He would have found
it impossible to account for this feeling, but there it was.
"My guardian has plenty of money of his own," Claire said, as if
reading his thoughts.
"There you are mistaken," Jack replied. "This is a fine old house,
filled with beautiful old things. Anstruther goes everywhere; he is a
favorite in the best society. Men of letters say he is one of the
finest talkers in the world. But I happen to know that he has very
little money, for a lawyer told me so. That being so, the £2,000 a
year you pay him till you marry or come of age is decidedly a thing to
take care of. On the whole, dearest, we had better go on as we are."
Claire had a smile for her lover's prejudices. Personally she saw
nothing amiss with her guardian. She crossed over to the window, the
blinds of which had not yet been drawn, and looked out. She looked
across the old-fashioned garden in front of the house to the street
beyond, where a few passengers straggled along. On the far side of the
road stood an electric standard holding a flaring lamp aloft. The
house opposite was being refaced, so that it was masked in a high
scaffold.
As was the custom in London, the scaffolding had been let out to some
enterprising bill-posting company. It was a mass of gaudy sheets and
pl | 1,704.298996 |
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E-text prepared by Chuck Greif 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 20069-h.htm or 20069-h.zip:
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or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/0/6/20069/20069-h.zip)
CARUSO AND TETRAZZINI ON THE ART OF SINGING
by
ENRICO CARUSO and LUISA TETRAZZINI
Metropolitan Company, Publishers, New York, 1909.
PREFACE
In offering this work to the public the publishers wish to lay before
those who sing or who are about to study singing, the simple,
fundamental rules of the art based on common sense. The two greatest
living exponents of the art of singing--Luisa Tetrazzini and Enrico
Caruso--have been chosen as examples, and their talks on singing have
additional weight from the fact that what they have to say has been
printed exactly as it was uttered, the truths they expound are driven
home forcefully, and what they relate so simply is backed by years of
experience and emphasized by the results they have achieved as the two
greatest artists in the world.
Much has been said about the Italian Method of Singing. It is a question
whether anyone really knows what the phrase means. After all, if there
be a right way to sing, then all other ways must be wrong. Books have
been written on breathing, tone production and what singers should eat
and wear, etc., etc., all tending to make the singer self-conscious and
to sing with the brain rather than with the heart. To quote Mme.
Tetrazzini: "You can train the voice, you can take a raw material and
make it a finished production; not so with the heart."
The country is overrun with inferior teachers of singing; men and women
who have failed to get before the public, turn to teaching without any
practical experience, and, armed only with a few methods, teach these
alike to all pupils, ruining many good voices. Should these pupils
change teachers, even for the better, then begins the weary undoing of
the false method, often with no better result.
To these unfortunate pupils this book is of inestimable value. He or she
could not consistently choose such teachers after reading its pages.
Again the simple rules laid down and tersely and interestingly set forth
not only carry conviction with them, but tear away the veil of mystery
that so often is thrown about the divine art.
Luisa Tetrazzini and Enrico Caruso show what not to do, as well as what
to do, and bring the pupil back to first principles--the art of singing
naturally.
THE ART OF SINGING
By Luisa Tetrazzini
[Illustration: LUISA TETRAZZINI]
LUISA TETRAZZINI
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH OF THE CAREER OF THE WORLD-FAMOUS PRIMA DONNA
Luisa Tetrazzini, the most famous Italian coloratura soprano of the
day, declares that she began to sing before she learned to talk. Her
parents were not musical, but her elder sister, now the wife of the
eminent conductor Cleofante Campanini, was a public singer of
established reputation, and her success roused her young sister's
ambition to become a great artist. Her parents were well to do, her
father having a large army furnishing store in Florence, and they did
not encourage her in her determination to become a prima donna. One
prima donna, said her father, was enough for any family.
Luisa did not agree with him. If one prima donna is good, she argued,
why would not two be better? So she never desisted from her importunity
until she was permitted to become a pupil of Professor Coccherani, vocal
instructor at the Lycee. At this time she had committed to memory more
than a dozen grand opera roles, and at the end of six months the
professor confessed that he could do nothing more for her voice; that
she was ready for a career.
She made her bow to the Florentine opera going public, one of the most
critical in Italy, as Inez, in Meyerbeer's "L'Africaine," and her
success was so pronounced that she was engaged at a salary of $100 a
month, a phenomenal beginning for a young singer. Queen Margherita was
present on the occasion and complimented her highly and prophesied for
her a great career. She asked the trembling debutante how old she was,
and in the embarrassment of the moment Luisa made herself six years
older than she really was. This is one noteworthy instance in which a
public singer failed to discount her age.
Fame came speedily, but for a long time it was confined to Europe and
Latin America. She sang seven seasons in St. Petersburg, three in
Mexico, two in Madrid, four in Buenos Aires, and even on the Pacific
coast of America before she appeared in New York. She had sung Lucia
more than 200 times before her first appearance at Covent Garden, and
the twenty curtain calls she received on that occasion came as the
greatest surprise of her career. She had begun to believe that she could
never be appreciated by English-speaking audiences and the ovation
almost overcame her.
It was by the merest chance that Mme. Tetrazzini ever came to the
Manhattan Opera House in New York. The diva's own account of her
engagement is as follows:
"I was in London, and for a wonder I had a week, a wet week, on my
hands. You know people will do anything in a wet week in London.
"There were contracts from all over the Continent and South America
pending. There was much discussion naturally in regard to settlements
and arrangements of one kind and another.
"Suddenly, just like that"--she makes a butterfly gesture--"M.
Hammerstein came, and just like that"--a duplicate gesture--"I made up
my mind that I would come here. If his offer to me had been seven days
later I should not have signed, and if I had not I should undoubtedly
never have come, for a contract that I might have signed to go elsewhere
would probably have been for a number of years."
Voice experts confess that they are not able to solve the mystery of
Mme. Tetrazzini's wonderful management of her breathing.
"It is perfectly natural," she says. "I breathe low down in the
diaphragm, not, as some do, high up in the upper part of the chest. I
always hold some breath in reserve for the crescendos, employing only
what is absolutely necessary, and I renew the breath wherever it is
easiest.
"In breathing I find, as in other matters pertaining to singing, that as
one goes on and practices, no matter how long one may have been singing,
there are constantly new surprises awaiting one. You may have been
accustomed for years to take a note in a certain way, and after a long
while you discover that, while it is a very good way, there is a
better."
Breath Control The Foundation of Singing
There is only one way to sing correctly, and that is to sing naturally,
easily, comfortably.
The height of vocal art is to have no apparent method, but to be able to
sing with perfect facility from one end of the voice to the other,
emitting all the notes clearly and yet with power and having each note
of the scale sound the | 1,704.499407 |
2023-11-16 18:45:28.6783730 | 7,424 | 61 |
Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
A CHRISTMAS ACCIDENT
AND OTHER STORIES
[Illustration]
BY
ANNIE ELIOT TRUMBULL
A Christmas Accident
STORIES BY
ANNIE ELIOT TRUMBULL
[Illustration: Leaf]
A CHRISTMAS ACCIDENT AND OTHER
STORIES. 16mo. Cloth $1.00
ROD'S SALVATION AND OTHER STORIES.
16mo. Cloth 1.00
A CAPE COD WEEK. 16mo. Cloth 1.00
MISTRESS CONTENT CRADOCK.
Cloth. 16mo. 1.00
[Illustration: Leaf]
A. S. BARNES & CO., PUBLISHERS,
_New York_.
A Christmas Accident
_And Other Stories_
By
Annie Eliot Trumbull
Author of "White Birches," "A Masque of Culture," etc.
[Illustration: Emblem]
New York
A. S. Barnes and Company
1900
_Copyright, 1897_,
BY A. S. BARNES AND COMPANY.
=University Press:=
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
OF the stories included in this volume, the first originally appeared in
the _Hartford Courant_; "After--the Deluge," in the _Atlantic Monthly_;
"Mary A. Twining," in the _Home Maker_; "A Postlude" and "Her Neighbor's
Landmark," in the _Outlook_; "The 'Daily Morning Chronicle,'" in _The
New England Magazine_; and "Hearts Unfortified," in _McClure's
Magazine_. To the courtesy of the editors of these periodicals I am
indebted for permission to reprint them.
A. E. T.
Contents
Page
A CHRISTMAS ACCIDENT 1
AFTER--THE DELUGE 32
MEMOIR OF MARY TWINING 67
A POSTLUDE 99
THE "DAILY MORNING CHRONICLE" 139
HEARTS UNFORTIFIED 177
HER NEIGHBOR'S LANDMARK 210
A Christmas Accident
[Illustration: Leaf]
AT first the two yards were as much alike as the two houses, each house
being the exact copy of the other. They were just two of those little
red brick dwellings that one is always seeing side by side in the
outskirts of a city, and looking as if the occupants must be alike too.
But these two families were quite different. Mr. Gilton, who lived in
one, was a pretty cross sort of man, and was quite well-to-do, as cross
people sometimes are. He and his wife lived alone, and they did not have
much going out and coming in, either. Mrs. Gilton would have liked more
of it, but she had given up thinking about it, for her husband had said
so many times that it was women's tomfoolery to want to have people,
whom you weren't anything to and who weren't anything to you, ringing
your doorbell all the time and bothering around in your
dining-room,--which of course it was; and she would have believed it if
a woman ever did believe anything a man says a great many times.
In the other house there were five children, and, as Mr. Gilton said,
they made too large a family, and they ought to have gone somewhere
else. Possibly they would have gone had it not been for the fence; but
when Mr. Gilton put it up and Mr. Bilton told him it was three inches
too far on his land, and Mr. Gilton said he could go to law about it,
expressing the idea forcibly, Mr. Bilton was foolish enough to take his
advice. The decision went against him, and a good deal of his money went
with it, for it was a long, teasing lawsuit, and instead of being three
inches of made ground it might have been three degrees of the Arctic
Circle for the trouble there was in getting at it. So Mr. Bilton had to
stay where he was.
It was then that the yards began to take on those little differences
that soon grew to be very marked. Neither family would plant any vines
because they would have been certain to heedlessly beautify the other
side, and consequently the fence, in all its primitive boldness, stood
out uncompromisingly, and the one or two little bits of trees grew
carefully on the farther side of the enclosure so as not to be mixed up
in the trouble at all. But Mr. Gilton's grass was cut smoothly by the
man who made the fires, while Mr. Bilton only found a chance to cut his
himself once in two weeks. Then, by and by, Mr. Gilton bought a red
garden bench and put it under the tree that was nearest to the fence. No
one ever went out and sat on it, to be sure, but to the Bilton children
it represented the visible flush of prosperity. Particularly was Cora
Cordelia wont to peer through the fence and gaze upon that red bench,
thinking it a charming place in which to play house, ignorant of the
fact that much of the red paint would have come off on her back. Cora
Cordelia was the youngest of the five. All the rest had very simple
names,--John, Walter, Fanny, and Susan,--but when it came to Cora
Cordelia, luxuries were beginning to get very scarce in the Bilton
family, and Mrs. Bilton felt that she must make up for it by being
lavish, in one direction or another. She had wished to name Fanny, Cora,
and Susan, Cordelia, but she had yielded to her husband, and called one
after his mother and one after herself, and then gave both her favorite
names to the youngest of all. Cora Cordelia was a pretty little girl,
prettier even than both her names put together.
After the red bench came a quicksilver ball, that was put in the middle
of the yard and reflected all the glory of its owner, albeit in a
somewhat distorted form. This effort of human ingenuity filled the
Bilton children with admiration bordering on awe; Cora Cordelia spent
hours gazing at it, until called in and reproved by her mother for
admiring so much things she could not afford to have. After this, she
only admired it covertly.
Small distinctions like these barbed the arrows of contrast and
comparison and kept the disadvantages of neighborhood ever present.
Then, it was a constant annoyance to have their surnames so much alike.
Matters were made more unpleasant by mistakes of the butcher, the
grocer, and so on,--Gilton, 79 Holmes Avenue, was so much like Bilton,
77 Holmes Avenue. Gilton changed his butcher every time he sent his
dinner to Bilton; and though the mistakes were generally rectified,
neither of the two families ever forgot the time the Biltons ate,
positively ate, the Gilton dinner, under a misapprehension. Mrs. Bilton
apologized, and Mrs. Gilton boldly told her husband that she was glad
they'd had it, and she hoped they'd enjoyed it, which only made matters
worse; and altogether it was a dark day, the only joy of it being that
fearful one snatched by John, Walter, Susan, Fanny, and Cora Cordelia
from the undoubted excellence of the roast.
Of course there was an assortment of minor difficulties. The smoke from
the Biltons' kitchen blew in through the windows of the Giltons'
sitting-room when the wind was in one direction, and, when it was in the
other, many of the clothes from the Giltons' clothesline were blown into
the Biltons' yard, and Fanny, Susan, or Cora Cordelia had to be sent out
to pick them up and drop them over the fence again, which Mrs. Bilton
said was very wearing, as of course it must have been. Things like this
were always happening, but matters reached a climax when it came to the
dog. It wasn't a large dog, but it was a tiresome one. It got up early
in the morning and barked. Now we all know that early rising is a good
thing and honorable among all men, but it is something that ought to be
done quietly, out of regard to the weaker vessels; and a dog that barks
between five and seven in the morning, continuously, certainly ought to
be suppressed, even if it be necessary to use force. Everybody agreed
with the Biltons about that,--everybody except the Giltons themselves,
who, by some one of nature's freaks, didn't mind it. Mrs. Bilton often
said she wished Mrs. Gilton could be a light sleeper for a week and see
what it was like. So, too, everybody thought that Mr. Bilton had right
on his side when he complained that this same dog came into his yard,
being apparently indifferent to any coolness between the estate owners,
and ran over a bed of geraniums and one thing and another, that was the
small Bilton offset to the Gilton bench and ball. But when one morning,
for the first time, that dog remained quiet and restful, and was found
cold and poisoned, and Mr. Gilton was loud in his accusations of the
Bilton boys and their father, public opinion wavered for a moment. After
that accident, no member of either family spoke to any member of the
other. That was the way matters stood the day before Christmas.
* * * * *
It was snowing hard, and the afternoon grew dark rapidly, and the
whirling flakes pursued a blinding career. In spite of that, everybody
was out doing the last thing. Mrs. Gilton was not, to be sure. Of course
they would have a big dinner, but even that was all arranged for,
although the turkey hadn't come and her husband was going to stop and
see about it on his way home. She shuddered as the possibility of its
having gone to the Biltons occurred to her. But she didn't believe it
had,--they hadn't the same butcher any longer. Meanwhile there was so
little to do. It was too dark to read or sew, and she sat idly at the
window looking out at the passers and the driving snow. Everybody else
was in a hurry. She wished she, too, had occasion to hasten down for a
last purchase, or to light the lamp in order to finish a last bit of
dainty sewing, as she used to do when she was a girl. She seemed to have
so few friends now with whom she exchanged Christmas greetings. Was it
then only for children and youth, this Christmas cheer? And must she
necessarily have left it behind her with her girlhood? No, she knew
better than that. She felt that there was a deeper significance in the
Christmas-tide than can come home to the hearts of children and
unthoughtfulness, and yet it had grown to be so painfully like other
days,--an occasion for a little bigger dinner, that was about all. With
an unconscious sigh she looked across to the Bilton house. Plenty of
people over there to make merry. Five stockings to hang up. She wished
she might have sent something in. To be sure, there was the dog, but
that was some time ago. Very likely the dog would have been dead now,
anyhow. She felt, herself, that this logic was not irrefutable, but she
wished she could have sent some paper parcels just the same. So strong
had this impulse been that she had said to her husband somewhat timidly
that morning,--
"There are a good many of those Bilton children to get presents for."
"More fools they that get 'em presents, then," he had pleasantly
replied.
"I don't suppose he has much to buy them with," she continued.
"He had enough to buy poison for my dog," exclaimed her husband, giving
his newspaper an angry shake.
"I'd almost like to send them in some cheap little toys."
"Well, as long as you don't quite like to, it won't do any harm," he
said with some violence, laying down his newspaper, and looking at her
in a manner not to be misunderstood. "But you see that the liking
doesn't get any farther."
"It's Christmas, you know," said his plucky wife.
"Oh, no, I don't know it!" he replied gruffly. "I haven't fallen over
forty children a minute in the street with their ridiculous parcels, and
I haven't had women drop brown-paper bundles that come undone all over
me when they crowd into the horse car, and I haven't found it impossible
to get to the shirt-collar counter on account of Christmas novelties!
Oh, no, I didn't know it was Christmas!"
After that there was really not much to be said, for we all know
Christmas is dreadfully annoying, and the last thing a man in this sort
of temper wants to hear about is peace and good will.
Notwithstanding the fact that Mrs. Gilton looked over to her neighbors'
with an envious feeling this dark afternoon, their Christmas cheer was
not so abounding as it had been in more prosperous times. There was not
very much money to be spent this year, and they were obliged to give up
something. Mr. and Mrs. Bilton had decided that it should be the
Christmas dinner; they would have a simple luncheon, and let all the
money that could be spared go for the stockings. Each child had its own
sum to invest for others, and there was still a small amount for the
older members of the family. That it was a small amount Mrs. Bilton felt
strongly, as she went from shop to shop. But when she reached home again
she was somewhat encouraged; there was such an air of joyous expectation
in the house, and her purchases looked larger now that they were away
from the glittering counters. Then each of the five children came to her
separately and confided to her the nothing less than wonderful results
of judicious bargaining which had enabled them to buy useful and
beautiful presents for each of the others out of the sums intrusted to
their care, ranging in amount from the two dollars of John to the fifty
cents of Cora Cordelia. She felt sure that there were further secrets
yet; secrets attended by brown paper and string, which she had taken the
greatest care for the last two weeks not heedlessly to expose,--riddles
of which the solution lay perilously near her eyes, which would be
revealed to her astonished gaze the next morning.
She had reason to believe that even Cora Cordelia was making something
for her, and though it was difficult for her to ignore the fact that it
was a knit washcloth, she had hitherto avoided absolute certainty on the
subject. So that altogether it was a pretty cheerful afternoon at the
Biltons'.
Meanwhile, down in the main street of the city it was a confusing scene.
It was darker there than where the streets were more open; and although
there were several daring spirits of that adventurous turn of mind which
leads people into byways of discovery, who asserted that the street
lamps were lighted, it was not generally believed. The snow was blowing
down and up and across, and getting more and more unmanageable under the
feet of foot passengers every moment. It was cold and windy and blinding
and crowded, and a good many other disconcerting things, all of which
Mr. Gilton felt the full force of as he stood on the corner where he had
just bought his turkey. It was a fine turkey, and had been a good
bargain, and though he had to carry it home himself, there was nothing
derogatory in that. If it had been anybody else he would have been
thrilled with a glow of satisfaction, but Mr. Gilton was long past glows
of satisfaction--it was years since he had permitted himself to have
such things.
"Jour--our--nal! fi-i-i-ve cents!" screamed an intermittent newsboy in
his ear.
"Get out!" replied Mr. Gilton, the uncompromising nature of his
language being intensified by the fact that he jumped nearly two feet
from the suddenness of the newsboy's attack. Even the newsboy, inured to
the short words of an unfriendly world, and usually quite indifferent
thereto, was impressed by the asperity of the suggestion and moved
somewhat hastily on. Possibly his cold, wet little existence had been
rendered morbidly susceptible by the general good feeling of the hour,
one lady having even spontaneously given him five cents.
After this exchange of amenities Mr. Gilton stepped into his horse car.
It was crowded, of course, as horse cars that are small and run once in
half an hour are apt to be, and he had to stand up, and the turkey legs
stuck out of the brown paper in a very conspicuous way. If Mr. Gilton
had been anybody else he would have been chaffed about his turkey,
because to make up for the conveniences that the horse car line did not
furnish the public, the large-hearted public furnished the horse car
line with an unusual amount of friendliness. There was almost always
something going on in these horse cars. Their social privileges were
quite a feature. To-night they were in unusual force on account of the
season. But nobody said anything to Mr. Gilton. Only when he jerked the
bell and stepped off, one stout man with his overcoat collar turned up
to his ears said, without turning his head:--
"I supposed of course he was going to give the turkey to the conductor."
Everybody laughed in that end of the car except one small old lady in
the corner, who was a stranger and visiting, and who was left with the
impression that the gentleman who got off must be a very kind man. It
was darker and blowier and snowier than when he had left the corner, and
Mr. Gilton floundered through the unbroken drifts up the little path to
the door with increasing grudges in his heart against the difficulties
of Christmas. The lock was off, and he went in slamming the door after
him. There was no light in the hall, and he murmured loudly against the
inconvenience.
"Confound it!" he said, "why didn't they light the gas? I'm not one of
those confounded Biltons; I can afford to pay for what I don't get;"
and, without pausing to take off his hat and coat, he strode to the
sitting-room door and flung it open. That was an awful moment. The
sudden change from the cold and darkness almost blinded him, and
confirmed the impression that he was the victim of an illusion. The
sound of many voices, and then the hush of sudden consternation, was in
his ears. There was a lamp and there was a fire, and there between them
sat Mr. Bilton on one side and Mrs. Bilton on the other, and round
about, in various unconventional attitudes, sat four Bilton children.
And there in the very midst of them, in his heavy overcoat, with snow
melting on his hat, his beard, and his shoulders, stood Mr. Gilton. The
unexpected scene, the amazed faces gazing into his, rendered him
speechless; he wondered vaguely if he were losing his reason. Then, in a
flush of enlightenment, he realized what had happened; thanks to the
storm outside, he had come into the wrong house. Naturally his first
impulse was towards flight, but as his bewildered gaze slipped about the
room it fell upon five stockings hung against the mantelpiece, and
stayed there fascinated. Five foolish, limp, expressionless
stockings,--it was long since he had seen such an unreasonable
spectacle. Then he recollected himself and looked around him. Perhaps
even then, if he had made a dash for the door, he might have escaped and
matters have been none the worse. But in that instant of hesitation
caused by the sudden sight of those five stockings something dreadful
occurred. It must be premised that Cora Cordelia did not know Mr. Gilton
very well by sight, being in the first place small and not noticing,
and in the second, filled with an unreasoning fear that caused her to
flee whenever she had seen him approach. This is the only excuse for
what she did; for while her mother was feebly murmuring, as if in
extenuation, "We thought it was John coming in," Cora Cordelia clasped
her hands in delirious delight, and cried aloud, "It's Santa Claus! Oh,
it's Santa Claus!" Could anything more awful happen to a cross man, a
very cross man, than to be taken for Santa Claus!
Mr. Gilton looked at Cora Cordelia, and wondered why she had not been
slaughtered in her cradle.
"And," exclaimed Susan Bilton, with sudden communicative fervor, "he has
come and brought us a turkey for to-morrow's dinner!"
The truth was that Susan had been coming to the age that is sceptical
about Santa Claus, but she could not resist this sudden appearance.
No one could appreciate the nonsense of the whole situation better than
Mr. Gilton; and yet, strangely enough, together with his annoyance was
mingled a touch of the strange feeling that had dawned upon him first
when he saw the stockings. To be sure, it only added to his annoyance,
but it was there. By this time--it was really a very short time--Mrs.
Bilton had recovered herself and risen, and Mr. Bilton had risen too.
"Hush, children; it is not Santa Claus," she said, "it is Mr. Gilton. We
are glad to see you, Mr. Gilton;" and she held out her hand to him.
"Won't you sit down?" She felt that he had come in the Christmas spirit,
and she was anxious to meet him half-way.
"Yes," said her husband, coming forward, and instantly taking his cue
from his wife,--for he was really a very nice man,--"we are very glad."
To be sure, in his manner there was a certain stiffness, for a man
cannot always change completely in a moment, as a woman can; but Mr.
Gilton was too perplexed to notice this. In the incomprehensible way
that one's mind has of clinging to unimportant things at great crises,
while he was fuming with rage and bothered with this strange feeling
which was not precisely rage, he was wondering how in the world he was
going to sit down with that ridiculous turkey, with its ridiculous legs,
in his arms, and not look more absurd than he did now. In this moment of
absentmindedness he had mechanically taken Mrs. Bilton's hand and shaken
it, and after that of course there was nothing to do except to shake Mr.
Bilton's. Then he began to know it was all up. He had not spoken yet,
but now he made a frantic effort to save what might be left besides
honor. "I came--" he began, "I came--came to your house--" There he
paused a moment, and that unlucky child with that tendency to be
possessed by one idea, which is characteristic of small and trivial
minds, and for which she should have been shaken, burst in with, "And
did the reindeer bring you, and are they outside?"
He almost groaned, so overwhelmed was he by this new idiocy. Reindeer!
If those overworked, struggling car-horses could have heard that! Then
Mrs. Bilton, pitying his evident confusion, came to his assistance.
"Don't mind the children, Mr. Gilton," she said, her cheeks flushing,
and looking very pretty with the excitement of the unusual
circumstances, "we are glad you came, however you made your way here. I
think we may thank Christmas Eve for it. Now do take off your overcoat
and sit down."
Oh, mispraised woman's tact! What complications you may produce! That
finished it, of course. He sat down. In those few moments that strange
feeling had grown marvellously stronger. It seemed to be made up of the
most diverse elements,--a mixture of green wreaths and his own
childhood, and his mother, and a top he had not thought of for years,
and the wide fireplace at home, and a stable with a child in it, and a
picture, in a book he used to read, of a lot of angels in the sky, one
particular one in the middle, and underneath it some words--what were
the words? He'd forgotten they had anything to do with Christmas,
anyway.
"But you _did_ bring us the turkey, didn't you?" said Cora Cordelia,
helping her mother on.
To do the child justice,--for even Cora Cordelia has a right to demand
justice,--her manners were corrupted by Christmas expectancy.
"Cora Cordelia, I'm ashamed of you," said Mrs. Bilton.
"Yes," said Mr. Gilton, the words wrung from his lips, while beads stood
on his forehead,--"yes, I brought you the turkey."
"Did you really?" exclaimed Mrs. Bilton, who thought he had all the
time. "That was very kind of you."
"Will you please take it--take it away?" he said, with that wish to have
something over which we associate with the dentist. So Mrs. Bilton took
the turkey and thanked him, and gave it to Fanny, who carried it out to
the kitchen, and Mr. Gilton gave one last look at its legs as it went
through the door, feeling that now he must wake up from this nightmare.
But things only went farther and became more incredible and upsetting,
only that, strangely enough, that feeling of horror began to wear off,
and that singular strain of association with all sorts of Christmas
things to grow stronger. He himself could hardly believe that it was no
worse, when he found himself seated by the littered table, with Mrs.
Bilton near and Mr. Bilton over by the fire again, listening to first
one and then the other, and occasionally letting fall a word himself,
his conversational powers seeming to thaw out along with the snow on
his greatcoat. These words themselves were a surprise to him. He was
quite sure that he started them with a creditable gruffness, but the
Christmas air mellowed them in a highly unsatisfactory fashion, so that
they fell on his own ears quite otherwise than as he had meant they
should sound. Moreover the general tenor of the conversation was
exceedingly perplexing. It was all about how fine it was of him to come
this evening, and how they had often regretted the hard feeling, and how
things always did get exaggerated. Of course he would not have believed
a word of it, if he had been able to get any grip on the situation, but
he wasn't, and he just went on assenting to it all as if it were true.
There came a time when Mr. Bilton cleared his throat, hesitated a
moment, and then said boldly,--
"I think I ought to tell you, Mr. Gilton, that I had nothing whatever to
do with the death of your dog." Mr. Gilton felt the ground slipping
away from under his very feet. That dog had been his piece of
resistance, as it were. "I wouldn't have poisoned him," went on Mr.
Bilton, "for a hundred dollars. But," he added, with a queer little
smile, "I wasn't going to tell you so, you know."
"Of course you wasn't," exclaimed Mr. Gilton, hurriedly, with a touch of
that unholy excitement that a lapse from grammar imparts.
"We wouldn't any of us," asserted Walter.
"No," said Susan, Fanny, and Cora Cordelia.
Then it came out that the whole family had rather admired the dog than
otherwise. It was here that John did really come in, his entrance
sounding very much as had Mr. Gilton's. He nearly fell over when he saw
the visitor, but he had time to pull himself together, for Cora Cordelia
had snatched that moment for showing Mr. Gilton her gifts for the
family, and he was bound hand and foot with helplessness. Then they all
came and showed him their gifts. While he examined them Mr. and Mrs.
Bilton carefully averted their eyes and gazed hard at the opposite wall,
while Cora Cordelia urged him, in stage whispers, not to let them
suspect. It was pitiable the state to which he was reduced. Of course
resisting this Christmas enthusiasm was out of the question. To be sure
it came over him once with startling force, as she showed him a toy
water-wheel, that went by sand,--which she had purchased for her father
at a phenomenally low rate because the wheel could not be made to
go,--that Cora Cordelia was the very child that he had fallen over as
she came hastening out of a toy-shop with a queerly shaped bundle, the
day before, and so been further imbittered towards Christmas. Susan had
purchased a cup and ball for her mother, and as she went out of the room
for a moment, insisted upon Mr. Gilton's trying to do it and see what
fun it was. If Mr. Gilton lives to be a hundred he will never forget the
mingled feelings with which he awkwardly tried to get that senseless
ball into that idiotic cup. At last he stood up to go--it was after six
o'clock--and they went with him to the door, and wished him Merry
Christmas, and sent Merry Christmas to Mrs. Gilton, and said good-night
several times, and he stumbled on through the snow, this time towards
his own door. It had stopped snowing as suddenly and quietly as it had
begun, and the stars had come out. He gazed up at them,--something he
very rarely did. They seemed a part of Christmas. Just before he turned
in at his own gate, he looked back at the Bilton house and shook his
fist at it, but the expression on his face was such that the very same
newsboy who had accosted him earlier failed utterly to recognize him and
was emboldened to offer him a paper. He too was pushing his way home
with two papers left, in a somewhat dispirited way.
"I'll take 'em both," said this singular customer. "Here's a
quarter--never mind the change. It's Christmas Eve, I believe--" and
this when he knew perfectly well that a copy of that very same journal
was waiting for him on his table. The boy looked at his quarter and
looked again at his customer, and recognized him, and made up his mind
to buy a couple of hot sausages on the corner, and went on his way
feeling that there was a new heaven and a new earth. Mrs. Gilton was
standing at the parlor window, peering out anxiously as he came up the
path. She was in the hall as he entered.
"Why, Reuben," she said, "I was afraid something had happened."
Goodness gracious! As if something hadn't happened! He turned away to
hang up his overcoat and tried to speak crossly.
"Well," he said, "I've lost my turkey. That's happened."
"Never mind," said Mrs. Gilton, quickly; "the other one came later, the
first one, you know--so--so the Biltons didn't get it this time."
"They got the second one, though," said Reuben, hanging up his hat.
"Oh, dear, did they!" said Mrs. Gilton. Then she went on, "Well, I don't
care if they did, so there! I guess they need it for their Christmas
dinner."
"No, they don't," said Reuben, turning around and facing her, "because
they are going to eat part of ours. They are coming in to-morrow to have
dinner with us,--every one of them!" he asserted more loudly, on account
of the expression on his wife's face. "Bilton, and his wife, and all the
five children, down to Cora Cordelia! So we'll have to have something
for them to eat."
If Mr. Gilton will never forget the cup and ball, Mrs. Gilton will never
forget that moment. She went all over it in her mind whether she could
manage him herself to-night, or whether to send Bridget right away then
for the doctor, and if she hadn't better say a policeman too, and
whether he could be kept for the future in a private house, or would
have to be confined in an asylum. She was inclining towards the asylum
when he, who was going into the sitting-room before her, turned round
and laughed an odd little laugh. She began to think then that a private
house would do.
The next day they all dined together, which proved that it was not all a
Christmas Eve illusion. There is a report in the neighborhood that the
fence between the houses is to be taken down to make room for a tennis
court for the Bilton children, but of course this may not be true. It
would have to be done in the summer, and if the effect of Christmas
could be depended upon to last into the summer this would be a very
different sort of world.
After--the Deluge
THE sombre tints of Grayhead were slightly suffused by a pink light | 1,704.698413 |
2023-11-16 18:45:28.6810430 | 1,056 | 9 |
Produced by StevenGibbs, KarenD, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE SILVER LINING
_A GUERNSEY STORY._
BY
JOHN ROUSSEL.
Guernsey:
FREDERICK BLONDEL GUERIN,
"THE SUN" OFFICE, HIGH STREET.
1894.
INDEX.
CHAPTER I.--THE RESULTS OF DISOBEDIENCE 3
II.--A LITTLE GIRL'S CHANGE OF LIFE 15
III.--THE BOARDING SCHOOL 24
IV.--THE INFLUENCES OF A GOOD HOME 33
V.--THE REWARD OF INORDINATE AMBITION 45
VI.--NEW ACQUAINTANCES 54
VII.--AN ABRUPT DISMISSAL 62
VIII.--AN UNPLEASANT VISIT 72
IX.--DECEPTIONS 79
X.--'TWIXT LOVE AND DUTY 84
XI.--BUSINESS 91
XII.--A STRANGE MEETING 96
XIII.--SUPERSTITION 102
XIV.--FAILURE 107
XV.--DARK DAYS 115
XVI.--SHADOW AND SUNSHINE 125
XVII.--THE EFFECTS OF A SERMON 130
XVIII.--SUCCESS AFTER SUCCESS 135
XIX.--TOM'S INTERVIEW WITH MRS. VIDOUX 143
XX.--TOM'S VISIT TO HIS UNCLE 148
XXI.--THE ENCOUNTER 153
XXII.--FATHER AND DAUGHTER 159
XXIII.--A SECRET CORRESPONDENCE 163
XXIV.--MR. ROUGEANT GOES TO CHURCH 169
XXV.--LOVE TRIUMPHS 173
XXVI.--WEDDED 183
XXVII.--RECONCILIATION 189
XXVIII.--A SAD END OF A MISPENT LIFE 197
XXIX.--DOMESTIC HAPPINESS 205
THE SILVER LINING.
A GUERNSEY STORY.
CHAPTER I.
THE RESULTS OF DISOBEDIENCE.
One fine summer afternoon--it was the month of June--the sea was
calm, the air was still, and the sun was warm.
The mackerel boats from Cobo (a bay in the island of Guernsey) were
setting sail; an old woman was detaching limpets from the rocks, and
slowly, but steadily, filling up her basket. On the west side of the
bay, two air-starved Londoners were sitting on the sand, basking in
the sunshine, determined to return home, if not invigorated, at
least bronzed by the sea air. On the east side, a few little boys
were bathing. A middle-aged man, engaged in searching for sand-eels,
completed the picture.
A little boy, who might have been nine years of age, was standing in
the road gazing upon this scene. The way in which he was clothed,
betokened that he was not one of the lads that lived in the vicinity
of that bay. He was dressed in a well-fitting knickerbocker suit,
and his polished boots, his well combed hair, denoted that he was an
object of especial care at home. He possessed a very intelligent
air, a fine forehead, rather large eyes which were full of
expression, and his frowning look, the way in which he stamped his
little foot, denoted that he was of an impulsive temperament. This
little fellow had some very good ideas. He had determined to be
good, and unselfish; and he tried to learn as much as he possibly
could. His mother had told him that later on this would help him in
life.
Once, an inquisitive pedlar, noticing his intelligence, and his
garrulous disposition, asked him jokingly if he ever intended to
marry. Upon which Frank Mathers (this was the boy's name) assumed a
serious air, and giving his head a little toss he answered, "I do
not know yet, there are so many beautiful little girls everywhere,
one does not know which one to choose."
A physiognomist might easily have seen that in this little boy's
soul a struggle was going on. "Shall I go?" he was saying to
himself; "shall I go and amuse myself?" His conscience had a great
power over him; but the beautiful sea was tempting, each wave as it
fell produced a sound which was sweeter to his ears than the
sweetest music.
"Your mother has forbidden you to go;" said his conscience; "you | 1,704.701083 |
2023-11-16 18:45:28.7793830 | 2,480 | 63 |
Produced by Al Haines
The
Honour of the Clintons
By
Archibald Marshall
_Author of_
"Elton Manor," "The Squire's Daughter,"
"The Eldest Son," etc.
New York
Dodd, Mead and Company
1919
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
_To_
_ARTHUR MARWOOD_
CONTENTS
BOOK I
CHAPTER
I A Home-Coming
II A Vulgar Theft
III The Squire Is Drawn In
IV Joan Gives Her Evidence
V A Quiet Talk
VI The Young Birds
VII The Verdict
BOOK II
I Bobby Trench Is Asked to Kencote
II Joan and Nancy
III Humphrey and Susan
IV Coming Home from the Ball
V Robert Recumbent
VI Joan Rebellious
VII Disappointments
VIII Proposals
BOOK III
I The Squire Confronted
II A Very Present Help
III The Burden
IV This Our Sister
BOOK IV
I A Return
II Payment
III The Straight Path
IV A Conclave
V Waiting
VI The Power of the Storm
VII Thinking It Out
VIII Skies Clearing
IX Skies Clear
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
A HOME-COMING
The lilacs in the station-yard at Kencote were heavy with their trusses
of white and purple; the rich pastures that stretched away on either
side of the line were yellow with buttercups.
Out of the smiling peace of the country-side came puffing the busy
little branch-line train. It came to and fro half a dozen times a day,
making a rare contact between the outside world and this sunny placid
corner of meadow and brook and woodland. Here all life that one could
see was so quiet and so contented that the train seemed to lose its
character as it crept across the bright levels, and to be less a noisy
determined machine of progress than a trail of white steam, floating
out over the grazing cattle and the willows by the brookside, as much
in keeping with the scene as the wisps of cloud that made delicate the
blue of the fresh spring sky.
The white cloud detached itself from the engine and melted away into
the sky, and the train slid with a cheerful rattle alongside the
platform and came to a stand-still. Nancy Clinton, who had been
awaiting its arrival with some impatience, waved her hand and hurried
to the carriage from which she had seen looking out a face exactly like
her own. By the time she had reached it her twin sister, Joan, had
alighted, and was ready with her greeting.
"Hullo, old girl!"
"You're nearly ten minutes late."
The twins had been parted for a fortnight, which had very seldom
happened to them before in the whole nineteen years of their existence,
and both of them were pleased to be together once more. If they had
been rather less pleased they might have said rather more.
More was, in fact, said by the maid who stood at the carriage door with
Joan's dressing-bag in her hand.
"Good-afternoon, Miss Nancy. Lor, you _are_ looking well, and a sight
for sore eyes. We've come back again, you see, and don't want to go
away from you no more. Miss Joan, please ketch 'old of this, and I'll
get the other things out. Where's that porter? He wants somebody
be'ind 'im with a stick."
"Hullo, Hannah!" said Nancy. "As talkative as ever! Come along, Joan.
She can look after the things."
The two girls went out through the booking-office, at the door of which
the station-master expressed respectful pleasure at the return of the
traveller, and got into the carriage waiting for them. There was a
luggage cart as well, and the groom in charge of it touched his hat and
grinned with pleasure; as did also the young coachman on the box.
"I seem to be more popular than ever," said Joan as she got into the
carriage. "Why aren't we allowed a footman?"
"You won't find you're at all popular when you get home," said Nancy.
"The absence of a footman is intended to mark father's displeasure with
you. He sent out to say there wasn't to be one, and William was to
drive, instead of old Probyn. Father is very good at making his ritual
expressive."
"What's the trouble?" enquired Joan. "My going to Brummels for the
week-end?"
"Yes. Without a _with_-your-leave or _by_-your-leave. Such a house as
that is no place for a well-brought-up girl, and what on earth Humphrey
and Susan were thinking of in taking you there he can't think. I say,
why _did_ you all go in such a hurry? You didn't say anything about it
when you wrote on Friday."
"Because it was arranged all in a hurry. Lady Sedbergh is going
through a month's rest cure at Brummels, and she thought she'd have a
lively party to say good-bye before she shuts herself up. It was Bobby
Trench who made her ask us, at the last moment."
"Joan, is Bobby Trench paying you attentions? You never told me
anything in your letters, but he seems to have been always about."
Joan laughed. "I'll tell you all about Bobby Trench later on," she
said. "I've been saving it up. Mother isn't annoyed at my going to
Brummels, is she?"
"I don't think so. But she said Humphrey and Susan ought not to have
taken you there without asking."
"There wasn't time to ask. Besides, I wanted to go, just to see how
the smart set really do behave when they're all at home together."
"Well, how do they?"
"It really is what Frank calls '_chaude etoffe_.' I don't wonder that
Lady Sedbergh wants a rest cure if that's how she spends her life. On
Sunday we had a fancy dress dinner--anything we could find--and she
came down as the Brummels ghost in a sort of nightgown with her hair
down her back and her face whitened. She looked a positive idiot
sitting at the head of the table. She must be at least fifty and the
ghost was only seventeen."
"What did you wear?"
"Oh, I borrowed Hannah's cap and apron; and Susan's maid lent me a
black dress. I was much admired. Susan was a flapper. She had on
some clothes of Betty Trench's, who is only fourteen, and about her
size. She looked rather silly. Humphrey was properly dressed, except
that he wore white trousers and a pink silk pyjama jacket. He said he
was Night and Morning. He looked the most respectable of all the men,
except Lord Sedbergh, who said he wasn't playing. He's a dear old
thing and lets them all do just what they like, and laughs all the
time. Bobby Trench was a bathing woman, with a sponge bag thing on his
head. He was really awfully funny, but he was funniest of all when he
forgot what he looked like and languished at me. I was having soup,
and I choked, and Lord Rokeby, who was sitting next to me, thumped me
on the back. All their manners are delightfully free and natural."
"Well, you seem to have enjoyed yourself."
"We finished up the evening with a pillow fight. Fancy!--Lady Sedbergh
and some of the other older women joined in, and made as much noise as
anybody. You should have seen Hannah's face when I did at last get
into my room, where she was waiting for me. She said a judgment was
sure to fall on us for such goings on."
"A judgment is certainly going to fall on _you_, my dear. Father will
seize you the moment you get into the house and ask you what you mean
by it."
"Dear father!" said Joan affectionately. "It _is_ jolly to be home
again, Nancy. How lovely the chestnuts are looking! Dear peaceful old
Kencote!"
They drove in through the lodge gates, where Joan received a smile and
a curtsey, and along the short drive through the park, and drew up
beneath the porch of the big ugly square house. Mrs. Clinton was at
the door, and Joan enveloped her in an ardent embrace, which was
interrupted by the appearance of the Squire, big and burly, with a
grizzled beard and a look of self-contented authority.
"I've got something to say to you, Miss Joan. Come into my room."
He turned his back and marched off to the library, in which he spent
most of his time when he was indoors.
Joan, after another hug and kiss, followed him. It may or may not have
been a sign of the deterioration in manner, wrought by her visit to
Brummels, that she winked at Nancy over her shoulder as she did so.
"Aren't you going to kiss me, father?" she asked, going up to him. "I
am very pleased to see you again, and I'm sure you're just as pleased
to see me."
The face that she lifted up to him could not possibly have been
resisted by any man who had not the privilege of close relationship.
The Squire, however, successfully resisted it.
"I don't want to kiss you," he said. "I'm very displeased with you.
What on earth possessed Humphrey and Susan to take you off to a house
like that, without a with-your-leave or a by-your-leave? And what do
you mean by going to places where you knew perfectly well you wouldn't
be allowed to go?"
"But, father darling," expostulated Joan, with an expression of puzzled
innocence, "I knew Lord Sedbergh was an old friend of yours. I didn't
think you could _possibly_ object to my going there with Humphrey and
Susan. They only got up their party on Friday evening, and there
wasn't time to write home. Why do you mind so much?"
"You know perfectly well why I mind," returned the Squire irritably.
"All sorts of things go on in houses like that, and all sorts of people
are welcomed there that I won't have a daughter of mine mixed up with.
You've been brought up in a God-fearing house, and you've got to
content yourself with the life we live here. I tell you I won't have
it."
"Well, I'm sorry, father dear. I won't do it again. Now give me a
kiss."
But the Squire was not yet ready for endearments.
"Won't do it again!" he echoed. "No, you won't | 1,704.799423 |
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Produced by Al Haines, prepared from scans obtained from
The Internet Archive.
STAND UP, YE DEAD
BY
NORMAN MACLEAN
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON -- NEW YORK -- TORONTO
MCMXVI
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
DWELLERS IN THE MIST
HILLS OF HOME
CAN THE WORLD BE WON FOR CHRIST?
THE BURNT-OFFERING
AFRICA IN TRANSFORMATION
THE GREAT DISCOVERY
{v}
PREFACE
Two years ago the writer published a book called _The Great Discovery_.
It seemed to him in those days, when the nation chose the ordeal of
battle rather than dishonour, that the people, as if waking from sleep,
discovered God once more. But, now, after an agony unparalleled in the
history of the world, the vision of God has faded, and men are left
groping in the darkness of a great bewilderment. The cause may not be
far to seek. For every vision of God summons men to the girding of
themselves that they may bring their lives more into conformity with
His holy will. And when men decline the venture to which the vision
beckons, then the vision fades.
It is there that we have failed. We were called to put an end to
social evils {vi} which are sapping our strength and enfeebling our arm
in battle, but we refused. We wanted victory over the enemy, but we
deemed the price of moral surgery too great even for victory. In the
rush and crowding of world-shaking cataclysms, memory is short. We
have already almost forgotten the moral tragedy of April 1915. It was
then that the White Paper was issued by the Government, and the nation
was informed of startling facts which our statesmen knew all the time.
At last the nation was told that our armies were wellnigh paralysed for
lack of munitions, while thousands of men were daily away from their
work because of drunkenness; that the repairing of ships was delayed
and transports unable to put to sea because of drunkenness; that goods,
vital to the State, could not be delivered because of drunkenness; that
Admiral Jellicoe had warned the Government that the efficiency of the
Fleet was threatened because of drunkenness; and that shipbuilders and
munition manufacturers had made a strong {vii} appeal to our rulers to
put an end to drunkenness. It was then that the King, by his example,
called upon the people to renounce alcohol, and the nation waited for
its deliverance. But the Government refused to follow the King. There
is but one law for nations, as for individuals, if they would save
their souls: 'If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off.' But our
statesmen could not brace themselves to an act of surgery; they devised
a scheme for putting the offending member into splints. And, since
then, it looks as if the wheels of the chariot of victory were stuck in
the bog of the national drunkenness. The vision of God has faded
before the eyes of a nation that refused its beckoning.
This book deals, therefore, with those evils which now hide the face of
God from us. If drunkenness be the greatest of these evils, there are
others closely allied to it. Two Commissions have recently issued
Reports, the one on 'The Declining Birthrate,' and the other on 'The
Social Evil,' {viii} which reveal the perilous condition of
degeneration into which the nation is falling. It is difficult for
people, engrossed in the labours and anxieties of these days, to grasp
the meaning of the facts as presented in these Reports. In these pages
an effort is made to look the facts in the face and to make the danger
clear, so that he who runs may read. And the writer has had but one
purpose: to show that there is but one remedy for all our grievous
ills, even a return to God.
As we think of the millions who have taken all that makes life dear and
laid it down that we might live; who have gone down to an earthly hell
that we might not lose our heaven; who have wrestled with the powers of
destruction on sea and land that these isles might continue to be the
sanctuary of freedom and the home of righteousness; who in the midst of
their torment never flinched; and of the fathers, mothers, and wives
who have laid on the altar the sacrifice of all their love and
hope--the question arises, how can {ix} we show our love and our
gratitude to those who have redeemed us? We can only prove our
gratitude by making a new world for those who have saved us--a world in
which men and women shall no longer be doomed to live lives of
sordidness and misery. When we shall set ourselves to that task,
seeking to meet the sacrifice of heroism by the sacrifice of our
service, deeming no labour too great and no effort too arduous, then
the vision of God will again arise upon us and will abide.
N. M.
_October_ 7, 1916.
{xi}
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
THE EMPTY CRADLE
CHAPTER II
THE ROOTS OF THE EVIL
CHAPTER III
THE EMPTY COUNTRYSIDE
CHAPTER IV
THE MAN IN THE SLUM
CHAPTER V
THE LORD OF THE SLUM
CHAPTER VI
THE GREAT REFUSAL
{xii}
CHAPTER VII
THE SLUM IN THE MAN
CHAPTER VIII
BEHIND YOU IS GOD
{1}
CHAPTER I
THE EMPTY CRADLE
The greatest disaster of these days has befallen in the streets and
lanes of our cities at home, and, because it has happened in our own
midst, we are blind to it. And, also, it has come upon us so gradually
and so surreptitiously that, though we are overwhelmed by it, we know
not that we are overwhelmed. Our capital cities are leading the nation
in the march to the graveyard. In London the birthrate has fallen in
Hampstead from 30 to 17.55, and in the City itself to 17.4; in
Edinburgh it has fallen in some districts to 10. In many places there
are already more coffins than cradles. What would the city of
Edinburgh say or do if suddenly one half of its children were slain in
a night? What a cry of horror would rise to heaven! {2} Yet, that is
exactly the calamity which has overtaken the city. In the year 1871
there were 34 children born in Edinburgh for every thousand of the
population; in the year 1915 the number of births per thousand of the
population was 17. Edinburgh has, compared to forty-four years ago,
sacrificed half its children. And because this calamity is the slowly
ripening fruit of forty years, and did not occur with dramatic
swiftness in a night, there is no sound of lamentation in the streets.
I
What has happened in London and Edinburgh is only what has happened
over all the British Empire, with this difference--that these cities
are leading the van in the process of desiccating the fountain of the
national life. While the birthrate for the whole of Scotland is 23.9,
that of Edinburgh is 17.8. For the nation as a whole the policy of
racial suicide has become a national policy. The marriage-rate
increases, but the {3} birth-rate decreases. A birthrate of 35.6 per
thousand in 1874 decreased to 33.7 in 1880, 32.9 in 1886, 30.4 in 1890,
and to 23.8 in 1912. If the city of Edinburgh is sacrificing at the
fountain-head half of its possible population, the rest of the
English-speaking race is following hard in its wake. The facts which
to-day confront us spell doom. In the year 1911 the legitimate births
in England and Wales numbered 843,505, but if the birthrate had
remained as it was in the years 1876-80, the number would have been
1,273,698. 'That is to say, there was a potential loss to the nation
of 430,000 in that one year 1911.'[1] In the year 1914 the loss is
even greater, for it amounted to 467,837. The nation as a whole is now
sacrificing every year a third of its possible population. This is
surely a terrible fact. The ravages of war, awful though these ravages
have been, are nothing to the ravages which have been self-inflicted.
In the years that are past, the race recovered from the {4} greatest
calamities of war and pestilence because there was a power mightier
than these--that of the child. The abounding birthrate rapidly
replaced the wastage of war. Through the greatest calamities the
nation ever marched forward on the feet of little children. One
generation might be overwhelmed, but
'Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring our boats ashore.'
But alas! when the greatest of all calamities has overtaken the race;
when the young, the noble, and the brave have lain down in death that
the nation might live, the feet of the little children, on which
erstwhile the race marched forward, are not there. We have offered
them up a sacrifice to Moloch.
II
The nation must be wakened to the dire peril in which the steadily
falling birthrate has placed the race. Militarism {5} slays its
thousands; this has strangled its hundreds of thousands. But no
warning note has been sounded by our statesmen. They were doubtless
waiting to see!
The might of every nation depends on the reservoir of its vitality.
Let that desiccate and the nation desiccates. Of this France is the
proof. That France which, a hundred years ago, overran Europe, fifty
years later lay prostrate under the feet of Germany. Twenty years
before that national humiliation, France began to sacrifice her
children. Lord Acton pointed out the inevitable result; the wise of
their own number warned them--but France went on its way down the <DW72>
of moral degeneration. Its birthrate fell from 30.8 in 1821 to 26.2 in
1851, 25.4 in 1871, 22.1 in 1891, 20.6 in 1901, and to 19 in 1914. The
result was inevitable. In the race of empire France fell slowly back.
The alien had to be imported to cultivate her own fair fields. She
annexed territories, but she could {6} not colonise them. The prophets
who prophesied doom have been abundantly justified. To-day France,
risen from the dead, is wrestling for her life; she is impotent to
drive back the foe without the help of Britain and Russia--she who
dominated Europe a century ago! When we read of a Russian army, after
a journey round half the world, landing at Marseilles to take their
place in the trenches that Paris may be saved from the devastators of
Belgium and Poland, we see the fields ripe for the harvest of that
policy which sacrificed the race to the individual. The hope for
France is that she will rise from the grave of her degeneration,
new-born.
What has happened in France is what happened in Rome long before. It
was not because of the inrush of barbaric hosts that Rome perished, but
because Rome sacrificed its children. In its golden age, when luxury
clouded the heart, Rome began to avoid the responsibilities of family
life, and so | 1,704.899717 |
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
A superscript is denoted by ^x or ^{x}; for example, und^r or 19^{th}.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.
More detail can be found at the end of the book.
[Illustration:
BY COMMAND OF His late Majesty WILLIAM THE IV^{TH}.
_and under the Patronage of_
Her Majesty the Queen
HISTORICAL RECORDS,
_OF THE_
British Army
_Comprising the
History of every Regiment
IN HER MAJESTY'S SERVICE._
_By Richard Cannon Esq^{re}._
_Adjutant Generals Office, Horse Guards._
London
_Printed by Authority_:
1837.
_Silvester & C^o. 27 Strand._
HISTORICAL RECORDS
OF THE
BRITISH ARMY.
PREPARED FOR PUBLICATION UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE
ADJUTANT-GENERAL.
THE FOURTH,
OR
ROYAL IRISH REGIMENT OF DRAGOON GUARDS.
LONDON:
Printed by WILLIAM CLOWES and SONS,
14, Charing Cross.
GENERAL ORDERS.
_HORSE-GUARDS,
1st January, 1836._
His Majesty has been pleased to command, that, with a view of doing
the fullest justice to Regiments, as well as to Individuals who have
distinguished themselves by their Bravery in Action with the Enemy,
an Account of the Services of every Regiment in the British Army
shall be published under the superintendence and direction of the
Adjutant-General; and that this Account shall contain the following
particulars: _viz._,
---- The Period and Circumstances of the Original Formation of
the Regiment; The Stations at which it has been from time to time
employed; The Battles, Sieges, and other Military Operations,
in which it has been engaged, particularly specifying any
Achievement it may have performed, and the Colours, Trophies,
&c., it may have captured from the Enemy.
---- The Names of the Officers and the number of Non-Commissioned
Officers and Privates, Killed or Wounded by the Enemy, specifying
the Place and Date of the Action.
---- The Names of those Officers, who, in consideration of their
Gallant Services and Meritorious Conduct in Engagements with the
Enemy, have been distinguished with Titles, Medals, or other
Marks of His Majesty's gracious favour.
---- The Names of all such Officers, Non-Commissioned Officers
and Privates as may have specially signalized themselves in
Action.
And,
---- The Badges and Devices which the Regiment may have been
permitted to bear, and the Causes on account of which such Badges
or Devices, or any other Marks of Distinction, have been granted.
By Command of the Right Honourable
GENERAL LORD HILL,
_Commanding-in-Chief_.
JOHN MACDONALD,
_Adjutant-General_.
PREFACE.
The character and credit of the British Army must chiefly depend upon
the zeal and ardour, by which all who enter into its service are
animated, and consequently it is of the highest importance that any
measure calculated to excite the spirit of emulation, by which alone
great and gallant actions are achieved, should be adopted.
Nothing can more fully tend to the accomplishment of this desirable
object, than a full display of the noble deeds with which the
Military History of our country abounds. To hold forth these bright
examples to the imitation of the youthful soldier, and thus to incite
him to emulate the meritorious conduct of those who have preceded him
in their honourable career, are among the motives that have given
rise to the present publication.
The operations of the British Troops are, indeed, announced in the
'London Gazette,' from whence they are transferred into the public
prints: the achievements of our armies are thus made known at the
time of their occurrence, and receive the tribute of praise and
admiration to which they are entitled. On extraordinary occasions,
the Houses of Parliament have been in the habit of conferring on the
Commanders, and the Officers and Troops acting under their orders,
expressions of approbation and of thanks for their skill and bravery,
and these testimonials, confirmed by the high honour of their
Sovereign's Approbation, constitute the reward which the soldier most
highly prizes.
It has not, however, until late years, been the practice (which
appears to have long prevailed in some of the Continental armies)
for British Regiments to keep regular records of their services
and achievements. Hence some difficulty has been experienced in
obtaining, particularly from the old Regiments, an authentic account
of their origin and subsequent services.
This defect will now be remedied, in consequence of His Majesty
having been pleased to command, that every Regiment shall in future
keep a full and ample record of its services at home and abroad.
From the materials thus collected, the country will henceforth
derive information as to the difficulties and privations which
chequer the career of those who embrace the military profession. In
Great Britain, where so large a number of persons are devoted to
the active concerns of agriculture, manufactures, and commerce, and
where these pursuits have, for so long a period, been undisturbed
by the _presence of war_, which few other countries have escaped,
comparatively little is known of the vicissitudes of active service,
and of the casualties of climate, to which, even during peace, the
British Troops are exposed in every part of the globe, with little or
no interval of repose.
In their tranquil enjoyment of the blessings which the country
derives from the industry and the enterprise of the agriculturist
and the trader, its happy inhabitants may be supposed not often to
reflect on the perilous duties of the soldier and the sailor,--on
their sufferings,--and on the sacrifice of valuable life, by which so
many national benefits are obtained and preserved.
The conduct of the British Troops, their valour, and endurance,
have shone conspicuously under great and trying difficulties; and
their character has been established in Continental warfare by the
irresistible spirit with which they have effected debarkations in
spite of the most formidable opposition, and by the gallantry and
steadiness with which they have maintained their advantages against
superior numbers.
In the official Reports made by the respective Commanders, ample
justice has generally been done to the gallant exertions of the
Corps employed; but the details of their services, and of acts of
individual bravery, can only be fully given in the Annals of the
various Regiments.
These Records are now preparing for publication, under His Majesty's
special authority, by Mr. RICHARD CANNON, Principal Clerk of the
Adjutant-General's Office; and while the perusal of them cannot fail
to be useful and interesting to military men of every rank, it is
considered that they will also afford entertainment and information
to the general reader, particularly to those who may have served in
the Army, or who have relatives in the Service.
There exists in the breasts of most of those who have served, or are
serving, in the Army, an _Esprit de Corps_--an attachment to every
thing belonging to their Regiment; to such persons a narrative of
the services of their own Corps cannot fail to prove interesting.
Authentic accounts of the actions of the great,--the valiant,--the
loyal, have always been of paramount interest with a brave and
civilised people. Great Britain has produced a race of heroes who,
in moments of danger and terror, have stood, "firm as the rocks
of their native shore;" and when half the World has been arrayed
against them, they have fought the battles of their Country with
unshaken fortitude. It is presumed that a record of achievements
in war,--victories so complete and surprising, gained by our
countrymen,--our brothers--our fellow-citizens in arms,--a record
which revives the memory of the brave, and brings their gallant deeds
before us, will certainly prove acceptable to the public.
Biographical memoirs of the Colonels and other distinguished
Officers, will be introduced in the Records of their respective
Regiments, and the Honorary Distinctions which have, from time to
time, been conferred upon each Regiment, as testifying the value and
importance of its services, will be faithfully set forth.
As a convenient mode of Publication, the Record of each Regiment will
be printed in a distinct number, so that when the whole shall be
completed, the Parts may be bound up in numerical succession.
INTRODUCTION.
The ancient Armies of England were composed of Horse and | 1,704.902195 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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by The Internet Archive)
PETER PARAGON
A Tale of Youth
BY
JOHN PALMER
[Illustration: Decoration]
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
1915
COPYRIGHT, 1915
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
TO
MILDRED
PETER PARAGON
I
Peter might justly have complained that his birth was too calmly
received. For Peter's mother accepted him without demur. Women who nurse
themselves more thoroughly than they nurse their babies will
incredulously hear that Mrs. Paragon made little difference in her life
on Peter's account until within four hours of his coming. Nevertheless
Peter was a healthy baby, shapeless and | 1,704.998823 |
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LIFE'S HANDICAP
BEING STORIES OF MINE OWN PEOPLE
By Rudyard Kipling
1915
TO
E.K.R.
FROM
R.K.
1887-89
C.M.G.
PREFACE
In Northern India stood a monastery called The Chubara of Dhunni Bhagat.
No one remembered who or what Dhunni Bhagat had been. He had lived his
life, made a little money and spent it all, as every good Hindu should
do, on a work of piety--the Chubara. That was full of brick cells, gaily
painted with the figures of Gods and kings and elephants, where worn-out
priests could sit and meditate on the latter end of things; the paths
were brick paved, and the naked feet of thousands had worn them into
gutters. Clumps of mangoes sprouted from between the bricks; great
pipal trees overhung the well-windlass that whined all day; and hosts
of parrots tore through the trees. Crows and squirrels were tame in that
place, for they knew that never a priest would touch them.
The wandering mendicants, charm-sellers, and holy vagabonds for a
hundred miles round used to make the Chubara their place of call and
rest. Mahomedan, Sikh, and Hindu mixed equally under the trees. They
were old men, and when man has come to the turnstiles of Night all the
creeds in the world seem to him wonderfully alike and colourless.
Gobind the one-eyed told me this. He was a holy man who lived on an
island in the middle of a river and fed the fishes with little bread
pellets twice a day. In flood-time, when swollen corpses stranded
themselves at the foot of the island, Gobind would cause them to be
piously burned, for the sake of the honour of mankind, and having regard
to his own account with God hereafter. But when two-thirds of the
island was torn away in a spate, Gobind came across the river to Dhunni
Bhagat's Chubara, he and his brass drinking vessel with the well-cord
round the neck, his short arm-rest crutch studded with brass nails, his
roll of bedding, his big pipe, his umbrella, and his tall sugar-loaf hat
with the nodding peacock feathers in it. He wrapped himself up in his
patched quilt made of every colour and material in the world, sat down
in a sunny corner of the very quiet Chubara, and, resting his arm on his
short-handled crutch, waited for death. The people brought him food and
little clumps of marigold flowers, and he gave his blessing in return.
He was nearly blind, and his face was seamed and lined and wrinkled
beyond belief, for he had lived in his time which was before the English
came within five hundred miles of Dhunni Bhagat's Chubara.
When we grew to know each other well, Gobind would tell me tales in a
voice most like the rumbling of heavy guns over a wooden bridge. His
tales were true, but not one in twenty could be printed in an English
book, because the English do not think as natives do. They brood over
matters that a native would dismiss till a fitting occasion; and what
they would not think twice about a native will brood over till a fitting
occasion: then native and English stare at each other hopelessly across
great gulfs of miscomprehension.
'And what,' said Gobind one Sunday evening, 'is your honoured craft, and
by what manner of means earn you your daily bread?'
'I am,' said I, 'a kerani--one who writes with a pen upon paper, not
being in the service of the Government.'
'Then what do you write?' said Gobind. 'Come nearer, for I cannot see
your countenance, and the light fails.'
'I write of all matters that lie within my understanding, and of many
that do not. But chiefly I write of Life and Death, and men and women,
and Love and Fate according to the measure of my ability, telling the
tale through the mouths of one, two, or more people. Then by the favour
of God the tales are sold and money accrues to me that I may keep
alive.'
'Even so,' said Gobind. 'That is the work of the bazar story-teller; but
he speaks straight to men and women and does not write anything at all.
Only when the tale has aroused expectation, and calamities are about
to befall the virtuous, he stops suddenly and demands payment ere he
continues the narration. Is | 1,705.200059 |
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http://www.freeliterature.org
A JAPANESE BOY
BY
HIMSELF
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1890
_COPYRIGHTED_, 1889.
By SHIUKICHI SHIGEMI.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
MY BIRTHPLACE--MY GRANDFATHER--TENJINSAN.
CHAPTER II.
OLD-FASHIONED SCHOOL--MY SCHOOLMASTER--THE SCHOOL-HOUSE.
CHAPTER III.
THE KITCHEN--DINNER--FOOD.
CHAPTER IV.
GAMES--NEW SCHOOL--IMITATING THE WEST--MORE ABOUT MY SCHOOLMASTER
--PUNISHMENTS AT SCHOOL.
CHAPTER V.
BATHS--EVENINGS AT HOME--JAPANESE DANCING AND MUSIC.
CHAPTER VI.
AMATEUR ACTORS AND REAL ACTORS AND ACTRESSES--JAPANESE THEATRE.
CHAPTER VII.
WRESTLING--STORY-TELLERS--PICNIC AND PICNIC GROUNDS--AN OLD CASTLE
AND A TRADITION.
CHAPTER VIII.
ANGLING--A PIOUS OLD LADY AND HER ADVENTURES.
CHAPTER IX.
THE YAITO--A WITCH-WOMAN--AUNT OTSUNE, MISS CHRYSANTHEMUM AND
MR. PROSPERITY.
CHAPTER X.
NEW-YEAR'S DAY--THE MOCHI-MAKING--OLD-TIME OBSERVANCES.
CHAPTER XI.
KITE-FLYING--HOW I MADE MY KITE--MY UNCLE AND HIS RIG KITE
--OTHER NEW-YEAR GAMES--HOW WE END OUR NEW-YEAR HOLIDAYS.
CHAPTER XII.
OTHER JAPANESE HOLIDAYS--TANABATA AND INOKO, THE BOYS' DAYS
--THE SHINTOISTIC AND BUDDHISTIC ABLUTION MASS.
CHAPTER XIII.
OUR PRIEST AND BOY-PRIEST--OUR DOG GEM--SHAKA'S BIRTHDAY.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE FESTIVALS OF LOCAL DEITIES--SCHOOL AGAIN, AND SOME ACCOUNT
OF MY SCHOOL-FELLOWS--CONCLUSION.
PREFATORY LETTER.
PROF. HENRY W. FARNAM:
_Dear Sir:_--My motives in writing this jejune little volume are, as you
are aware, two:
1st. There seems to be no story told in this country of the Japanese
boy's life by a Japanese boy himself. The following rambling sketches
are incoherent and extremely meagre, I own; but you must remember that
they are a boy's talks. Give him encouragement, and he will tell you
more.
2d. The most important of my reasons is my desire to obtain the means to
prosecute the studies I have taken up in America. Circumstances have
obliged me to make my own way in this hard world. If I knew of a better
step I should not have resorted to an indiscreet juvenile publication--a
publication, moreover, of my own idle experiences, and in a language the
alphabet of which I learned but a few years ago.
To you my sincere acknowledgments are due for encouraging me to write
these pages. This kindness is but one of many, of which the public has
no knowledge.
I am, sir,
Yours very truly.
SHIUKICHI SHIGEMI
NEW HAVEN. CT., September, 1889.
A JAPANESE BOY.
CHAPTER I.
I was born in a small seaport town called Imabari, which is situated on
the western coast of the island of Shikoku, the eastern of the two
islands lying south of Hondo. The Imabari harbor is a miserable ditch;
at low tide the mouth shows its shallow bottom, and one can wade across.
People go there for clam-digging. Two or three little streams empty
their waters into the harbor. A few junks and a number of boats are
always seen standing in this pool of salt-water. In the houses
surrounding it, mostly very old and ramshackle, are sold eatables and
provisions, fishes are bought from the boats, or shelter is given to
sailors.
When a junk comes in laden with rice, commission merchants get on | 1,705.4002 |
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DESCRIPTIVE ANALYSES
OF PIANO WORKS
FOR THE USE OF TEACHERS,
PLAYERS, AND MUSIC CLUBS
BY
EDWARD BAXTER PERRY
PHILADELPHIA
THEODORE PRESSER CO.
LONDON, WEEKES & CO.
Copyright, 1902, by Theodore Presser
International Copyright
Printed in the United States of America
My Keys
I.
To no crag-crowning castle above the wild main,
To no bower of fair lady or villa in Spain;
To no deep, hidden vaults where the stored jewels shine,
Or the South's ruddy sunlight is prisoned in wine;
To no gardens enchanted where nightingales sing,
And the flowers of all climes breathe perpetual spring:
To none of all these
They give access, my keys,
My magical ebon and ivory keys.
II.
But to temples sublime, where music is prayer,
To the bower of a goddess supernally fair;
To the crypts where the ages their mysteries keep,
Where the sorrows and joys of earth's greatest ones sleep;
Where the wine of emotion a life's thirst may still,
And the jewels of thought gleam to light at my will:
To more than all these
They give access, my keys,
My magical ebon and ivory keys.
III.
To bright dreams of the past in locked cells of the mind,
To the tombs of dead joys in their beauty enshrined;
To the chambers where love's recollections are stored,
And the fanes where devotion's best homage is poured;
To the cloudland of hope, where the dull mist of tears
As the rainbow of promise illumined appears;
To all these, when I please,
They give access, my keys,
My magical ebon and ivory keys.
Only an Interpreter
The world will still go on the very same
When the last feeble echo of my name
Has died from out men's listless hearts and ears
These many years.
Its tides will roll, its suns will rise and set,
When mine, through twilight portals of regret,
Has passed to quench its pallid, parting light
In rayless night,
While o'er my place oblivion's tide will sweep
To whelm my deeds in silence dark and deep,
The triumphs and the failures, ill and good,
Beneath its flood.
Then other, abler men will serve the Art
I strove to serve with singleness of heart;
Will wear her thorned laurels on the brow,
As I do now.
I shall not care to ask whose fame is first,
Or feel the fever of that burning thirst
To win her warmest smile, nor count the cost
Whate'er be lost.
As I have striven, they will strive to rise
To hopeless heights, where that elusive prize,
The unattainable ideal, gleams
Through waking dreams.
But I shall sleep, a sleep secure, profound,
Beyond the reach of blame, or plaudits' sound;
And who stands high, who low, I shall not know:
'Tis better so.
For what the gain of all my toilsome years,
Of all my ceaseless struggles, secret tears?
My best, more brief than frailest summer flower,
Dies with the hour.
My most enduring triumphs swifter pass
Than fairy frost-wreaths from the window glass:
The master but of moments may not claim
A deathless name.
Mine but the task to lift, a little space,
The mystic veil from beauty's radiant face
That other men may joy thereon to see,
Forgetting me.
Not mine the genius to create the forms
Which stand serenely strong, thro' suns and storms,
While passing ages praise that power sublime
Defying time.
Mine but the transient service of a day,
Scant praise, too ready blame, and meager pay:
No matter, though with hunger at the heart
I did my part.
I dare not call my labor all in vain,
If I but voice anew one lofty strain:
The faithful echo of a noble thought
With good is fraught.
For some it cheers upon life's weary road,
And some hearts lightens of their bitter load,
Which might have missed the message in the din
Of strife and sin.
My lavished life-blood warmed and woke again
The still, pale children of another's brain,
Brimmed full the forms which else were cold,
Tho' fair of mold.
And thro' their lips my spirit spoke to men
Of higher hopes, of courage under pain,
Of worthy aspirations, fearless flight
To reach the light.
Then, soul of mine, content thee with thy fate,
Though noble niche of fame and guerdon great
Be not for thee: thy modest task was sweet
At beauty's feet.
The Artist passes like a swift-blown breeze,
Or vapors floating up from summer seas;
But Art endures as long as life and love:
For her I strove.
Contents
PAGE
Introduction, 11
Esthetic versus Structural Analysis, 15
Sources of Information Concerning Musical Compositions, 23
Traditional Beethoven Playing, 32
Beethoven: The Moonlight Sonata, Op. 27, No. 2, 45
Beethoven: Sonata Pathetique, Op. 13, 50
Beethoven: Sonata in A Flat Major, Op. 26, 55
Beethoven: Sonata in D Minor, Op. 31, No. 2, 61
Beethoven: Sonata in C Major, Op. 53, 64
Beethoven: Sonata in E Minor, Op. 90, 68
Beethoven: Music to "The Ruins of Athens," 72
Weber: Invitation to the Dance, Op. 65, 81
Weber: Rondo in E Flat, Op. 62, 86
Weber: Concertstueck, in F Minor, Op. 79, 90
Weber-Kullak: Luetzow's Wilde Jagd, Op. 111, No. 4, 93
Schubert: (Impromptu in B Flat) Theme and Variations,
Op. 142, No. 3, 99
Emotion in Music, 105
Chopin: Sonata, B Flat, Op. 35, 113
The Chopin Ballades, 118
Chopin: Ballade in G Minor, Op. 23, 123
Chopin: Ballade in F Major, Op. 38, 130
Chopin: Ballade in A Flat, Op. 47, 137
Chopin: Polonaise, A Flat Major, Op. 53, 142
Chopin: Impromptu in A Flat, Op. 29, 147
Chopin: Fantasie Impromptu, Op. 66, 149
Chopin: Tarantelle, A Flat, Op. 43, 152
Chopin: Berceuse, Op. 57, 156
Chopin: Scherzo in B Flat Minor, Op. 31, 158
Chopin: Prelude, Op. 28, No. 15, 161
Chopin: Waltz, A Flat, Op. 42, 168
Chopin's Nocturnes, 172
Chopin: Nocturne in E Flat, Op. 9, No. 2, 174
Chopin: Nocturne, Op. 27, No. 2, 176
Chopin: Nocturne, Op. 32, No. 1, 179
Chopin: Nocturne, Op. 37, No. 1, 183
Chopin: Nocturne, Op. 37, No. 2, 186
Chopin: Polish Songs, Transcribed for Piano by Franz Liszt, 191
Liszt: Poetic and Religious Harmonies, No. 3, Book 2, 194
Liszt: First Ballade, 199
Liszt: Second Ballade, 201
Transcriptions for the Piano by Liszt, 203
Wagner-Liszt: Spinning Song from "The Flying Dutchman," 205
Wagner-Liszt: Tannhaeuser March, 208
Wagner-Liszt: Abendstern, 209
Wagner-Liszt: Isolde's Love Death, 210
Schubert-Liszt: Der Erlkoenig, 213
Schubert-Liszt: Hark! Hark! the Lark, 216
Schubert-Liszt: Gretchen am Spinnrad, 217
Liszt: La Gondoliera, 219
The Music of the Gipsies and Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsodies, 222
Rubinstein: Barcarolle, G Major, 237
Rubinstein: Kamennoi-Ostrow, No. 22, 241
Grieg: Peer Gynt Suite, Op. 46, 247
Grieg: An den Fruehling, Op. 43, No. 6, 257
Grieg: Voeglein, Op. 43, No. 4, 260
Grieg: Berceuse, Op. 38, No. 1, 261
Grieg: The Bridal Procession, from "Aus dem Volksleben,"
Op. 19, No. 2, 264
Saint-Saens: Le Rouet d'Omphale, 271
Saint-Saens: Danse Macabre, 276
Counterparts among Poets and Musicians, 281
DESCRIPTIVE
ANALYSES OF
PIANO WORKS
Introduction
The material comprised in the following pages has been collected for use
in book form by the advice and at the earnest request of the publisher,
as well as of many musical friends, who express the belief that it is of
sufficient value and interest to merit a certain degree of permanency,
and will prove of practical aid to teachers and students of music. A
portion of it has already appeared in print in the program books of the
Derthick Musical Literary Society and in different musical journals; and
nearly all of it has been used at various times in my own Lecture
Recitals.
The book is merely a compilation of what have seemed the most
interesting and valuable results of my thought, reading, and research in
connection with my Lecture Recital work during the past twenty years.
In the intensely busy life of a concert pianist a systematic and
exhaustive study of the whole broad field of piano literature has been
utterly impossible. That would require the exclusive devotion of a
lifetime at least. My efforts have been necessarily confined strictly to
such compositions as came under my immediate attention in connection
with my own work as player.
The effect is a seemingly desultory and haphazard method in the study,
and an inadequacy and incoherency in the collective result, which no one
can possibly realize or deplore so fully as myself. Still the work is a
beginning, a first pioneer venture into a realm which I believe to be
not only new, but rich and important. I can only hope that the example
may prompt others, with more leisure and ability, to follow in the path
I have blazed, to more extensive explorations and more complete results.
Well-read musicians will find in these pages much that they have learned
before from various scattered sources. Naturally so. I have not
originated my facts or invented my legends. They are common property for
all who will but seek. I have merely collected, arranged, and, in many
instances, translated them into English. I claim no monopoly. On the
other hand, they may find some things they have not previously known. In
such cases I venture to suggest to the critically and incredulously
inclined, that this does not prove their inaccuracy, though some have
seemed to fancy that it did. Not to know a thing does not always
conclusively demonstrate that it is not so.
To the general reader let me say that this book represents the best
thought and effort of my professionally unoccupied hours during the past
twenty years. It comes to you with my heart in it, bringing the wish
that the material here collected may be to you as interesting and
helpful as it has been to me in the gathering. The actual writing has
mainly been done on trains, or in lonely hotel rooms far from books of
reference, or aids of any kind; so occasional inexactitudes of data or
detail are by no means improbable, when my only resource was the memory
of something read, or of personal conversation often years before. With
the limited time at my disposal, a detailed revision is not practicable,
and I therefore present the articles as originally written. Take and use
what seems of value, and the rest pass by.
The plan and purpose of the book rest simply upon the theory that the
true interpretation of music depends not only on the player's possession
of a correct insight into the form and harmonic structure of a given
composition, but also on the fullest obtainable knowledge concerning the
circumstances and environment of its origin, and the conditions
governing the composer's life at the time, as well as any historical or
legendary matter which may have served him as inspiration or suggestion.
My reason for now presenting it to the public is the same as that which
has caused me to devote my professional life exclusively to the Lecture
Recital--namely, because experience has proved to me that a knowledge of
the poetic and dramatic content of a musical work is of immense value to
the player in interpretation, and to the listener in comprehension and
enjoyment of any composition, and because, except in scattered
fragments, no information of just this character exists elsewhere in
print.
It being, as explained, impossible to make this collection of analyses
complete, or even approximately so, it has seemed wise to limit the
number here included to just fifty, so as to keep the book to a
convenient size. I have endeavored to select those covering as large a
range and variety as possible, with the view of making them as broadly
helpful and suggestive as may be.
It is my intention to continue my labors along this line so far as
strength and opportunity permit, in the faith that I can devote my
efforts to no more useful end.
_Edward Baxter Perry._
Esthetic versus Structural Analysis
It has been, and still is, the general custom among most musicians, when
called upon to analyze a composition for the enlightenment of students
or the public, or in the effort to broaden the interest in their art, to
think and speak solely of the _form_, the _structure_ of the work, to
treat it scientifically, anatomically--to dwell with sonorous unction
upon the technical names for its various divisions, to lay bare and
delightedly call attention to its neatly fashioned joints, to dilate
upon the beauty of its symmetrical proportions, and show how one part
fits into or is developed out of another--in brief, to explain more or
less intelligently the details of its mechanical construction, without a
hint or a thought as to why it was made at all, or why it should be
allowed to exist. With the specialist's engrossing absorption in the
technicalities of his vocation, they expect others to share their
interest, and are surprised and indignant to find that they do not. They
forget that to the average hearer this learned dissertation upon primary
and secondary subjects, episodical passages, modulation to related and
unrelated keys, cadences, return of the first theme, etc., has about as
much meaning and importance as so much Sanskrit. It is well enough, so
far as it goes, in the classroom, where students are being trained for
specialists, and need that kind of information; but it is only one
side,--the mechanical side,--and the general public needs something
else; and even the student, however gifted, if he is to become more than
a mere technician, must have something else; for composition and
interpretation both have their mere technic, as much as keyboard
manipulation, which is, however, only the means, not the end.
Knowledge of and insight into musical form are necessary to the player,
but not to the listener, even for the highest artistic appreciation and
enjoyment, just as the knowledge of colors and their combination is
essential to the painter, but not to the beholder. The poet must
understand syntax and prosody, the technic of rhyme-making and
verse-formation; but how many of his readers could analyze correctly
from that standpoint the poem they so much enjoy, or give the scientific
names for the literary devices employed? Or how many of them would care
to hear it done, or be the better for it if they did? The public expects
results, not rules or formulas; effects, not explanations of stage
machinery; food and stimulus for the intellect, the emotions, the
imagination, not recipes of how they are prepared.
The value of esthetic analysis is undeniably great in rendering this
food and stimulus, contained in every good composition, more easily
accessible and more readily assimilated, by a judicious selection and
partial predigestion, so to speak, of the different artistic elements in
a given work, and a certain preparation of the listener to receive them.
This is, of course, especially true in the case of the young, and those
of more advanced years, to whom, owing to lack of training and
opportunity, musical forms of expression are somewhat unfamiliar; or, in
other words, those to whom the musical idiom is still more or less
strange. But there are also very many musicians of established position
who are sorely in need of something of the kind to awaken them to a
perception of other factors in musical art besides sensuous beauty and
the display of skill; to develop their imaginative and poetic faculties,
in which both their playing and theories prove them to be deficient; and
the more loudly they cry against it as useless and illegitimate, the
more palpably self-evident becomes their own crying need of it.
Esthetic analysis consists in grasping clearly the essential artistic
significance of a composition, its emotional or descriptive content,
either with or without the aid of definite knowledge concerning the
circumstances of its origin, and expressing it plainly in a few simple,
well-chosen words, comprehensible by the veriest child in music, whether
young or old in years, conveying in a direct, unmistakable, and concrete
form the same general impressions which the composition, through all its
elaborations and embellishments, all its manifold collateral
suggestions, is intended to convey, giving a skeleton, not of its form,
but of its subject-matter, so distinctly articulated that the most
untrained perceptions shall be able to recognize to what genus it
belongs.
Of course, when it is possible, as it is in many cases, to obtain and
give reliable data concerning the conception and birth of a musical
work, the actual historical or traditional material, or the personal
experience, which furnished its inspiration, the impulse which led to
its creation, it is of great assistance and value; and this is
especially so when the work is distinctly descriptive of external scenes
or human actions. For example, take the Schubert-Liszt "Erlkoenig." Here
the elements embodied are those of tempest and gloom, of shuddering
terror, of eager pursuit and panic-stricken flight, ending in sudden,
surprised despair. These may be vaguely felt by the listener when the
piece is played, with varying intensity according to his musical
susceptibility; but if the legend of the "Erlkoenig," or "Elf-king," is
narrated and attention directly called to the various descriptive
features of the work,--the gallop of the horse, the rush and roar of the
tempest through the depths of the Black Forest, the seductive insistence
and relentless pursuit of the elf-king, the father's mad flight, the
shriek of the child, and the final tragic ending, all so distinctly
suggested in the music,--the impression is intensified tenfold, rendered
more precise and definite; and the undefined sensations produced by the
music are focused at once into a positive, complete, artistic effect.
Who can doubt that this is an infinite gain to the listener and to art?
Again, take an instance selected from a large number of compositions
which are purely emotional, with no kind of realistic reference to
nature or action, the Revolutionary Etude, by Chopin, Opus 10, No. 12.
The emotional elements here expressed are fierce indignation, vain but
desperate struggle, wrathful despair. These are easily recognized by the
trained esthetic sense. Indeed, the work cannot be properly rendered by
one who does not feel them in playing it; and they can be eloquently
described in a general way by one possessing a little gift of language
and some imagination; but many persons find it hard to grasp abstract
emotions without a definite assignable cause for them, and are
incalculably aided if told that the study was written as the expression
of Chopin's feelings, and those of every Polish patriot, on receipt of
the news that Warsaw had been taken and sacked by the Russians.
Where such data cannot be found concerning a composition, one can make
the content of a work fairly clear by means of description, of analogy
and comparison, by the use of poetic metaphor and simile, by little
imaginative word-pictures, embodying the same general impression; by any
means, in short,--any and all are legitimate,--which will produce the
desired result, namely: to concentrate the attention of the student or
the listener on the most important elements in a composition, to show
him what to listen for and what to expect; to prepare him fully to
receive and respond to the proper impression, to tune up his esthetic
nature to the required key, so it may re-echo the harmonious
soul-utterances of the Master, as the horn-player breathes through his
instrument before using it, to warm it, to bring it up to pitch, to put
it in the right vibratory condition.
The plan of esthetic analysis, in more or less complete form, was used
by nearly all of the great teachers, such as Liszt, Kullak, Frau
Schumann, and others, and was a very important factor in their
instruction. It was used by all the great writers on music who were at
the same time eminent musicians, like Liszt, Schumann, Mendelssohn,
Mozart, Wagner, Berlioz, Ehrlich, and many more. Surely, with such
examples as precedents, not to mention other good and sufficient
grounds, we may feel safe in pursuing it to the best of our ability, in
print, in the teaching-room, in the concert-hall, whenever and wherever
it will contribute to the increase of general musical interest and
intelligence, in spite of the outcries of the so-called "purists," who
see and would have us see in musical art only sensuous beauty and the
perfection of form, with possibly the addition of, as they might put it,
a certain ethereal, spiritual, indefinable something, too sacred to be
talked about, too transcendental to be expressed in language, too lofty
and pure to be degraded to the level of human speech.
Who, I ask, are the sentimentalists--they, or we who believe that music,
like every other art, is _expression_, the embodying of human
experiences, than which there is no grander or loftier theme on this
earth? Trust me, it is not music nor its subject-matter that is
nebulous, indistinct, hazy; but the mental conceptions of too many who
deal with it.
If art is _expression_, as estheticians agree, and music is an art, as
we claim, then it must express something; and, given sufficient
intelligence, training, and insight, that something--the vital essence
of every good composition--can be stated in words. Not always
adequately, I grant, but at least intelligibly, as a key to the fuller,
more complex expression of the music; serving precisely like the
synopsis to an opera, or the descriptive catalogue in a picture gallery.
This is the aim and substance of esthetic analysis.
Musicians are many who see in their mistress
But physical beauty of "color" and "form,"
Who hear in her voice but a sensuous sweetness,
No thrill of the heart that is living and warm.
They judge of her worth by "perfection of outline,"
"Proportion of parts" as they blend in the whole,
"Symmetrical structure," and "finish of detail";
They see but the body--ignoring the soul.
She speaks, but they seem not to master her meaning,
They catch but the "rhythmical ring of the phrase."
She sings, but they dream not a message is borne on
The breath of the sigh, while its "cadence" they praise.
Her saddest laments are "melodious minors"
To them, and her jests are but "notes marked staccato";
Her tenderest pleadings but "themes well developed,"
Her rage--but "a climax of chords animato."
In vain she endeavors to rouse their perceptions
By touching their brows with her soul-stirring hand
They measure her fingers, their fairness admire,
Declare her "divine," but will not understand.
Away with such worthless and sense-prompted service;
Forgetting the goddess, to worship the shrine;
Forgetting the bride, to admire her costume,
Her garments that glitter, and jewels that shine:
And give us the artists of true inspiration,
Whose insight is clear, and whose brains comprehend,
To interpret the silver-tongued message of music
That speaks to the heart, like the voice of a friend;
That wakens the soul to the joys that are higher
And purer than all that the senses can give,
That teaches the language of lofty endeavor,
And hints of a life that 'twere worthy to live!
For music is Art, and all Art is expression,
The "beauty of form" but embodies the thought,
Imprisons one ray of that wisdom supernal
Which Genius to sense-blinded mortals has brought.
Then give us the artist whose selfless devotion
To Art and her service is earnest and true,
To read us the mystical meaning of music;
Musicians are many, but artists are few.
Sources of Information Concerning Musical Compositions
During my professional career I have received scores of letters from
musical persons all over the country, asking for the name of the book or
books from which I derive the information, anecdote, and poetic
suggestion, concerning the compositions used in my Lecture Recitals,
particularly the points bearing upon the descriptive and emotional
significance of such compositions. All realize the importance and value
of this phase of interpretative work, and many are anxious to introduce
it in their teaching or public performances; but all alike, myself not
excepted, find the sources of such information scanty and difficult of
access.
First, let me say frankly that there is no such book, or collection of
books. My own meager stock of available material in this line has been
laboriously collected, without definite method, and at first without
distinct purpose, during many years of extensive miscellaneous reading
in English, French, and German; supplemented by a rather wide
acquaintance among musicians and composers, and the life-long habit of
seizing and magnifying the poetic or dramatic bearing and import of
every scene, situation, and anecdote. If asked to enumerate the sources
from which points of value concerning musical works can be derived, I
should answer that they are three, not all equally promising, but from
each of which I myself have obtained help, and all of which I should try
before deserting the field. These are:
First, and perhaps the most important, reading. Second, a large
acquaintance among musicians, and frequent conversations with them on
musical subjects. Third, an intuitive perception, partly inborn and
partly acquired, of the analogies between musical ideas, on the one
hand, and the experiences of life and the emotions of the human soul, on
the other. I will now elaborate each of these a little, to make my
meaning more clear.
While there is no book in which information concerning the meaning of
musical compositions is collected and classified for convenient
reference, such information is scattered thinly and unevenly throughout
all literatures,--a grain here, a nugget there, like gold through the
secret veins of the earth,--and can be had only by much digging and
careful sifting. Now and again you come upon a single volume, like a
rich though limited pocket of precious ore, and rejoice with exceeding
gladness at the discovery of a treasure. But unfortunately, there is
usually nothing in the appearance or nature of such a book to indicate
to the seeker before perusal that this treasure is within, or to
distinguish it from scores of barren volumes. And the very item of which
he may be in search is very likely not here to be found; so he must turn
again to the quest, which is much like seeking a needle in a hay-mow, or
a pearl somewhere at the bottom of the Indian Ocean.
Musical histories, biographies, and essays--what is usually termed
distinctly musical literature--by no means exhibit the only productive
soil, though they are certainly the most fruitful, and should be first
turned to, because nearest at hand. Poetry, fiction, travels, personal
reminiscences, in short every department of literature, from the
philosophy of Schopenhauer to the novels of George Sand, must be made to
contribute what it can to the stock of general and comprehensive
knowledge, which is our ambition. I instance these two authors, because,
while neither of them wrote a single work which would be found embraced
in a catalogue of musical literature, the metaphysical speculations of
Schopenhauer are known to have had great influence upon Wagner's
personality, and through that, of course, upon his music; while in some
of the characteristics of George Sand will be found the key to certain
of Chopin's moods, and their musical expression. But even where no such
relation between author and composer can be traced, I deem one could
rarely read a good literary work, chosen at random, without chancing
upon some item of interest or information, which would prove directly or
indirectly of value to the professional musician in his life-work. And
this is entirely apart from the general broadening, developing, and
maturing influence of good reading upon the mind and imagination, which
may be added to the more direct benefit sought, forming a background of
esthetic suggestion and perception, against which the beauties of
tone-pictures stand forth with enhanced power and heightened color.
I know of no better plan to suggest to those striving for an intelligent
comprehension of the composer's meaning in his great works than much and
careful reading of the best books in all departments, and the more
varied and comprehensive their scope the better. In the search for
enlightenment concerning any one particular composition, I should advise
the student to begin with works, if such exist, from the pen of the
composer himself, followed by biographies and all essays, criticisms,
and dissertations upon his compositions which are in print. If these
fail to give information, he should proceed to read as much as possible
regarding the composer's country and contemporaries, and concerning any
and all subjects in which he has become aware, by the study of his life,
that the master was interested. The chances are that he will come upon
something of aid or value before finishing this task. Still very often
the quest will and must be in vain, because about many musical works
there exists absolutely no information in print.
I can perhaps better indicate the course to be pursued by giving some
illustrations in my own experience. The following will serve: During a
trip in New York State I was asked whether Grieg's "Peer Gynt" suite was
founded upon any legend or story, and if so, what. Though familiar with
the composition in question, I had never played it myself, nor given it
any particular attention, and in point of fact was as ignorant on the
subject as my interrogator, and obliged to confess as much. This was
before the composition had become familiar in this country and before
the drama on which it is founded had been translated into English.
Being, however, convinced, from the names attached to different parts of
the suite, of the probability of its foundation upon some literary or
historic subject, I determined to investigate. I first read several
biographical sketches of Grieg, but found no special mention of the
"Peer Gynt" suite; then everything I could secure on the subject of
| 1,705.4003 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Turquoise and Ruby
By L.T. Meade
Published by Grosset and Dunlap, New York.
This edition dated 1906.
Turquoise and Ruby, by L.T. Meade.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
TURQUOISE AND RUBY, BY L.T. MEADE.
CHAPTER ONE.
GREAT REFUSAL.
"Nora, Nora! Where are you?" called a clear, girlish voice, and Cara
Burt dashed headlong into a pretty bedroom all draped in white, where a
tall girl was standing by an open window. "Nora!" she cried, "what are
you doing up in your room at this hour, when we are all busy in the
garden preparing our tableaux? Mrs Hazlitt | 1,705.502819 |
2023-11-16 18:45:29.4835010 | 201 | 285 |
Produced by David Widger
THE HISTORICAL ROMANCES OF GEORG EBERS
CONTENTS:
Uarda
An Egyptian Princess
The Sisters
Joshua
Cleopatra
The Emperor
<DW25> Sum
Serapis
Arachne
The Bride Of The Nile
A Thorny Path
In The Fire Of The Forge
Margery
Barbara Blomberg
A Word Only A Word
The Burgomaster's Wife
In The Blue Pike
A Question
The Elixir
The Greylock
The Nuts
The Story Of My Life (Autobiograpy)
UARDA
A ROMANCE OF ANCIENT EGYPT
Translated from the German by Clara Bell
Volume 1.
DEDICATION.
Thou knowest well from what this book arose.
When suffering seized and held me in its cl | 1,705.503541 |
2023-11-16 18:45:29.5808430 | 148 | 48 |
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)
HISTORIC BUBBLES
BY
FREDERIC LEAKE.
[Illustration: colophon]
_The earth has bubbles as the water has,
And these are of them._--BANQUO.
_Mais les ouvrages les plus courts
Sont toujours les meilleurs._--LA FONTAINE.
ALBANY, N. Y.:
RIGGS PRINTING & PUBLISHING CO.,
1896.
COPYRIGHT, 1896 | 1,705.600883 |
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ATHENS: ITS RISE AND FALL
by Edward Bulwer Lytton
DEDICATION.
TO HENRY FYNES CLINTON, ESQ., etc., etc. AUTHOR OF "THE FASTI
HELLENICI."
My Dear Sir,
I am not more sensible of the distinction conferred upon me when you
allowed me to inscribe this history with your name, than pleased with
an occasion to express my gratitude for the assistance I have derived
throughout the progress of my labours from that memorable work, in
which you have upheld the celebrity of English learning, and afforded
so imperishable a contribution to our knowledge of the Ancient World.
To all who in history look for the true connexion between causes and
effects, chronology is not a dry and mechanical compilation of barren
dates, but the explanation of events and the philosophy of facts. And
the publication of the Fasti Hellenici has thrown upon those times, in
which an accurate chronological system can best repair what is
deficient, and best elucidate what is obscure in the scanty
authorities bequeathed to us, all the light of a profound and
disciplined intellect, applying the acutest comprehension to the
richest erudition, and arriving at its conclusions according to the
true spirit of inductive reasoning, which proportions the completeness
of the final discovery to the caution of the intermediate process. My
obligations to that learning and to those gifts which you have
exhibited to the world are shared by all who, in England or in Europe,
study the history or cultivate the literature of Greece. But, in the
patient kindness with which you have permitted me to consult you
during the tedious passage of these volumes through the press--in the
careful advice--in the generous encouragement--which have so often
smoothed the path and animated the progress--there are obligations
peculiar to myself; and in those obligations there is so much that
honours me, that, were I to enlarge upon them more, the world might
mistake an acknowledgment for a boast.
With the highest consideration and esteem,
Believe me, my dear sir,
Most sincerely and gratefully yours,
EDWARD LYTTON BULWER
London, March, 1837.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The work, a portion of which is now presented to the reader, has
occupied me many years--though often interrupted in its progress,
either by more active employment, or by literary undertakings of a
character more seductive. These volumes were not only written, but
actually in the hands of the publisher before the appearance, and
even, I believe, before the announcement of the first volume of Mr.
Thirlwall's History of Greece, or I might have declined going over any
portion of the ground cultivated by that distinguished scholar [1].
As it is, however, the plan I have pursued differs materially from
that of Mr. Thirlwall, and I trust that the soil is sufficiently
fertile to yield a harvest to either labourer.
Since it is the letters, yet more than the arms or the institutions of
Athens, which have rendered her illustrious, it is my object to
combine an elaborate view of her literature with a complete and
impartial account of her political transactions. The two volumes now
published bring the reader, in the one branch of my subject, to the
supreme administration of Pericles; in the other, to a critical
analysis of the tragedies of Sophocles. Two additional volumes will,
I trust, be sufficient to accomplish my task, and close the records of
Athens at that period when, with the accession of Augustus, the annals
of the world are merged into the chronicle of the Roman empire. In
these latter volumes it is my intention to complete the history of the
Athenian drama--to include a survey of the Athenian philosophy--to
describe the manners, habits, and social life of the people, and to
conclude the whole with such a review of the facts and events narrated
as may constitute, perhaps, an unprejudiced and intelligible
explanation of the causes of the rise and fall of Athens.
As the history of the Greek republics has been too often corruptly
pressed into the service of heated political partisans, may I be
pardoned the precaution of observing that, whatever my own political
code, as applied to England, I have nowhere sought knowingly to
pervert the lessons of a past nor analogous time to fugitive interests
and party purposes. Whether led sometimes to censure, or more often
to vindicate the Athenian people, I am not conscious of any other
desire than that of strict, faithful, impartial justice. Restlessly
to seek among the ancient institutions for illustrations (rarely
apposite) of the modern, is, indeed, to desert the character of a
judge for that of an advocate, and to undertake the task of the
historian with the ambition of the pamphleteer. Though designing this
work not for colleges and cloisters, but for the general and
miscellaneous public, it is nevertheless impossible to pass over in
silence some matters which, if apparently trifling in themselves, have
acquired dignity, and even interest, from brilliant speculations or
celebrated disputes. In the history of Greece (and Athenian history
necessarily includes nearly all that is valuable in the annals of the
whole Hellenic race) the reader must submit to pass through much that
is minute, much that is wearisome, if he desire to arrive at last at
definite knowledge and comprehensive views. In order, however, to
interrupt as little as possible the recital of events, I have
endeavoured to confine to the earlier portion of the work such details
of an antiquarian or speculative nature as, while they may afford to
the general reader, not, indeed, a minute analysis, but perhaps a
sufficient notion of the scholastic inquiries which have engaged the
attention of some of the subtlest minds of Germany and England, may
also prepare him the better to comprehend the peculiar character and
circumstances of the people to whose history he is introduced: and it
may be well to warn the more impatient that it is not till the second
book (vol. i., p. 181) that disquisition is abandoned for narrative.
There yet remain various points on which special comment would be
incompatible with connected and popular history, but on which I
propose to enlarge in a series of supplementary notes, to be appended
to the concluding volume. These notes will also comprise criticisms
and specimens of Greek writers not so intimately connected with the
progress of Athenian literature as to demand lengthened and elaborate
notice in the body of the work. Thus, when it is completed, it is my
hope that this book will combine, with a full and complete history of
Athens, political and moral, a more ample and comprehensive view of
the treasures of the Greek literature than has yet been afforded to
the English public. I have ventured on these remarks because I thought
it due to the reader, no less than to myself, to explain the plan and
outline of a design at present only partially developed.
London, March, 1837.
CONTENTS.
BOOK I
CHAPTER
I Situation and Soil of Attica.--The Pelasgians its earliest
Inhabitants.--Their Race and Language akin to the Grecian.--
Their varying Civilization and Architectural Remains.--
Cecrops.--Were the earliest Civilizers of Greece foreigners
or Greeks?--The Foundation of Athens.--The Improvements
attributed to Cecrops.--The Religion of the Greeks cannot
be reduced to a simple System.--Its Influence upon their
Character and Morals, Arts and Poetry.--The Origin of
Slavery and Aristocracy.
II The unimportant consequences to be deduced from the admission
that Cecrops might be Egyptian.--Attic Kings before
Theseus.--The Hellenes.--Their Genealogy.--Ionians and
Achaeans Pelasgic.--Contrast between Dorians and Ionians.--
Amphictyonic League.
III The Heroic Age.--Theseus.--His legislative Influence upon
Athens.--Qualities of the Greek Heroes.--Effect of a
Traditional Age upon the Character of a People.
IV The Successors of Theseus.--The Fate of Codrus.--The
Emigration of Nileus.--The Archons.--Draco.
V A General Survey of Greece and the East previous to the
Time of Solon.--The Grecian Colonies.--The Isles.--Brief
account of the States on the Continent.--Elis and the
Olympic Games.
VI Return of the Heraclidae.--The Spartan Constitution and
Habits.--The first and second Messenian War.
VII Governments in Greece.
VIII Brief Survey of Arts, Letters, and Philosophy in Greece,
prior to the Legislation of Solon.
BOOK II
CHAPTER
I The Conspiracy of Cylon.--Loss of Salamis.--First Appearance
of Solon.--Success against the Megarians in the Struggle for
Salamis.--Cirrhaean War.--Epimenides.--Political State of
Athens | 1,705.698823 |
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Transcriber's Note:
The underscore character "_" is used in this book to indicate italics
markup in the original, as in "Then he _must_ hold on." The only
exception to this is where it is used to indicate a subscript,
specifically in H_20 and CO_2, the common chemical formulas for water
and carbon dioxide referenced in the text.
[Illustration: "DON DEAR, YOU'RE LIVING TOO MUCH DOWNTOWN"]
THE WALL STREET GIRL
BY
FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
GEORGE ELLIS WOLFE
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1915 AND 1916, BY EVERY WEEK CORPORATION
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published September 1916
TO
THALIA
CONTENTS
I. Don Receives a Jolt 1
II. It Becomes Necessary to Eat 11
III. The Queen Was in the Parlor 20
IV. Concerning Sandwiches 27
V. Business 43
VI. Two Girls 64
VII. Roses 71
VIII. A Man of Affairs 80
IX. It Will Never Do 93
X. Dictation 100
XI. Steak, With Mushrooms and Advice 111
XII. A Social Widow 123
XIII. Dear Sir-- 129
XIV. In Reply 138
XV. Cost 144
XVI. A Memorandum 153
XVII. On the Way Home 161
XVIII. A Discourse on Salaries 171
XIX. A Letter 184
XX. Stars 185
XXI. In the Dark 193
XXII. The Sensible Thing 200
XXIII. Looking Ahead 207
XXIV. Vacations 215
XXV. In the Park 223
XXVI. One Stuyvesant 238
XXVII. The Stars Again 247
XXVIII. Seeing 256
XXIX. Mostly Sally 264
XXX. Don Explains 275
XXXI. Sally Decides 295
XXXII. Barton Appears 305
XXXIII. A Bully World 317
XXXIV. Don Makes Good 321
XXXV. "Home, John" 330
THE WALL STREET GIRL
CHAPTER I
DON RECEIVES A JOLT
Before beginning to read the interesting document in front of him,
Jonas Barton, senior member of Barton & Saltonstall, paused to clean
his glasses rather carefully, in order to gain sufficient time to
study for a moment the tall, good-looking young man who waited
indifferently on the other side of the desk. He had not seen his late
client's son since the latter had entered college--a black-haired,
black-eyed lad of seventeen, impulsive in manner and speech. The
intervening four years had tempered him a good deal. Yet, the
Pendleton characteristics were all there--the square jaw, the rather
large, firm mouth, the thin nose, the keen eyes. They were all there,
but each a trifle subdued: the square jaw not quite so square as the
father's, the mouth not quite so large, the nose so sharp, or the
eyes so keen. On the other hand, there was a certain fineness that the
father had lacked.
In height Don fairly matched his father's six feet, although he still
lacked the Pendleton breadth of shoulder.
The son was lean, and his cigarette--a dilettante variation of honest
tobacco-smoking that had always been a source of irritation to his
father--did not look at all out of place between his long, thin
fingers; in fact, nothing else would have seemed quite suitable.
Barton was also forced to admit to himself that the young man, in some
miraculous way, managed to triumph over his rather curious choice of
raiment, based presumably on current styles. In and of themselves the
garments were not beautiful. From Barton's point of view, Don's straw
hat was too large and too high in the crown. His black | 1,705.797496 |
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THE STORY HOUR
A BOOK FOR THE HOME AND THE KINDERGARTEN
By Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora A. Smith
Therefore ear and heart open to the genuine story teller, as flowers
open to the spring sun and the May rain.
FRIEDRICH FROEBEL
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION. Kate Douglas Wiggin
PREF | 1,723.373985 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE SUNSHADE
THE GLOVE--THE MUFF
THE SUNSHADE
THE GLOVE--THE MUFF
BY
OCTAVE UZANNE
/ILLUSTRATED BY PAUL AVRIL/
LONDON
J. C. NIMMO AND BAIN
14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1883
PREFACE
After /the brilliant success which attended, in the spring of last
year, our volume on/ The Fan--/a success which was the result, as
I cannot conceal from myself, much more of the original conception
and decorative execution of that work of luxe than of its literary
interest--I have determined to close this series of/ Woman's
Ornaments /by a last little work on the protective adornments of
that delicate being, as graceful as she is gracious/: The Sunshade,
the Glove, the Muff. /This collection, therefore, of feminine toys
will be limited to two volumes, a collection which at first sight
appeared to us so complex and heavy that a dozen volumes at least
would have been required to contain its principal elements. This,
doubtless, on the one hand, would have tried our own constancy, and
on the other, would have failed in fixing more surely the inconstancy
of our female readers. The spirit has its freaks of independence, and
the unforeseen of life ought to be carefully economised. Moreover,
to tell the whole truth, the decorative elegance of a book like
the present hides very often beneath its prints the torture of an
intellectual thumbscrew. The unhappy author is obliged to confine his
exuberant ideas in a sort of strait-jacket in order to slip them more
easily through the varied combinations of pictorial design, which
here rules, an inexorable Mentor, over the text./
/In a work printed in this manner, just as in a theatre, the/ mise
en scène /is often detrimental to the piece; the one murders the
other--it cannot be otherwise--the public applauds, but the writer
who has the worship of his art sorrowfully resigns himself, and
inwardly protests against the condescension of which he has had
experience/.
/Two volumes, then, under a form which thus imprisons the strolling,
sauntering, inventive, and paradoxical spirit, will be sufficient for
my lady readers. Very soon we shall meet again in books with vaster
horizons, and "ceilings not so low," to employ an expression which
well describes the moral imprisonment in which I am enveloped by the
graces and exquisite talent of my collaborateur, Paul Avril/.
/Let it be understood, then, that I have no personal literary
pretensions in this work. As the sage Montaigne says in his/ Essays,
"/I have here but collected a heap of foreign flowers, and brought of
my own only the string which binds them together./"
/OCTAVE UZANNE./
THE SUNSHADE
/THE PARASOL ---- THE UMBRELLA/
The author of a /Dictionary of Inventions/, after having proved the
use of the Parasol in France about 1680, openly gives up any attempt
to determine its precise original conception, which indeed seems to
be completely concealed in the night of time.
It would evidently be childish to attempt to assign a date to the
invention of Parasols; it would be better to go back to Genesis at
once. A biblical expression, /the shelter which defends from the
sun/, would almost suffice to demonstrate the Oriental origin of
the Parasol, if it did not appear everywhere in the most remote
antiquity--as well in the Nineveh sculptures, discovered and
described by M. Layard; as on the bas-reliefs of the palaces or
frescoes of the tombs of Thebes and Memphis.
In China they used the Parasol more than two thousand years before
Christ. There is mention of it in the /Thong-sou-wen/, under the
denomination of /San-Kaï/, in the time of the first dynasties, and a
Chinese legend attributes the invention of it to the wife of Lou | 1,723.479023 |
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Ernest Schaal, and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from
scanned images of public domain material from the Google
Print project.)
The Journal of the
Debates in the Convention
Which Framed
The Constitution of the
United States
May-September, 1787
As Recorded by
James Madison
Edited by
Gaillard Hunt
In Two Volumes
Volume I.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1908
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
[Illustration]
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.
PAGE
The Records of the Constitutional Convention (Introduction
by the Editor) vii
Chronology xix
Journal of the Constitutional Convention of 1787 1
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LIST OF FAC-SIMILES.
FACING
PAGE
First Page of Madison's Journal, actual size 2
Charles Pinckney's Letter 20
The Pinckney Draft 22
Hamilton's Principal Speech 154
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE RECORDS OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL
CONVENTION.
James Madison's contemporaries generally conceded that he was the
leading statesman in the convention which framed the Constitution of
the United States; but in addition to this he kept a record of the
proceedings of the convention which outranks in importance all the
other writings of the founders of the American Republic. He is thus
identified, as no other man is, with the making of the Constitution
and the correct interpretation of the intentions of the makers. His is
the only continuous record of the proceedings of the convention. He
took a seat immediately in front of the presiding officer, among the
members, and took down every speech or motion as it was made, using
abbreviations of his own and immediately afterwards transcribing his
notes when he returned to his lodgings. A few motions only escaped him
and of important speeches he omitted none. The proceedings were ordered
to be kept secret, but his self-imposed task of reporter had the
unofficial sanction of the convention. Alexander Hamilton corrected
slightly Madison's report of his great speech and handed him his plan of
government to copy. The same thing was done with Benjamin Franklin's
speeches, which were written out by Franklin and read by his colleague
Wilson, the fatigue of delivery being too great for the aged Franklin,
and Madison also copied the Patterson plan. Edmund Randolph wrote out
for him his opening speech from his notes two years after the convention
adjourned.[1]
[1] Madison to Randolph, April 21, 1789.
In the years after the convention Madison made a few alterations and
additions in his journal, with the result that in parts there is much
interlineation and erasure, but after patient study the meaning is
always perfectly clear. Three different styles of Madison's own
penmanship at different periods of his life appear in the journal,
one being that of his old age within five years of his death. In
this hand appears the following note at the end of the journal:
"The few alterations and corrections made in the debates which are
not in my handwriting were dictated by me and made in my presence
by John C. Payne."[2] The rare occasions where Payne's penmanship is
distinguishable are indicated in the notes to this edition.
[2] Mrs. Madison's brother.
The importance attached by Madison to his record is shown by the terms
of his will, dated April 15, 1835, fourteen months before his death:
"I give all my personal estate ornamental as well as useful,
except as herein after otherwise given, to my dear Wife; and
I also give to her all my manuscript papers, having entire
confidence in her discreet and proper use of them, but subject
to the qualification in the succeeding clause. Considering the
peculiarity and magnitude of the occasion which produced the
Convention at Philadelphia in 1787, the Characters who composed
it, the Constitution which resulted from their deliberations,
its effects during a trial of so many years on the prosperity of
the people living under it, and the interest it has inspired
among the friends of free Government, it is not an unreasonable
inference that a careful and extended report of the proceedings
and discussions of that body, which were with closed doors, by a
member who was constant in his attendance, will be particularly
gratifying to the people of the United States, and to all who
take an interest in the progress of political science and the
course of true liberty. It is my desire that the Report as made
by me should be published under her authority and direction."[3]
[3] Orange County, Va., MSS. records.
This desire was never consummated, for Mrs. Madison's friends advised
her that she could not herself profitably undertake the publication of
the work, and she accordingly offered it to the Government, by which it
was bought for $30,000, by act of Congress, approved March 3, 1837. On
July 9, 1838, an act was approved authorizing the Joint Committee on the
Library to cause the papers thus purchased to be published, and the
Committee intrusted the superintendence of the work to Henry D. Gilpin,
Solicitor of the Treasury. The duplicate copy of the journal which Mrs.
Madison had delivered was, under authority of Congress, withdrawn from
the State Department and placed in Mr. Gilpin's hands. In 1840
(Washington: Lantree & O'Sulivan), accordingly, appeared the three
volumes, _The Papers of James Madison Purchased by Order of Congress_,
edited by Henry D. Gilpin. Other issues of this edition, with changes of
date, came out later in New York, Boston, and Mobile. This issue
contained not only the journal of the Constitutional Convention, but
Madison's notes of the debates in the Continental Congress and in the
Congress of the Confederation from February 19 to April 25, 1787, and a
report Jefferson had written of the debates in 1776 on the Declaration
of Independence, besides a number of letters of Madison's. From the text
of Gilpin a fifth volume was added to Elliot's _Debates_ in 1845, and it
was printed in one volume in Chicago, 1893.
Mr. Gilpin's reading of the duplicate copy of the Madison journal is
thus the only one that has hitherto been published.[4] His work was both
painstaking and thorough, but many inaccuracies and omissions have been
revealed by a second reading from the original manuscript journal
written in Madison's own hand, just as he himself left it; and this
original manuscript has been followed with rigid accuracy in the text of
the present edition.
[4] Volume iii of _The Documentary History of the United States_
(Department of State, 1894) is a presentation of a literal
print of the original journal, indicating by the use
of larger and smaller type and by explanatory words the
portions which are interlined or stricken out.
The editor has compared carefully with Madison's report, as the notes
will show, the incomplete and less important records of the convention,
kept by others. Of these, the best known is that of Robert Yates, a
delegate in the convention from New York, who took notes from the time
he entered the convention, May 25, to July 5, when he went home to
oppose what he foresaw would be the result of the convention's labors.
These notes were published in 1821 (Albany), edited by Yates's colleague
in the convention, John Lansing, under the title, _Secret Proceedings
and Debates of the Convention Assembled at Philadelphia, in the Year
1787, for the Purpose of Forming the Constitution of the United States
of America_. This was afterwards reprinted in several editions and in
the three editions of _The Debates on the Federal Constitution_, by
Jonathan Elliot (Washington, 1827-1836). Madison pronounced Yates's
notes "Crude and broken." "When I looked over them some years ago," he
wrote to J. C. Cabell, February 2, 1829, "I was struck with the number
of instances in which he had totally mistaken what was said by me, or
given it in scraps and terms which, taken without the developments or
qualifications accompanying them, had an import essentially different
from what was intended." Yates's notes were by his prejudices,
which were strong against the leaders of the convention, but, making
allowance for this and for their incompleteness, they are of high value
and rank next to Madison's in importance.
Rufus King, a delegate from Massachusetts, kept a number of notes,
scattered and imperfect, which were not published till 1894, when they
appeared in King's _Life and Correspondence of Rufus King_ (New York:
Putnam's).
William Pierce, a delegate from Georgia, made some memoranda of the
proceedings of the convention, and brief and interesting sketches of all
the delegates, which were first printed in _The Savannah Georgian_,
April, 18-28, 1828, and reprinted in _The American Historical Review_
for January, 1898.
The notes of Yates, King, and Pierce are the only unofficial record of
the convention extant, besides Madison's, and their chief value is in
connection with the Madison record, which in the main they support, and
which occasionally they elucidate.
December 30, 1818, Charles Pinckney wrote to John Quincy Adams that he
had made more notes of the convention than any other member except
Madison, but they were never published and have been lost or
destroyed.[5]
[5] See p. 22, n.
In 1819 (Boston) was published the _Journal, Acts and Proceedings of the
Convention_, etc., under the supervision of John Quincy Adams, Secretary
of State, by authority of a joint resolution of Congress of March 27,
1818. This was the official journal of the convention, which the
Secretary, William Jackson, had turned over to the President, George
Washington, when the convention adjourned, Jackson having previously
burned all other papers of the convention in his possession. March 16,
1796, Washington deposited the papers Jackson had given him with the
Secretary of State, Timothy Pickering. They consisted of three
volumes,--the journal of the convention, the journal of the proceedings
of the Committee of the Whole of the convention, and a list of yeas and
nays, beside a printed draft of the Constitution as reported August 6th,
showing erasures and amendments afterwards adopted, and the Virginia
plan in different stages of development.
In preparing the matter for publication Secretary Adams found that for
Friday, September 14, and Saturday, September 15, the journal was a mere
fragment, and Madison was applied to and completed it from his minutes.
From General B. Bloomfield, executor of the estate of David Brearley, a
delegate in the convention from New Jersey, Adams obtained a few
additional papers, and from Charles Pinckney a copy of what purported to
be the plan of a constitution submitted by him to the convention. All of
these papers, with some others, appeared in the edition of 1819, which
was a singularly accurate publication, as comparison by the present
editor of the printed page with the original papers has shown.
The Pinckney plan, as it appeared in this edition of the journal, was
incorporated by Madison into his record, as he had not secured a copy of
it when the convention was sitting. But the draft furnished to Secretary
Adams in 1818, and the plan presented by Pinckney to the convention in
1787 were not identical, as Madison conclusively proved in his note to
his journal, in his letter to Jared Sparks of November 25, 1831, and in
several other letters, in all of which he showed that the draft did not
agree in several important respects with Pinckney's own votes and
motions in the convention, and that there were important discrepancies
between it and Pinckney's _Observations on the Plan of Government_, a
pamphlet printed shortly after the convention adjourned.[6]
[6] See P. L. Ford's _Pamphlets on the Constitution_, 419.
It is, indeed, inconceivable that the convention should have
incorporated into the constitution so many of the provisions of the
Pinckney draft, and that at the same time so little reference should
have been made to it in the course of the debates; and it is equally
extraordinary that the contemporaries of Pinckney did not accord to him
the chief paternity of the Constitution, which honor would have belonged
to him if the draft he sent to Mr. Adams in 1818 had been the one he
actually offered the convention in the first week of its session. The
editor has made a careful examination of the original manuscripts in the
case. They consist (1) of Mr. Pinckney's letter to Mr. Adams of December
12, 1818, written from Winyaw, S. C., while Pinckney was temporarily
absent from Charleston, acknowledging Mr. Adams's request for the draft,
(2) his letter of December 30, written from Charleston, transmitting the
draft, and (3) the draft. The penmanship of all three papers is
contemporaneous, and the letter of December 30 and the draft were
written with the same pen and ink. This may possibly admit of a
difference of opinion, because the draft is in a somewhat larger
ch | 1,723.674005 |
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
* * * * *
THE KNICKERBOCKER.
VOL. XXII. NOVEMBER, 1843. NO. 5.
THOUGHTS ON IMMORTALITY.
BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR.
THERE are those who reject the idea of a future state; or, at
least, who deny that they ought to be convinced of its reality,
because reasoning, in the method of the sciences, does not appear
to prove it to them; although they acknowledge how natural it is
for man to anticipate a future existence. I have thought that such
persons might be included in a similitude like the following. Let
us suppose a young bee, just returning from his first excursion
abroad, bearing his load of honey. He has been in a labyrinth of
various directions, and far from his native home; winding among
trees and their branches, and stopping to sip from numerous flowers.
He has even been taken, by one bearing no good-will to the little
community of which he is a member, and carried onward, without being
permitted a sight of the objects which he passed, that he might
estimate aright his new direction. Notwithstanding, he is winging
his way with unerring precision to the place where his little load
is to be deposited. Not more exactly does the needle tend to the
pole, than the line he is drawing points toward his store-house. But
in this he is governed by no such considerations of distance and
direction as enable the skilful navigator so beautifully to select
his way along the pathless ocean. He has no data, by reasoning from
which, as the geometrician reasons, he may determine that his course
bears so many degrees to the right or so many to the left. He has
never been taught to mark the right ascension of hill-tops, nor
to estimate latitude and longitude from the trees. He is governed
in his progress by that indescribable and mysterious principle of
instinct alone, which, although developed in man, produces its
most surprising effects in the brute creation. But here, as he is
going onward thus swiftly and surely, by some creative power a vast
addition is made to his previous character. All at once he becomes a
reasoning being, possessed of all the faculties which are found in
the philosopher. He is endowed with judgment, that he may compare,
and consciousness and reflection, to make him a metaphysician. Nor
is he slow to exercise these newly-acquired faculties.
Among other things, his consciousness tells him that he is impressed
with a deep presentiment of something greatly desirable in the
far distance toward which he supposes his course to be fast and
directly tending. Perhaps he has a memory of the place he left, of
the business there going on, and of the part which he is taking in
it. Probably his strong impression is, that he is fast advancing
toward that place; that he expects the greeting of his friends of
the swarm. Possibly he finds his bosom even now beginning to swell
in anticipation of the praise which shall be bestowed on his early
manifestation of industry and virtue. Perhaps his recollections are
more vague; and accordingly his consciousness only tells him that he
thinks of something requiring him to urge onward in that particular
direction, but of which he realizes no very definite idea.
But here Reason interrupts him: 'Why are you pursuing this course
so fast? I see nothing to attract your attention so strongly.' 'I
am going to a place lying this way,' says the bee, 'where I can
deposite my load in safety, which I am anxious to do quickly, that I
may return for another.' 'But,' says Reason, 'what evidence have you
that the place lies this way?' Here Philosophy whispers: 'You should
not act without evidence; it becomes no reasonable creature to do
so;' but Reason continues: 'There are many points in the horizon
beside that you are making for; and I see not why one of them is not
as likely to be the place as another.'
This rather staggered the bee at first; for he had no recollection
of courses and distances taken, by a comparison of which he could
prove his true direction; but suddenly he said: 'Why, I am so
strongly impressed that this is the course, that I cannot doubt
it.' 'But what signify your strong impressions,' says Reason, 'if
they are not founded on any evidence? Were you ever led to such a
place as you seek by the aid of _impression_ alone?' 'I never was,'
said the bee; for in fact he had never before been out of sight of
the place where he was born. 'Then again,' says Reason, 'I ask what
is your evidence?' And Philosophy again, as a faithful monitor,
replies: 'Bee, you must not act without evidence.'
The bee could hardly add any thing more. Had his experience been
greater, and his reflection deeper, he might have answered, that
there are principles in the mind pointing to certain conclusions,
and seeking to establish certain beliefs, of which those principles
are at once the evidence and the source; and that the impression
which now seemed so clearly to point out his course was one of this
class. But in the exercise of his young faculties he had not yet
arrived at that height of philosophy which could lead him to recur
to such principles. He had never come to distinguish between those
impressions which have taken possession of the mind by chance, and
those which Nature herself has prepared to aid the very weakness of
reason. No wonder then, that thus sore pressed by Reason, he seemed
to find himself at fault.
Whether these mental conflicts were sufficient to suspend his course
entirely, or whether, like a prudent bee, he resolved to act as if
nature were right and reason were wrong until he knew nature to be
wrong and reason to be right, I am not able to say. But I could not
fail to reflect, that if he did finally arrive at the place whither
he had been directing his course, he would probably quarrel with all
the arrangements in the tree.
It would not | 1,723.775611 |
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Produced by Annie McGuire
Two Little Women
Carolyn Wells
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
* * * * *
PATTY SERIES
PATTY FAIRFIELD
PATTY AT HOME
PATTY IN THE CITY
PATTY'S SUMMER DAYS
PATTY IN PARIS
PATTY'S FRIENDS
PATTY'S PLEASURE TRIP
PATTY'S SUCCESS
PATTY'S MOTOR CAR
PATTY'S BUTTERFLY DAYS
PATTY'S SOCIAL SEASON
PATTY'S SUITORS
PATTY'S ROMANCE
MARJORIE SERIES
MARJORIE'S VACATION
MARJORIE'S BUSY DAYS
MARJORIE'S NEW FRIEND
MARJORIE IN COMMAND
MARJORIE'S MAYTIME
MARJORIE AT SEACOTE
* * * * *
[Illustration: IT TOOK A LONG TIME TO SATISFY THE BOYS'
APPETITES.--_Page_ 199]
TWO LITTLE WOMEN
BY
CAROLYN WELLS
AUTHOR OF
THE PATTY BOOKS,
THE MARJORIE BOOKS, ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
E. C. CASWELL
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1915
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE GIRL NEXT DOOR 1
II DOTTY ROSE AND DOLLY FAYRE 15
III THE NEW ROOMS 29
IV THE BIRTHDAY MORNING 43
V THE DOUBLE PARTY 57
VI ROLLER SKATING 71
VII TWO BIG BROTHERS 87
VIII CROSSTREES CAMP 103
IX DOLLY'S ESCAPE 118
X HIDDEN TREASURE 133
XI A THRILLING EXPERIENCE 150
XII WHO WAS THE TALL PHANTOM? 167
XIII THAT LUNCHEON 186
XIV THE CAKE CONTEST 201
XV WHO WON THE PRIZE? 215
XVI A WALK IN THE WOODS 231
XVII SURFWOOD 250
XVIII DOLL OVERBOARD! 260
XIX SPENDING THE PRIZE MONEY 276
XX GOOD-BYE, SUMMER! 288
CHAPTER I
THE GIRL NEXT DOOR
Summit Avenue was the prettiest street in Berwick. Spacious and
comfortable-looking homes stood on either side of it, each in its
setting of lawn and shade trees. Most of these showed no dividing fences
or hedges, and boundaries were indiscernible in the green velvety sward
that swept in a gentle <DW72> to the sidewalk.
Of two neighbouring houses, the side windows faced each other across two
hundred feet of intervening turf. The windows of one house were duly
fitted with window-screens, holland shades and clean, fresh white
curtains; for it was May, and Berwick ladies were rarely dilatory with
their "Spring-cleaning." But the other house showed no window dressings,
and the sashes were flung open to the sunny breeze, which, entering,
found rugless floors and pictureless walls.
But at the open front doors other things were entering; beds, chairs,
tables, boxes and barrels, all the contents of the great moving vans
that stood out at the curb. Strong men carried incredibly heavy burdens
of furniture, or carefully manoeuvred glass cabinets or potted palms.
From behind the lace curtains of the other house people were watching.
This was in no way a breach of good manners, for in Berwick the
unwritten law of neighbours' rights freely permitted the inspection of
the arriving household gods of a new family. But etiquette demanded that
the observers discreetly veil themselves behind the sheltering films of
their own curtains.
And so the Fayres, mother and two daughters, watched with interest the
coming of the Roses.
"Rose! what a funny name," commented Dolly Fayre, the younger of the
sisters; "do you s'pose they name the children Moss, and Tea and things
like that?"
"Yes, and Killarney and Sunburst and Prince Camille de Rohan," said
Trudy, who had been studying Florists' catalogues of late.
"Their library furniture is mission; there goes the table," and Mrs.
Fayre noted details with a housekeeper's eye. "And here comes the piano.
I can't bear to see men move a piano; I always think it's going to fall
on them."
"I'm tired of seeing furniture go in, anyway," and Dolly jumped up from
her kneeling position. "I'd rather see | 1,723.875095 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the footnotes have been
placed at the end of each chapter that has footnotes. Several are very
long.
Some minor changes are noted at the end of the book.
PHYSIOLOGICAL RESEARCHES
ON
LIFE AND DEATH,
BY XAVIER BICHAT;
Translated from the French,
BY F. GOLD,
MEMBER OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF SURGEONS, LONDON:
WITH NOTES,
BY F. MAGENDIE,
Member of the Institute and of the Royal Academy of Medicine.
_THE NOTES TRANSLATED_
BY GEORGE HAYWARD, M. D.
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY RICHARDSON AND LORD.
J. H. A. FROST, PRINTER.
1827.
DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS: _to wit_.
_District Clerk’s Office._
BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the seventeenth day of December, A. D.
1827, in the fifty-second year of the Independence of the United
States of America, RICHARDSON & LORD, of the said District, have
deposited in this office the title of a book, the right whereof
they claim as proprietors, in the words following, _to wit_:
“Physiological Researches on Life and Death, by Xavier Bichat;
translated from the French, by F. Gold, member of the Royal
College of Surgeons, London, with notes, by F. Magendie, member
of the Institute and of the Royal Academy of Medicine. The notes
translated by George Hayward, M. D.”
In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States,
entitled, “An Act for the encouragement of Learning, by securing
the copies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the Authors and
Proprietors of such Copies, during the times therein mentioned:”
and also to an Act entitled, “An Act supplementary to an Act,
entitled, An Act for the encouragement of Learning, by securing the
Copies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the Authors and Proprietors of
such Copies during the times therein mentioned; and extending the
benefits thereof to the Arts of Designing, Engraving and Etching
Historical and other Prints.”
JOHN W. DAVIS,
_Clerk of the District of Massachusetts_
TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE.
The Translator of the Work which is here offered to the Public,
feels it quite unnecessary to expatiate upon the merits of its
Author, whose ideas and classifications in Physiology are now
very generally adopted. He has supposed, however, that the
experiments which constitute the _Second_ Part of the Work, are
not so familiar to Professional Men, as many of the conclusions
which have been deduced from them, and therefore has presumed
that a greater publicity of these experiments will by no means be
unserviceable. Dr. Kentish, in his account of Baths, has mentioned
the circumstances which led to this translation.
ADVERTISEMENT BY THE FRENCH EDITOR.
The work of Bichat, which appears to the most advantage, is the
one that we now reprint; his observing mind, his experimental
genius and his lucid manner of exhibiting facts are particularly
observable in it. This work will have for a very long time a great
influence on physiologists and physicians.
The Physiological Researches on Life and Death have had more
than one class of admirers. Exact minds, friends of the progress
of science have praised it for the great number of accurate
observations which it contains, the ingenious management of the
experiments and the correctness of the deductions; but they have
regretted that the author constantly placed life in opposition to
physical laws, as if living beings were not bodies before they were
vegetables or animals. They have seen with regret that he offered
illusory explanations of inexplicable phenomena.
These grounds of legitimate criticism seem to have been the reason
of the enthusiasm of another class of readers, for whom whatever is
vague appears to have a great degree of attraction. The readers,
of whom I have just spoken, feeling but little interest in the new
facts which the Physiological Researches contain, have adopted
without examination its fallacious hypotheses, and attaching
to them an importance which the author never did, because they
believed that they elucidated the mechanism of the most obscure
vital operations, and conducted to a true theory of medicine.
Should we lament this errour? Certainly not, as it has powerfully
contributed to the brilliant success of Bichat’s work, and by means
of some errours, much truth has been promulgated.
As the works of Bichat have now become classics and their
reputation cannot be increased | 1,723.875295 |
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Produced by Internet Archive; University of Florida, Children, Michael
Ciesielski and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
The
STORY
of the
TWO BULLS
WITH ORIGINAL ENGRAVINGS
NEW YORK:
Daniel Burgess & Co.
1856
THE STORY OF THE TWO BULLS.
In former times, my story tells,
There lived one Deacon R.,
And not the worst man in the world,
Nor best was he, by far.
His fields were rich, his acres broad,
And cattle were his pride;
Oxen and sheep, and horses, too,
And what you please, beside.
His brindle cow, the highest prize
Won at the county fair,
For taper limbs and rounded form,
And short and shining hair.
Old Bonny Gray, a noble steed
Of sure, majestic pace,
Before the deacon purchased him,
Was famous at a race.
This story he would sometimes tell,
And at the end would say,
"Alas! such sports are far from right;
But Bonny won the day!"
Still, more than all, the spotted bull
Had filled the deacon's mind;
His back so straight, his breast so broad,
So perfect of his kind.
And when 'twas said that Moses Grimes,
A justice of the peace,
Had got the likeliest bull in town,
The deacon had no ease.
So off he rode to see the squire,
And put this question straight:
"Say, don't you want another bull,
And don't yours want a mate?"
The squire, perceiving at a glance
All that the man was after,
"Just forty pounds will buy my bull,"
Quoth he, with ready laughter.
And when the beast was brought to view,
And carefully surveyed,
Of deepest red, its every point
Of excellence displayed.
"I'll take him at your price," said he--
"Please drive him down to-morrow,
And you shall have the money, sir,
If I the cash can borrow."
So saying, turned he on his steed,
The nimble-footed Bonny;
To-morrow came, and came the bull--
The deacon paid the money.
The sun was hid behind the hills--
The next day would be Sunday;
"You'll put him in the barn," said he,
"And leave him there till Monday."
The deacon was a man of peace,
For so he claimed, albeit
When there was war among the beasts,
He always liked to see it.
"How will the bulls together look,
And which will prove the stronger?
'Twere sin to wish the time to pass--
'Twould only make it longer."
Such thoughts as these, on Sabbath morn,
Like birds of evil token,
Flew round and round the deacon's mind--
Its holy peace was broken.
| 1,723.973979 |
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Produced by David B. Alexander
THE ESSENTIALS OF SPIRITUALITY
by Felix Adler
The Essentials of Spirituality
The first essential is an awakening, a sense of the absence of
spirituality, the realized need of giving to our lives a new and
higher quality; first there must be the hunger before there can be
the satisfaction.
Similar effects are often produced by widely differing processes. In
the psychical world that quality which we call spirituality may be
associated with and evoked by Theism, or the belief in a Divine
Father; by Pantheism, as in the case of Spinoza, whose face at the
very first glance impresses you with its spiritual cast; or even by
the Buddhist belief in Nirvana. It may also be attained by following
the precepts and striving after the ideals of Ethical Culture. For
spirituality is not indissolubly associated with any one type of
religion or philosophy; it is a quality of soul manifesting itself in a
variety of activities and beliefs.
Before we proceed further, however, we must hazard a definition
of the word. In the region of mental activity which is called the
spiritual life vagueness is apt to prevail, the outlines of thought are
apt to be blurred, the feelings aroused are apt to be indistinct and
transitory. The word'spiritual' becomes a synonym of muddy
thought and misty emotionalism. If there were another word in the
language to take its place, it would be well to use it. But there is
not. We must use the word'spiritual,' despite its associations and
its abuse. We shall endeavor, however, to attach a distinct and
definite meaning to the word. Mere definition, however, is too
abstract and nakedly intellectual. Perhaps a description of some
types of character, combined with definition, will be the better
way.
Savonarola is surely one of the commanding figures in history. His
fiery earnestness, his passion for righteousness, the boldness with
which he censured the corruptions of the Roman Court, the
personal qualities by which he--a foreigner and a mere monk--made
himself for a short period the lawgiver, the prophet, and virtually
the dictator of Florence--that Florence which was at the time the
very gemmary of the Renaissance--his sudden fall and tragic death;
all combine to attract toward him our admiration, pity, and love,
and to leave upon our minds the impression of his extraordinary
moral genius. And yet, though a spiritual side was not wanting in
Savonarola, we should not quote him as an outstanding exemplar
of spirituality. The spiritual life is unperturbed and serene. His
nature was too passionate, he was too vehement in his philippics,
too deeply engrossed in the attainment of immediate results,
too stormy a soul to deserve the name of spiritual.
Again, our own Washington is one of the commanding figures in
history. He achieved the great task which he set himself; he
secured the political independence of America. He became the
master builder of a nation; he laid securely the foundations on
which succeeding generations have built. He was calm, too, with
rare exceptions; an expert in self-control. But there was mingled
with his calmness a certain coldness. He was lofty and pure, but
we should hardly go to him for instruction in the interior secrets of
the spiritual life. His achievements were in another field. His claim
to our gratitude rests on other grounds. The spiritual life is calm,
but serenely calm; irradiated by a fervor and a depth of feeling that
were to some extent lacking in our first president. Lincoln,
perhaps, came nearer to possessing them.
Again, we have such types of men as John Howard, the prison
reformer, and George Peabody, who devoted his great fortune to
bettering the housing of the poor and to multiplying and improving
schools. These men--especially the latter--were practical and sane,
and were prompted in their endeavors by an active and tender
benevolence. Yet we should scarcely think of them as conspicuous
examples of the spiritual quality in human life and conduct.
Benevolence, be it never so tender and practical, does not reach
the high mark of spirituality. Spirituality is more than benevolence
in the ordinary sense of the term. The spiritual man is benevolent
to a signal degree, but his benevolence is of a peculiar kind. It is
characterized by a certain serene fervor which we may almost call
saintliness.
But perhaps some one may object that a standard by which
personalities like Savonarola, Washington, Howard and Peabody
fall short is probably set too high, and that in any case the erection
of such a standard cannot be very helpful to the common run of
human beings. Where these heroic natures fall short, can you and I
hope to attain? To such an objection the reply is that we cannot be
too fastidious or exacting in respect to our standard, however poor
our performance may be. Nothing less than a kind of divine
completeness should ever content us. Furthermore, there have
been some men who approached nearer to the spiritual ideal than
the patriots and the philanthropists just mentioned--some few men
among the Greeks, the Hindus, and the Hebrews. And for the
guidance of conduct, these more excellent spirits avail us more
than the examples of a Savonarola, a Washington or a Howard. To
be a prophet or the lawgiver of a nation is not within your
province and mine. For such a task hardly one among millions | 1,723.973992 |
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file which includes the original illustration.
See 25923-h.htm or 25923-h.zip:
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BRANDON OF THE ENGINEERS
* * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Alton of Somasco
Lorimer of the Northwest
Thurston of Orchard Valley
Winston of the Prairie
The Gold Trail
Sydney Carteret, Rancher
A Prairie Courtship
Vane of the Timberlands
The Long Portage
Ranching for Sylvia
Prescott of Saskatchewan
The Dust of Conflict
The Greater Power
Masters of the Wheatlands
Delilah of the Snows
By Right of Purchase
The Cattle Baron's Daughter
Thrice Armed
For Jacinta
The Intriguers
The League of the Leopard
For the Allison Honor
The Secret of the Reef
Harding of Allenwood
The Coast of Adventure
Johnstons of the Border
Brandon of the Engineers
* * * * *
BRANDON OF THE ENGINEERS
by
HAROLD BINDLOSS
Author of "Johnstone of the Border," "Prescott
of Saskatchewan," "Winston of the Prairie," etc.
[Illustration: "'YOU MUST COME. I CAN'T LET YOU LIVE AMONG THOSE
PLOTTERS AND GAMBLERS.'"--Page 224.]
New York
Frederick A. Stokes Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1916, by Frederick A. Stokes Company
Published in England under the Title "His One Talent"
All Rights Reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Promising Officer 1
II Dick's Troubles Begin 11
III The Punishment 22
IV Adversity 34
V The Concrete Truck 44
VI A Step Up 54
VII Dick Undertakes a Responsibility 65
VIII An Informal Court 75
IX Jake Fuller 85
X La Mignonne 97
XI Clare Gets a Shock 107
XII Dick Keeps His Promise 118
XIII The Return from the Fiesta 129
XIV Complications 140
XV The Missing Coal 151
XVI Jake Gets into Difficulties 161
XVII The Black-Funnel Boat 172
XVIII Dick Gets a Warning 184
XIX Jake Explains Matters 194
XX Don Sebastian 205
XXI Dick Makes a Bold Venture 215
XXII The Official Mind 225
XXIII The Clamp 237
XXIV The Altered Sailing List 247
XXV The Water-Pipe 259
XXVI The Liner's Fate 270
XXVII The Silver Clasp 282
XXVIII Rough Water 294
XXIX Kenwardine Takes a Risk 304
XXX The Last Encounter 314
XXXI Richter's Message 326
XXXII Ida Interferes 336
BRANDON OF THE ENGINEERS
CHAPTER I
A PROMISING OFFICER
The lengthening shadows lay blue and cool beneath the alders by the
waterside, though the cornfields that rolled back up the hill glowed a
coppery yellow in the light of the setting sun. It was hot and, for the
most part, strangely quiet in the bottom of the valley since the hammers
had stopped, but now and then an order was followed by a tramp of feet
and the rattle of chain-tackle. Along one bank of the river the
reflections of the trees quivered in dark-green masses; the rest of the
water was dazzlingly bright.
A | 1,724.475846 |
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
MY LORD DUKE
BY E. W. HORNUNG
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1897
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
CONTENTS
I. THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY 1
II. "HAPPY JACK" 16
III. A CHANCE LOST 31
IV. NOT IN THE PROGRAMME 44
V. WITH THE ELECT 63
VI. A NEW LEAF 77
VII. THE DUKE'S PROGRESS 90
VIII. THE OLD ADAM 105
IX. AN ANONYMOUS LETTER 122
X. "DEAD NUTS" 137
XI. THE NIGHT OF THE TWENTIETH 151
XII. THE WRONG MAN 163
XIII. THE INTERREGNUM 180
XIV. JACK AND HIS MASTER 189
XV. END OF THE INTERREGNUM 199
XVI. "LOVE THE GIFT" 215
XVII. AN ANTI-TOXINE 223
XVIII. HECKLING A MINISTER 233
XIX. THE CAT AND THE MOUSE 244
XX. "LOVE THE DEBT" 257
XXI. THE BAR SINISTER 266
XXII. DE MORTUIS 282
MY LORD DUKE
CHAPTER I
THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY
The Home Secretary leant his golf-clubs against a chair. His was the
longest face of all.
"I am only sorry it should have come now," said Claude apologetically.
"Just as we were starting for the links! Our first day, too!" muttered
the Home Secretary.
"_I_ think of Claude," remarked his wife. "I can never tell you, Claude,
how much I feel for you! We shall miss you dreadfully, of course; but we
couldn't expect to enjoy ourselves after this; and I think, in the
circumstances, that you are quite right to go up to town at once."
"Why?" cried the Home Secretary warmly. "What good can he do in the
Easter holidays? Everybody will be away; he'd much better come with me
and fill his lungs with fresh air."
"I can never tell you how much I feel for you," repeated Lady Caroline
to Claude Lafont.
"Nor I," said Olivia. "It's too horrible! I don't believe it. To think
of their finding him after all! I don't believe they _have_ found him.
You've made some mistake, Claude. You've forgotten your code; the cable
really means that they've _not_ found him, and are giving up the
search!"
Claude Lafont shook his head.
"There may be something in what Olivia says," remarked the Home
Secretary. "The mistake may have been made at the other end. It would
bear talking over on the links."
Claude shook his head again.
"We have no reason to suppose there has been a mistake at all, Mr.
Sellwood. Cripps is not the kind of man to make mistakes; and I can
swear to my code. The word means, 'Duke found--I sail with him at
once.'"
"An Australian Duke!" exclaimed Olivia.
"A blackamoor, no doubt," said Lady Caroline with conviction.
"Your kinsman, in any case," said Claude Lafont, laughing; "and my
cousin; and the head of the family from this day forth."
"It was madness!" cried Lady Caroline softly. "Simple madness--but then
all you poets _are_ mad! Excuse me, Claude, but you remind me of the
Lafont blood in my own veins--you make it boil. I feel as if I never
could forgive you! To turn up your nose at one of the oldest titles in
the three kingdoms; to think twice about a purely hypothetical heir at
the antipodes; and actually to send out your solicitor to hunt him up!
If that was not Quixotic lunacy, I should like to know what is?"
The Right Honourable George Sellwood took a new golf-ball from his
pocket, and bowed his white head mournfully as he stripped off the
tissue paper.
"My dear Lady Caroline, _noblesse oblige_--and a man must do his obvious
duty," he heard Claude saying, in his slightly pedantic fashion.
"Besides, I should have cut a very sorry figure had I jumped at the
throne, as it were, and sat there until I was turned out. One knew there
_had_ been an heir in Australia; the only thing was to find out if he
was still alive; and Cripps has done so. I'm bound to say I had given
him up. Cripps has written quite hopelessly of late. He must have found
the scent and followed it up during the last six weeks; but in another
six he will be here to tell us all about it--and we shall see the Duke.
Meanwhile, pray don't waste your sympathies upon _me_. To be perfectly
frank, this is in many ways a relief to me--I am only sorry it has come
now. You know my tastes; but I have hitherto found it expedient to make
a little secret of my opinions. Now, however, there can be no harm in my
saying that they are not entirely in harmony with the hereditary
principle. You hold up your hands, dear Lady Caroline, but I assure you
that my seat in the Upper Chamber would have been a seat of
conscientious thorns. In fact I have been in a difficulty, ever since my
grandfather's death, which I am very thankful to have removed. On the
other hand, I love my--may I say my art? And luckily I have enough to
cultivate the muse on, at all events, the best of oatmeal; so I am not
to be pitied. A good quatrain, Olivia, is more to me than coronets; and
the society of my literary friends is dearer to my heart than that of
all the peers in Christendom."
Claude was a poet; when he forgot this fact he was also an excellent
fellow. His affectations ended with his talk. In appearance he was
distinctly desirable. He had long, clean limbs, a handsome, shaven,
mild-eyed face, and dark hair as short as another's. He would have made
an admirable Duke.
Mr. Sellwood looked up a little sharply from his dazzling new golf-ball.
"Why go to town at all?" said he.
"Well, the truth is, I have been in a false position all these months,"
replied Claude, forgetting his poetry and becoming natural at once. "I
want to get out of it without a day's unnecessary delay. This thing must
be made public."
The statesman considered.
"I suppose it must," said he, judicially.
"Undoubtedly," said Lady Caroline, looking from Olivia to Claude. "The
sooner the better."
"Not at all," said the Home Secretary. "It has kept nearly a year.
Surely it can keep another week? Look here, my good fellow. I come down
here expressly to play golf with you, and you want to bunker me in the
very house! I take it for the week for nothing else, and you want to
desert me the very first morning. You shan't do either, so that's all
about it."
"You're a perfect tyrant!" cried Lady Caroline. "I'm ashamed of you,
George; and I hope Claude will do exactly as he likes. _I_ shall be
sorry enough to lose him, goodness knows!"
"So shall I," said Olivia simply.
Lady Caroline shuddered.
"Look at the day!" cried Mr. Sellwood, jumping up with his pink face
glowing beneath his virile silver hair. "Look at the sea! Look at the
sand! Look at the sea-breeze lifting the very carpet under our feet! Was
there ever such a day for golf?"
Claude wavered visibly.
"Come on," said Mr. Sellwood, catching up his clubs. "I'm awfully sorry
for you, my boy. But come on!"
"You will have to give in, Claude," said Olivia, who loved her father.
Lady Caroline shrugged her shoulders.
"Of course," said she, "I hope he will; still I don't think our own
selfish considerations should detain him against his better judgment."
"I am eager to see Cripps's partners," said Claude vacillating. "They
may know more about it."
"And solicitors are such trying people," remarked Lady Caroline
sympathetically; "one always does want to see them personally, to know
what they really mean."
"That's what I feel," said Claude.
"But what on earth has he to consult them about?" demanded the Home
Secretary. "Everything will keep--except the golf. Besides, my dear
fellow, you are perfectly safe in the hands of Maitland, Hollis, Cripps
and Company. A fine steady firm, and yet pushing too. I recollect they
were the first solicitors in London--"
"Were!" said his wife significantly.
"To supply us with typewritten briefs, my love. Now there is little
else. In such hands, my dear Claude, your interests are quite
undramatically safe."
"Still," said Claude, "it's an important matter; and I am | 1,724.477081 |
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MIDNIGHT SUNBEAMS.
[Illustration]
MIDNIGHT SUNBEAMS
OR
BITS OF TRAVEL THROUGH THE LAND
OF THE NORSEMAN
BY
_EDWIN COOLIDGE KIMBALL_
BOSTON
CUPPLES AND HURD, PUBLISHERS
To
WALTER H. CAMP,
In memory of years of friendship, this book is affectionately
dedicated.
PREFACE.
The following sketches of a journey in Norway, Sweden, and Denmark
are given to the public in the hope that their perusal will furnish
information concerning the people, and attractions, of countries which
are being visited by Americans more and more each succeeding year.
While they may impart some useful knowledge to intending travellers
over the same ground, it is hoped as well that they will furnish
entertainment to those who travel only through books.
The memories of the days passed in the North are so sunny and
delightful, that I wish others to enjoy them with me; and if the reader
receives a clear impression of the novel experiences and thorough
pleasure attending a journey through Norseland, and partakes, if only
in a limited degree, of my enthusiasm over the character of the people
and the imposing grandeurs of nature, the object of this book will be
accomplished.
E. C. K.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
_COPENHAGEN AND ENVIRONS._
PAGE
LÜBECK—JOURNEY TO COPENHAGEN—HERR RENTIER—BERTEL
THORVALDSEN—MUSEUMS—AN EVENING AT THE TIVOLI—SOUVENIRS OF
HAMLET—A FAMOUS MOTHER-IN-LAW—THE FREDERIKSBORG PALACE—AN
AIMLESS WIDOW 15
CHAPTER II.
_ACROSS SWEDEN BY THE GOTHA CANAL._
A DAY AT GOTHENBURG—THE GOTHA CANAL—LIFE ON THE
“VENUS”—KEEPING OUR MEAL ACCOUNTS—THE TROLLHÄTTA
FALLS—PASTORAL SCENERY—SWEDISH BOARDING-SCHOOL
GIRLS—LAKE MÄLAR 41
CHAPTER III.
_IN AND ABOUT STOCKHOLM._
THE ISLANDS AND FEATURES OF THE CITY—THE WESTMINSTER ABBEY
OF SWEDEN—INTERESTING MUSEUMS—LEADING CITY FOR
TELEPHONES—SCENES AT EVENING CONCERTS—THE MULTITUDE OF
EXCURSIONS—DOWN THE BALTIC TO VAXHOLM—ROYAL CASTLES ON THE
LAKE—UNIVERSITY TOWN OF UPSALA 57
CHAPTER IV.
_RAILWAY JOURNEY TO THRONDHJEM._
SWEDISH RAILWAYS AND MEAL STATIONS—AMONG THE SNOW
BANKS—THE DESCENT TO THRONDHJEM—THE SHRINE OF ST.
OLAF—NORTH CAPE STEAMERS 75
CHAPTER V.
_THE NORWEGIAN NORDLAND._
THE EVER-PRESENT SALMON—A CHEESE EXHIBITION—THE BLESSED
ISLAND BELT—TORGHÄTTA AND THE SEVEN SISTERS—SCENES WITHIN
THE ARCTIC CIRCLE—VISIT TO THE SVARTISEN GLACIER—COASTING
ALONG THE LOFODEN ISLANDS—SEA FOWL AND EIDER DUCKS—REINDEER
SWIMMING ACROSS THE FJORD 89
CHAPTER VI.
_FROM TROMSÖ TO THE NORTH CAPE._
THE SIGHTS OF TROMSÖ—A VISIT TO A WHALE-OIL FACTORY—THE
MOST NORTHERN TOWN IN THE WORLD—BIRD ISLANDS IN THE
ARCTIC OCEAN—A PICNIC AT THE BASE OF THE NORTH CAPE—THE
MIDNIGHT SUN—PERPLEXITIES OF PERPETUAL DAY 111
CHAPTER VII.
_THE VOYAGE BACK TO THRONDHJEM._
THE LYNGEN FJORD—LAPP ENCAMPMENT IN THE TROMSDAL—A SMUKE
PIGE—LAPP HUTS AND BABIES—REINDEER, AND THEIR MANIFOLD
USES—LOADING CATTLE—FAREWELL APPEARANCE OF THE MIDNIGHT
SUN—SCENES AMONG THE STEERAGE 133
CHAPTER VIII.
_MOLDE AND THE ROMSDAL._
CHRISTIANSUND—RESTING AT MOLDE—LEPROSY IN NORWAY—FIRST
CARRIOLE DRIVE—STRUGGLING WITH THE NORSE LANGUAGE—WALK
THROUGH THE ROMSDAL 151
CHAPTER IX.
_A MOUNTAIN WALK._
STEAMBOAT SERVICE—A NIGHT IN A MOUNTAIN SÆTER—PRIMITIVE
ACCOMMODATIONS—A TALKATIVE FARMER—RIDING HORSEBACK UNDER
DIFFICULTIES—AN EXHAUSTING TRAMP AND A TRIAL OF PATIENCE—UP
THE GEIRANGER FJORD TO MEROK—APPROACH TO HELLESYLT 169
CHAPTER X.
_ACROSS COUNTRY DRIVE._
POSTING SYSTEM AND MANNER OF TRAVELLING IN THE
INTERIOR—CHARACTERISTICS OF THE NORWEGIANS—A DAY’S
CARRIOLING—A MORNING WALK—RIVAL INNKEEPERS—SCENES IN THE
HAY FIELDS—OUR THIRD DAY’S RIDE—RESTING AT SANDE 187
CHAPTER XI.
_ON AND ABOUT THE SOGNEFJORD._
A DAY ON THE SOGNEFJORD—EVENING SCENES AT A NORWEGIAN
HOTEL—CARRIOLING THROUGH THE LAERDAL—BORGUND CHURCH—THE
GRANDEURS OF THE NAERÖFJORD AND WALK THROUGH THE
NAERÖDAL—OUR DRIVE TO VOSSEVANGEN—A MORNING WALK TO EIDE 211
CHAPTER XII.
_THE HARDANGER FJORD._
A SABBATH AT VIK—ROAD BUILDING—VISIT TO THE VÖRINGSFOS—ODDE
ON THE SÖRFJORD—EXCURSION TO THE SKJÆGGEDALSFOS—THE
BRUARBRÆ—FROM ODDE BY STEAMER TO BERGEN 231
CHAPTER XIII.
_BERGEN._
OUR EXPERIENCES IN THE “WEEPING CITY”—SCENES IN THE FISH
MARKET—RAINY WALKS ABOUT TOWN—A BENEFICIAL LICENCE
SYSTEM—VOYAGE ACROSS THE NORTH SEA—UP THE RIVER MAAS TO
ROTTERDAM 253
CHAPTER XIV.
_EXPENSES AND PRACTICAL HINTS._
WHAT DID IT COST?—THE ROUTE AND TIME ALLOWED FOR THE
JOURNEY—CLOTHING AND FOOD—LADIES TRAVELLING ALONE—THE
RESULT OF POLITENESS AND CONSIDERATION—CONCLUSION 267
COPENHAGEN AND ENVIRONS.
CHAPTER I. _COPENHAGEN AND ENVIRONS._
LÜBECK—JOURNEY TO COPENHAGEN—HERR RENTIER—BERTEL
THORVALDSEN—MUSEUMS—AN EVENING AT THE TIVOLI—SOUVENIRS OF HAMLET—A
FAMOUS MOTHER-IN-LAW—THE FREDERIKSBORG PALACE—AN AIMLESS WIDOW.
It was on a charming day in June, after an hour’s railway ride from
Hamburg, that we arrived at Lübeck—the starting point of our journey
through Scandinavia. Lübeck is the smallest of the three independent
Hanseatic towns of the German Empire, both Hamburg and Bremen far
surpassing her in size and importance, yet at one time she stood at the
head of the Hanseatic League—the alliance of the great commercial towns
of North Germany.
Architecturally, Lübeck is one of the most interesting places in
Germany. You enter the town from the railway station through the
Holstenthor, a wonderful mediæval gateway of red brick and terracotta,
and soon reach the market-place, on two sides of which rises the
venerable Rathhaus, a Gothic building in brick, with many gables,
turrets and quaint spires; extending underneath it is the Rathskeller,
remarkable for its well-preserved vaulting, as well as for its
excellent Rhine wines and claret. The chimney piece in the apartment,
where wedding festivities were formerly celebrated, bears the following
inscription—a genuine bachelor sentiment—_Mennich man lude synghet wen
me em de Brut bringet; weste he wat men em brochte, dat he wol wenen
mochte_ (Many a man sings loudly when they bring him his bride; if he
knew what they brought him, he might well weep).
On one side of the square is the handsome modern post-office
constructed in the mediæval style; here and there in the quiet streets
we | 1,724.479968 |
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Transcribed from the 1897 Longmans, Green, and Co. edition by David
Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org
THE WATER OF THE
WONDROUS ISLES BY
WILLIAM MORRIS
* * * * *
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
LONDON, NEW YORK, AND BOMBAY
MDCCCXCVII
* * * * *
Copyright, 1897, by Longmans, Green, and Co.
* * * * *
_CONTENTS_
_The First Part_: _Of the House of Captivity_
PAGE
_Chap. I._ _Catch at Utterhay_ 1
_II._ _Now shall be told of the House by the 8
Waterside_
_III._ _Of Skin-changing_ 10
_IV._ _Of the Waxing of the Stolen Child_ 12
_V._ _Of Birdalone_, _and how she is grown into 15
Maidenhood_
_VI._ _Herein is told of Birdalone’s Raiment_ 18
_VII._ _Birdalone hath an Adventure in the Wood_ 22
_VIII._ _Of Birdalone and the Witch-wife_ 30
_IX._ _Of Birdalone’s Swimming_ 33
_X._ _Birdalone comes on New Tidings_ 36
_XI._ _Of Birdalone’s Guilt and the Chastisement 39
thereof_
_XII._ _The Words of the Witch-wife to Birdalone_ 43
_XIII._ _Birdalone meeteth the Wood-woman again_ 46
_XIV._ _Of Birdalone’s Fishing_ 51
_XV._ _Birdalone weareth her Serpent-ring_ 54
_XVI._ _Birdalone meeteth Habundia again_; _and 59
learneth her First Wisdom of her_
_XVII._ _The Passing of the Year into Winter_ 62
_XVIII._ _Of Springtide and the Mind of Birdalone_ 65
_XIX._ _They bid Farewell_, _Birdalone and the 68
Wood-mother_
_XX._ _Of Birdalone and the Sending Boat_ 70
_The Second Part_: _Of the Wondrous Isles_
_Chap. I._ _The First Isle_ 75
_II._ _Birdalone falleth in with New Friends_ 77
_III._ _Birdalone is brought before the 82
Witch-wife’s Sister_
_IV._ _Of the Witch’s Prison in the 85
Wailing-tower_
_V._ _They feast in the Witch’s Prison_ 89
_VI._ _Atra tells of how they three came unto the 97
Isle of Increase Unsought_
_VII._ _The three Damsels take Birdalone out of 109
the Witch’s Prison_
_VIII._ _In what Wise Birdalone was clad_, _and how 112
she went her Ways from the Isle of Increase
Unsought_
_IX._ _How Birdalone came to the Isle of the 117
Young and the Old_
_X._ _Birdalone comes to the Isle of the Queens_ 131
_XI._ _And now she comes to the Isle of the 136
Kings_
_XII._ _Of Birdalone_, _how she came unto the Isle 141
of Nothing_
_The Third Part_: _Of the Castle of the Quest_
_ Chap. I._ _Birdalone comes to the Castle of the 146
Quest_
_II._ _Of Birdalone_, _and how she rested the 152
Night through in a Bower without the Castle
of the Quest_
_III._ _How Birdalone dight her for meeting the 157
Champions of the Quest_
_IV._ _And now she meets the Champions_ 160
_V._ _Birdalone has True Tokens from the 167
Champions of the Quest_
_VI._ _How the Champions would do Birdalone to be 177
clad anew in the Castle of the Quest_
_VII._ _Of Birdalone_, _how she told the Champions 180
all her Tale_
_VIII._ _In the Meanwhile of the Departing of the 184
Champions_, _they would pleasure Birdalone
with Feats of Arms and Games of Prowess_
_IX._ _Birdalone cometh before | 1,724.677523 |
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WORTH WHILE STORIES
FOR EVERY DAY
ARRANGED, COMPILED, AND EDITED
BY
LAWTON B. EVANS, A.M.
WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF THE TEACHERS OF THE
PRIMARY GRADES OF THE PUBLIC
SCHOOLS OF AUGUSTA, GA.
1923
MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY
SPRINGFIELD, MASS.
COPYRIGHT, 1917,
BY MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY,
SPRINGFIELD, MASS.
_Bradley Quality Books_
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
A WORD TO STORY TELLERS
In order to make story-telling most effective, the story-teller
should bear in mind certain conditions that are imposed by those
who listen.
1. _Know the story._ Know it well enough to tell it in your own
language, and in the language of the children who hear it. Know it
well enough to amplify, vary, improve, make all kinds of excursions
and side incidents, and yet return easily to the main body of the
story.
2. _Tell the story._ Do not read it. The speaker is free and
unbound by book or words; the reader is held by the formal page
before him. The stories in this book are condensed, too condensed
for reading and need the addition of words to make them of the
right consistency. Those words should be the narrator’s own; the
story then becomes the narrator’s story and not the author’s, and
that is as it should be.
3. _Act the story._ Do not be afraid of the dramatic side of
narration. Imitate all the sounds that belong to the story, such
as the winds blowing, the thunder rolling, a bear growling, a dog
barking, etc. Change your voice to meet the requirements of youth
and age. Throw yourself heart and soul into the spirit of the
narr | 1,724.876691 |
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A MERE CHANCE.
A NOVEL.
BY ADA CAMBRIDGE,
AUTHOR OF "IN TWO YEARS TIME," &c.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1882.
_Right of Translation Reserved._
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
CHAPTER
I.--Another Rash Promise
II.--The Beginning of Troubles
III.--"Where there was never Need of Vows."
IV.--After the Ball
V.--Rachel's First Visit in Melbourne
VI.--In Mrs. Hardy's Store-room
VII.--"He Has Come Back"
VIII.--"The Light that never was on Sea or Land"
IX.--Eleven p.m.
X.--Mrs. Reade's Advice
XI.--Until Christmas
XII.--"The Ground-Whirl of the Perished Leaves of Hope"
XIII.--Rachel on the Philosophy of Marriage
A MERE CHANCE.
CHAPTER I.
ANOTHER RASH PROMISE.
Mr. Kingston, as soon as he received Mrs. Thornley's invitation, sent a
telegram to her nearest post-town, to tell her he would start for
Adelonga on the following day, and await at the inn where he left the
railway the buggy she was kind enough to say should be sent to meet him.
There was much amusement at Adelonga over this unwonted promptitude on
the part of an idle and self-indulgent man, who had never been known to
hurry himself, or to go into the country willingly; and Rachel was
teased in fun and congratulated in earnest on the strong hold she had
gained upon his erewhile erratic affections.
The buggy was ordered at once--Mr. Thornley's own pet Abbott buggy, that
floated over the rough roads--and a pet pair of horses were harnessed
into it, and another pair sent forward to change with them on the way,
and Mr. Thornley himself set forth to meet his guest.
Next day Lucilla ordered one of her best rooms--usually reserved for
married ladies--to be prepared for him, and had great consultations
with her cook on his behalf; and at about five in the afternoon he
arrived, wrapped in a fur-collared overcoat, like a traveller in bleak
and barren regions, and had a royal welcome.
Lucilla, followed by her mother, went out to the verandah to meet her
old friend--though, indeed, she never willingly omitted that graceful
act of hospitality, whoever might be her guest--and was delighted to
receive again the same old compliment on her charming appearance that
had pleasantly befooled her in her maiden days. Mrs. Hardy was likewise
greeted with effusion, and responded cordially; and then they all looked
round.
"Where is Rachel?" inquired Mr. Kingston, with anxious solicitude;
"isn't she well?"
Rachel was found in the drawing-room, nervously rearranging the cups and
saucers that had just been brought in for tea. Lucilla ushered him in
with a smile, and discreetly retired with her mother, upon some utterly
unnecessary errand.
The lovers met in the middle of the room, and Rachel went through the
ordeal that she had been vaguely dreading all day. It was worse than she
had expected, for she felt, by some subtle, newly-developed sense, that
she had been greatly missed and ardently longed for, and that they were
truly lover's arms that folded her, trembling and shrinking, in that
apparently interminable embrace.
She had not yet come to realise the magnitude and the ignominy of the
wrong that she was doing him, but a pang of remorseful pity did hurt
her somewhere, through all her stony irresponsiveness, for the fate that
had driven him, the desired of so many women, to set his heart at last
upon one who did not want it.
For a brief intolerable moment she felt that she had it in her to
implore him to release her from her engagement, but--well, she was a
little coward, if the truth must be told.
And, moreover, she had not quite come to the point of giving up her pink
boudoir, and her diamond necklace, and all her other splendid
possessions in prospect, because she could not love the contingent
husband as was her duty to him to do.
She did not know as yet that she loved another man.
"And you never came to meet me?" said Mr. Kingston, with tender
reproach, as he led her by one reluctant hand to a sofa that was wheeled
up comfortably to the fireside. "And I was straining my eyes all across
the paddock, to see you on the verandah looking out."
"I was looking out," said Rachel; "I saw the buggy before it reached the
woolshed. But----"
"But you thought it would be nicer to have our meeting here, with no one
to look on? So it is, darling; you were quite right. I could not have
helped kissing you, if all the servants on the place had been standing
round; and one doesn't like to make a public exhibition of one's self.
Oh, my pet, I _am_ so glad to get you again! And how are you? Let me
have a good look at you. Oh, if you are going to blush, how am I to
tell whether you are looking well or not?"
"I am not going to blush," said Rachel; "and I am quite well. I never
was better. The country air is doing me ever so much good."
"I am not so sure of that," rejoined Mr. Kingston, rather gravely,
stroking her soft cheek. "You look fagged, as if you had been knocking
about too much. I didn't like your going to those rubbishy little
races--I told Thornley so. Have you been sitting up late at night?"
"No--I have been doing _nothing_," pleaded Rachel; "I am really as well
as possible. How is the house getting on?"
"The house is not doing much at present. They are still pottering at
the foundations, which seem to take a frightful lot of doing to. Not
that they have had time to make much progress since you were there--it
is not much over a fortnight yet, you know. Oh, but it has been a long
fortnight! Rachel, now I have got you, I don't mean to lose sight of you
again."
"How did you leave Beatrice?" inquired Rachel, hastily.
"Beatrice is quite well--as sprightly as ever. I told her I meant to
bring you back to town, by force of arms if necessary, and she said I
was quite right. We can't do without you in Melbourne--I can't, anyhow;
and what's more, I don't mean to try."
"How is Uncle Hardy?"
"Uncle Hardy? I'm sure I don't know--I was very nearly saying I don't
care. Of course he is quite well; he always is, I believe. Is there
anybody else you are particularly anxious about, Mademoiselle?"
"Yes," said Rachel, smiling and blushing; "I am anxious about Black
Agnes. How is my dear Black Agnes? _Does_ William attend to her
properly?"
"I don't leave her to William," said Mr. Kingston. "I have taken her
away to my own stables. And there she is eating her head off--wanting
you, like the rest of us. If you have no more questions to ask, I'll
begin; may I? I have some _really_ important inquiries to make."
Rachel gasped. But to her immense relief Lucilla was heard approaching,
talking at an unnecessarily high pitch of voice to her mother, who
responded with equal vigour; and the two ladies entered, followed by
Mr. Thornley, all wearing a more or less deprecatory aspect.
The men and the matrons grouped themselves round the fire, and plunged
into an animated discussion of the latest Melbourne news. Rachel poured
out the tea, and insisted on carrying it round to everybody, regardless
of polite protests; which charmed her lover very much.
He was rather cold, and a little stiff and tired after his unwonted
exertion; his seat was soft and restful; and he liked to see the slender
creature gliding about, with her sweet face and her deft hands, and
picture to himself with what meek dutifulness she would serve her lord
and master when the time came.
Rachel hoped they were in for a pleasant gossip till dinner time, but
she was much mistaken.
"I must go and see after my baby, Mr. Kingston, if you will excuse me,"
said Lucilla at the end of half-an-hour, setting down her empty but
still smoking teacup, and rising with an air that implied a pressing
duty postponed to the very last moment. Mr. Kingston expressed an ardent
desire to make the baby's acquaintance, which flattered the young mother
greatly, but otherwise led to nothing. Lucilla went out, promising to
introduce her son under favourable auspices in the morning; and as she
disappeared, Mrs. Hardy jumped up and followed her with apparently
anxious haste.
"Oh, Lucilla, I _quite_ forgot that aconite for Dolly's cold!" she
exclaimed; "shall I come and look for it now?"
Mr. Thornley, left behind, stood on the hearthrug, shifting uneasily
from one leg to the other. He cleared his throat, remarked that the days
were lengthening wonderfully, moved some ornaments on the chimney-piece,
and looked at his watch.
"Dear me," he muttered briskly, as if struck with a sudden thought, "a
quarter to six, I do declare! Excuse me a few minutes, Kingston."
"Certainly," replied Mr. Kingston. And then _he_ went out.
"How stupid they are!" cried poor Rachel to herself, almost stamping her
foot with vexation. But there was no help for it. The affianced couple
were once more left to themselves--as affianced couples should be, and
should like to be--in the pleasant firelight and no less pleasant
twilight shadows that were filling the quiet room.
Mr. Kingston rose, took his reluctant sweetheart's hand, and led her
back to the sofa by the hearth.
"What time do they have dinner here?" he asked.
"Seven o'clock," said Rachel, with a sinking heart.
"Then we shall have nearly an hour to ourselves, shan't we? Come then,
and let us have a good long talk. But first, I've got something for
you."
He began to fumble in his pockets, and presently drew forth a little
square packet, neatly sealed up in paper, which he laid on Rachel's
knee. Wise man! he had not had his long and varied experiences for
nothing.
The girl in smiling perplexity turned the mysterious parcel over and
over, broke first one seal and then another with much delicate
elaboration; cautiously stripped off the paper wrappings, and revealed,
as she expected, a morocco jewel-case.
"Oh, how kind!" she murmured, stroking it caressingly with her white
fingers.
"Open it before you say that," said he; "you don't know that there is
anything in it yet."
"Ah, but I know your ways," she rejoined; "I know it is sure to be
something lovely." And then she lifted the lid, and exclaimed "O-o-oh!"
with a long breath. There lay, on a bed of blue velvet, a beautiful
little watch, thickly set on one side of the case with tiny diamond
sparks, which on examination proved to illuminate the flourishes of a
big R; and a chain of proportionate value was coiled around it.
Rachel was in ecstacies. She had longed for a watch all her life, and
had never yet had one, except an old silver warming-pan of her father's,
which would not go into a lady's pocket.
It was only lately that Mr. Kingston had discovered this fact; and he
had immediately had one prepared for her, such as he considered would be
worthy of her future position in society, and of his own reputation for
good taste. He felt himself well repaid for his outlay at this moment.
Of her own accord she put up her soft lips and kissed him, pouring out
her childish gratitude for his thoughtfulness, and his kindness, and his
goodness, in broken exclamations which were charmingly naive and sweet.
"You are always giving me things," she murmured, shyly stroking his coat
sleeve.
"Dear little woman!" he responded, with ardent embraces, from which she
did not shrink--at least, not much; "it is my greatest pleasure in life
to give you things."
And from this substantial base of operations the astute lover opened the
campaign which was to deliver her, a helpless captive, into his hands.
"And now," he said, when the watch having been consigned to its pocket
in her pretty homespun gown, and the chain artistically festooned from a
button-hole at her waist, a suggestive silence fell upon them--"now I
want to know what you mean by saying you won't be married till next
year? Naughty child, you made me very miserable with that letter. Though
to be sure it was better than the other one, which was so horribly, so
really brutally, cold that I had to go to the fire to get warm after
reading it. Oh, Rachel, you are not _half_ in love yet, I fear!"
"Don't say that," she murmured, with tender compunction.
"And I believe that is why you wish to put off our marriage."
"Oh, don't say that!" she repeated, weakly anxious to re-assure and
conciliate him, and to postpone unpleasantness--woman-like, afraid of
the very opportunity that she wanted when she saw herself unexpectedly
confronted with it. "I don't wish to put it off--only for a little
while."
"Do you call till next year a little while? Because I don't."
"Of course it is. Why, here is August!"
"And there are five long months--double the time we have been engaged
already. And it wouldn't be comfortable to be travelling in the hot
season."
"You said spring would be a nice time," suggested Rachel. She was
touching his sleeve with timid, deprecatory caresses, and she was
desperately frightened and anxious.
"Yes; _this_ spring--not twelve months hence. Oh, my pet, _do_ let it be
this spring. There are three lovely months before us, and I should like
to get that Sydney house. I have the offer of it still for a few days; I
got them to keep it open till I could consult you. You _must_ remember
that I am not as young as you are, Rachel; a year one way or the other
may be of no account to you, but it is of very great importance to me."
There was a touch of impatience and irritation in his voice, which
helped her to pluck up courage to cling to her resolve.
At the same time she heard the soft ticking of that precious watch at
her side; her heart was touched and warmed by what she called his
"kindness;" and she was anxious to do anything that she _could_ do to
please him.
"Won't it do when the house is built?" she asked, in a wheedling,
cowardly, coaxing tone, as she laid her cheek for a moment on his
shoulder. "I will come back to Melbourne as soon as you like--I can stay
with Beatrice, if aunt likes to remain here. We can be together almost
as if we were married. We can ride together every day, and watch how the
house goes on; and you know aunt doesn't mind _how_ much you are with us
at Toorak. Only if you would consent to put off the wedding till then--"
"Will you promise to marry me then?" he asked quickly.
"Yes, I will, really," she replied, without any hesitation, thankful for
the reprieve, which she had been by no means sure of getting.
"As soon as the house is built?"
"As soon as the house is finished."
"No--not finished; that mayn't be next year, nor the year after. As soon
as the roof is on?"
Rachel paused.
"How long does that take?"
"Oh, a long time--ever so long."
She paused again, with a longer pause. And then,
"Very well," she sighed, resignedly.
"It is a bargain? You promise faithfully? On your solemn word of
honour?"
"Oh, don't make such a terrible thing of it!" she protested, with a
rather hysterical laugh, that showed signs of degenerating into a
whimper. "I _can_ only say I will."
"And that is enough, my sweet. I won't require you to reduce it to
writing. Your word shall be your bond. It is a long while to wait, but I
must try to be patient. At any rate, it is a comfort to be done with
uncertainty, and to have a fixed time to arrange for. And now, perhaps,
we ought to go and dress. Tell me how much it wants to seven, Rachel;
you have the correct Melbourne time."
CHAPTER II.
THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLES.
It was in the afternoon that Lucilla again expected her guests, on the
day of the ball given at Adelonga in honour of the coming of age of her
absent stepson; and the hospitable arrangements characteristic of bush
households on such occasions, were made for their reception on the usual
Adelonga scale. All the visitors were to be "put up" of course; and from
the exhaustless piles of material stowed away in the ample store-rooms,
bed-rooms were improvised in every hole and corner, and beds made up
wherever beds could decently go--in the store-rooms themselves, in the
school-room, in the laundry, in the gardener's cottage, as well as in
the numerous guest-chambers with which this, in common with other
Australian "country seats," was regularly supplied.
Bright log fires burned on every hearth; bright spring flowers adorned
all the ladies' dressing-tables; stupendous viands piled the pantry
shelves and filled the spacious kitchens with delectable odours.
Servants bustled about with a festive air.
Mr. Thornley, in shirt sleeves, brought forth treasures from the remote
recesses of his cellar that no one but he was competent to meddle with.
Mrs. Thornley moved complacently about her extensive domain, regulating
all these exceptional arrangements with that housewifely good sense and
judgment which distinguished all Mrs. Hardy's daughters.
Rachel found her sphere of action in the ball-room, where with Miss
O'Hara and the children, a young gardener to supply material, the
station carpenter to do the rough work, and Mr. Kingston to look on and
criticise from an arm-chair by the fire, she worked all day at the
decorations, which had been designed in committee and partly prepared
the day before. The great Japanese screens had been carried away (to be
made very useful in the construction of bed and bath-rooms) and the
carpets taken up; and now she feathered the great empty room all about
with fern-tree fronds--hanging them from extemporised chandeliers, and
from wire netting stretched over the ceiling, and from doorless
doorways, rooted in masses of shrubs and blossoms that made a bower of
the whole place. It was just such a task as she delighted in, and she
was considered to have completed it successfully at four o'clock, when
she put her finishing touches to a trophy over the chimney-piece, which,
though rather complicated as to symbolism, being arranged on a
foundation of breech-loaders and riding-whips, had a bold and pleasing
effect.
At four o'clock the guests began to arrive. She was directing her
attendants to sweep up the last of her litters from the newly-polished
floor, when the Digbys' waggonette drove in at the wide-standing garden
gates, and rattled up to the house.
After them came other buggies in quick succession. Grooms and house
servants poured out to receive them; doors banged; confused voices and
laughter rose and fell in waves of pleasant sound through the maze of
passages intersecting the rabbit-warren of a house.
Rachel ran to a window and looked out in time to see Lucifer led off to
the stables blowing and panting, and jangling his bridle, but stepping
out still with unconquered spirit, as became a brave old horse of noble
lineage, whom such a master owned.
Mr. Kingston, the only other person just then in the room, came behind
her and laid his hands with the air of a proprietor on her shoulders.
"Whose hack is that?" he inquired, with languid curiosity. "Looks a good
sort of breed, something like your mare in colour, only much bigger."
"Mr. Dalrymple's," murmured Rachel.
"Dalrymple?--that brother of Mrs. Digby's you spoke of? I've heard of
that fellow. I was curious to know who he was, and I made inquiries at
the club. He is a rather considerable scamp, if all tales are true."
"All tales are not true," replied the girl, with majestic calmness.
"And pray how do _you_ know?" he retorted quickly, a little amused and
a great deal irritated by her highly indiscreet behaviour. "I don't
suppose that you have heard all that I have--at any rate, I _hope_ not."
"I know enough," she stammered hurriedly; "I know the worst anyone can
say against him."
"I hope not," repeated Mr. Kingston, with ominous gravity.
"And I know he has done wrong--done very wrong, indeed; but he has had
such terrible provocations--he has been, oh, so dreadfully unfortunate!"
she went on, wishing heartily that she had not undertaken her new
friend's defence, yet finding it easier to go through with it now than
to turn back and desert him. "And, whatever he may have been once, he
is doing nothing to harm anybody now; and it is cruel of people to be
always raking up the past, when it is done with and repented of, and
throwing it in his teeth. Any of us would think it hard and unfair--you
would yourself."
"Never mind me, my dear; my past is not being called in question that I
am aware of."
Mr. Kingston's not very placid temper was rising.
"He is doing nothing wrong now," she repeated, frightened but reckless;
"if he were, Mr. Thornley would not invite him here--he said so himself.
And Lucilla, though she does not like him--nobody likes him,
indeed--says he would never do a mean action, and that he has perfect
manners, and that he is a thorough gentleman every way. I think they
all agree about _that_."
"And yet don't like him. That is rather inconsistent. And what about
yourself, Rachel? If it is not a rude question--are you an exception in
this respect, or not?"
He had taken his hands from her shoulders, and was standing sideways in
the embrasure of the window, so that he could see her face; and he was
smiling in a most unpleasant manner.
Rachel had never seen him like this before, and the first seed of active
dislike was sown where as yet there had been nothing worse than
indifference. The familiar colour rose and flooded her white brow and
her whiter throat. She clenched her hands to still the flutter of her
heart. She shut her teeth and struggled in silence against an
ignominious impulse to cry.
But Mr. Kingston continued to watch her with that sardonic curiosity;
and presently, like the traditional worm, she turned on him.
"Yes," she said, "I am an exception. I like Mr. Dalrymple very
much--what little I know of him. I have seen no reason to do otherwise.
I do not pay any attention to vulgar gossip."
A timid woman, trying to be defiant, generally fails by overdoing it;
and so did she, poor child. Mr. Kingston heard the emphasis of strong
emotion, that she would have given worlds to keep back, vibrating
through her tremulous accents, and it drove him beyond those
considerations of policy and politeness which he made a boast of as his
rule of life and action--especially in his dealings with women. Rachel,
however, in the category of women, was exceptionally placed with respect
to him; and I suppose one must do him the justice to concede that this
was an exceptional emergency.
"I'll tell you what," he said, smiling no longer, and speaking with a
rough edge to his voice that betokened the original rude nature, usually
so carefully clothed, and that she instinctively resented as an
indignity, "Thornley can do as he likes about the people he brings here
to associate with his wife, but I won't have you making acquaintance
with a vagabond like that."
"I have already made his acquaintance," she said quietly.
"Then I beg you will break it off."
"How can I break it off while he is in the same house with me?"
She was surprised to find how strong she was to withstand this incipient
tyranny; and yet her heart contracted with a pain very like despair.
"There will be so many people that one--and he a man--may be easily
avoided, if you wish to avoid. And you _will_ wish to do what would
please me, wouldn't you, dear?" he demanded, perceiving that he was
bullying her, and trying to correct himself.
"Yes," she replied; "certainly. But I hope you will not ask me to be
rude to one of my cousin's guests. I don't mind what else I do to please
you. And when I am married, I will of course know nobody but the people
you like."
"You are as good as married to me already," he said, putting his arm
round her shoulder as she stood before him, with all sorts of changes
and revolutions going on within her. "And of course I don't want you to
be rude--I don't want you to be anything. Simply don't take any notice
of Dalrymple--he will quite understand it; don't dance with him, or have
anything to do with him."
"Not dance with him!" she broke out sharply.
Her evident dismay and disappointment, together with her unconscious
efforts to evade his embrace, exasperated his already ruffled temper
afresh.
"Certainly not," he said, with angry vehemence. "I shall be exceedingly
annoyed and vexed if I see you dancing with that man."
Rachel did not know until now how much she had secretly set her heart
upon doing this forbidden thing; as her exigent lover did not know until
now that he had it in him to be so horribly jealous.
"He will be sure to come and ask me," she said, with a despairing sigh.
"Very well. If he does, I beg you will refuse him."
"Then I must refuse everybody."
"Not at all. He will quite understand that there are reasons why he
should be exceptionally treated."
"And do you think I will make him understand _that_?" she burst out,
with pathetic indignation that filled her soft eyes with tears. "Do you
think I would be so--so infamously rude and cruel? Oh, Mr.
Kingston"--she never called him "Graham" except in her letters, though
he tried his best to make her--"you don't want to spoil all my pleasure
to-night, which was going to be such a happy night?"
"Your pleasure doesn't depend on dancing with Mr. Dalrymple, I _hope_."
"No--no; but may I not treat him like all the rest, for Lucilla's
sake--for common politeness' sake?"
"No, Rachel. I don't want to be unkind, my dear, but you must remember
your position, and that now you belong to me. A lady who understands
these matters can quite easily manage to get off dancing with a man if
she wishes, without being rude. You must learn those little social
accomplishments, and this is a very good time to begin. Now let us
change the subject. Kiss me, and don't look so miserable, or I shall
begin to think--but that it would be insulting you too much--that you
have fallen in love with this disreputable ruffian."
Mr. Kingston tried to assume a light and airy manner, but his badinage
had a menacing tone that was very chilling.
Rachel, strange to say, did not blush at all; she quietly excused
herself on the plea that she must go and arrange her dishevelled
costume, and (having no private bedroom to-night) went a long way down
the garden to a retired harbour for half an hour's meditation.
CHAPTER III.
"WHERE THERE WAS NEVER NEED OF VOWS."
When Rachel came back to the house it was nearly five o'clock.
There was to be a great high tea at six, for which no dressing was
required, in place of the ordinary dinner; and as she did not feel
inclined to meet the crowd of company that was assembling in the
drawing-room sooner than was necessary--to tell the truth, she had been
crying, and her eyes were red--she returned by a back way to the
ball-room, which she knew would be to all intents and purposes, empty.
As an excuse for doing so she carried in her arms some long wreaths of
spiraea which she had discovered on a bush at the bottom of the garden,
with which she intended to relieve the masses of box and laurestinus
that made the groundwork of her decorations.
Lightly flitting up a stone-flagged passage at the rear of the house,
she suddenly came upon Mr. Dalrymple. He emerged from the door of the
laundry, which had been assigned to him for sleeping quarters, just as
she was passing it.
"Oh!" she cried sharply, as if he had been a ghost; and then she caught
her breath, and dropped her eyes, and blushed her deepest blush, which
was by no means the conventional mode of salutation, but more than
satisfied the man who did not know until this moment how eagerly he had
looked for a welcome from her.
"How do you do?" he said, clothing the common formula with a new
significance, and holding her hand in a strong grasp; "I was wondering
where you were, and beginning to dread all kinds of disasters. Where are
you going? May I carry these for you?"
He saw by this time the traces of her recent tears, and the cheerful
cordiality of his greeting subsided to a rather stern but very tender
earnestness.
Silently he lifted the white wreaths from her arm, and began to saunter
beside her in the direction of the ball-room, much as he had led her
away into the conservatory on that memorable night, which was only a
week, but seemed a year ago.
All the time she was thinking of Mr. Kingston's prohibition, and
dutifully desiring to obey him; but she had no power in her to do more.
They passed through the servants' offices, meeting only Lucilla's maid,
who was in a ferment of excitement with so many ladies to attend to, and
had not a glance to spare for them; they heard voices and footsteps all
around them as they entered the house; but they reached the ball-room
unperceived and unmolested, and found themselves alone.
The great room, with its windows draped and garlanded, was dim and
silent; the gardener's steps stood in the middle ready for the lighting
of the lamps; nothing but this remained to be done, and no one came in
to disturb them.
For ten minutes they devoted themselves to business. Mr. Dalrymple
mounted the steps, and wove the spiraea into whatever green clusters
looked too thin or too dark; he touched up certain devices that seemed
to him to lack stability; he straightened some flags that were hanging
awry; and Rachel stood below and offered humble suggestions.
When they had done, and had picked up a few fallen leaves and petals,
they stood and looked round them to judge of the general effect.
"It is very pretty," said Mr. Dalrymple; "and it makes a capital
ball-room. I have not seen a better floor anywhere."
"It was laid down on purpose for dancing," said Rachel, who knew she
ought now to be making her appearance elsewhere, yet lingered because he
did.
"Are you fond of dancing?" he asked abruptly.
"Yes," she said; "very."
"Will you give me your first waltz to-night?"
He was leaning an elbow on the piano, near which he stood, and looking
down on her with that gentle but imperious inquiry in his eyes, which
made her feel as if she had taken a solemn affidavit to tell the truth.
"I--I cannot," she stammered, after a pause, during which she wondered
distractedly how she could best explain her refusal so as to spare him
unnecessary pain; "I am very sorry--I would, with pleasure, if I could."
"Thank you," he said, with a slight, grateful bow. "Well, I could hardly
hope for the first, I suppose. But I may have the | 1,724.977673 |
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_VIZETELLY'S RUSSIAN NOVELS._
Uncle's Dream;
AND
The Permanent Husband.
CELEBRATED RUSSIAN NOVELS
By FEDOR DOSTOIEFFSKY.
_Translated from the original Russian by | 1,727.473827 |
2023-11-16 18:45:51.5550670 | 254 | 9 |
Produced by sp1nd, Jennifer Linklater and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
IMPRESSIONS
OF
AMERICA.
BY
OSCAR WILDE.
EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION,
BY STUART MASON.
Keystone Press, Sunderland.
1906.
This Edition consists of 500 Copies.
50 Copies have been printed on hand-made paper.
TO
WALTER LEDGER:
PIGNUS
AMICITIAE.
IMPRESSIONS.
I.
LE JARDIN.
The lily's withered chalice falls
Around its rod of dusty gold,
And from the beech trees on the wold
The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.
The gaudy leonine sunflower
Hangs black and barren on its stalk,
And down the windy garden walk
The dead leaves scatter,--hour by hour.
Pale privet-petals white as milk
Are blown into a snowy mass;
The roses lie upon the grass | 1,727.575107 |
2023-11-16 18:45:51.5647430 | 2,618 | 14 |
Produced by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 98.
MAY 17, 1890.
* * * * *
ALL IN PLAY.
MY DEAR EDITOR,--Whilst you were feasting in Burlington House amongst
the Pictures and the Royal Academicians, I was seated in the Stalls of
the St. James's Theatre, lost in astonishment (certainly not in
admiration, although of old the two words had the same meaning), at the
antics of a minority of the Gallery, who amused themselves by shouting
themselves hoarse before the performances commenced; but not satisfied
with this, they continued their shrieking further: they howled at the
overture of the first piece, they jeered at the scene, they yelled at
the actors. However, as it happened, _The Tiger_ had been already
successfully played on two occasions last year, so a verdict was not
required at _their_ hands. Had Mr. SOLOMON, the composer, conducted, he
would have taken _The Tiger_ away, and left the howlers to their
howling. Since Saturday the piece has, I am informed, "gone" with what
the Americans call a "snap." The music is charming. Mr. CHARLES COLNAGHI
made his bow as a professional, and played and sang excellently, as did
also Mr. J. G. TAYLOR, in spite of the riotous conduct of the
"unfriendlies."
Then came _Esther Sandraz_. Mrs. LANGTRY looked lovely, and played with
great power; but what an unpleasant part! Until the end of the First Act
all was right. The sympathy was with the heroine of the hour, or,
rather, two hours and a half; but when it was discovered that _Esther_
loved but for revenge, and wished to bring sorrow and shame upon the
fair head of Miss MARION LEA, then the sentiments of the audience
underwent a rapid change. Everyone would have been pleased if Mr. SUGDEN
had shot himself in Act II.; nay, some of us would not have complained
if he had died in Act I., but the cat-and-mouse-like torture inflicted
upon him by _Esther_ was the reverse of agreeable. Mr. SUGDEN was only a
"Johnnie", but still "Johnnies" have feelings like the rest of us. Mr.
BOURCHIER was rather hard as a good young man who does _not_ die, and
Mr. EVERILL (steady old stager) kept everything well together. If the
play keeps the boards for any length of time, it will be, thanks to the
power of Mrs. LANGTRY, the natural pathos of Miss MARION LEA, and the
unforced comedy of Mr. EVERILL.
On Monday Miss GRACE HAWTHORNE produced _Theodora_ at the Princess's
Theatre with some success. It cannot be said, however, that Mlle. SARA
BERNHARDT has at length found her rival, but, for all that, the heroine
of the moment might have been worse. "SARDOU'S masterpiece" (as the
programmes have it) was very well staged. The scenery and costumes were
excellent, and great relief was afforded to the more tragic tones of the
play by entrusting the heavy part of _Andreas_ to Mr. LEONARD BOYNE, who
is a thorough artist, with just the least taste in life of the brogue
that savours more of the Milesian Drama. Mr. W. H. VERNON was the
_Justinian_ of the evening, and looked the Lawgiver to the life;
although I am not quite sure whether a half-concealed moustache was
quite the fashion in the days of the Empire. Mr. ROBERT BUCHANAN, the
adapter of "the masterpiece", introduced several nineteenth century
expressions into the dialogue. In the "home of the Gladiators", it was
quite pleasant to hear people talking of a "row", and made one wish to
have a description of "a merry little mill", in the language of the
sporting Press. No doubt, the length of the performances was the reason
why so racy a narrative was omitted. For the rest, there are some thirty
speaking parts--a good allowance for a play consisting of six Acts and
seven _Tableaux_. A "Masterpiece" (in English) is better than a feast,
for it is enough--for a lifetime. Believe me, yours faithfully,
ONE WHO HAS TAKEN A DOUBLE "FIRST."
* * * * *
[Illustration: A CHANGE.
From a Fasting Man to a Sandwich Man. Useful to Advertisers.]
* * * * *
A STIRRING POLE.--A more stirring pianist than PADEREWSKI, who played on
Friday afternoon at St. James's Hall for the first time in England, has
never been heard. The report that he is a Polonised Irishman needs
confirmation. The name is suspicious. But there are no sound reasons for
supposing that the first two syllables of PADEREWSKI'S name are simply a
corruption of the Hibernian "Paddy."
* * * * *
CLASSIC MOTTO FOR THOSE WHO SELL AS THE GENUINE ARTICLE TEA UNDER A
FALSE BRAND.--"_Nomine mutato fabula narratur de Tea._"
* * * * *
MRS. R. wants to know if she can ascertain all about the Law of Libel,
&c., in the works which she contemplates purchasing of WALTER SAVAGE
SLANDOR.
* * * * *
OUR ADVERTISERS.
_A New Departure, or the "Give-'em-a-hand-all-round" Wrinkle._
ROYAL QUARTPOTARIUM.--THE RENOWNED WORLD FASTING CHAMPION, who is
dressed in a READY-MADE SUIT OF TWEED DITTOS (38_s._) supplied by
Messrs. LEVI, SOLOMANS & CO., of 293, Houndsditch, and is
* * *
SEATED ON THE GENT'S EASY LOUNGE CHAIR, forming one of the articles of
the highly-upholstered dining-room set (as advertised) by Messrs.
GLUBBINS, KNICKERBOCKER & CO., of Tottenham Court Road, where at any
hour he can be seen
* * *
SIPPING ALTERNATELY FROM TWO LARGE CUT-GLASS TUMBLERS, furnished by
Messrs. WAGBITTER AND GROANS, of New Oxford Street,
* * *
BLINKER'S CONCENTRATED COD-LIVER EMULSION MELTED FATS (57_s._ the dozen
pints, bottles included), and
* * *
SPARKLING SINGULARIS WATER, bottled in nine-gallon flagons by the
Company at their extensive works in the Isle of Dogs, with which, to the
satisfaction of his friends, he succeeds in washing down, in turns,
hourly,
* * *
BINNACLE'S CONDENSED DIGESTIVE BOILED PORK LOZENGES, supplied by all
respectable Chemists throughout the United Kingdom, in 1_s._ 9_d._,
3_s._ 9_d._, 13_s._ 3_d._, 27_s._ 6_d._, and 105_s._ Boxes;
* * *
SIDES, BREASTS, FORE-QUARTERS, SADDLES, AND ENTIRE WHOLE OR HALF-SHEEP
OF PRIME BOLIVIAN MUTTON delivered daily by the Company's carts, from
their own Refrigerators;
* * *
WINKER'S INVALID INFANT'S PICK-ME-UP CORDIAL--(WINKER & CO., the
Manufactory, Hoxton-on-Sea);
* * *
TINNED AMERICAN OYSTERS. FINE SELECTED THIRDS. Guaranteed by the
Blue-Point Company, Wriggleville, Texas, U.S.A.; and
* * *
ZWINGERINE, the new marvellous nerve and tone-restoring, and muscle,
bone, and fat-producing agency, EACH TEASPOONFUL OF WHICH contains, in a
highly-concentrated form, three bottles of port wine, soup, fish, cut
off the joint, two _entrees_, sweet, cheese, and celery, as testified to
by a public analyst of standing and repute. Agents, GLUM & CO, Seven
Dials.
* * *
THE FASTING CHAMPION continues to receive visitors as above from 6 A.M.
to 11 P.M. daily, and may be inspected, watched, stared at, pinched,
questioned, and examined generally, by his admiring friends, the British
Public, in his private _sanctum_ at the Royal Quartpotarium, till
further notice.
* * * * *
IN THE KNOW.--(By Mr. Punch's Own Prophet.)
CARDINAL RICHELIEU once observed to Madame DE ST. GALMIER, that if Kings
could but know the folly of their subjects they would hesitate at
nothing. Mr. JEREMY evidently knows thoroughly how stupendously
cabbage-headed his readers are, for he never hesitates to put forward
the most astounding and muddy-minded theories. For instance, he asks us
this week to believe that _Saladin_ ought to have won the Shropshire
Handicap, because he was known to be a better horse, from two miles up
to fifty, than the four other horses who faced the starter. If this
stuff had been addressed to an audience of moon-calves and mock-turtles
it might have passed muster, but, thank Heaven, we are not _all_ quite
so low as that yet. Let me therefore tell Mr. JEREMY, that when a horse
like _Saladin_, whose back-bone is like the Himalaya mountains, and his
pastern joints like a bottle-nosed whale with a cold in his head, comes
to the post with two stone and a beating to his credit, and four hoofs
about the size of a soup-tureen to his legs, he can never be _expected_
to get the better of slow roarers like _Carmichael_ and _Busby_, to say
nothing of _Whatnot_ and _Pumblechook_. It is well known, of course,
that the latter has been in hard training for a month, and a better
horse at cornbin or bran-mash never stepped. _Saladin_ won, I know, but
it was for reasons very different from those given by Mr. JEREMY.
There is nothing new about the Derby horses. I believe they are mostly
in training, but I reserve my opinion until I see what the addle-pates
who own them mean to do.
* * * * *
"A SELF-MADE MAN", said Mrs. R., thoughtfully, "is the artichoke of his
own fortunes."
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE MODERN HERCULES AND THE PYGMIES.
(_Extracts from the Diary of an Explorer in the Society Islands._)]
From the bears, apes, and foxes with which the thickets of the great
forest of Societas abounded, it is but a step to the Pygmy tribes whom
we found inhabiting the tract of country between the Uperten and the
Suburban rivers. The Pygmies are as old as Swelldom, as ubiquitous as
Boredom, the two secular pests of the earth. You will remember that
Hercules once fell asleep in the deserts of Africa, after his conquest
of Antaeus, and was | 1,727.584783 |
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[Frontispiece: "'It is most strange, madam... that you should not be
certain of the name of your husband.'" (Chapter XIII.)]
THE WAYFARERS
BY
J. C. SNAITH
Author of "Mistress Dorothy Marvin," "Fierceheart, the Soldier," "Lady
Barbarity," etc
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO
1902
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I THE DEVIL TO PAY
II LADY CYNTHIA CAREW
III INTRODUCES A MERITORIOUS HEBREW
IV WE START UPON OUR PILGRIMAGE
V I VINDICATE THE NATIONAL CHARACTER.
VI CONTAINS A FEW TRITE UTTERANCES ON THE GENTLE PASSION
VII AN INSTRUCTIVE CHAPTER; IN WHICH IT IS SHOWN THAT IF A LITTLE
LEARNING IS DANGEROUS, MUCH MAY BE CALAMITOUS
VIII WE GET US TO CHURCH
IX WE GO UPON OUR WEDDING TOUR
X WE ARE BESET BY A HEAVY MISFORTUNE
XI I COME A PRISONER TO A FAMILIAR HOUSE, AND FIND STRANGE COMPANY
XII I DISCOVER A GREAT AUTHOR WHERE I LEAST EXPECT TO FIND ONE
XIII I FIND OUT CYNTHIA: CYNTHIA FINDS OUT ME
XIV AMANTIUM IRAE
XV AMORIS INTEGRATIO: WE ARE CLAPT IN THE STOCKS
XVI WE ARE SO SORELY TRIED THAT WE FAIN HAVE RECOURSE TO OUR WITS
XVII WE MAKE ACQUAINTANCE WITH A PERSON OF DISTINCTION
XVIII CONTAINS A PANEGYRIC ON THE GENTLE PASSION
XIX WE APPEAR IN A NEW CHARACTER
XX DISADVANTAGES OF A CHAISE AND A PAIR OF HORSES
XXI WE REAP THE FRUITS OF OUR AUDACITY
XXII THE LAST
THE WAYFARERS
CHAPTER I
THE DEVIL TO PAY
When I opened my eyes it was one o'clock in the day. The cards lay on
the table in a heap, and on the carpet in a greater one, the dead
bottles in their midst. The candles were burnt out; their holders were
foul with smoke and grease. As I sat up on the couch on which I had
thrown myself at nine o clock in the morning in the desperation of
fatigue, and stretched the sleep out of my limbs and rubbed it out of
my brain the afternoon strove through the drawn blinds palely. The
half-light gave such a sombre and appropriate touch to the profligate
scene that it would have moved a moralist to a disquisition of five
pages. But whatever my errors, that accusation was never urged against
me, even by my friends. You may continue in your reading, therefore,
in no immediate peril. The ashes were long since grey in the grate;
there was an intolerable reek of wine-dregs and stale tobacco in the
air; and the condition of the furniture, stained and broken and tumbled
in all directions contributed the final disorder to the room. Indeed
the only article in it, allowing no exception to myself, that had
emerged from the orgy of the night without an impediment to its dignity
was the picture of my grandfather, that pious, learned nobleman,
hanging above the mantelpiece. A chip off a corner of his frame might
be urged even against him; but what was that in comparison with the
philosophical severity with which he gazed upon the scene? In the
grave eyes, the grim mouth, the great nose of his family, he retained
the contemplative grandeur which had enabled him to give to the world
in ten ponderous tomes a Commentary on the _Analects of Confucius_.
The space they had occupied on my book-shelf, between the _Newgate
Calendar_ and the _History of Jonathan Wild the Great_, was now
unfilled, since these memorials of the great mind of my ancestor had
lain three weeks with the Jews.
By the time my wits had returned I was able to recall the fact that the
previous night, whose evidences I now regarded, was the last I should
enjoy. It was the extravagant ending to a raffish comedy. Finis was
already written in my history. As I sat yawning on my couch I was a
thing of the past; I had ceased to be; to-morrow at this hour I should
be forgotten by the world. I had had my chin off the bridle for ten
years, and had used that period to whirl my heels without regard to the
consequences. I had played high, drunk deep, paid my court to Venus,
gained the notoriety of the intrigue and the duel--in fact, I had taken
every degree in rakishness with the highest honours. I had spent or
lost every penny of my patrimony, and fourteen thousand pounds besides;
I could no longer hold my creditors at bay; various processes were out
against me; the Jews had my body, as surely as the devil had my soul.
But it was more particularly a stroke of ill-fortune that had hastened
on the evil day. The single hair whereon the sword over my head had
been suspended must have been severed sooner or later, even had it not
suddenly snapped at four of the clock of the previous afternoon. At
that hour I had killed a cornet of the Blues within a hundred yards of
the Cocoa Tree, in the presence of my greatest enemy. Lord knows it
was in fair fight, marred it is true by a little heat on the side of
both; but the only witness of the deed, and he an accidental one, was
Humphrey Waring, my rival and my enemy. He of all men was best able to
turn such a misadventure on my part to account. The moment poor
Burdock sank sobbing to death in Waring's arms, and he cried with his
grim laugh, "You will need to run pretty swift, my lord, to prove your
_alibi_," I knew that fate had reserved for the last the cruellest
trick of all she had it in her power to play.
Possessed by the knowledge that I must inevitably perish in a rope, or
less fortunately in a debtor's jail, for the instant the hand of the
law was laid on my coat, the state of my affairs would never permit it
to be removed. I went home and hastily summoned a few choice spirits
to my lodgings in Jermyn Street that evening; and I spent the last
night of my freedom in that society, expecting at every cast of the
cards and every clink of the bottle to hear the boots of the "traps"
from Bow Street upon the stairs. Yet all night long they never came,
and here it was one o'clock in the afternoon, and I still in the
enjoyment of my liberty. And now, as I sat in the sanity of daylight,
refreshed by an excellent sleep, I felt myself still to be my own man.
Therefore I called to Francois my valet to draw up the window-blinds,
and to have the goodness to bring me a bottle of wine.
This blackguard of an Irishman bore in baptism the name of Terence, but
I called him Francois, because one holds that to be as indubitably the
name of a valet as Dick of an ostler, and Thomas of a clergyman.
Besides, I have such an hereditary instinct for polite letters, that I
would as lief have called him after his own honoured patronymic as by
that of our excellent Flaccus himself. Francois waded through the
kings and queens and aces on the carpet, let the daylight in, and then
withdrew to fetch a clean glass and a bottle of Tokay.
"The last bottle, me lord," says he.
"We drain the last bottle on the last day," says I. "Can aught be more
fitting? _Finis coronal opus_!"
As this was the last time I should take the cup of pleasure to my lips,
I made the utmost of it; sipped it carefully, turned it over on my
tongue, held the glass up to the light, meditated on my past a little,
on my present case, and what lay before me. I suppose it was a
particular generous quality of the wine that kindled a new warmth in my
spirit. Why, I asked myself, should I sit here, tamely waiting on my
fate? Why should I be content to have my person contaminated with the
dirty hands that would hale it to an ignominious death, or a thing less
bearable? Why should I not cheat the Jews and my evil fortune in this
last hour? Nothing could be easier than to leave the law in the lurch.
This course was so consonant to the desperation of my temper and
affairs, that I had no sooner entered on the second glass of this last
bottle, than I was fully convinced of its propriety. It was surely
more fitting that a gentleman should select the hour and the manner of
his exit from the world, than submit like a common ruffian to the
dictation of the law in these important matters. To die by the hand of
oneself is not the highest sort of death, it is true; but I am one who
would advance, although the ancient and best writers are against me in
this matter, that there are occasions when a man may best serve his
dignity by renouncing that which has ceased to be a cherished object to
him. In this, at least, I have Cato the younger with me.
Indeed I had already taken this resolve rather than submit my pride to
those inconveniences that so depress the spirit, when a third glass of
wine put me in mind of a thing the most importunate of any. There was
a certain lady. Nothing can be more ludicrous than to consider of a
ruined gamester broken by Fortune on her wheel, pausing in his last
extremity for such a reason. But there it was. I could have wished to
see the tears of defiance once again | 1,728.378563 |
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produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
HISTORY
OF
ANCIENT ART
BY
DR. FRANZ VON REBER
DIRECTOR OF THE BAVARIAN ROYAL AND STATE GALLERIES OF PAINTINGS
PROFESSOR IN THE UNIVERSITY AND POLYTECHNIC OF MUNICH
Revised by the Author
_TRANSLATED AND AUGMENTED_
BY
JOSEPH THACHER CLARKE
WITH 310 ILLUSTRATIONS AND A GLOSSARY OF TECHNICAL TERMS
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1882, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
_All rights reserved._
The application of the historic method to the study of the Fine Arts,
begun with imperfect means by Winckelmann one hundred and twenty years
ago, has been productive of the best results in our own days. It has
introduced order into a subject previously confused, disclosing the
natural progress of the arts, and the relations of the arts of the
different races by whom they have been successively practised. It has
also had the more important result of securing to the fine arts their
due place in the history of mankind as the chief record of various
stages of civilization, and as the most trustworthy expression of the
faith, the sentiments, and the emotions of past ages, and often even of
their institutions and modes of life. The recognition of the
significance of the fine arts in these respects is, indeed, as yet but
partial, and the historical study of art does not hold the place in the
scheme of liberal education which it is certain before long to attain.
One reason of this fact lies in the circumstance that few of the general
historical treatises on the fine arts that have been produced during the
last fifty years have been works of sufficient learning or judgment to
give them authority as satisfactory sources of instruction. Errors of
statement and vague speculations have abounded in them. The subject,
moreover, has been confused, especially in Germany, by the intrusion of
metaphysics into its domain, in the guise of a professed but spurious
science of aesthetics.
Under these conditions, a history of the fine arts that should state
correctly what is known concerning their works, and should treat their
various manifestations with intelligence and in just proportion, would
be of great value to the student. Such, within its limits as a manual
and for the period which it covers, is Dr. Reber's _History of Ancient
Art_. So far as I am aware, there is no compend of information on the
subject in any language so trustworthy and so judicious as this. It
serves equally well as an introduction to the study and as a treatise to
which the advanced student may refer with advantage to refresh his
knowledge of the outlines of any part of the field.
The work was originally published in 1871; but so rapid has been the
progress of discovery during the last ten years that, in order to bring
the book up to the requirements of the present time, a thorough revision
of it was needed, together with the addition of much new matter and many
new illustrations. This labor of revision and addition has been jointly
performed by the author and the translator, the latter having had the
advantage of doing the greater part of his work with the immediate
assistance of Dr. Reber himself, and of bringing to it fresh resources
of his own, the result of original study and investigation. The
translator having been absent from the country, engaged in archaeological
research, during the printing of the volume, the last revision and the
correction of the text have been in the hands of Professor William R.
Ware, of the School of Mines of Columbia College.
CHARLES ELIOT NORTON.
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS, _May_, 1882.
In view of the great confusion which results from an irregular
orthography of Greek proper names, a return to the original spelling of
words not fully Anglicized may need an explanation, but no apology: it
is only adopting a system already followed by scholars of the highest
standing. The Romans, until the advent of that second classical revival
in which the present century is still engaged, served as mediums for all
acquaintance with Hellenic civilization. They employed Greek names, with
certain alterations agreeable to the Latin tongue, blunting and
coarsening the delicate sounds of Greek speech, much in the same manner
as they debased the artistic forms of Greek architecture by a mechanical
system of design. The clear [Greek: on] became _um_, [Greek: os]
was changed to _us_, [Greek: ei] to _e_ or _i_, etc. This Latinized
nomenclature, like the Roman triglyph and Tuscan capital, was
exclusively adopted by the early Renaissance, until, with the increasing
knowledge of Greek lands and works of art, names were introduced which
do not happen to occur in the writings of Roman authors. These were
either changed in accordance with the more or less variable standard in
use during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, or were adopted in
their Greek form without change, the latter method being more and more
generally employed. This has gradually led to a partial revision of
Greek names and their spelling. Zeus and Hermes, Artemis and Athene,
have resumed, as Greek deities, their original titles;--Suni_um_ and
Ass_us_ have been changed to Sunion and Assos; while other names have
only been reformed in part, as in the case of the unfortunate
Polycleitos, who at times appears as Polycl_e_tos, and at times as
Polycleit_u_s. Confusion and misunderstanding cannot but result from
this unreasonable triple system of Latinized, Anglicized, and Greek
orthography. Peirithoos may be sought in alphabetically classified works
of reference under Per and Pir as well as under Peir. [Greek: Pergamon],
Pergamon, is written Pergamum, Pergamus, and Pergamos, in the
two latter forms being naturally confused with the Cretan [Greek:
Pergamos], Pergamos, which, in its turn, is Latinized to
Pergamus. In the present book the Greek spelling of Greek names has been
adopted in all those cases where the word has not been fully Anglicized;
that is to say, changed in _pronunciation_, when it would sound pedantic
to employ its original form, as, for instance, to speak of the
well-known Paestum and Lucian as Poseidonia and Loukianos. The English
alphabet provides, however, two letters for the Greek [Greek: kappa],
and the more familiar _c_ has been employed, as in Corinth,
acropolis, etc., except in cases where the true sound is not thereby
conveyed,--namely, before _e_, _i_, and _y_,--when the _k_ is
substituted. Moreover, the final [Greek: ai] is transformed to _ae_,
according to the universal usage of our tongue.
JOSEPH THACHER CLARKE.
CONTENTS.
EGYPT.
PAGE
The Delta. The Oldest Monuments, if
not the most Ancient Civilization of
the World 1, 2
Changeless Continuity of Life and
Art 2
ARCHITECTURE.
The Age, Purpose, and Architectural
Significance of the Pyramids 3-5
The Pyramids of Gizeh 5-7
Variety of Pyramidal Forms 8, 9
The Pyramids of Saccara, Meydoun,
Dashour, Abousere, and Illahoun 9-12
Table of Dimensions 12
The Younger Pyramids of Nubia. Truncated
Pyramids 12
Rock-cut Tombs 13
Development of Column from Pier 14
The Tombs at Beni-hassan 14, 15
Development of the Lotos-column 16, 17
The Invasion of the Hycsos. Restriction
of the Prismatic Shaft. Extended
Application of the Floral Column
in the New Theban Empire 18, 19
The Calyx Capital 20, 21
Piers with Figures of Osiris and Typhon.
Entablature 21
Cavern Sepulchres 22
Temple Plan, Obelisks 23
Peristyle Court 25
Hypostyle Hall 26, 27
The Dwellings of Kings and Priests 28
Peripteral Temples 29
Rock-cut Temples 30
The Monuments at Abou-Simbel 31, 32
Palatial and Domestic Architecture 33
Interiors 34
The Labyrinth 35
Unimportant Character of Secular Architecture 36
SCULPTURE.
Fundamental and Changeless Peculiarities 36
Conventional Types 37
The Formation of the Head 38
Head-dresses. Conjunction of Human
Trunks and Animal Heads 39
The Body. Lack of Progressiveness
and of History 40
Animal Forms 41
Materials 42
Reliefs 43
Coilanaglyphics 44
The Variety and Interest of the Subjects
Illustrated 45
PAINTING.
Intimate Relation to Sculpture. Hieroglyphics 46
Painting as an Architectural Decoration.
Retrospect 47
CHALDAEA, BABYLONIA, AND ASSYRIA.
The Traditional Age. The Land and
People 48
Building Materials. Clay and Bitumen 49
Perishable Character of the Monuments.
Hills of Rubbish Recognized as
Cities 50
ARCHITECTURE.
_Chaldaea._
The Ruins of Mugheir, or Ur 50
Warka and Abou-Sharein 51
The Principle of the Arch 52
Political History 53
_Babylon._
The Fabulous Account of Herodotos 54
The Temple Pyramid at Borsippa 56
Palace Structures. The Hanging Gardens
of Semiramis 57
Private Dwellings. Works of Engineering 58
_Assyria._
Nineveh 59
The Discoveries of Layard and Botta 60
The Hills of Coyundjic and Nebbi-Jonas 61
Royal Dwellings 62
The Palace at Kisr-Sargon 63-65
Terrace Pyramids 66
Lighting and Roofing 66, 67
The Restriction of Columnar Architecture 68
The Forms of Small Columns 69-71
Vaulted Construction 71
The Pointed Arch 72
The General Appearance of the Palaces 73
Sacred Architecture 74
Terrace Pyramids 75
The Cella 76
The Dwellings of the Priests 77
Altars and Obelisks 78
Domestic Architecture 79, 80
SCULPTURE.
Little Represented in Chaldaea 81
Babylonian Seals and Gems 82
Enamelled Tiles 83
Statues 85
Conventional Types 85 | 1,728.477629 |
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FROM SAIL TO STEAM
RECOLLECTIONS OF NAVAL LIFE
BY
CAPT. A. T. MAHAN
U.S.N. (RETIRED)
AUTHOR OF
"THE INFLUENCE OF SEA-POWER UPON HISTORY" ETC.
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
MCMVII
Copyright, 1906, 1907, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
Published October, 1907.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
PREFACE v
INTRODUCING MYSELF ix
I. NAVAL CONDITIONS BEFORE THE WAR OF SECESSION--THE
OFFICERS AND SEAMEN 3
II. NAVAL CONDITIONS BEFORE THE WAR OF SECESSION--THE
VESSELS 25
III. THE NAVAL ACADEMY IN ITS RELATION TO THE NAVY AT
LARGE 45
IV. THE NAVAL ACADEMY IN ITS INTERIOR WORKINGS--PRACTICE
CRUISES 70
V. MY FIRST CRUISE AFTER GRADUATION--NAUTICAL CHARACTERS 103
VI. MY FIRST CRUISE AFTER GRADUATION--NAUTICAL SCENES
AND SCENERY--THE APPROACH OF DISUNION 127
VII. INCIDENTS OF WAR AND BLOCKADE SERVICE 156
VIII. INCIDENTS OF WAR AND BLOCKADE SERVICE--CONTINUED 179
IX. A ROUNDABOUT ROAD TO CHINA 196
X. CHINA AND JAPAN 229
XI. THE TURNING OF A LONG LANE--HISTORICAL, NAVAL, AND
PERSONAL 266
XII. EXPERIENCES OF AUTHORSHIP 302
PREFACE
When I was a boy, some years before I obtained my appointment in the
navy, I spent many of those happy hours that only childhood knows
poring over the back numbers of a British service periodical, which
began its career in 1828, with the title _Colburn's United Service
Magazine_; under which name, save and except the Colburn, it still
survives. Besides weightier matters, its early issues abounded in
reminiscences by naval officers, then yet in the prime of life, who
had served through the great Napoleonic wars. More delightful still,
it had numerous nautical stories, based probably on facts, serials
under such entrancing titles as "Leaves from my Log Book," by Flexible
Grommet, Passed Midshipman; a pen-name, the nautical felicity of which
will be best appreciated by one who has had the misfortune to handle a
grommet[1] which was not flexible. Then there was "The Order Book," by
Jonathan Oldjunk; an epithet so suggestive of the waste-heap, even to
a landsman's ears, that one marvels a man ever took it unto himself,
especially in that decline of life when we are more sensitive on the
subject of bodily disabilities than once we were. Old junk, however,
can yet be "worked up," as the sea expression goes, into other uses,
and that perhaps was what Mr. Oldjunk meant; his early adventures as a
young "luff" were, for economical reasons, worked up into their
present literary shape, with the addition of a certain amount of
extraneous matter--love-making, and the like. Indeed, so far from
uselessness, that veteran seaman and rigid economist, the Earl of St.
Vincent, when First Lord of the Admiralty, had given to a specific
form of old junk--viz., "shakings"--the honors of a special order, for
the preservation thereof, the which forms the staple of a comical
anecdote in Basil Hall's _Fragments of Voyages and Travels_; itself a
superior example of the instructive "recollections," of less literary
merit, which but for Colburn's would have perished.
Any one who has attempted to write history | 1,728.576347 |
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MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF LOUIS XIV. AND OF THE REGENCY
Being the Secret Memoirs of the Mother of the Regent,
MADAME ELIZABETH-CHARLOTTE OF BAVARIA, DUCHESSE D'ORLEANS.
BOOK 2.
Philippe I., Duc d'Orleans
Philippe II., Duc d'Orleans, Regent of France
The Affairs of the Regency
The Duchesse d'Orleans, Consort of the Regent
The Dauphine, Princess of Bavaria.
Adelaide of Savoy, the Second Dauphine
The First Dauphin
The Duke of Burgundy, the Second Dauphin
Petite Madame
SECTION VIII.--PHILIPPE I., DUC D'ORLEANS.
Cardinal Mazarin perceiving that the King had less readiness than his
brother, was apprehensive lest the latter should become too learned; he
therefore enjoined the preceptor to let him play, and not to suffer him
to apply to his studies.
"What can you be thinking of, M. la Mothe le Vayer," said the Cardinal;
"would you try to make the King's brother a clever man? If he should be
more wise than his brother, he would not be qualified for implicit
obedience."
Never were two brothers more totally different in their appearance than
the King and Monsieur. The King was tall, with light hair; his mien was
good and his deportment manly. Monsieur, without having a vulgar air,
was very small; his hair and eye-brows were quite black, his eyes were
dark, his face long and narrow, his nose large, his mouth small, and his
teeth very bad; he was fond of play, of holding drawing-rooms, of eating,
dancing and dress; in short, of all that women are fond of. The King
loved the chase, music and the theatre; my husband rather affected large
parties and masquerades: his brother was a man of great gallantry, and I
do not believe my husband was ever in love during his life. He danced
well, but in a feminine manner; he could not dance like a man because his
shoes were too high-heeled. Excepting when he was with the army, he | 1,728.576483 |
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Scientific and Religious Journal.
VOL. 1. OCTOBER, | 1,728.673659 |
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/oystersfish00murr
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
OYSTERS AND FISH
by
THOMAS J. MURREY
Author of “Fifty Soups,” “Fifty Salads,” “Breakfast
Dainties,” “Puddings and Dainty Desserts,” “The
Book of Entrées,” “Cookery for Invalids,”
“Practical Carving,” “Luncheon,” “Valuable
Cooking Recipes,” etc.
[Illustration]
New York
Copyright, 1888, by
Frederick A. Stokes & Brother
1888
DEDICATION.
_To the Inventor of the_
SHELDON CLOSE-TOP GAS-STOVE,
_Who spent the best part of his life solving the
perplexed problem of Economy in Fuel and
Labor in our homes, and to those gentlemen
connected with gas companies, who assisted
and encouraged him, this little work is
most respectfully dedicated by_
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 11
THE OYSTER 11
THE OYSTER SEASON 11
OYSTERS OUT OF SEASON 12
OYSTERS PRESERVED IN SHELL 12
THE FOOD OF THE OYSTER 14
FORMATION OF THE DEEP SHELL 14
COCK OYSTERS 15
GREEN OYSTERS 15
BANQUET OYSTERS 16
ORDERING OYSTERS FOR THE FAMILY TABLE 17
HOW OYSTERS SHOULD BE OPENED 18
HOW TO SERVE RAW OYSTERS 18
COLLATION SERVICE 19
HOW TO EAT A RAW OYSTER 19
A BARREL OF OYSTERS 20
READ THIS! 20
COOKED OYSTERS 21
STEWED OYSTERS 21
PHILADELPHIA FRIED OYSTERS 22
CURRY OF OYSTERS 24
PICKLED-OYSTER OMELET 24
DEVILED OYSTERS ON TOAST 24
PICKLED OYSTERS 24
SCALLOPED OYSTERS 25
OYSTER SALAD 25
PLAIN FRIED OYSTERS 26
MISS PARLOA’S “NEW COOK-BOOK” 26
OYSTER TOAST 26
OYSTER OMELET 26
OYSTERS, BROILED 27
TRIPE WITH OYSTERS 27
OYSTERS EN BROCHETTE 27
FRIED OYSTERS 28
OYSTER AND CANNED SALMON PIE 28
OYSTER PATTIES 28
OYSTERS À LA POULETTE 29
PIE OF OYSTERS AND SCALLOPS 29
STEAMED OYSTERS 30
TO SERVE STEAMED OYSTERS 30
ROAST OYSTERS 31
BAKED OYSTERS 31
CLAMS 31
LITTLE-NECK CLAMS 31
SOFT CLAMS IN CHAFING-DISH 32
STEWED LITTLE-NECK CLAMS 33
SOFT CLAMS 33
SOFT-SHELL CLAMS SCALLOPED 33
CLAM TOAST 34
CLAM BROTH 34
CLAM FRITTERS 34
FRIED SOFT CLAMS 35
CRABS 35
HARD-SHELL CRABS 35
CRAB PATTIES, CREAM SAUCE 36
SOFT-SHELL CRABS 37
THE CARE OF SOFT CRABS 38
CRABS, SOFT-SHELL 39
CRAB CROQUETTES 39
CRAB PATTIES, À LA BECHAMEL 40
CRABS, À L’AMÉRICAINE 41
CRABS, DEVILED 41
SCALLOPS 42
SCALLOP BROTH 42
SMALL PATTIES OF SCALLOPS 43
FRIED SCALLOPS 43
SCALLOPS EN BROCHETTE 44
STEWED SCALLOPS 44
MUSSELS 44
THE MUSSEL 44
THE LOBSTER 45
REMARKS ON THE LOBSTER 45
THE SEASON FOR LOBSTER 45
SOFT-SHELL LOBSTER NOT EDIBLE 46
SELECTING LOBSTERS 46
VALUE OF THE LOBSTER AS FOOD 46
BROILED LOBSTER 47
LOBSTER CROQUETTES WITH PEASE 48
LOBSTERS EN BROCHETTE 48
DEVILED LOBSTER 49
STEWED LOBSTER, À LA CRÉOLE 49
CURRY OF LOBSTER 50
LOBSTER SALAD 50
THE OYSTER CRAB 51
TO SERVE OYSTER CRABS 52
OYSTER-CRAB OMELET 52
OYSTER-CRAB SAUCE 52
ACKNOWLEDGMENT 53
SHRIMPS 53
MARKET PRICE OF SHRIMPS 54
SHRIMP OMELET 54
SHRIMP SAUCE 54
PRAWNS 54
CURRY OF PRAWNS 55
PRAWNS, DEVILED, EN COQUILLE 55
PRAWNS, SAUTÉ, À LA MARENGO 55
PRAWN SALAD 56
CRAYFISH 56
CRAYFISH OMELET 57
SALMON 57
SALMON STEAK 57
CANNED SALMON 57
SALMON PATTIES 58
SALMON SURPRISE 59
SALMON À LA CRÉOLE 59
SALMON PIE 60
SALMON IN JELLY 60
SALMON OMELET 61
SALMON, GERMAN STYLE 61
SALMON À L’ITALIENNE 61
SALMON À LA HOLLANDAISE 62
SALMON, HUNTER’S STYLE 62
BOUILLABAISSE 63
CODFISH 63
BOILED CODFISH, OYSTER SAUCE 63
CODFISH TONGUES 64
CODFISH STEAK 64
NEW-ENGLAND CODFISH BALLS 65
BAKED COD 66
SALT CODFISH WITH CREAM 66
SCROD 67
BROOK TROUT 67
BROOK TROUT, SPORTSMAN STYLE 68
BROILED TROUT 69
BROOK TROUT, BAKED 69
BROOK TROUT, BOILED 70
MISCELLANEOUS 70
CATFISH, FRIED 70
TENDERLOIN TROUT 71
FRICASSEED EELS 71
EEL PATTIES 72
STEWED EELS, HOBOKEN TURTLE CLUB STYLE 72
PAN BASS, ANCHOVY BUTTER 73
FILLET OF FLOUNDER, TARTAR SAUCE 74
FRIED TOMCODS 75
BROILED SALT CODFISH 75
BROILED SALT MACKEREL 76
FRIED PORGIES WITH SALT PORK 77
FISH CURRIES 78
A PLAIN FISH CURRY 78
CURRY OF SCALLOPS 78
CURRY OF CRAYFISH 79
CURRY OF EELS, WITH RICE 79
CURRY OF SHAD ROE 79
CURRY OF FROGS’ LEGS 80
BROILED WEAKFISH 80
BAKED WHITEFISH, BORDEAUX SAUCE 81
HALIBUT, EGG SAUCE 82
EGG SAUCE 82
FRIED BUTTERFISH 82
BROILED SHAD 82
BAKED SHAD 83
SHAD ROE À LA POULETTE 83
BROILED ROYANS 84
BROILED SARDINES 84
BROILED SMELTS, SAUCE TARTARE 84
SMELTS FRIED, SAUCE TARTARE 85
BROILED WHITEFISH 85
SHEEP’S-HEAD WITH DRAWN BUTTER 85
DRAWN BUTTER 86
BROILED SHEEP’S-HEAD 86
INTRODUCTORY.
Would it not be beneficial, were the average American to substitute
fish for the everlasting steak and chop of the breakfast-table?
For the sake of variety, if for no other reason, we should eat more
fish; and it need not always be fried or broiled. A well-made fish stew
or a curry should be acceptable to the majority of us, and undoubtedly
would be if appetizingly prepared.
This little work does not by any means propose to exhaust the subject
of sea-food, for the subject is almost inexhaustible; but it places
within the reach of all a series of recipes and suggestions extremely
valuable to the average housewife.
THE OYSTER.
=The Oyster Season= opens in the city of New York on the first day
of September, and closes on the last day of April in each year. The
annual amount of business done in the oyster trade is close on to
$5,000,000. Each | 1,728.673917 |
2023-11-16 18:45:53.3549690 | 7,433 | 8 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover]
THE
RELIGION OF ANCIENT
PALESTINE
IN THE SECOND MILLENNIUM B.C.
_In the Light of Archaeology and the Inscriptions_
By
STANLEY A. COOK, M.A.
EX-FELLOW, AND LECTURER IN HEBREW AND SYRIAC, GONVILLE AND CAIUS
COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE; AUTHOR OF 'A GLOSSARY OF THE ARAMAIC
INSCRIPTIONS,' 'THE LAWS OF MOSES AND THE CODE OF
HAMMURABI,' 'CRITICAL NOTES ON OLD
TESTAMENT HISTORY,' ETC.
LONDON
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO LTD
1908
{v}
PREFACE
The following pages deal with the religion of Ancient Palestine, more
particularly in the latter half of the Second Millennium, B.C. They
touch upon the problem of the rise and development of Israelite
religion; a problem, however, which does not lie within the scope of
the present sketch (pp. 4, 114 _sq._). The Amarna tablets, Egyptian
records, and the results of recent excavation form the foundation, and
the available material has been interpreted in the light of comparative
religion. The aim has been to furnish a fairly self-contained
description of the general religious conditions from external or
non-biblical sources, and this method has been adopted partly on
account of the conflicting opinions which prevail among those who have
investigated the theology of the Old Testament in its relation to
modern research. Every effort has been made to present the evidence
accurately and fairly; although lack of space has prevented discussion
of the more interesting features of the old Palestinian religion and of
the various secondary problems which arose from time to time. {vi}
Some difficulty has been caused by the absence of any more or less
comprehensive treatment of the subject; although, from the list of
authorities at the end it will be seen that the most important sources
have only quite recently become generally accessible. These, and the
few additional bibliographical references given in the footnotes are
far from indicating the great indebtedness of the present writer to the
works of Oriental scholars and of those who have dealt with comparative
religion. Special acknowledgements are due to Mr. F. Ll. Griffith,
M.A., Reader in Egyptology, University of Oxford; to the Rev. C. H. W.
Johns, M.A., Lecturer in Assyriology, Queen's College, Cambridge, and
King's College, London; and to Mr. R. A. S. Macalister, M.A., F.S.A.,
Director of the Palestine Exploration Fund's excavations at Gezer.
These gentlemen enhanced their kindness by reading an early proof, and
by contributing valuable suggestions and criticisms. But the
responsibility for all errors of statement and opinion rests with the
present writer.
STANLEY A. COOK.
_July_ 1908.
{vii}
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. INTRODUCTORY:
The Subject--Method--Survey of Period and Sources--The Land and People,
... 1-12
II. SACRED SITES:
The Sanctuary of Gezer--Other Sacred Places--Their Persistence--The
Modern Places of Cult,... 13-23
III. SACRED OBJECTS:
Trees--Stones--Images and Symbols,... 24-32
IV. SACRED RITES AND PRACTICES:
General Inferences--Disposal of the Dead--Jar-burial--Human
Sacrifice--Foundation Sacrifice--Importance of Sacrifice--Broken
Offerings--'Holy' and 'Unclean'--Sacred Animals,... 33-49
V. THE WORLD OF SPIRITS:
Awe--Charms--Oracles--Representatives of Supernatural Powers--The
Dead--Animism--The Divinity of Kings--Recognised Gods,... 50-65
{viii}
VI. THE GODS:
Their Vicissitudes--Their Representative Character--In Political
Treaties and Covenants--The Influence of Egypt--Treatment of Alien
Gods,... 66-82
VII. THE PANTHEON:
Asiatic Deities in Egypt--Sutekh--Baal--Resheph--
Kadesh--Anath--Astarte--Ashirta Sun-deity--(Shamash)--Moon-god (Sin)
--Addu (Hadad)--Dagon--Nebo--Ninib
--Shalem--Gad--'Righteousness'--Nergal --Melek--Yahweh (Jehovah),...
83-97
VIII. CONTEMPORARY THOUGHT:
Miscellaneous Ideas--The Underlying Identity of Thought--Influence of
Babylonia--Conclusion,... 98-115
PRINCIPAL SOURCES AND WORKS OF REFERENCE,... 116
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE,... 118
INDEX,... 119
{1}
THE RELIGION OF ANCIENT PALESTINE
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
+The Subject.+--By the Religion of Ancient Palestine is meant that of
the Semitic land upon which was planted the ethical monotheism of
Judaism. The subject is neither the growth of Old Testament theology,
nor the religious environment of the Israelite teachers: it anticipates
by several centuries the first of the great prophets whose writings
have survived, and it takes its stand in the second millennium B.C.,
and more especially in its latter half. It deals with the internal and
external religious features which were capable of being shaped into the
forms with which every one is familiar, and our Palestine is that of
the Patriarchs, of Moses, Joshua, and the Judges, an old land which
modern research has placed in a new light.
Successive discoveries of contemporary {2} historical and archaeological
material have made it impossible to ignore either the geographical
position of Palestine, which exposes it to the influence of the
surrounding seats of culture, or its political history, which has
constantly been controlled by external circumstances. Although
Palestine reappears as only a small fraction of the area dominated by
the ancient empires of Egypt and Western Asia, the uniqueness of its
experiences can be more vividly realised. If it is found to share many
forms of religious belief and custom with its neighbours, one is better
able to sever the features which were by no means the exclusive
possession of Israel from those which were due to specific influences
shaping them to definite ends, and the importance of the little land in
the history of humanity can thereby be more truly and permanently
estimated.
+Method.+--Although Palestine was the land of Judaism and of
Christianity, and has subsequently been controlled by Mohammedanism, it
has preserved common related elements of belief, which have formed, as
it were, part of the unconscious inheritance of successive generations.
They have not been ousted by those positive religions which traced
their origin to deliberate and epoch-making {3} innovators, and they
survive to-day as precious relics for the study of the past. Indeed,
the _comparative method_, which investigates points of resemblance and
difference among widely-severed peoples, can avail itself in our case
of Oriental conservatism, and may range over a single but remarkably
extensive field. From the archaeology and inscriptions of Ancient
Babylonia to Punic Carthage, from the Old Testament to the writings of
Rabbinical Judaism, from classical, Syrian, and Arabian authors to the
observations of medieval and modern travellers, one may accumulate a
store of evidence which is mutually illustrative or supplementary. But
it would be incorrect to assume that every modern belief or rite in
Palestine, for example, necessarily represents the old religion: there
have been reversion and retrogression; some old practices have
disappeared, others have been modified or have received a new
interpretation. This warning is necessary, because one must be able to
trace the paths traversed by the several rites and beliefs which have
been arrested, before the religion of any age can be placed in its
proper historical perspective. Unfortunately the sources do not permit
us to do this for our period. The Old Testament, it is true, covers
this period, and its writers frequently {4} condemn the worship which
they regard as contrary to that of their national God. But the Old
Testament brings with it many serious problems, and, for several
reasons, it is preferable to approach the subject from external and
contemporary evidence. Although its incompleteness has naturally
restricted our treatment, the aim has been to describe, in as
self-contained a form as possible, the general religious conditions to
which this evidence points, and to indicate rather more incidentally
its bearing upon the numerous questions which are outside the scope of
the following pages.
+Survey of Period and Sources.+--Many different elements must have
coalesced in the history of Palestinian culture from the days of the
early palaeolithic and neolithic inhabitants. It is with no
rudimentary people that we are concerned, but with one acquainted with
bronze and exposed to the surrounding civilisations. The First
Babylonian Dynasty, not to ascend further, brings with it evidence for
relations between Babylonia and the Mediterranean coast-lands, and
intercourse between Egypt and Palestine dates from before the invasion
of the Hyksos.[1] With the expulsion of {5} these invaders (about 1580
B.C.), the monarchs of Egypt enter upon their great campaigns in
Western Asia, and Palestine comes before us in the clear light of
history. The Egyptian records of the Eighteenth to Twentieth Dynasties
furnish valuable information on the history of our period. Babylonia
and Assyria lie in the background, and the rival parties are the
kingdom of the Nile and the non-Semitic peoples of North Syria and Asia
Minor ('Hittites') whose influence can probably be traced as far south
as Jerusalem. Under Thutmose III. (fifteenth century) Egypt became the
queen of the known world and the meeting-place of its trade and
culture. But the northern peoples only awaited their opportunity, and
fresh campaigns were necessary before Amenhotep III. (about 1400 B.C.)
again secured the supremacy of Egypt. His successor, the idealist
Amenhotep IV. (or Ikhnaton), is renowned for his temporary religious
reform, and, at a time when Egypt's king was almost universally
recognised, he established in Egypt what was practically a universal
god. Meanwhile, amid internal confusion in Egypt, Hittites pressed
downwards from Asia Minor, seriously weakening the earlier Hittite
kingdom of Mitanni (North Syria and Mesopotamia). The cuneiform
tablets discovered in 1887 {6} at El-Amarna in Middle Egypt contain a
portion of the diplomatic correspondence between Western Asia (from
Babylonia to Cyprus) and the two Amenhoteps, and a few tablets in the
same script and of about the same age have since been unearthed at
Lachish and Taanach. It is at this age that we meet with the restless
Khabiri, a name which suggests a connection with that of the 'Hebrews.'
The progress of this later Hittite invasion cannot be clearly traced;
at all events, Sety I. (Sethos, about 1320 B.C.) was obliged to
recommence the work of his predecessors, but recovered little more than
Palestine. Ramses II., after much fighting, was able to conclude a
treaty with the Hittites (about 1290), the Egyptian version of which is
now being supplemented by the Hittite records of the proceedings.
Nevertheless, his successor, Merneptah, claims conquests extending from
Gezer to the Hittites, and among those who'salaamed' (_lit._ said
'peace') he includes the people (or tribe) Israel.
[1] For approximate dates, see the Chronological Table.
The active intercourse with the Aegean Isles during this age can be
traced from Asia Minor to Egypt (notably at El-Amarna), and movements
in the Levant had accompanied the pressure southwards from Asia Minor
in the time of the Amenhoteps. A similar combination was defeated by
{7} Ramses III. (about 1200); among its constituents the Philistines
may doubtless be recognised. But Egypt, now in the Twentieth Dynasty,
was fast losing its old strength, and the internal history of Palestine
is far from clear. Apart from the sudden extension of the Assyrian
empire to the Mediterranean under Tiglath-pileser I. (about 1100 B.C.),
no one great power, so far as is known, could claim supremacy over the
west; and our period comes to an end at a time when Palestine,
according to the Israelite historians, was laying the foundation of its
independent monarchy.
Palestine has always been open to the roaming tribes from Arabia and
the Syrian desert, tribes characteristically opposed to the inveterate
practices of settled agricultural life. Arabia, however, possessed
seats of culture, though their bearing upon our period cannot yet be
safely estimated. But a temple with an old-established and
contemporary cult, half Egyptian and half Semitic, has been recovered
by Professor Petrie at Serabit el-Khadem in the Sinaitic Peninsula, and
the archaeological evidence frequently illustrates the results of the
excavations in Palestine. Excavations have been undertaken at Tell
el-Hesy (Lachish), at various sites in the lowlands of Judah (including
Tell es-S[=a]fy, perhaps Gath), at {8} Gezer, Taanach, and Tell
el-Mutesellim (Megiddo), and, within the last few months, at Jericho.
Much of the evidence can be roughly dated, and fortunately the age
already illuminated by the Amarna tablets can be recognised. Its
culture associates it with North Syria and Asia Minor, and reveals
signs of intercourse with the Aegean Isles; but, as a whole, it is the
result of a gradual development, which extends without abrupt gaps to
the time of the Hebrew monarchy and beyond. Chronological
dividing-lines cannot yet be drawn, and consequently the archaeological
evidence which illustrates the 'Amarna' age is not characteristic of
that age alone.
+The Land and People.+--For practical purposes a distinction between
Palestine and Syria is unnecessary, apart from the political results of
their contiguity to Egypt and Asia Minor respectively. Egypt at the
height of its power was a vast empire of unprecedented wealth and
splendour, and the imported works of art or the descriptions of the
spoils of war speak eloquently of the stage which material culture had
reached throughout Western Asia. Even the small townships of Palestine
and Syria--the average city was a small fortified site surrounded by
dwellings, {9} sometimes with an outer wall--could furnish rich booty
of suits of armour, elegant furniture, and articles of gold and silver.
The pottery shows some little taste, music was enjoyed, and a great
tunnel hewn out of the rock at Gezer is proof of enterprise and skill.
The agricultural wealth of the land was famous. Thutmose III. found
grain'more plentiful than the sand of the shore'; and an earlier and
more peaceful visitor to N. Syria, Sinuhe (about 2000 B.C.), speaks of
the wine more plentiful than water, copious honey, abundance of oil,
all kinds of fruits, cereals, and numberless cattle. Sinuhe was
welcomed by a sheikh who gave him his eldest daughter and allowed him
to choose a landed possession. Life was simpler and less civilised
than in Egypt, but not without excitement. He led the tribesmen to
war, raiding pastures and wells, capturing the cattle, ravaging the
hostile districts. Indeed, 'lions and Asiatics' were the familiar
terror of Egyptian travellers, and the turbulence of the petty
chieftains, whose intrigues and rivalries swell the Amarna letters,
made any combined action among themselves exceptional and transitory.
We gather from these letters that foreign envoys were provided with
passports or credentials addressed to the 'Kings of Canaan,' to ensure
their speedy and safe passage {10} as they traversed the areas of the
different local authorities. Such royal commissioners are already met
with in the time of Sinuhe.
Egyptian monuments depict the people with a strongly marked Semitic
physiognomy, and that physical resemblance to the modern native which
the discovery of skeletons has since endorsed. We can mark their dark
olive complexion; the men with pointed beards and with thick bushy
hair, which is sometimes anointed, and the women with tresses waving
loosely over their shoulders. The slender maidens were admired and
sought after by the Egyptians, and later (in the Nineteenth Dynasty) we
find the men in request as gardeners and artisans, and some even hold
high positions in the administration of Egypt. The script and language
of Babylonia were still in use in the fifteenth century, although the
supremacy of that land belonged to the past; they were used in
correspondence between Western Asia and Egypt, also among the Hittites,
and even between the chieftains of Palestine. Apart from the tablets
found at Lachish and Taanach, several were unearthed at Jericho,
uninscribed and ready for use. But the native language in Palestine
and Syria was one which stands in the closest relation to the classical
Hebrew of the {11} Old Testament, and it differed only dialectically
from the Moabite inscription of Mesha (about 850 B.C.), the somewhat
later Hamathite record of Ben-hadad's defeat, and the Phoenician
inscriptions.
The general stock of ideas, too, was wholly in accord with Semitic, or
rather, Oriental thought, and the people naturally shared the
paradoxical characteristics of the old Oriental world:--a simplicity
and narrowness of thought, intensity, fanaticism, and even ferocity.[2]
To these must be added a keen imagination, necessarily quickened by the
wonderful variety of Palestinian scenery, which ranges from rugged and
forbidding deserts to enchanting valleys and forests. The life of the
people depended upon the soil and the agricultural wealth, and these
depended upon a climate of marked contrasts, which is found in some
parts (_e.g._ the lower Jordan valley) to be productive of physical and
moral enervation. In a word, the land is one whose religion cannot be
understood without an attentive regard to those factors which were
unalterable, and to those specific external influences which were
focussed upon it in the entire course of the Second {12} Millennium
B.C. We touch the land at a particular period in the course of its
very lengthy history; it is not the beginnings of its religion, but the
stage it had reached, which concerns us.
[2] See Th. Noeldeke, _Sketches from Eastern History_ (London, 1892),
chap. i., 'Some Characteristics of the Semitic Race.'
{13}
CHAPTER II
SACRED SITES
+The Sanctuary of Gezer.+--Of the excavations in Palestine none have
been so prolific or so fully described as those undertaken by Mr.
Macalister on behalf of the Palestine Exploration Fund at Gezer. This
ancient site lies about eighteen miles W.N.W. of Jerusalem, and,
between its two knolls, on a commanding position, one of the most
striking which Palestine can offer, were found the remains of a
sanctuary whose history must have extended over several centuries.
Gezer itself has thrown the strongest light upon the religion of the
land, and a brief description of its now famous 'high-place' will form
a convenient introduction to the cult and ritual of the period.
Looking eastwards we face eight rough monoliths, which stretch in a
slightly concave line, about 75 feet in length, from north to south.
They are erected upon a platform of stones about {14} 8 feet wide; they
vary from 5-1/2 ft. to 10 ft. in height, and have uniformly a fairer
surface on the western (front) than on the eastern side. Number 1, on
the extreme right, is the largest (10 ft. 2 in. high, and 4 ft. 7 in.
by 2 ft. 6 in.). Next (No. 2), stands the smallest (5 ft. 5 in. high,
1 ft. 2 in. by 1 ft. 9 in.), whose pointed top with polished spots on
the surface speaks of the reverent anointing, stroking and kissing
which holy stones still enjoy at the present day. No. 7, the last but
one on our extreme left, is of a limestone found around Jerusalem and
in other districts, but not in the neighbourhood of Gezer. Under what
circumstances this stone was brought hither can only be conjectured
(see p. 80). The pillar (7 ft. 3 in. high, 2 ft. 10 in. by 1 ft. 3
in.) bears upon its front surface a peculiar curved groove; No. 1, too,
has a groove across the top, and four in all have hollows or cup-marks
upon their surfaces. Nos. 4 and 8 are more carefully shaped than the
rest, and the latter stands in a circular socket, and is flanked on
either side by the stumps of two broken pillars. Yet another stone lay
fallen to the south of No. 1, and there is some reason to suppose that
this and the unique No. 2 belonged to the earliest stage in the history
of the sanctuary. In front of Nos. 5 {15} and 6 is a square stone
block (6 ft. 1 in. by 5 ft. by 2 ft. 6 in.), with a cavity (2 ft. 10
in. by 1 ft. 11 in. by 1 ft. 4 in.); a curved groove runs along the
front (the western side) of the rim. It is disputed whether this stone
held some idol, stele, or pillar; or whether it was a trough for ritual
ablutions similar to those which Professor Petrie recognised at Serabit
el-Khadem, or whether, again, it was a sacrificial block upon which the
victim was slain.
In the area behind (east of) these monoliths are entrances leading to
two large underground caverns which appear to have been used originally
for habitation; their maximum diameters are about 40 ft. and 28 ft.,
and they extend nearly the whole length of the alignment. The caverns
were connected by a passage, so short that any sound in one could be
distinctly heard in the other, so small and crooked, that it is easy to
imagine to what use these mysterious chambers could be put. In the
larger cave a jar containing the skeleton of an infant rested upon a
stone, and close by were the remains of an adult. Further behind the
pillars was found a bell-shaped pit containing numerous animal and
human bones. In a circular structure in front of pillars Nos. 7 and 8,
the bronze model of a cobra lay amid {16} potsherds and other debris.
A little distance to the south in a bank of earth were embedded several
broken human skulls, cow-teeth, etc.; the heads had evidently been
severed before burial, and there was no trace of the bodies. Below the
whole area, before and more particularly behind the pillars, several
infants were found buried head-downwards in large jars; they were
mostly new-born, and two, as also two older children, bore marks of
fire. Finally, throughout the debris that had accumulated upon the
floor of the sanctuary were innumerable objects typical of
nature-worship, representations in low relief of the nude
mother-goddess of Western Asia, and male emblems roughly made of
limestone, pottery, bone, and other material.
+Other Sacred Places.+--Scarcely fifty yards to the south of these
pillars was a rock-surface about ninety feet by eighty, covered with
over eighty of the singular cup-marks or hollows which we have already
observed. One little group surrounded by small standing-stones was
connected by a drain which led to a subterranean cave. Here, too, was
another almost concealed chamber, and the discovery of a number of
bones of the swine (an animal seldom found elsewhere in Gezer) gave
{17} weight to the suggestion that mysterious rites were practised.
Although the monoliths of Gezer do not appear to have lost their sacred
character until perhaps the sixth century B.C., they were not the only
place of cult in the city. Above, on the eastern hill, were the
remains of an elaborate building measuring about 100 ft. by 80 ft..
Its purpose was shown by the numerous religious emblems found within
its precincts. In two circular structures were the broken fragments of
the bones of sheep and goats--devoid of any signs of cooking or
burning. Jars containing infants had been placed at the corners of
some of the chambers; and below an angle of a courtyard close by, a pit
underneath the corner-stone disclosed bones and potsherds, the latter
bearing upon them the skull of a young girl.
At the north-east edge of the plateau of Tell es-S[=a]fy the
excavations brought to light a building with monoliths; in the debris
at their feet were the bones of camels, sheep and cows. At the east
end of the hill of Megiddo, Dr. Schumacher found pillars with cup-marks
enclosed in a small building about 30 ft. by 15 ft.; a block of stone
apparently served as the sacrificial altar. Besides several amulets
and small idols, at one of the {18} corners were jars containing the
skeletons of new-born infants. The structure belonged to a great
series of buildings about 230 ft. long and 147 ft. broad. At the same
site also was discovered a bare rock with hollows; it was approached by
a step, and an entrance led to a subterranean abode containing human
and other bones. At Taanach, Dr. Sellin found a similar place of
sacrifice with cavities and channel; the rock-altar had a step on the
eastern side, and close by were a number of flint-knives, jars with
infants (ranging up to two years of age), and the remains of an adult.
Continued excavation will no doubt throw fuller light upon the old
sacred places, their varying types, and their development; even the
recent discovery of a small pottery model of the facade of a shrine is
suggestive. It represents an open fore-court and a door-way on either
side of which is a figure seated with its hands upon its knees. The
figure wears what seems to be a high-peaked cap; it is presumably
human, but the nose is curiously rounded, and one recalls the quaint
guardians of the temple-front found in other parts of Western Asia.
+Their Persistence.+--Whether the choice of a {19} sacred place was
influenced by chance, by some peculiar natural characteristic, or by
the impressiveness of the locality, nothing is more striking than its
persistence. Religious practice is always conservative, and once a
place has acquired a reputation for sanctity, it will retain its fame
throughout political and even religious vicissitudes. The history of
Gezer, for example, goes back to the neolithic age, but the religious
development, to judge from the archaeological evidence, is unbroken, and
although there came a time when the city passed out of history,
Palestine still has its sacred stones and rock-altars, buildings and
tombs, caves and grottoes, whose religious history must extend over
untold ages. At both Gezer and Tell es-S[=a]fy a sacred tomb actually
stands upon the surface of the ground quite close to the site of the
old holy places.
At Serabit the caves with their porticoes had evolved by the addition
of chambers, etc., into a complicated series sacred to the
representative goddess of the district and to the god of the Egyptian
miners. It is estimated that the cult continued for at least a
thousand years. In the neighbourhood of Petra several apparent
'high-places' have been found. They are perched conspicuously to catch
the rays of the morning {20} sun or in view of a holy shrine; and the
finest of them is approached by two great pillars, 21 to 22 feet high.
Although as a whole they may be ascribed to 300 B.C.-100 A.D., their
altars, basins, courts, etc., probably permit us to understand the more
imperfect remains of sanctuaries elsewhere.[1] But independently of
these, from Sinai to North Syria an imposing amount of evidence
survives in varying forms for the history of the sacred sites of
antiquity. In the rock-altars of the modern land with cup-marks and
occasionally with steps, with the shrine of some holy saint and an
equally holy tree, sometimes also with a mysterious cave, we may see
living examples of the more undeveloped sanctuaries. For a result of
continued evolution, on the other hand, perhaps nothing could be more
impressive than the Sakhra of the Holy Temple at Jerusalem, where, amid
the associations of three thousand years of history, the bare rock,
with hollows, cavities, channels, and subterranean cave, preserves the
primitive features without any essential change.[2]
[1] G. Dalman, _Petra und seine Felsheiligtuemer_ (Leipzig, 1908).
[2] R. Kittel, Studien zur Hebraeischen Archaeologie und
Religionsgeschichte (Leipzig, 1908), chap. i. Chap. ii. illustrates
primitive rock-altars of Palestine and their development.
+The Modern Places of Cult.+--Notwithstanding {21} the religious and
political vicissitudes of Palestine, the old centres of cult have never
lost the veneration of the people, and their position in modern popular
belief and ritual affords many a suggestive hint for their history in
the past. Although Mohammedanism allows few sacred localities, the
actual current practice, in Palestine as in Asia Minor, attaches
conceptions of great sanctity to a vast number of places. The shrines
and sacred buildings dotted here and there upon elevated sites form a
characteristic feature of the modern land, and there is abundant
testimony that they are the recipients of respect and awe far more real
than that enjoyed by the more official or orthodox religion. Although
they are often placed under the protection of Islam by being known as
the tombs of saints, prophets, and holy sheikhs, this is merely a
disguise; and although it is insisted that the holy occupants are only
mediators, they are the centre of antique rites and ideas which
orthodox Mohammedanism rejects. Their power is often rated above that
of Allah himself. Oaths by Allah are freely taken and as freely
broken, those at the local shrines rarely (if ever) fail; the coarse
and painful freedom of language, even in connection with Allah, becomes
restrained when the natives visit their holy place.
{22}
The religious life of the peasants is bound up with the shrines and
saints. There they appeal for offspring, healing, and good harvests;
there they dedicate the first-fruits, firstlings, and their children,
and in their neighbourhood they prefer to be buried. No stranger may
intrude heedlessly within the sacred precincts, and one may see the
worshipper enter barefooted praying for permission as he carefully
steps over the threshold. The saint by supernatural means is able to
protect everything deposited in the vicinity of the tomb, which can
thus serve as a store or treasure-house. He is supreme over a local
area; he is ready even to fight for his followers against the foe; for
all practical purposes he is virtually the god of the district. Some
of the shrines are sacred to a woman who passes for the sister or the
daughter of a saint at the same or a neighbouring locality. Even the
dog has been known to have a shrine in his honour, and the animal
enters into Palestinian folk-lore in a manner which this unclean beast
of Mohammedanism hardly seems to deserve. As a rule the people will
avoid calling the occupant of the shrine by name, and some
circumlocutionary epithet is preferred: the famous sheikh, father of
the lion, rain-giver, dwarf, full-moon, or (in case of {23} females)
the lady of child-birth, the fortunate, and the like.
The shrines are the centres of story and legend which relate their
origin, legitimise their persistence, or illustrate their power. In
the course of ages the name of the saint who once chose to reveal
himself there has varied, and the legends of earlier figures have been
transferred and adjusted to names more acceptable to orthodoxy. Some
of the figures have grown in importance | 1,729.375009 |
2023-11-16 18:45:53.4567460 | 1,975 | 40 |
Produced by Joel Erickson, Dave Avis
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: LOUIS DASHED THE GLOWING END OF HIS CIGAR IN THE <DW64>'S
FACE.]
A BEAUTIFUL POSSIBILITY
BY
EDITH FERGUSON BLACK
A BEAUTIFUL POSSIBILITY.
CHAPTER I.
In one of the fairest of the West Indian islands a simple but elegant
villa lifted its gabled roofs amidst a bewildering wealth of tropical
beauty. Brilliant birds flitted among the foliage, gold and silver
fishes darted to and fro in a large stone basin of a fountain which
threw its glittering spray over the lawn in front of the house, and on
the vine-shaded veranda hammocks hung temptingly, and low wicker chairs
invited to repose.
Behind the jalousies of the library the owner of the villa sat at a
desk, busily writing. He was a slight, delicate looking man, with an
expression of careless good humor upon his face and an easy air of
assurance according with the interior of the room which bespoke a
cultured taste and the ability to gratify it. Books were everywhere,
rare bits of china, curios and exquisitely tinted shells lay in
picturesque confusion upon tables and wall brackets of native woods;
soft silken draperies fell from the windows and partially screened from
view a large alcove where microscopes of different sizes stood upon
cabinets whose shelves were filled with a miscellaneous collection of
rare plants and beautiful insects, specimens from the agate forest of
Arizona, petrified remains from the 'Bad Lands' of Dakota, feathery
fronded seaweed, skeletons of birds and strange wild creatures, and all
the countless curiosities in which naturalists delight.
Lenox Hildreth when a young man, forced to flee from the rigors of the
New England climate by reason of an inherited tendency to pulmonary
disease, had chosen Barbadoes as his adopted country, and had never
since revisited the land of his birth. From the first, fortune had
smiled upon him, and when, some time after his marriage with the
daughter of a wealthy planter, she had come into possession of all her
father's estates, he had built the house which for fifteen years he had
called home. When Evadne, their only daughter, was a little maiden of
six, his wife had died, and for nine years father and child had been all
the world to each other.
He finished writing at last with a sigh of relief, and folding the
letter, together with one addressed to Evadne, he enclosed both in a
large envelope which he sealed and addressed to Judge Hildreth,
Marlborough, Mass. Then he leaned back in his chair, and, clasping his
hands behind his head, looked fixedly at the picture of his fair young
wife which hung above his desk.
"A bad job well done, Louise--or a good one. Our little lass isn't very
well adapted to making her way among strangers, and the Bohemianism of
this life is a poor preparation for the heavy respectability of a New
England existence. Lawrence is a good fellow, but that wife of his
always put me in mind of iced champagne, sparkling and cold." He sighed
heavily, "Poor little Vad! It is a dreary outlook, but it seems my one
resource. Lawrence is the only relative I have in the world.
"After all, I may be fighting windmills, and years hence may laugh at
this morning's work as an example of the folly of yielding to
unnecessary alarm. Danvers is getting childish. All physicians get to be
old fogies, I fancy, a natural sequence to a life spent in hunting down
germs I suppose. They grow to imagine them where none exist."
He rose, and strolled out on the veranda. As he did so, a <DW64>, whose
snow-white hair had earned for him from his master the sobriquet of
Methusaleh, came towards the broad front steps. He was a grotesque image
as he stood doffing a large palm-leaf hat, and Lenox Hildreth felt an
irresistible inclination to laugh, and laughed accordingly. His
morning's occupation had been one of the rare instances in which he had
run counter to his inclinations. Sky blue cotton trousers showed two
brown ankles before his feet hid themselves in a pair of clumsy shoes; a
scarlet shirt, ornamented with large brass buttons and fastened at the
throat with a cotton handkerchief of vivid corn color, was surmounted by
an old nankeen coat, upon whose gaping elbows a careful wife had sewn
patches of green cloth; his hands were encased in white cotton gloves
three sizes too large, whose finger tips waved in the wind as their
wearer flourished his palm-leaf headgear in deprecating obeisance.
"Well, Methusaleh, where are you off to now?" and Lenox Hildreth leaned
against a flower wreathed pillar in lazy amusement.
"To camp-meetin', Mass Hildreff. I hez your permission, sah?" and the
<DW64> rolled his eyes with a ludicrous expression of humility.
His master laughed with the easy indulgence which made his servants
impose upon him.
"You seem to have taken it, you rascal. It is rather late in the day to
ask for permission when you and your store clothes are all ready for a
start."
"'Scuse me, Mass Hildreff," with another deprecating wave of the
palm-leaf hat, "but yer see I knowed yer wouldn't dissapint me of de
priv'lege uv goin' ter camp-meetin' nohow."
Lenox Hildreth held his cigar between his slender fingers and watched
the tiny wreaths of smoke as they circled about his head.
"So camp-meeting is a privilege, is it?" he said carelessly. "How much
more good will it do you to go there than to stay at home and hoe my
corn?"
The eyes were rolled up until only the whites were visible.
"Powerful sight more good, Mass Hildreff. De preacher's 'n uncommon
relijus man, an' de'speriences uv de bredren is mighty upliftin'. Yes,
sah!"
"Well, see that they don't lift you up so high that you'll forget to
come down again. I suppose you have an experience in common with the
rest?"
"Yes, Mass Hildreff," and the palm-leaf made another gyration through
the air. "I'se got a powerful'sperience, sah."
"Well, off you go. It would be a pity to deprive the assembly of such
an edifying specimen of sanctimoniousness."
"Yes, sah, I'se bery sanktimonyus. I'se 'bliged to you, sah."
With a last obsequious flourish the palm-leaf was restored to its
resting-place upon the snowy wool, and the <DW64> shambled away. When he
had gone a few yards a sudden thought struck his master and he called,--
"Methusaleh, I say, Methusaleh!"
"Yes, sah," and the servant retraced his steps.
"What about that turkey of mine that you stole last week? You can't go
to camp-meeting with that on your conscience. Come, now, better take off
your finery and repent in sackcloth and ashes."
For an instant the <DW64> was nonplused, then the palm-leaf was
flourished grandiloquently, while its owner said in a voice of withering
scorn,--
"Laws! Mass Hildreff, do yer spose I'se goin' ter neglec' de Lawd fer
one lil' turkey?"
His master turned on his heel with a low laugh. "Of a piece with the
whole of them!" he said bitterly. "Hypocrites and shams!"
"Evadne!" he exclaimed impetuously, as a slight girlish figure came
towards him, "never say a single word that you do not mean nor express
a sensation that you have not felt. It is the people who neglect this
rule who play havoc with themselves and the world."
"Why, dearest, you frighten me!" and the girl slipped her hand through
his arm with a low, sweet laugh. "I never saw you look so solemn
before."
"Hypocrisy, Vad, is the meanest thing on earth! The pious people at the
church yonder call me an unbeliever, but they've got themselves to thank
for it. I may be a good-for-nothing but at least I will not preach what
I do not practise."
"You are as good as gold, dearest. I won't have you say such horrid
things! And you don't need to preach anything. I am sure no one in all
the world could be happier than we."
Her father put his hand under her chin, and, lifting her face towards
his | 1,729.476786 |
2023-11-16 18:45:53.5553290 | 946 | 16 |
Produced by Stan Goodman, Turgut Dincer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's note: The source text contained inconsistencies in
spelling, punctuation, capitalization, and italicization; these
inconsistencies have been retained in this etext.]
Franco-Gallia:
OR, AN
ACCOUNT
OF THE
Ancient Free State
OF
_FRANCE_,
AND
Most other Parts of EUROPE,
before the Loss of their Liberties.
* * * * *
_Written Originally in Latin by the Famous Civilian_
FRANCIS HOTOMAN,
In the Year 1574.
_And Translated into_ English _by the Author of the_
Account of DENMARK.
* * * * *
The SECOND EDITION, with Additions, and
a _New Preface_ by the Translator.
* * * * *
LONDON:
Printed for Edward Valentine, at the Queen's Head
against St. Dunstan's Church, Fleetstreet, 1721.
Translated by
The Author of the _Account
of_ DENMARK.
The BOOKSELLER
TO THE
READER.
_The following Translation of the Famous_ Hotoman's Franco-Gallia _was
written in the Year 1705, and first publish'd in the Year 1711. The
Author was then at a great Distance from_ London, _and the Publisher of
his Work, for Reasons needless to repeat, did not think fit to print the
Prefatory Discourse sent along with the Original. But this Piece being
seasonable at all Times for the Perusal of_ Englishmen _and more
particularly at this Time, I wou'd no longer keep back from the Publick,
what I more than conjecture will be acceptable to all true Lovers of
their Country._
THE
TRANSLATOR's
PREFACE.
Many Books and Papers have been publish'd since the late _Revolution_,
tending to justify the Proceedings of the People of _England_ at that
happy juncture; by setting in a true Light our just Rights and
Liberties, together with the solid Foundations of our _Constitution:_
Which, in truth, is not ours only, but that of almost all _Europe_
besides; so wisely restor'd and establish'd (if not introduced) by the
_Goths_ and _Franks_, whose Descendants we are.
These Books have as constantly had some things, called _Answers_,
written to them, by Persons of different Sentiments; who certainly
either never seriously consider'd, that the were thereby endeavouring to
destroy their own Happiness, and overthrow her Majesty's Title to the
Crown: or (if they knew what they did) presumed upon the _Lenity_ of
that Government they decry'd; which (were there no better Reason) ought
to have recommended it to their Approbation, since it could patiently
bear with such, as were doing all they could to undermine it.
Not to mention the Railing, Virulency, or personal false Reflections in
many of those Answers, (which were always the Signs of a weak Cause, or
a feeble Champion) some of them asserted the _Divine Right_ of an
_Hereditary Monarch_, and the Impiety of _Resistance_ upon any Terms
whatever, notwithstanding any _Authorities_ to the contrary.
Others (and those the more judicious) deny'd positively, that sufficient
_Authorities_ could be produced to prove, that a _free People_ have a
_just Power_ to defend themselves, by opposing their _Prince_, who
endeavours to oppress and enslave them: And alledged, that whatever was
said or done tending that way, proceeded from a Spirit of _Rebellion_,
and _Antimonarchical Principles_.
To confute, or convince this last Sort of Arguers (the first not being
worthy to have Notice taken of them) I set about translating the
_Franco-Gallia_ of that most Learned and Judicious _Civilian_, _Francis
Hotoman_; a Grave, Sincere and Unexceptionable Author, even in the
Opinion of his Adversaries. This Book gives an Account of the Ancient
Free State of above Three Parts in Four of _Europe_; and has of a long
time appeared to me so convincing and instruct | 1,729.575369 |
2023-11-16 18:45:53.5562570 | 7,435 | 9 |
Produced by John Bickers; Dagny
PEARL-MAIDEN
A Tale Of The Fall of Jerusalem
By H. Rider Haggard
First Published 1901.
TO
GLADYS CHRISTIAN
A DWELLER IN THE EAST THIS EASTERN TALE IS DEDICATED BY HER OWN AND HER
FATHER'S FRIEND
THE AUTHOR
Ditchingham: September 14, 1902.
PEARL-MAIDEN
CHAPTER I
THE PRISON AT CAESAREA
It was but two hours after midnight, yet many were wakeful in Caesarea on
the Syrian coast. Herod Agrippa, King of all Palestine--by grace of
the Romans--now at the very apex of his power, celebrated a festival in
honour of the Emperor Claudius, to which had flocked all the mightiest
in the land and tens of thousands of the people. The city was full of
them, their camps were set upon the sea-beach and for miles around;
there was no room at the inns or in the private houses, where guests
slept upon the roofs, the couches, the floors, and in the gardens. The
great town hummed like a hive of bees disturbed after sunset, and though
the louder sounds of revelling had died away, parties of feasters,
many of them still crowned with fading roses, passed along the
streets shouting and singing to their lodgings. As they went, they
discussed--those of them who were sufficiently sober--the incidents of
that day's games in the great circus, and offered or accepted odds upon
the more exciting events of the morrow.
The captives in the prison that was set upon a little hill, a frowning
building of brown stone, divided into courts and surrounded by a
high wall and a ditch, could hear the workmen at their labours in the
amphitheatre below. These sounds interested them, since many of those
who listened were doomed to take a leading part in the spectacle of this
new day. In the outer court, for instance, were a hundred men called
malefactors, for the most part Jews convicted of various political
offences. These were to fight against twice their number of savage Arabs
of the desert taken in a frontier raid, people whom to-day we should
know as Bedouins, mounted and armed with swords and lances, but wearing
no mail. The malefactor Jews, by way of compensation, were to be
protected with heavy armour and ample shields. Their combat was to
last for twenty minutes by the sand-glass, when, unless they had shown
cowardice, those who were left alive of either party were to receive
their freedom. Indeed, by a kindly decree the King Agrippa, a man who
did not seek unnecessary bloodshed, contrary to custom, even the wounded
were to be spared, that is, if any would undertake the care of them.
Under these circumstances, since life is sweet, all had determined to
fight their best.
In another division of the great hall was collected a very different
company. There were not more than fifty or sixty of these, so the wide
arches of the surrounding cloisters gave them sufficient shelter and
even privacy. With the exception of eight or ten men, all of them old,
or well on in middle age, since the younger and more vigorous males had
been carefully drafted to serve as gladiators, this little band was
made of women and a few children. They belonged to the new sect called
Christians, the followers of one Jesus, who, according to report, was
crucified as a troublesome person by the governor, Pontius Pilate, a
Roman official, who in due course had been banished to Gaul, where he
was said to have committed suicide. In his day Pilate was unpopular
in Judaea, for he had taken the treasures of the Temple at Jerusalem to
build waterworks, causing a tumult in which many were killed. Now he
was almost forgotten, but very strangely, the fame of this crucified
demagogue, Jesus, seemed to grow, since there were many who made a kind
of god of him, preaching doctrines in his name that were contrary to the
law and offensive to every sect of the Jews.
Pharisees, Sadducees, Zealots, Levites, priests, all called out against
them. All besought Agrippa that he would be rid of them, these apostates
who profaned the land and proclaimed in the ears of a nation awaiting
its Messiah, that Heaven-born King who should break the Roman yoke and
make Jerusalem the capital of the world, that this Messiah had come
already in the guise of an itinerant preacher, and perished with other
malefactors by the death of shame.
Wearied with their importunities, the King listened. Like the cultivated
Romans with whom he associated, Agrippa had no real religion. At
Jerusalem he embellished the Temple and made offerings to Jehovah; at
Berytus he embellished the temple and made offerings there to Jupiter.
He was all things to all men and to himself--nothing but a voluptuous
time-server. As for these Christians, he never troubled himself about
them. Why should he? They were few and insignificant, no single man of
rank or wealth was to be found among them. To persecute them was easy,
and--it pleased the Jews. Therefore he persecuted them. One James, a
disciple of the crucified man called Christ, who had wandered about the
country with him, he seized and beheaded at Jerusalem. Another, called
Peter, a powerful preacher, he threw into prison, and of their followers
he slew many. A few of these were given over to be stoned by the Jews,
but the pick of the men were forced to fight as gladiators at Berytus
and elsewhere. The women, if young and beautiful, were sold as slaves,
but if matrons or aged, they were cast to the wild beasts in the circus.
Such was the fate, indeed, that was reserved for these poor victims in
the prison on this very day of the opening of our history. After the
gladiators had fought and the other games had been celebrated, sixty
Christians, it was announced, old and useless men, married woman and
young children whom nobody would buy, were to be turned down in the
great amphitheatre. Then thirty fierce lions, with other savage beasts,
made ravenous by hunger and mad with the smell of blood, were to be let
loose among them. Even in this act of justice, however, Agrippa suffered
it to be seen that he was gentle-hearted, since of his kindness he had
decreed that any whom the lions refused to eat were to be given clothes,
a small sum of money, and released to settle their differences with the
Jews as they might please.
Such was the state of public feeling and morals in the Roman world of
that day, that this spectacle of the feeding of starved beasts with live
women and children, whose crime was that they worshipped a crucified
man and would offer sacrifice to no other god, either in the Temple
or elsewhere, was much looked forward to by the population of Caesarea.
Indeed, great sums of money were ventured upon the event, by means of
what to-day would be called sweepstakes, under the regulations of which
he who drew the ticket marked with the exact number of those whom the
lions left alive, would take the first prize. Already some far-seeing
gamblers who had drawn low numbers, had bribed the soldiers and wardens
to sprinkle the hair and garments of the Christians with valerian water,
a decoction which was supposed to attract and excite the appetite of
these great cats. Others, whose tickets were high, paid handsomely for
the employment of artifices which need not be detailed, calculated to
induce in the lions aversion to the subject that had been treated.
The Christian woman or child, it will be observed, who was to form
the _corpus vile_ of these ingenious experiments, was not considered,
except, indeed, as the fisherman considers the mussel or the sand-worm
on his hook.
Under an arch by themselves, and not far from the great gateway where
the guards, their lances in hand, could be seen pacing up and down,
sat two women. The contrast in the appearance of this pair was very
striking. One, who could not have been much more than twenty years of
age, was a Jewess, too thin-faced for beauty, but with dark and lovely
eyes, and bearing in every limb and feature the stamp of noble blood.
She was Rachel, the widow of Demas, a Graeco-Syrian, and only child of
the high-born Jew Benoni, one of the richest merchants in Tyre. The
other was a woman of remarkable aspect, apparently about forty years
of age. She was a native of the coasts of Libya, where she had been
kidnapped as a girl by Jewish traders, and by them passed on to
Phoenicians, who sold her upon the slave market of Tyre. In fact she was
a high-bred Arab without any admixture of <DW64> blood, as was shown by
her copper-<DW52> skin, prominent cheek bones, her straight, black,
abundant hair, and untamed, flashing eyes. In frame she was tall and
spare, very agile, and full of grace in every movement. Her face was
fierce and hard; even in her present dreadful plight she showed no fear,
only when she looked at the lady by her side it grew anxious and tender.
She was called Nehushta, a name which Benoni had given her when many
years ago he bought her upon the market-place. In Hebrew Nehushta means
copper, and this new slave was copper-. In her native land,
however, she had another name, Nou, and by this name she was known to
her dead mistress, the wife of Benoni, and to his daughter Rachel, whom
she had nursed from childhood.
The moon shone very brightly in a clear sky, and by the light of it an
observer, had there been any to observe where all were so occupied
with their own urgent affairs, could have watched every movement and
expression of these women. Rachel, seated on the ground, was rocking
herself to and fro, her face hidden in her hands, and praying. Nehushta
knelt at her side, resting the weight of her body on her heels as only
an Eastern can, and stared sullenly at nothingness.
Presently Rachel, dropping her hands, looked at the tender sky and
sighed.
"Our last night on earth, Nou," she said sadly. "It is strange to think
that we shall never again see the moon floating above us."
"Why not, mistress? If all that we have been taught is true, we shall
see that moon, or others, for ever and ever, and if it is not true, then
neither light nor darkness will trouble us any more. However, for my own
part I don't mean that either of us should die to-morrow."
"How can you prevent it, Nou?" asked Rachel with a faint smile. "Lions
are no respecters of persons."
"Yet, mistress, I think that they will respect my person, and yours,
too, for my sake."
"What do you mean, Nou?"
"I mean that I do not fear the lions; they are country-folk of mine and
roared round my cradle. The chief, my father, was called Master of Lions
in our country because he could tame them. Why, when I was a little
child I have fed them and they fawned upon us like dogs."
"Those lions are long dead, Nou, and the others will not remember."
"I am not sure that they are dead; at least, blood will call to blood,
and their company will know the smell of the child of the Master of
Lions. Whoever is eaten, we shall escape."
"I have no such hope, Nou. To-morrow we must die horribly, that King
Agrippa may do honour to his master, Caesar."
"If you think that, mistress, then let us die at once rather than be
rent limb from limb to give pleasure to a stinking mob. See, I have
poison hidden here in my hair. Let us drink of it and be done: it is
swift and painless."
"Nay, Nou, it would not be right. I may lift no hand against my own
life, or if perchance I may, I have to think of another life."
"If you die, the unborn child must die also. To-night or to-morrow, what
does it matter?"
"Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof. Who knows? To-morrow Agrippa
may be dead, not us, and then the child might live. It is in the hand of
God. Let God decide."
"Lady," answered Nehushta, setting her teeth, "for your sake I have
become a Christian, yes, and I believe. But I tell you this--while I
live no lion's fangs shall tear that dear flesh of yours. First if need
be, I will stab you there in the arena, or if they take my knife from
me, then I will choke you, or dash out your brains against the posts."
"It may be a sin, Nou; take no such risk upon your soul."
"My soul! What do I care about my soul? You are my soul. Your mother was
kind to me, the poor slave-girl, and when you were an infant, I rocked
you upon my breast. I spread your bride-bed, and if need be, to save you
from worse things, I will lay you dead before me and myself dead across
your body. Then let God or Satan--I care not which--deal with my soul.
At least, I shall have done my best and died faithful."
"You should not speak so," sighed Rachel. "But, dear, I know it is
because you love me, and I wish to die as easily as may be and to join
my husband. Only if the child could have lived, as I think, all three
of us would have dwelt together eternally. Nay, not all three, all four,
for you are well-nigh as dear to me, Nou, as husband or as child."
"That cannot be, I do not wish that it should be, who am but a slave
woman, the dog beneath the table. Oh! if I could save you, then I would
be glad to show them how this daughter of my father can bear their
torments."
The Libyan ceased, grinding her teeth in impotent rage. Then suddenly
she leant towards her mistress, kissed her fiercely on the cheek and
began to sob, slow, heavy sobs.
"Listen," said Rachel. "The lions are roaring in their dens yonder."
Nehushta lifted her head and hearkened as a hunter hearkens in the
desert. True enough, from near the great tower that ended the southern
wall of the amphitheatre, echoed short, coughing notes and fierce
whimperings, to be followed presently by roar upon roar, as lion after
lion joined in that fearful music, till the whole air shook with the
volume of their voices.
"Aha!" cried a keeper at the gate--not the Roman soldier who marched
to and fro unconcernedly, but a jailor, named Rufus, who was clad in
a padded robe and armed with a great knife. "Aha! listen to them, the
pretty kittens. Don't be greedy, little ones--be patient. To-night you
will purr upon a full stomach."
"Nine of them," muttered Nehushta, who had counted the roars, "all
bearded and old, royal beasts. To hearken to them makes me young again.
Yes, yes, I smell the desert and see the smoke rising from my father's
tents. As a child I hunted them, now they will hunt me; it is their
hour."
"Give me air! I faint!" gasped Rachel, sinking against her.
With a guttural exclamation of pity Nehushta bent down. Placing her
strong arms beneath the slender form of her young mistress, and lifting
her as though she were a child, she carried her to the centre of the
court, where stood a fountain; for before it was turned to the purposes
of a jail once this place had been a palace. Here she set her mistress
on the ground with her back against the stonework, and dashed water in
her face till presently she was herself again.
While Rachel sat thus--for the place was cool and pleasant and she could
not sleep who must die that day--a wicket-gate was opened and several
persons, men, women, and children, were thrust through it into the
court.
"Newcomers from Tyre in a great hurry not to lose the lions' party,"
cried the facetious warden of the gate. "Pass in, my Christian friends,
pass in and eat your last supper according to your customs. You will
find it over there, bread and wine in plenty. Eat, my hungry friends,
eat before you are eaten and enter into Heaven or--the stomach of the
lions."
An old woman, the last of the party, for she could not walk fast, turned
round and pointed at the buffoon with her staff.
"Blaspheme not, you heathen dog!" she said, "or rather, blaspheme on
and go to your reward! I, Anna, who have the gift of prophecy, tell you,
renegade who were a Christian, and therefore are doubly guilty, that
_you_ have eaten your last meal--on earth."
The man, a half-bred Syrian who had abandoned his faith for profit and
now tormented those who were once his brethren, uttered a furious curse
and snatched a knife from his girdle.
"You draw the knife? So be it, perish by the knife!" said Anna.
Then without heeding him further the old woman hobbled on after her
companions, leaving the man to slink away white to the lips with terror.
He had been a Christian and knew something of Anna and of this "gift of
prophecy."
The path of these strangers led them past the fountain, where Rachel and
Nehushta rose to greet them as they came.
"Peace be with you," said Rachel.
"In the name of Christ, peace," they answered, and passed on towards
the arches where the other captives were gathered. Last of all, at some
distance behind the rest, came the white-haired woman, leaning on her
staff.
As she approached, Rachel turned to repeat her salutation, then uttered
a little cry and said:
"Mother Anna, do you not know me, Rachel, the daughter of Benoni?"
"Rachel!" she answered, starting. "Alas! child, how came you here?"
"By the paths that we Christians have to tread, mother," said Rachel,
sadly. "But sit; you are weary. Nou, help her."
Anna nodded, and slowly, for her limbs were stiff, sank down on to the
step of the fountain.
"Give me to drink, child," she said, "for I have been brought upon a
mule from Tyre, and am athirst."
Rachel made her hands into a cup, for she had no other, and held water
to Anna's lips, which she drank greedily, emptying them many times.
"For this refreshment, God be praised. What said you? The daughter of
Benoni a Christian! Well, even here and now, for that God be praised
also. Strange that I should not have heard of it; but I have been in
Jerusalem these two years, and was brought back to Tyre last Sabbath as
a prisoner."
"Yes, Mother, and since then I have become both wife and widow."
"Whom did you marry, child?"
"Demas, the merchant. They killed him in the amphitheatre yonder at
Berytus six months ago," and the poor woman began to sob.
"I heard of his end," replied Anna. "It was a good and noble one, and
his soul rests in Heaven. He would not fight with the gladiators, so he
was beheaded by order of Agrippa. But cease weeping, child, and tell me
your story. We have little time for tears, who, perhaps, soon will have
done with them."
Rachel dried her eyes.
"It is short and sad," she said. "Demas and I met often and learned to
love each other. My father was no friend to him, for they were rivals in
trade, but in those days knowing no better, Demas followed the faith
of the Jews; therefore, because he was rich my father consented to our
marriage, and they became partners in their business. Afterwards,
within a month indeed, the Apostles came to Tyre, and we attended their
preaching--at first, because we were curious to learn the truth of this
new faith against which my father railed, for, as you know, he is of the
strictest sect of the Jews; and then, because our hearts were touched.
So in the end we believed, and were baptised, both on one night, by
the very hand of the brother of the Lord. The holy Apostles departed,
blessing us before they went, and Demas, who would play no double part,
told my father of what we had done. Oh! mother, it was awful to see. He
raved, shouted and cursed us in his rage, blaspheming Him we worship.
More, woe is me that I should have to tell it: When we refused to become
apostates he denounced us to the priests, and the priests denounced
us to the Romans, and we were seized and thrown into prison; but my
husband's wealth, most of it except that which the priests and Romans
stole, stayed with my father. For many months we were held in prison
here in Caesarea; then they took my husband to Berytus, to be trained
as a gladiator, and murdered him. Here I have stayed since with this
beloved servant, Nehushta, who also became a Christian and shared our
fate, and now, by the decree of Agrippa, it is my turn and hers to die
to-day."
"Child, you should not weep for that; nay, you should be glad who at
once will find your husband and your Saviour."
"Mother, I am glad; but, you see my state. It is for the child's sake I
weep, that now never will be born. Had it won life even for an hour all
of us would have dwelt together in bliss until eternity. But it cannot
be--it cannot be."
Anna looked at her with her piercing eyes.
"Have you, then, also the gift of prophecy, child, who are so young a
member of the Church, that you dare to say that this or that cannot be?
The future is in the hand of God. King Agrippa, your father, the Romans,
the cruel Jews, those lions that roar yonder, and we who are doomed to
feed them, are all in the hand of God, and that which He wills shall
befall, and no other thing. Therefore, let us praise Him and rejoice,
and take no thought for the morrow, unless it be to pray that we may die
and go hence to our Master, rather than live on in doubts and terrors
and tribulations."
"You are right, mother," answered Rachel, "and I will try to be brave,
whatever may befall; but my state makes me feeble. The spirit, truly, is
willing, but oh! the flesh is weak. Listen, they call us to partake of
the Sacrament of the Lord--our last on earth"; and rising, she began to
walk towards the arches.
Nehushta stayed to help Anna to her feet. When she judged her mistress
to be out of hearing she leaned down and whispered:
"Mother, you have the gift; it is known throughout the Church. Tell me,
will the child be born?"
The old woman fixed her eyes upon the heavens, then answered, slowly:
"The child will be born and live out its life, and I think that none of
us are doomed to die this day by the jaws of lions, though some of us
may die in another fashion. But I think also that your mistress goes
very shortly to join her husband. Therefore it was that I showed her
nothing of what came into my mind."
"Then it is best that I should die also, and die I will."
"Wherefore?"
"Because I go to wait upon my mistress?"
"Nay, Nehushta," answered Anna, sternly, "you stay to guard her child,
whereof when all these earthly things are done you must give account to
her."
CHAPTER II
THE VOICE OF A GOD
Of all the civilisations whose records lie open to the student, that
of Rome is surely one of the most wonderful. Nowhere, not even in old
Mexico, was high culture so completely wedded to the lowest barbarism.
Intellect Rome had in plenty; the noblest efforts of her genius are
scarcely to be surpassed; her law is the foundation of the best of our
codes of jurisprudence; art she borrowed but appreciated; her military
system is still the wonder of the world; her great men remain great
among a multitude of subsequent competitors. And yet how pitiless she
was! What a tigress! Amid all the ruins of her cities we find none of a
hospital, none, I believe, of an orphan school in an age that made many
orphans. The pious aspirations and efforts of individuals seem never
to have touched the conscience of the people. Rome incarnate had no
conscience; she was a lustful, devouring beast, made more bestial by her
intelligence and splendour.
King Agrippa in practice was a Roman. Rome was his model, her ideals
were his ideals. Therefore he built amphitheatres in which men were
butchered, to the exquisite delight of vast audiences. Therefore, also,
without the excuse of any conscientious motive, however insufficient or
unsatisfactory, he persecuted the weak because they were weak and their
sufferings would give pleasure to the strong or to those who chanced to
be the majority of the moment.
The season being hot it was arranged that the great games in honour of
the safety of Caesar, should open each day at dawn and come to an end an
hour before noon. Therefore from midnight onwards crowds of spectators
poured into the amphitheatre, which, although it would seat over twenty
thousand, was not large enough to contain them all. An hour before the
dawn the place was full, and already late comers were turned back from
its gates. The only empty spaces were those reserved for the king,
his royal guests, the rulers of the city, with other distinguished
personages, and for the Christian company of old men, women and children
destined to the lions, who, it was arranged, were to sit in full view
of the audience until the time came for them to take their share in the
spectacle.
When Rachel joined the other captives she found that a long rough table
had been set beneath the arcades, and on it at intervals, pieces of
bread and cups and vases containing wine of the country that had been
purchased at a great price from the guards. Round this table the elders
or the infirm among the company were seated on a bench, while the rest
of the number, for whom there was not room, stood behind them. At its
head was an old man, a bishop among the Christians, one of the five
hundred who had seen the risen Lord and received baptism from the
hands of the Beloved Disciple. For some years he had been spared by the
persecutors of the infant Church on account of his age, dignity, and
good repute, but now at last fate seemed to have overtaken him.
The service was held; the bread and wine, mixed with water, were
consecrated with the same texts by which they are blessed to-day, only
the prayers were extempore. When all had eaten from the platters and
drunk from the rude cups, the bishop gave his blessing to the community.
Then he addressed them. This, he told them, was an occasion of peculiar
joy, a love-feast indeed, since all they who partook of it were about to
lay down the burden of the flesh and, their labours and sorrows ended,
to depart into bliss eternal. He called to their memory the supper of
the Passover which had taken place within the lifetime of many of
them, when the Author and Finisher of their faith had declared to the
disciples that He would drink no more wine till He drank it new with
them in His kingdom. Such a feast it was that lay spread before them
this night. Let them be thankful for it. Let them not quail in the hour
of trial. The fangs of the savage beasts, the shouts of the still more
savage spectators, the agony of the quivering flesh, the last terror of
their departing, what were these? Soon, very soon, they would be done;
the spears of the soldiers would despatch the injured, and those among
them whom it was ordained should escape, would be set free by the
command of the representative of Caesar, that they might prosecute the
work till the hour came for them to pass on the torch of redemption to
other hands. Let them rejoice, therefore, and be very thankful, and
walk to the sacrifice as to a wedding feast. "Do you not rejoice, my
brethren?" he asked. With one voice they answered, "We rejoice!" Yes,
even the children answered thus.
Then they prayed again, and again with uplifted hands the old man
blessed them in the holy Triune Name.
Scarcely had this service, as solemn as it was simple, been brought
to an end when the head jailer, whose blasphemous jocosity since his
reproof by Anna was replaced by a mien of sullen venom, came forward and
commanded the whole band to march to the amphitheatre. Accordingly, two
by two, the bishop leading the way with the sainted woman Anna, they
walked to the gates. Here a guard of soldiers was waiting to receive
them, and under their escort they threaded the narrow, darkling streets
till they came to that door of the amphitheatre which was used by those
who were to take part in the games. Now, at a word from the bishop, they
began to chant a solemn hymn, and singing thus, were thrust along the
passages to the place prepared for them. This was not, as they expected,
a prison at the back of the amphitheatre, but, as has been said, a spot
between the enclosing wall and the podium, raised a little above the
level of the arena. Here, on the eastern side of the building, they were
to sit till their turn came to be driven by the guards through a little
wicket-gate into the arena, where the starving beasts of prey would be
loosed upon them.
It was now the hour before sunrise, and the moon having set, the vast
theatre was plunged in gloom, relieved only here and there by stray
torches and cressets of fire burning upon either side of the gorgeous,
but as yet unoccupied, throne of Agrippa. This gloom seemed to oppress
the audience with which the place was crowded; at any rate none of them
shouted or sang, or even spoke loudly. They addressed each other
in muffled tones, with the result that the air seemed to be full of
mysterious whisperings. Had this poor band of condemned Christians
entered the theatre in daylight, they would have been greeted with
ironical cries and tauntings of "Dogs' meat!" and with requests that
they should work a miracle and let the people see them rise again from
the bellies of the lions. But now, as their solemn song broke upon the
silence, it was answered only by one great murmur, which seemed to shape
itself to the words, "the Christians! The doomed Christians!"
By the light of a single torch the band took their places. Then once
more they sang, and in that chastening hour the audience listened with
attention, almost with respect. Their chant finished, the bishop stood
up, and, moved thereto by some inspiration, began to address the mighty
throng, whom he could not see, and who could not see him. Strangely
enough they hearkened to him, perhaps because his speech served to while
away the weary time of waiting.
"Men and brethren," he began, in his thin, piercing notes, "princes,
lords, peoples, Romans, Jews, Syrians, Greeks, citizens of Idumaea, of
Egypt, and of all nations here gathered, hearken to the words of an old
man destined and glad to die. Listen, if it be your pleasure, to the
story of One whom some of you saw crucified under Pontius Pilate, since
to know the truth of that matter can at least do you no hurt."
"Be silent!" cried a voice, that of the renegade jailer, "and cease
preaching your accursed faith!"
"Let him alone," answered other voices. "We will hear this story of his.
We say--let him alone."
Thus encouraged the old man spoke on with an eloquence so simple and yet
so touching, with a wisdom so deep, that for full fifteen minutes none
cared even to interrupt him. Then a far-away listener cried:
"Why must these people die who are better than we?"
"Friend," answered the bishop, in ringing tones, which in that heavy
silence seemed to search out even the recesses of the great and crowded
place, "we must die because it is the will of King Agrippa, to whom
God has given power to destroy us. Mourn not for us because we perish
cruelly, since this is the day of our true birth, but mourn for King
Agrippa, at whose hands our blood will be required, | 1,729.576297 |
2023-11-16 18:45:53.6566410 | 2,469 | 29 |
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 little
good fortune, one of you went in. Once you were wet, it did not
so much matter though you got wetter.
An easy way of getting to the leat at the foot of the fields was
to walk there, but by the time he was eight Scott scorned the easy
ways. He invented parents who sternly forbade all approach to this
dangerous waterway; he turned them into enemies of his country and
of himself (he was now an admiral), and led parties of gallant tars
to the stream by ways hitherto unthought of. At foot of the avenue
was an oak tree which hung over the road, and thus by dropping from
this tree you got into open country. The tree was (at this time)
of an enormous size, with sufficient room to conceal a navy, and
the navy consisted mainly of the sisters and the young brother.
All had to be ready at any moment to leap from the tree and join
issue with the enemy on the leat. In the fields there was also a
mighty ocean, called by dull grown-ups 'the pond,' and here Scott's
battleship lay moored. It seems for some time to have been an English
vessel, but by and by he was impelled, as all boys are, to blow
something up, and he could think of nothing more splendid for his
purpose than the battleship. Thus did it become promptly a ship
of the enemy doing serious damage to the trade of those parts,
and the valiant Con took to walking about with lips pursed, brows
frowning as he cogitated how to remove the
[Page 4]
Terror of Devon. You may picture the sisters and brother trotting
by his side and looking anxiously into his set face. At last he
decided to blow the accursed thing up with gunpowder. His crew
cheered, and then waited to be sent to the local shop for a pennyworth
of gunpowder. But Con made his own gunpowder, none of the faithful
were ever told how, and on a great day the train was laid. Con applied
the match and ordered all to stand back. A deafening explosion was
expected, but a mere puff of flame was all that came; the Terror
of Devon, which to the unimaginative was only a painted plank,
still rode the waters. With many boys this would be the end of
the story, but not with Con. He again retired to the making of
gunpowder, and did not desist from his endeavors until he had blown
that plank sky-high.
His first knife is a great event in the life of a boy: it is probably
the first memory of many of them, and they are nearly always given
it on condition that they keep it shut. So it was with Con, and a
few minutes after he had sworn that he would not open it he was
begging for permission to use it on a tempting sapling. 'Very well,'
his father said grimly, 'but remember, if you hurt yourself, don't
expect any sympathy from me.' The knife was opened, and to cut
himself rather badly proved as easy as falling into the leat. The
father, however, had not noticed, and the boy put his bleeding
hand into his pocket and walked on unconcernedly. He was really
considerably damaged; and this is a good story of a child of seven
who all his life suffered extreme nausea from
[Page 5]
the sight of blood; even in the _Discovery_ days, to get accustomed
to'seeing red,' he had to force himself to watch Dr. Wilson skinning
his specimens.
When he was about eight Con passed out of the hands of a governess,
and became a school-boy, first at a day school in Stoke Damerel
and later at Stubbington House, Fareham. He rode grandly between
Oatlands and Stoke Damerel on his pony, Beppo, which bucked in
vain when he was on it, but had an ingratiating way of depositing
other riders on the road. From what one knows of him later this
is a characteristic story. One day he dismounted to look over a
gate at a view which impressed him (not very boyish this), and when
he recovered from a brown study there was no Beppo to be seen. He
walked the seven miles home, but what was characteristic was that
he called at police-stations on the way to give practical details
of his loss and a description of the pony. Few children would have
thought of this, but Scott was naturally a strange mixture | 1,729.676681 |
2023-11-16 18:45:53.6611080 | 453 | 12 |
Produced by Brian Coe, Martin Pettit and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
THE BELGIAN FRONT
AND ITS NOTABLE FEATURES
BY
CAPTAIN WILLY BRETON
OF THE BELGIAN ARMY
_Translated from the French_
LONDON:
CHATTO & WINDUS
MCMXVIII
_Price Sixpence net_
THE BELGIAN FRONT
AND ITS NOTABLE FEATURES
[Illustration: VIEW OF FRONT LINE THROUGH THE FLOODS]
_The illustrations are from photographs taken by the Photographic
Service of the Belgian Army Command_
THE BELGIAN FRONT
AND ITS NOTABLE FEATURES.
THE BELGIAN ARMY'S ACTIVITIES SINCE THE BATTLE OF THE YSER.
Everyone knows how severely the Belgian Army was tested in the initial
stages of the campaign. Caught unawares by the war while in the midst of
re-organisation, it had to struggle alone, for long weeks on end,
against forces greatly superior in both numbers and equipment, suddenly
hurled against it in accordance with a deliberate and carefully planned
scheme of attack.
Yet the Belgian Army bravely faced the enemy, grimly determined to
fulfil its duty to the last, and at once aroused enthusiasm by its
heroic resistance at Liège, from August 8 onwards, to the onset of
several army corps. On the 12th the troops emerged victoriously from the
bloody engagements at Haelen; and not till the 18th, and then only to
escape being overwhelmed by the ever-rising flood of invasion, did the
Belgian Army abandon its positions at La Gette and fall back on Antwerp,
the national stronghold in which would be concentrated the whole of the
country's powers of opposition. Its retreat was covered by rearguards
which fought fiercely, especially at Hautem Ste. Marguerite. Namur,
threatened since August 19th, fell to the enemy on the 23rd, after
se | 1,729.681148 |
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Produced by Thierry Alberto, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE COMING OF THE KING
By JOSEPH HOCKING
_Author of "All Men are Liars" "The Scarlet Woman" "A Flame of Fire"
etc., etc._
ILLUSTRATIONS BY GRENVILLE MANTON
LONDON:
WARD LOCK & CO. LIMITED
1904
[Illustration: "'My name is Roland Rashcliffe, your Majesty.'" (_Page
130._)]
CONTENTS
I THE COMING OF KATHARINE HARCOMB 7
II THE SECRET OF THE BLACK BOX 17
III THE KING'S MARRIAGE CONTRACT 28
IV THE HAPPENING AT THE INN 39
V A MIDNIGHT MEETING 49
VI THE OLD HOUSE AT PYCROFT 59
VII THE MYSTERY OF PYCROFT 69
VIII HOW I ENTERED PYCROFT 79
IX FATHER SOLOMON AT BAY 89
X THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON 99
XI THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER 110
XII THE COMING OF THE KING 121
XIII AN ADVENTURE ON THE CANTERBURY ROAD 133
XIV HOW I SAW A MAN WHO BECAME FAMOUS! 142
XV MASTER STURGEON, THE GAOLER 153
XVI THE ESCAPE 164
XVII HOW I LEFT BEDFORD 174
XVIII JAMES, DUKE OF YORK 185
XIX THE SCENE AT THE PARISH CHURCH 195
XX THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON 205
XXI HOW I VISITED BEDFORD A SECOND TIME 216
XXII THE CHAPEL OF HERNE 227
XXIII THE JOURNEY TO WINDSOR 238
XXIV CHARLES II AS JUDGE 248
XXV THE JUDGMENT OF THE KING 258
XXVI FLEET PRISON 268
XXVII HOW I LEFT FLEET PRISON 278
XXVIII WHAT HAPPENED ON THE BEDFORD ROAD 288
XXIX THE PURITAN'S COTTAGE 298
XXX HOW I LEFT MY OLD HOME 309
CHAPTER I
THE COMING OF KATHARINE HARCOM | 1,729.775303 |
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Produced by Clare Graham & Marc D'Ho | 1,729.876412 |
2023-11-16 18:45:54.0563280 | 258 | 7 |
Produced by Aaron Cannon
THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS
by Stewart Edward White
1913
I. ON BOOKS OF ADVENTURE
Books of sporting, travel, and adventure in countries little known to
the average reader naturally fall in two classes-neither, with a very
few exceptions, of great value. One class is perhaps the logical result
of the other.
Of the first type is the book that is written to make the most of far
travels, to extract from adventure the last thrill, to impress the
awestricken reader with a full sense of the danger and hardship the
writer has undergone. Thus, if the latter takes out quite an ordinary
routine permit to go into certain districts, he makes the most of
travelling in "closed territory," implying that he has obtained an
especial privilege, and has penetrated where few have gone before him.
As a matter of fact, the permit is issued merely that the authorities
may keep track of who is where. Anybody can get one. This class of
writer tells of shooting beasts at customary ranges of four and five
hundred yards. I remember one in especial who airily and as a matter
of fact killed all his antelope at | 1,730.076368 |
2023-11-16 18:45:54.0574760 | 506 | 18 |
Produced by Donald Lainson
ROUNDABOUT PAPERS
By William Makepeace Thackeray
CONTENTS
ROUNDABOUT PAPERS
On a Lazy Idle Boy
On Two Children in Black
On Ribbons
On some late Great Victories
Thorns in the Cushion
On Screens in Dining-Rooms
Tunbridge Toys
De Juventute
On a Joke I once heard from the late Thomas Hood
Round about the Christmas Tree
On a Chalk-Mark on the Door
On being Found Out
On a Hundred Years Hence
Small-Beer Chronicle
Ogres
On Two Roundabout Papers which I intended to Write
A Mississippi Bubble
On Letts's Diary
Notes of a Week's Holiday
Nil Nisi Bonum
On Half a Loaf--A Letter to Messrs. Broadway, Battery and Co., of New
York, Bankers
The Notch on the Axe.--A Story a la Mode. Part I Part II Part III
De Finibus
On a Peal of Bells
On a Pear-Tree
Dessein's
On some Carp at Sans Souci
Autour de mon Chapeau
On Alexandrines--A Letter to some Country Cousins
On a Medal of George the Fourth
"Strange to say, on Club Paper"
The Last Sketch
ROUNDABOUT PAPERS.
ON A LAZY IDLE BOY.
I had occasion to pass a week in the autumn in the little old town
of Coire or Chur, in the Grisons, where lies buried that very ancient
British king, saint, and martyr, Lucius,* who founded the Church of St.
Peter, on Cornhill. Few people note the church now-a-days, and fewer
ever heard of the saint. In the cathedral at Chur, his statue appears
surrounded by other sainted persons of his family. With tight red
breeches, a Roman habit, a curly brown beard, and a neat little gilt
crown and sceptre, he stands, a very comely and cheerful image: and,
from what I may call his peculiar position with regard to Cornhill, I
beheld this figure of St. Lucius with more interest than I should have
bestowed upon personages who, hierarchically, are, I dare say, his
superiors.
* Stow quotes the inscription, still extant, from the table | 1,730.077516 |
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Produced by Steven Giacomelli, Constanze Hofmann and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images produced by Core
Historical Literature in Agriculture (CHLA), Cornell
University)
[Illustration:
So work the Honey Bees.
Creatures that by a rule in Nature, teach
The art of order to a peopled kingdom.--_Shakspeare._]
[Illustration: Worker. Drone. Queen.
The above are a very accurate representations of the QUEEN, the WORKER
and the DRONE. The group of bees in the title page, represents the
attitude in which the bees surround their Queen or Mother as she rests
upon the comb.]
LANGSTROTH
ON THE
HIVE AND THE HONEY-BEE,
A Bee Keeper's Manual,
BY
REV. L. L. LANGSTROTH.
[Illustration: EVERY GOOD MOTHER SHOULD BE THE
HONORED QUEEN OF A HAPPY FAMILY.]
NORTHAMPTON:
HOPKINS, BRIDGMAN & COMPANY.
1853.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by
L. L. LANGSTROTH,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
C. A. MIRICK, PRINTER, GREENFIELD.
PREFACE.
This Treatise on the Hive and the Honey-Bee, is respectfully submitted
by the Author, to the candid consideration of those who are interested
in the culture of the most useful as well as wonderful Insect, in all
the range of Animated Nature. The information which it contains will be
found to be greatly in advance of anything which has yet been presented
to the English Reader; and, as far as facilities for practical
management are concerned, it is believed to be a very material advance
over anything which has hitherto been communicated to the Apiarian
Public.
Debarred, by the state of his health, from the more appropriate duties
of his Office, and compelled to seek an employment which would call him,
as much as possible, into the open air, the Author indulges the hope
that the result of his studies and observations, in an important branch
of Natural History, will be found of service to the Community as well as
to himself. The satisfaction which he has taken in his researches, has
been such that he has felt exceedingly desirous of interesting others,
in a pursuit which, (without any reference to its pecuniary profits,)
is capable of exciting the delight and enthusiasm of all intelligent
observers. The Creator may be seen in all the works of his hands; but in
few more directly than in the wise economy of the Honey-Bee.
"What well appointed commonwealths! where each
Adds to the stock of happiness for all;
Wisdom's own forums! whose professors teach
Eloquent lessons in their vaulted hall!
Galleries of art! and schools of industry!
Stores of rich fragrance! Orchestras of song!
What marvelous seats of hidden alchemy!
How oft, when wandering far and erring long,
Man might learn truth and virtue from the BEE!"
_Bowring._
The attention of Clergymen is particularly solicited to the study of
this branch of Natural History. An intimate acquaintance with the
wonders of the Bee-Hive, while it would benefit them in various ways,
might lead them to draw their illustrations, more from natural objects
and the world around them, and in this way to adapt them better to the
comprehension and sympathies of their hearers. It was, we know, the
constant practice of our Lord and Master, to illustrate his teachings
from the birds of the air, the lilies of the field, and the common walks
of life and pursuits of men. Common Sense, Experience and Religion alike
dictate that we should follow his example.
L. L. LANGSTROTH.
_Greenfield, Mass., May 25, 1853._
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION--CHAPTER I.
Deplorable state of bee-keeping. New era anticipated, 13. Huber's
discoveries and hives. Double hives for protection against extremes of
temperature, 14. Necessary to obtain complete control of the combs.
Taming bees. Hives with movable bars. Their results important, 15.
Bee-keeping made profitable and certain. Movable frames for comb. Bees
will work in glass hives exposed to the light. Dzierzon's discoveries,
16. Wagner's letter on the merits of Dzierzon's hive and the movable
comb hive, 17. Superiority of movable comb hive, 19. Superiority of
Dzierzon's over the old mode, 20. Success attending it, 22. Bee-Journal
to be established. Two of them in Germany. Important facts connected
with bees heretofore discredited, 23. Every thing seen in observing
hives, 24.
CHAPTER II.
BEES CAPABLE OF DOMESTICATION. Astonishment of persons at | 1,730.077686 |
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Produced by David Widger
INDEX FOR WORKS OF RUTH OGDEN
By Ruth Ogden
Compiled by David Widger
CONTENTS
## TATTINE
## COURAGE
## HIS LITTLE ROYAL HIGHNESS
## A LOYAL LITTLE RED-COAT
## A LITTLE QUEEN OF HEARTS
## LITTLE HOMESPUN
TABLES OF CONTENTS OF VOLUMES
TATTINE A1816
by Ruth Ogden
[Mrs. Charles W. Ide]
Contents
CHAPTER I. TROUBLE NO. 1
CHAPTER II. A MAPLE-WAX MORNING
CHAPTER III. A SET OF SETTERS
CHAPTER IV. MORE TROUBLES
CHAPTER V. THE KIRKS AT HOME
CHAPTER VI. “IT IS THEIR NATURE TO.”
COURAGE
A Story Wherein Every One Comes To The Conclusion That The Courage In Question Proved A Courage Worth Having
By Ruth Ogden
Illustrated by Frederick C. Gordon
With Twenty Original Illustrations
1891
CONTENTS
COURAGE
CHAPTER I.—NAMED AT LAST.
CHAPTER II.—ON THE WATCH.
CHAPTER III.—LARRY COMES.
CHAPTER IV.—MISS JULIA.
CHAPTER V.—SYLVIA.
CHAPTER VI.—ABOARD THE LIGHTER.
CHAPTER VII.—“THE QUEEREST LITTLE PLACE.”
CHAPTER VIII.—COURAGE DOES IT.
L'ENVOI
HIS LITTLE ROYAL HIGHNESS A51979
By Ruth Ogden
Illustrated by W. Rainsey
1887
CONTENTS
I.—CORONATION DAY
II.—THE KING HOLDS AND INTERVIEW WITH SISTER JULIA
III.—THE FAIRFAXES CALL ON THE MURRAYS
IV. A SURPRISE FOR THE BODY GUARD
V. GOODNIGHT AND GOODBYE
VI. IN THE HIGHLAND LIGHT
VII.—A TRIP TO BURCHARD'S
VIII.—ON THE WAY HOME
IX.—A DAY ON THE BEACH
X. A LAND BREEZE.
XI.—A NEW FRIEND
XII.—THE STARLING RUNS ASHORE
XIII.—THE WRECK OF THE SPANISH BRIG.
XIV.—A PUZZLING QUESTION
XV.—THE QUESTION ANSWERED
XVI.—THE CAPTAIN'S STORY
XVII—THANKSGIVING IN EARNEST
XVIII.—THE KING'S CAMERA
XIX.—HOLIDAYS IN TOWN
XX.—IN MR. VALES CHURCH
XXI.—IN MR. VALE'S STUDY
A LOYAL LITTLE RED-COAT
A Story of Child-life | 1,730.280499 |
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[Illustration]
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 433
NEW YORK, APRIL 19, 1884
Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XVII, No. 433.
Scientific American established 1845
Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.
Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year | 1,730.285041 |
2023-11-16 18:45:54.2658640 | 2,466 | 28 |
E-text prepared by Shaun Pinder, Martin Pettit, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 47887-h.htm or 47887-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/47887/47887-h/47887-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/47887/47887-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/sircharlesnapier00butluoft
English Men of Action
SIR CHARLES NAPIER
[Illustration: Logo]
[Illustration: SIR CHARLES NAPIER.]
SIR CHARLES NAPIER
by
COLONEL SIR WILLIAM F. BUTLER
London
Macmillan and Co.
And New York
1890
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE HOME AT CELBRIDGE--FIRST COMMISSION 1
CHAPTER II
EARLY SERVICE--THE PENINSULA 14
CHAPTER III
CORUNNA 27
CHAPTER IV
THE PENINSULA IN 1810-11--BERMUDA--AMERICA--ROYAL
MILITARY COLLEGE 46
CHAPTER V
CEPHALONIA 62
CHAPTER VI
OUT OF HARNESS 75
CHAPTER VII
COMMAND OF THE NORTHERN DISTRICT 86
CHAPTER VIII
INDIA--THE WAR IN SCINDE 98
CHAPTER IX
THE BATTLE OF MEANEE 117
CHAPTER X
THE MORROW OF MEANEE--THE ACTION AT DUBBA 136
CHAPTER XI
THE ADMINISTRATION OF SCINDE 152
CHAPTER XII
ENGLAND--1848 TO 1849 175
CHAPTER XIII
COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF IN INDIA 188
CHAPTER XIV
HOME--LAST ILLNESS--DEATH 203
CHAPTER I
THE HOME AT CELBRIDGE--FIRST COMMISSION
Ten miles west of Dublin, on the north bank of the Liffey, stands a
village of a single street, called Celbridge. In times so remote that
their record only survives in a name, some Christian hermit built here
himself a cell for house, church, and tomb; a human settlement took root
around the spot; deer-tracks widened into pathways; pathways broadened
into roads; and at last a bridge spanned the neighbouring stream. The
church and the bridge, two prominent land-marks on the road of
civilisation, jointly named the place, and Kildrohid or "the church by
the bridge" became henceforth a local habitation and a name, twelve
hundred years later to be anglicised into Celbridge. To this village of
Celbridge in the year 1785 came a family which had already made some
stir in the world, and was destined to make more.
Colonel the Hon. George Napier and his wife Lady Sarah Lennox were two
remarkable personages. The one a tall and majestic soldier, probably the
finest specimen of military manhood then in the service of King George
the Third; the other a lady of such beauty, wit, and grace that her
fascination had induced the same King George to offer her all his heart
and half his throne. Fate and politics marred this proposed romantic
royal union, and the lovely Lady Sarah, after a most unhappy first
marriage, became in 1777 the wife of Colonel George Napier, and in the
following dozen years the mother of a large family, in whose veins ran
the blood of a list of knights and kings and nobles sufficient to fill a
peerage all to itself; for on one side the pedigree went back to the
best of the old Scottish cavaliers--to Montrose, and the Napiers of
Merchiston, and the Scotts of Thirlestane; and on the other it touched
Bourbon, Stuart, and Medici, and half a dozen other famous sources. It
would have been strange if from such parents and with such stock the
nest which was built in Celbridge in 1785 did not send forth far-flying
birds.
The house in which the Napiers took up their residence in this year
stood a short distance from the western end of the village. It was a
solid, square building of blue-gray limestone, three-storied and
basemented, with many tall narrow windows in front and rear, and a hall
door that looked north and was approached by arched steps spanning a
wide stone area surrounding the basement; green level fields, with
fences upon which grew trees and large bushes, spread around the house
to north and west, and over the tops of oak and beeches to the south a
long line of blue hills lay upon the horizon. Looking south towards
these hills the eye saw first a terrace and garden, then a roadway
partly screened by trees, and beyond the road the grounds of Marley
Abbey sloping to the Liffey, holding within them still the flower-beds
and laurel hedges amid which Vanessa spent the last sorrow-clouded years
of her life. But to the boys up in the third-story nursery, looking out
in the winter evenings to snowy Kippure or purple Sleve-rhue, the loves
and wrongs of poor Vanessa mattered little. What did matter to them,
however--and mattered so much that through a thousand scenes of future
death and danger they never forgot it--was, that there stood a certain
old larch tree in the corner of the pleasure-ground where the peacocks
fluttered up to roost as the sun went down beyond the westmost Wicklow
hill-top, and that there was a thick clump of Portugal laurels and old
hollies where stares, or starlings as they call them in England, came in
flocks at nightfall, and sundry other trees and clumps in which
blackbirds with very yellow winter beaks flew in the dusk, sounding the
weirdest and wildest cries, and cocked their fan-spread tails when they
lighted on the sward where the holly and arbutus berries lay so thick.
When Colonel Napier settled at Celbridge he was still in his prime, a
man formed both in mind and body to conquer and direct in camp, court,
or council; and yet, for all that, a failure as the world counts its
prizes and blanks in the lottery of life. He had recently returned from
the American War, where he had served with distinction. He had filled
important offices abroad and at home, and by right of intellect and
connection might look forward almost with certainty to high military
command, but he had one fatal bar against success in the career of arms,
as that noble profession was practised in the reign of George the Third
and for a good many years after--he was in political opinion intensely
liberal and intensely outspoken. The phrase "political opinion" is
perhaps misleading. Colonel Napier's liberalism was neither a party cry
nor a prejudice. It sprang from a profound love of justice, an equally
fixed hatred of oppression, and a wide-reaching sympathy with human
suffering that knew no distinction of caste or creed. The selection of
Celbridge as the Napiers' family residence at this period was chiefly
decided by the proximity of the village to the homes of Lady Sarah's two
sisters--the Duchess of Leinster at Carton, and Lady Louisa Conolly at
Castletown--indeed only the length of the village street separated the
beautiful park of Castletown from the Napiers' home, and Castletown
woods and waters were as free to the children's boyish sports and
rambles as its saloons were open to them later on when the quick-running
years of boyhood carried them into larger life. Whatever was beautiful
and brilliant in Irish society--and there was much of both--then met in
the Castletown drawing-rooms. They were to outward seeming pleasant
years, those seventeen hundred and eighties and early nineties in
Ireland. The society that met at Castletown formed a brilliant circle of
orators, soldiers, wits, and statesmen, many of whose names still shine
brightly through the intervening century. Grattan, Curran, Flood,
Charlemont, the Ponsonbys, Parnell, the Matthews, and younger but not
less interesting spirits were in the group too; the ill-fated Lord
Edward Fitzgerald (first cousin to the Napier boys); young Robert
Stewart, still an advanced Liberal,--not yet seeing that his road to
fortune lay behind instead of before him; and there was another
frequent guest at Castletown--a raw-boned, youthful ensign, generally
disliked, much in debt to his Dublin tailor, but nevertheless regarded
by Colonel Napier, at least, as a young man of promise, who, if fate
gave him opportunity, would some day win fame as a soldier--one Ensign
Wellesley, or, as he then wrote his name, Arthur Wesley.
When the Napier coach drove into Celbridge with the newly-arriving
family in 1785, there was in it a very small boy, Charles by name, the
eldest son of the handsome colonel and his beautiful wife--a small,
delicate-looking child, who had been born at the Richmond residence in
Whitehall just three years earlier. Two other children younger than
Charles made up, with the due complement of nurses and boxes, an
imposing cavalcade, and for days after the arrival baggage and
books--these last not the least important items in the family
future--continued to trundle through the village.
Twelve years go by; 1797 has come. Long ago--what an age in childhood
seem these few flying years!--little Charles has made himself at home in
a circle ever widening around the Celbridge nest. He has a fishing-rod,
and the river east and west has been explored each year a longer
distance. He has a pony, and the mountains to the south have given up
their wonders to himself and his four-footed friend. And finally,
grandest step of all in the boy's ladder, he has a gun, and the
wood-pigeons of Castletown and the rabbits out in big fences to the west
know him as one more enemy added to the long list of their foes.
And how about the more generally recognised factors of
boy-training--school and schoolmaster? Well, in these matters we get a
curious picture of army-training in that good old time when George the
Third was King. At the age of twelve little Charlie Napier had been
nominated to a pair of colours in His Majesty's Thirty-Third Regiment of
Foot. War had broken out with France. Mr. Pitt was borrowing some fifty
millions every year, and commissions in Horse, Foot, and Dragoons, in
Hessian and Hanoverian Corps, in Scotch Fencibles and Irish Yeomanry and
English Militia | 1,730.285904 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
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_PRICE TWENTY-FIVE CENTS._
THE LIFE OF
HENRIETTE SONTAG,
COUNTESS DE ROSSI.
[I | 1,730.286105 |
2023-11-16 18:45:54.4577100 | 7,435 | 14 |
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
MILDRED'S NEW DAUGHTER
By MARTHA FINLEY
(MARTHA FARQUHARSON)
Author of the Famous ELSIE BOOKS
"A sweet, heartlifting cheerfulness,
Like springtime of the year,
Seemed ever on her steps to wait."
--Mrs. Hale.
A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers--New York
COPYRIGHT, 1894,
BY
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
CHAPTER I.
The clock on the mantel, striking six, woke Ethel and Blanche Eldon, two
little sisters lying side by side in their pretty bed.
"Ah, it is morning, Blanche, and time for you and me to be up," said
Ethel, smiling pleasantly into her younger sister's eyes.
"Yes; in a minute, Ethel," replied Blanche, turning toward her sister
and patting her cheek affectionately.
At the same moment the door into the hall opened softly and the mother
came in, her dark eyes shining, her thin, pale face wreathed in smiles.
"Good-morning, my darlings," she said, speaking softly, for fear of
waking the two younger children in the nursery beyond. "Have you slept
well?" she asked, bending over to kiss first one, then the other.
"Yes, mamma, dear," they answered, speaking together. "And so have Harry
and Nannette," added Ethel, "and they are sound asleep yet, I think."
"And we will not wake them," responded the mother.
"Did you sleep well, mamma? and is dear papa better?" asked the little
girls with eager, anxious looks up into her face, Ethel adding, "Oh, I
am sure of it, because you look so happy!"
"Yes, dears, I am very glad and happy, very thankful to our kind
Heavenly Father, that your papa slept unusually well and seems easier
and brighter this morning than I have seen him for weeks," Mrs. Eldon
replied, with tears of joy shining in her eyes. "He has asked to see his
children, and when you are dressed and have eaten your breakfast, you
shall come to him for a few minutes."
"Oh, we are so glad we may see him, mamma," they cried in a breath,
Ethel adding, "I hope papa will soon be so well that we can go back to
our own dear home again and see our own dear grandma and grandpa."
"Yes, I hope so, darling. And now you two may get up and when dressed
help Harry and Nannette with their toilet."
"Then have our breakfast and after that go in to see papa?" exclaimed
Blanche joyously. "And may we kiss him, mamma?"
"I think he will be able to kiss his children all around," the mother
answered the little questioner, with a loving smile. "But I must go back
to him now, dears," she added; and with another tender kiss she turned
and went quickly from the room.
The two little girls were already out of bed and dressing as fast as
they could; but that was not so very rapidly, for Ethel, the eldest, was
only eight years old, Blanche nearly two years younger.
Their father had been ill for a long while, and it was now some days
since they had seen him; their mother was his devoted nurse, with him
almost constantly, so that of late the children had been left very much
to themselves and the companionship of the young girl, Myra, who
combined in her person the calling of both child's-nurse and housemaid.
Ethel was scarcely dressed when the little brother and sister woke and
were heard demanding assistance with their dressing.
"Oh, hush, hush! do hush, children!" cried Ethel, running to them,
"don't make such a noise. You forget that our dear papa is very sick and
your noise may make him worse. I don't know where Myra is, but you may
get up and I will help you to dress; then we will have breakfast, and
after that we will go into dear papa's room; for mamma says we may."
"Oh! oh! can we, Ethel?" they asked in delight. "We're so glad! 'cause
we haven't seen our dear papa for ever so long."
"And Nanny wants mamma to tum and dress her," whimpered Nannette.
"Oh, no, Nan, dear; mamma is too busy taking care of our poor sick papa,
so I'll dress you and we'll have our breakfast, and then we are to go in
to see him," returned Ethel. "Now be a dear, good girl and don't cry,"
she added coaxingly; "because if dear papa should hear you it might make
him worse. Now let me wash you and put on your clothes and brush your
hair and then we'll have our breakfast."
The little maid worked away while she talked, dressing the baby sister,
and little Blanche helped Harry with his toilet.
Before they had finished Myra came to their assistance.
"Your papa is better this morning, Miss Ethel," she said, "and your
breakfast's ready now. Your mamma says you may go in to see the captain
when you are done eatin', and then you are to have your morning walk."
"Oh, yes, we know," said Blanche; "mamma told us papa was better, and
we're just as glad as can be."
"We hope he'll soon be quite, quite well," added Ethel, taking the hand
of Nannette and leading the way to the breakfast room.
The four were quite merry over their porridge, feeling in excellent
spirits because of the good news about their father, whom they dearly
loved.
When all had finished their meal and been made tidy again, they were
taken to him. He greeted them with a loving smile and a few low spoken
words of endearment. Alas! he was still so ill as to be scarce able to
lift his head from the pillow, and when each had had a few loving words
and a tender kiss of fatherly affection, mamma bade them run away to
their play, promising that they should come in again for a few minutes
when papa felt able to see them.
She led them to the door and kissed each in turn, saying low and
tenderly, "Mamma's own dear, dear children! no words can tell how mamma
loves you all." The baby she kissed several times, holding her close as
if loth to let her go. Setting her down at last with a heavy sigh, "Go,
my darlings," she said, "and try to be quiet while you are in the house
lest you disturb poor, dear papa."
With that she stepped back into the room again and softly closed the
door.
Nannette was beginning to cry, "Nanny wants to go back to dear mamma and
stay wis her," but Ethel put her arms about her, saying cheerily,
"There, there, little sister, don't cry; we are going to take a nice
walk out in the green fields and gather flowers under the hedge-rows for
our dear papa and mamma. Won't that be pleasant?"
"Oh yes, yes! I so glad!" cried the little one with sudden change of
look and tone. "Put Nan's hat on dus now; dis minute."
"Yes, darling, we'll go and get it at once; and Blanche and Harry and I
will put our hats on too, and oh, such a good time as we shall have!"
At that Nannette dried her eyes and began prattling delightedly about
the flowers she hoped to gather, and the birds that would be singing in
the tree-tops, or flying to and fro building their nests.
Harry and Blanche were scarcely less elated, and even staid little Ethel
grew blithe and gay as they passed down the village street and turned
aside into the green lanes and meadows.
The house grew very quiet when the children had gone. Captain Eldon had
fallen into a doze and his devoted wife sat close by his side, one thin
hand fast clasped in hers, while she almost held her breath lest she
should rouse him from that slumber which might prove the turning point
in the long illness that had brought him to the very borders of the
grave.
Mrs. Eldon was a West Indian from the island of Jamaica; and the
captain, belonging to an English regiment stationed there, had won her
heart, courted and married her. She was the only living child of a
worthy couple, a wealthy planter and his wife, who had made no objection
to their daughter's acceptance of the gallant British officer who had
made himself agreeable to them as well as to her.
He proved a kind and indulgent husband. They were a devotedly attached
couple and very happy during the first eight years of their married
life; then Captain Eldon's health began to fail, the climate was
pronounced most unfavorable by his medical adviser, and obtaining a
furlough, he returned to his native land, taking wife and children with
him; but the change had little effect; he rallied somewhat for a time,
then he grew weaker and now had scarcely left his bed for weeks.
He had no near relatives living except two brothers, who had, years
before, emigrated to America; he was too ill to seek old friends and
acquaintances, and taking possession of a cottage advertised for rent,
on the outskirts of a village and near the seashore, he, with his wife
and little ones, had passed a secluded life there, seeing few visitors
besides the physician who was in attendance.
Mrs. Eldon insisted on being her husband's sole nurse and determinedly
persisted in believing in his final recovery, often talking hopefully of
the time when they might return to her island home on the other side of
the ocean, and the fond parents who were wearying of the prolonged
absence of their only child and her little ones. But to-day as she sat
with her eyes riveted upon his sleeping face and noted its haggard
look--so thin, wan and marked with lines of suffering--her heart misgave
her as never before. Was he--the light and joy of her life--about to pass
away to that bourn whence no traveller returns? Oh, the anguish of that
thought! how could life ever be endured without him? Her heart almost
stood still with terror and despair.
"Oh, my darling!" she moaned, as suddenly the sunken eyes opened and
gazed mournfully into hers, "do not leave me! I cannot live without
you," and as she spoke she pressed her hand upon her heart and gasped
for breath.
His lips moved but no sound came from them, the fingers of the hand she
held closed convulsively over hers, he drew a long sighing breath, and
was gone.
The sound of a heavy fall brought the cook and housemaid running from
the kitchen to find the captain dead and the new-made widow lying prone
upon the floor by his bedside, apparently as lifeless as he.
"Dear, dear!" cried the cook, stooping over the prostrate form, "there
don't seem to be a bit more life in her than in him. Take hold here with
me, Myra, and we'll lift her to the couch yonder. Poor thing, poor
thing! between nursin' and frettin' she's just about killed, and I
shouldn't wonder if she wouldn't be long a-following o' him, if she
hasn't done it already."
"Betty, I'm afraid she has!" sobbed the girl, "and what will the poor
children do? She was just the sweetest lady I ever saw, so she was."
"There now, Myra, don't go on so, but run and bring somethin' to bring
her to. Oh, there's the doctor's gig at the gate! Run and let him in,
quick as you can go."
In another minute the doctor entered the room, followed by the sobbing
Myra. He glanced first at the still form on the bed. "Yes, the poor
gentleman has gone!" he said, sighing as he spoke; "but it is only what
was to be expected."
He turned quickly to the couch where lay the still form of Mrs. Eldon,
the face as pale and deathlike as that of the husband, laid his finger
on her wrist, turned hastily, caught up a hand-glass lying on the bureau
and held it to her lips for a moment, then laying it down with a sigh:
"She too is gone," he said in a low, moved tone, "and I am hardly
surprised."
"Oh, sir, what ailed her?" sobbed Myra, "She scarce ever complained of
being ill."
"No, but I knew she had heart trouble likely to carry her off should she
be subjected to any great or sudden shock."
"And he's been took that suddent! and she so fond o' him," groaned
Betty. "Well, well, well! we've all got to die, but when my time comes I
'ope I'll go a bit slower; that I do!"
The doctor was looking at his watch. "I must be going," he said, "for I
have other patients needing attention; but I'll drive to the vicarage
and ask Mrs. Rogers to come and oversee matters here. By the way, can
either of you tell me where any relatives are to be found?"
"No, sir, that we can't," replied the cook, sighing heavily. "Leastways
I don't remember so much as oncet hearing the capting nor Mrs. Eldon
mention no relations 'cept it might be some o' her folks 'way acrost the
sea somewheres."
"Too far away to be of any use in this extremity," muttered the
physician meditatively. Then a little louder, "Well," he said, "I'll go
for the vicar's wife, and she'll see to all the necessary arrangements.
Where are the children?"
"Out walkin' in the fields, sir," answered Myra. "Oh, dear, the poor
little things! Whatever will they do? What's to become o' them without
no father nor no mother?"
"I dare say there are relations somewhere," returned the doctor, then
hurried out to his gig, and in another minute was driving rapidly in the
direction of the parsonage.
Not far from the house he came upon the little group of children
returning from their walk.
"Oh, doctor," cried Ethel, and perceiving that she wanted to speak to
him, he reined in his horse for a moment, "have you been to our house?
and did you find papa better? Oh, I hope--I think he is very much better,
and will soon be well."
"Yes, my dear," returned the kind-hearted physician after a moment's
pause, as if considering the question and the best reply to make. "I
found him entirely free from the pain from which he has been so long
suffering; and I am sure you and your little brother and sisters will be
glad of it."
"Oh, yes, indeed, sir! just as glad as we can be; as I am sure dear
mamma must be."
The doctor drove on, sighing to himself, "Poor little orphans! I wonder
what is to become of them. If I were only a rich man instead of a poor
one with a family of my own to support--ah, well! I hope there are
relatives somewhere who will see that they are clothed, fed, and
educated."
CHAPTER II.
"Oh, papa is better, dear, dear papa!" cried Ethel, jumping and dancing
in delight.
"Oh, I'm so glad! I'm so glad!" cried Blanche and Harry in chorus.
"I so blad! I so blad!" echoed Nannette. "But I don't want to doe home,
Ethel; I'se tired."
"Then we'll go and sit down a while under the trees by the little brook
over yonder," returned Ethel in soothing tones. "You will like that,
Blanche and Harry, won't you?"
A ready assent was given, and all three turned aside and spent an hour
or more in the pleasant spot, rolling on the grass, picking flowers,
throwing them into the water, and watching them sail away out of sight.
At length Nannette began fretting. "I so tired, so s'eepy. Me wants to
doe home see papa and mamma."
"So you shall, Nan. I want to see them, too," returned Ethel, rising and
taking her little sister's hand as she spoke. "Come, Blanche and Harry."
"Yes, I'm ready," said Harry, flinging the last pebble into the water.
"I want to see papa and mamma;'sides I'm hungry for my lunch."
"So am I," said Blanche, and they followed on behind Ethel and the baby
sister, laughing and chatting merrily as they went.
Myra met the little party at the gate, her eyes red with weeping.
"O Myra, what's the matter?" asked Ethel in alarm.
"Never mind," returned the little maid evasively. "Your lunch is ready,
and you'd best come and eat first thing, 'cause I know you must be
hungry."
So saying she led the way into the house and on to the dining room.
They had come in with appetites sharpened by exercise in the open air,
and were too busy satisfying them to indulge in much chatter. Nannette
at length fell asleep in her chair and was carried to her bed by Myra,
whither Harry presently followed her.
"Has mamma had her lunch yet, Myra?" asked Ethel.
Myra seemed not to have heard, and the question was repeated.
"No, miss," she replied, and Ethel noticed a suspicious tremble in her
voice.
"O Myra, I hope mamma isn't sick," exclaimed the little girl. "She has
been looking so pale of late!"
"She--she's lying down--asleep," Miss Ethel, Myra returned with
difficulty, swallowing a lump in her throat and hurrying from the room.
"How oddly Myra acts! and she looks as if she'd been crying ever so long
and hard," remarked Ethel, half to herself, half to Blanche.
But Blanche had thrown herself on the bed beside the two little ones,
and was so nearly asleep that she scarcely heard or heeded.
Ethel seated herself in a large easy-chair by the window with a book in
her hand; but all being so quiet within and without the house, she too,
rather weary with the walk and sports of the morning, was presently
wandering in the land of dreams.
She was roused from her slumber by someone bending over her and softly
pressing a kiss upon her forehead. Her eyes opened and looked up into
the kind face of Mrs. Rogers, the vicar's wife.
"Oh, I thought it was mamma!" exclaimed the little girl in a tone of
keen disappointment.
"No, dear, but I kissed you for her--your dear mother," returned the lady
with emotion.
"But why didn't mamma come herself?" asked Ethel, growing frightened
though she could scarcely have told why. "You are very kind, Mrs.
Rogers, but oh, I do want mamma! Can I go to her now?" She sprang to her
feet as she spoke.
"My poor child, my poor dear little girl," the lady said tremulously,
seating herself and drawing Ethel into her arms.
"Oh, ma'am, why do you say that?" queried Ethel in terror. "Is anything
the matter with mamma? is papa worse? Oh, what shall I do? Can't I go to
them now? I'll be very quiet and good."
"Oh, my child, my poor dear child, how shall I tell you!" cried the
lady, folding the little girl close in her arms, while great tears
chased each other down her cheeks. "Your dear father has gone to his
heavenly home, Ethel, and to the dear Saviour whom he loved and served
while here upon earth."
"Do you mean that papa is dead?" almost shrieked Ethel. "Oh, oh, my
papa, my dear papa!" and hiding her face in her hands she sobbed
violently for a moment.
"But I must go to mamma!" she cried, dashing away her tears; "she will
be wanting me to comfort her, for there's nobody else to do it now. Oh,
let me go! I must!" as Mrs. Rogers held her fast.
"No, dear child," she said with emotion, "your mamma does not need you
or any other earthly comforter now, for God Himself has wiped away all
tears from her eyes and she will never know sin or sorrow or suffering
any more."
A dazed look up into the lady's face was Ethel's only rejoinder for a
moment, then she stammered, "I--I don't know what you mean, ma'am.
I--I--mamma has taught me that it is only in heaven there is no sin or
sorrow or pain."
"Yes, darling, and it is there she is now with the dear husband--your
father--whom she so dearly loved!"
"Oh, you can't mean it! it can't be that both are gone, and nobody left
to love us or take care of us--Blanche and Harry, and Nan and me! Oh, no,
no, it can't be possible!" cried the little girl, covering her face with
her hands and bursting into an agony of sobs and tears. "Mamma, mamma,
mamma, oh, I can never, never, never do without you!"
Mrs. Rogers drew her closer and spoke in low, comforting tones, her own
tears falling fast the while, "Dear child, God will take care of you and
your little brother and sisters. He calls Himself the father of the
fatherless. He pities and loves you and will raise up friends and
helpers for you. Can you not trust Him for that, dear child, and be glad
for papa and mamma, that they are safe with Him and will never again be
sick or in pain? and that if you love and serve Him while on earth He
will one day take you to be with Him and them?"
"I don't want to die, and I cannot, I cannot do without my dear papa and
mamma!" wailed the well-nigh heartbroken child.
Her cry waked the three younger ones; a trying scene ensued.
CHAPTER III.
To Ethel and Blanche the memories of the next few days seemed, through
the rest of their lives, ever like a dreadful dream. Then they were
taken on board an ocean steamer bound for the city of Philadelphia in
the United States of America, where two brothers of their father had
settled years before. They were merchants doing a large wholesale and
retail business, and were known to be abundantly able to provide for the
orphan children of their deceased brother.
The address of the parents of Mrs. Eldon was not known to those who made
the arrangements, so that they were not even advised of their daughter's
death.
There were no relatives to take charge of the forlorn little ones on
their voyage, but they were given into the care of the wife of a soldier
who was going out to join her husband in Canada, a Mrs. McDougal, a
warm-hearted earnest Christian, childless herself, but with a heart full
of love and tenderest sympathy for the sadly bereaved little ones
committed to her care. She petted, soothed, comforted them, attended
faithfully to all their physical needs, and spent many an hour amusing
them with quaint stories of Scottish life and manners, of brownies,
elves, and fairies; tales that would interest and amuse, yet teach no
harmful lesson.
Before the good and gallant vessel had reached her destination the
mutual love between the kind caretaker and her young charges had grown
very strong, and it was with a heavy heart that Mrs. McDougal looked
forward to the coming separation.
The announcement of the deaths of their brother and his wife, and that
the children would be sent directly to them, had reached the firm of the
Eldon Brothers only a few hours before the arrival of the vessel
bringing them.
It was a great and not altogether welcome surprise, yet their hearts
were moved with pity for the forlorn little ones, and together they
repaired at once to the dock and boarded the newly arrived vessel in
search of them.
They found them on the deck with their kind caretaker, Nannette on her
lap, the others grouped about her.
"Ah, here they are! I'd know that little lad anywhere as poor Harry's
boy!" exclaimed Mr. Albert Eldon, the younger of the two, with emotion,
and laying a hand tenderly upon the child's head, as he spoke.
"That's my name, sir; and it was my papa's name too. Mamma called him
that, but most folks said captain when they talked to him," volunteered
the little fellow in return.
"Ah? then I'm your uncle Albert; and this gentleman," indicating his
brother, "is your uncle George."
"Oh I thought so for you resemble papa; at least as he was before he was
taken so ill," Ethel said, lifting tearful eyes to the face of Mr.
George Eldon.
"Do I, my dear? I believe there is said to be a strong family
resemblance among us all," he returned. "At all events we are your
father's brothers, and therefore own uncles to all of you little ones,"
he added, stooping to caress them in turn, as his brother was doing.
Then the gentlemen held a conversation with Mrs. McDougal in
which--perceiving how loth the children were to be separated from her,
clinging to her with tears and entreaties that she would not leave
them--they proposed that she should remain in charge of them for a few
days or weeks while they were becoming familiar with their new
surroundings.
She replied that she could do so for only a day or two, as she must
embrace the first opportunity to rejoin her husband.
"I am sorry to hear that," returned Mr. Albert Eldon, "but do us the
favor to stay while you can; and let it be at my house; for we will not
try separating these little folks while you are with them, whatever
arrangement we may decide upon later. Will not that be the better plan,
brother?"
"For the present--till we have time to talk the matter over with our
wives? Yes, I think so."
A carriage was waiting on the wharf, in which Mrs. McDougal and the
children were presently bestowed, Mr. Albert Eldon following, after a
moment's low-toned chat with his brother and an order to the driver. He
seated himself and took Harry on his knee.
"Where are we doin' now?" asked Nannette, peering out of the window as
the vehicle moved on.
"To my house--Uncle Albert's house, little one," replied Mr. Eldon in
pleasant tones. "You will find some little cousins, a girl and a boy,
and I hope have nice times playing with them."
"What's the boy's name, Uncle Albert?" queried Harry.
"Charles Augustus; the little girl is Leonora; but they are usually
called Gus and Lena, or Nora, for short."
"Are they all the children you have, uncle?" asked Ethel with shy look
and tone.
"Oh, no," he replied; "there are Albert and Arabella, nearly grown up,
and Olive and Minnie; Minnie is twelve and Olive fourteen."
"Has dey dot a papa and mamma?" asked Nannette.
"Yes; your Aunt Augusta is their mamma and I am their papa."
"And we haven't any; our papa and mamma both went away to heaven,"
sighed Blanche.
"Where they are very, very happy, dear child," returned her uncle,
laying a hand tenderly on her head as she sat by his side.
Then he called their attention to something passing in the street, and
exerted himself to amuse them in various ways till the carriage drew up
in front of a spacious dwelling.
"Ah, here we are," he said, throwing open the door, alighting and
handing them out one after the other.
"Why, who in the world can they be? And what is papa bringing them here
for?" exclaimed a little girl, leaning out from an upper window and
scanning with eager curiosity the new arrivals whom her father was
marshalling up the front door steps, and at once admitted to the hall
with his dead-latch key.
"What's that? More company coming, Min?" queried another voice, and
Olive's head appeared beside that of her sister, just as the hack in
which the little party had arrived turned and drove away. "Pooh! nobody
of any consequence; they came in a hired hack."
"But they were children--except one woman--their nurse, I suppose; and
papa with them! There, I hear them coming up the stairs now, and I mean
to find out all about it," and with the words Minnie threw down her
books and ran from the room, Olive following close at her heels.
They heard their father's voice coming from the nursery, and rushed in
there, asking breathlessly:
"Papa, whom have you got here? And what did you bring them for?"
"These children are your little cousins," he answered pleasantly. "Come
and speak to them, all of you. They are the children of your Uncle
Henry, of whom you have often heard me speak. Ethel, here, Charles
Augustus, is just about your age, and Blanche might be Lena's twin;
Harry is two years younger, and Nannette, a baby girl, the youngest of
all."
The greetings over:
"But, papa, where are Uncle Harry and--and their mother?" asked Minnie,
more than half regretting her query as she saw the tears gathering in
Ethel's eyes.
"In heaven, I trust," her father replied in low and not unmoved tones.
"There, my dears, do what you can to make your cousins comfortable and
happy, I must go and speak to your mamma." So saying he left the room.
Mrs. Eldon, lying on the sofa in her dressing room, looked up in mild
surprise as her husband entered.
"Why, Albert," she said, closing her book with a yawn, "what fortunate
circumstance brings you home at this unusual hour?" Then as he drew
nearer: "What is it, my dear? Why, actually, there are tears in your
eyes. Oh," half starting up, "is there anything wrong with Albert or----"
"No," he said huskily, "but bad news from England reached us this
morning. My brother Henry is no more; he and his wife died within a few
minutes of each other. She had heart disease, we are told, was strongly
attached to him, worn out with long and arduous nursing, and the shock
of his decease was more than her enfeebled frame could bear."
"How very sad! I am really sorry for you, my dear. And they left some
children, did they not?"
"Yes, four little ones--a boy and three girls, the eldest only about
eight years of age. They have grandparents, probably very well to do,
somewhere in the West Indies, but no one knows their name or address. So
the little orphans have been sent to us. The steamship came in this
morning, only a few hours after the letter was received telling us all
this, and which was forwarded by a vessel bound to a Canadian port but
delayed somewhat in her voyage, so that, starting some days before the
other, she reached port only a day or two ahead of her."
"And you are going down to the vessel to get the children?"
"No; we went down--George and I--at once on learning that she was in,
found the little folks there all right, and I have just brought them
home with me."
"But surely we are not to be expected to keep the whole four? Surely
George and his wife will take two, as they have the same right as we to
be at the expense and trouble."
"I think so, eventually; but just at present, while the poor little
things feel themselves strangers in a strange place, it would be hard
for them to be separated; so I have engaged to keep the whole for a few
days," he replied; then seeing that she looked ill-pleased with the
arrangement:
"But, I do not intend they shall be any trouble to you, my dear," he
added hastily. "The woman who had charge of them on the voyage will
remain with them for a few days, and except when they are taken out for
air and exercise, they can be kept in the nursery and adjoining rooms."
"Well," she sighed, returning to her book, "I suppose I may as well
resign myself to the inevitable."
"Do you think it more than their nearest relatives should do for our
children, were they so sorely bereaved?" he asked.
"No, I suppose not; but I have given my consent and what more would you
ask?"
"Nothing more, Augusta, except that you will encourage our children to
be kind and considerate toward their orphan cousins."
"Really I know of no one but their father who would expect them to be
anything else," she returned in a not particularly pleasant tone.
"I do not expect it," he said; "yet think it might be as well to call
their attention to the fact that the little orphans are entitled to
their kindly sympathy. But I am needed at my place of business and must
return at once. Good-by till dinner time, my dear;" and with the last
word he left the room.
"Dear me! as if we hadn't children enough of our | 1,730.47775 |
2023-11-16 18:45:54.5562540 | 1,257 | 10 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE
BOOT AND SHOE MANUFACTURERS’ ASSISTANT AND GUIDE.
CONTAINING
A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE TRADE.
History of India-Rubber and Gutta-Percha,
AND THEIR APPLICATION TO THE MANUFACTURE OF BOOTS AND SHOES.
FULL INSTRUCTIONS IN THE ART,
WITH DIAGRAMS AND SCALES, ETC., ETC.
VULCANIZATION AND SULPHURIZATION,
ENGLISH AND AMERICAN PATENTS.
WITH
AN ELABORATE TREATISE ON TANNING.
“SUTOR ULTRA CREPIDAM.”
COMPILED AND EDITED BY
W. H. RICHARDSON, JR.
“Give good hearing to those who give the first information in
business.”—BACON.
BOSTON:
HIGGINS, BRADLEY & DAYTON,
20 WASHINGTON ST.
1858.
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1858, by
W. H. RICHARDSON, JR.,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE.
[Illustration]
In preparing the following pages, the author has aimed to supply a want
hitherto unsupplied. No work devoted to the wants of the Boot and
Shoe-maker, manufacturer, or merchant, has ever been compiled. Able
articles upon the “Trade,” statistical statements, and general comments
upon matters of interest local in their character, and having particular
reference to the state of the times in which they were written, have
been published, perused and forgotten. But no work, containing a history
of this important mechanical interest, together with instructions in the
science of the Boot and Shoe manufacture, has ever been written. The
Author does not flatter himself that he has, by any means, exhausted so
fruitful a subject, but that he has prepared and compiled important
facts and rules, and submitted valuable suggestions which are correct in
theory, and practical in their application, he has not a doubt.
Within a few years, this important industrial interest has assumed
almost wonderful proportions, and it now towers in magnitude and
importance, above all its compeers. New elements have been introduced
into the manufacture of boots and shoes, and fortunes have been expended
in endeavoring to introduce new methods by which to cheapen the process
of manufacture, as well as the raw material. The introduction of
India-rubber and Gutta-percha as articles of mechanical use, has
quickened the pulses of invention, and has already produced wonderful,
and important changes in all departments of the mechanic arts, and more
especially in that of boots and shoes. Already have these important
vegetable gums, and the thousand uses of which they are susceptible,
attracted the attention of the world, and last but not least, we are
indebted to the discovery and use of _Gutta-percha_ for the successful
insulation of the _Atlantic Cable_, without which substance, the cable
could not have been safely submerged. Establishments for the manufacture
of India-rubber, and Gutta-percha, into almost every conceivable shape,
have sprung up, as it were in a day. Patents for its use and
application, are constantly presenting themselves. Heretofore, it has
been the policy of all interested in the manufacture of India-rubber and
Gutta-percha, to surround their inventions with an air of mystery. “No
admittance” has been blazoned upon their laboratories, and no “open
sesame” pronounced by the uninitiated, has succeeded in opening the
doors to their carefully guarded treasures.
In this work, we have endeavored to make clear, simple, but important
facts, scientific discoveries and observations, which, from _practical
experience_, we know to be of great utility. A collection of the most
approved recipes for the preparation of compounds of India-rubber, and
Gutta-percha, would alone, make a volume worthy of preservation. But we
have endeavored to present all the important rules, practical hints, and
observations, necessary to the manufacture of boots and shoes, also an
important and _economical_ method of _repairing_ the same.
Herein may be found a history of the discovery of India-rubber and
Gutta-percha, its uses and applications, the inventions which they have
called into existence, the patents that have been taken out, the
“claims” set forth by different individuals, the causes of the failures
of many of them, and a brief history of their pretensions. We herein
introduce a process of manufacturing boots and shoes, of the _most
durable character_, at about one-half the expense of the old method, by
a process so simple that the humblest cordwainer in the land, no less
than the wealthy and extensive manufacturer, can at once enter upon the
field of competition; but time and _experiment_ will determine the real
value and utility of Gutta-percha as a substitute for “pegs” and
“stitches,” in the manufacture of boots and shoes.
Particular attention has been given to the application of Gutta-percha,
and India-rubber, in the manufacture of boots and shoes, inasmuch as it
is a new field, and much interest is manifested by the “_craft_” to
understand its value and use.
Not least in the application of this process of shoe manufacture, is the
invaluable benefit to be derived by all who wear _thin soled shoes_ or
boots, inasmuch as shoes thus | 1,730.576294 |
2023-11-16 18:45:54.5573850 | 3,293 | 22 |
Produced by David Edwards, Christine Aldridge and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(Stanford University, SUL Books in the Public Domain)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.
2. Passages in Gothic Bold are surrounded by +plus+ signs.
3. Other transcription notes appear at the end of this e-text.
[Illustration: _Portrait of Eugene Sue_
Etching by Bicknell, from a portrait]
+The Mysteries of Paris.+
_ILLUSTRATED WITH ETCHINGS
BY MERCIER, BICKNELL, POITEAU,
AND ADRIAN MARCEL._
_BY EUGENE SUE_
_IN SIX VOLUMES
VOLUME I._
_PRINTED FOR
FRANCIS A. NICCOLLS & CO.
BOSTON_
_EDITION DE LUXE._
_Limited to One Thousand Copies._
No. _____
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE TAPIS-FRANC 11
II. THE OGRESS 19
III. HISTORY OF LA GOUALEUSE 31
IV. THE CHOURINEUR'S HISTORY 47
V. THE ARREST 59
VI. THOMAS SEYTON AND THE COUNTESS SARAH 67
VII. "YOUR MONEY OR YOUR LIFE" 74
VIII. THE WALK 80
IX. THE SURPRISE 90
X. CASTLES IN THE AIR 99
XI. MURPHY AND RODOLPH 119
XII. THE RENDEZVOUS 137
XIII. PREPARATIONS 150
XIV. THE BLEEDING HEART 157
XV. THE VAULT 166
XVI. THE SICK-NURSE 172
XVII. THE PUNISHMENT 189
XVIII. THE ISLE ADAM 206
XIX. RECOMPENSE 212
XX. THE DEPARTURE 221
XXI. RESEARCHES 225
XXII. HISTORY OF DAVID AND CECILY 246
XXIII. A HOUSE IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE 258
XXIV. THE FOUR STORIES 292
XXV. TOM AND SARAH 302
XXVI. THE BALL 323
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
PORTRAIT OF EUGENE SUE _Frontispiece_
THE CHOURINEUR, RODOLPH, AND LA GOUALEUSE 22
"SHE PROFFERED TO RODOLPH THE BOUQUET" 89
"'AH, HERE IS THE DARLING ONE!'" 158
"RODOLPH ADDRESSED THE SCHOOLMASTER." 190
"THIS INDIVIDUAL WAS SEATED BY THE STOVE" 260
"'THIS, I SUPPOSE, IS THE WORK OF M. CABRION'" 296
THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS.
CHAPTER I.
THE TAPIS-FRANC.[1]
It was on a cold and rainy night, towards the end of October, 1838, that
a tall and powerful man, with an old broad-brimmed straw hat upon his
head, and clad in a blue cotton carter's frock, which hung loosely over
trousers of the same material, crossed the Pont au Change, and darted
with a hasty step into the Cite, that labyrinth of obscure, narrow, and
winding streets which extends from the Palais de Justice to Notre Dame.
[1] _Tapis-franc_: literally, a "free carpet;" a low haunt
equivalent to what in English slang is termed "a boozing ken."
Although limited in space, and carefully watched, this quarter serves as
the lurking-place, or rendezvous, of a vast number of the very dregs of
society in Paris, who flock to the _tapis-franc_. This word, in the
slang of theft and murder, signifies a drinking-shop of the lowest
class. A returned convict, who, in this foul phraseology, is called an
"ogre," or a woman in the same degraded state, who is termed an
"ogress," generally keep such "cribs," frequented by the refuse of the
Parisian population; freed felons, thieves, and assassins are there
familiar guests. If a crime is committed, it is here, in this filthy
sewer, that the police throws its cast-net, and rarely fails to catch
the criminals it seeks to take.
On the night in question, the wind howled fiercely in the dark and dirty
gullies of the Cite; the blinking and uncertain light of the lamps which
swung to and fro in the sudden gusts were dimly reflected in pools of
black slush, which flowed abundantly in the midst of the filthy
pavement.
The murky- houses, which were lighted within by a few panes of
glass in the worm-eaten casements, overhung each other so closely that
the eaves of each almost touched its opposite neighbour, so narrow were
the streets. Dark and noisome alleys led to staircases still more black
and foul, and so perpendicular that they could hardly be ascended by the
help of a cord fixed to the dank and humid walls by holdfasts of iron.
Stalls of charcoal-sellers, fruit-sellers, or venders of refuse meat
occupied the ground floor of some of these wretched abodes.
Notwithstanding the small value of their commodities, the fronts of
nearly all these shops were protected by strong bars of iron,--a proof
that the shopkeepers knew and dreaded the gentry who infested the
vicinity.
The man of whom we have spoken, having entered the Rue aux Feves, which
is in the centre of the Cite, slackened his pace: he felt he was on his
own soil. The night was dark, and strong gusts of wind, mingled with
rain, dashed against the walls. Ten o'clock struck by the distant dial
of the Palais de Justice. Women were huddled together under the vaulted
arches, deep and dark, like caverns; some hummed popular airs in a low
key; others conversed together in whispers; whilst some, dumb and
motionless, looked on mechanically at the wet, which fell and flowed in
torrents. The man in the carter's frock, stopping suddenly before one of
these creatures, silent and sad as she gazed, seized her by the arm, and
said, "Ha! good evening, La Goualeuse."[2]
[2] Sweet-throated: in reference to the tone of her voice.
The girl receded, saying, in a faint and fearful tone, "Good evening,
Chourineur.[3] Don't hurt me."
[3] One who strikes with the knife; the stabber, or slasher.
This man, a liberated convict, had been so named at the hulks.
"Now I have you," said the fellow; "you must pay me the glass of 'tape'
(_eau d'aff_), or I'll make you dance without music," he added, with a
hoarse and brutal laugh.
"Oh, Heaven! I have no money," replied Goualeuse, trembling from head to
foot, for this man was the dread of the district.
"If you're stumped, the ogress of the _tapis-franc_ will give you tick
for your pretty face."
"She won't; I already owe her for the clothes I'm wearing."
"What, you want to shirk it?" shouted the Chourineur, darting after La
Goualeuse, who had hid herself in a gully as murk as midnight.
"Now, then, my lady, I've got you!" said the vagabond, after groping
about for a few moments, and grasping in one of his coarse and powerful
hands a slim and delicate wrist; "and now for the dance I promised you."
"No, it is _you_ who shall dance!" was uttered by a masculine and deep
voice.
"A man! Is't you, Bras Rouge? Speak, why don't you? and don't squeeze so
hard. I am here in the entrance to your 'ken,' and you it must be."
"'Tis not Bras Rouge!" said the voice.
"Oh! isn't it? Well, then, if it is not a friend, why, here goes at
you," exclaimed the Chourineur. "But whose bit of a hand is it I have
got hold of? It must be a woman's!"
"It is the fellow to this," responded the voice.
And under the delicate skin of this hand, which grasped his throat with
sudden ferocity, the Chourineur felt himself held by nerves of iron.
The Goualeuse, who had sought refuge in this alley, and lightly ascended
a few steps, paused for an instant, and said to her unknown defender,
"Thanks, sir, for having taken my part. The Chourineur said he would
strike me because I could not pay for his glass of brandy; but I think
he only jested. Now I am safe, pray let him go. Take care of yourself,
for he is the Chourineur."
"If he be the Chourineur, I am a bully boy who never knuckles down,"
exclaimed the unknown.
All was then silent for a moment, and then were heard for several
seconds, in the midst of the pitchy darkness, sounds of a fierce
struggle.
"Who the devil is this?" then said the ruffian, making a desperate
effort to free himself from his adversary, whose extraordinary power
astonished him. "Now, then, now you shall pay both for La Goualeuse and
yourself!" he shouted, grinding his teeth.
"Pay! yes, I will pay you, but it shall be with my fists; and it shall
be cash in full," replied the unknown.
"If," said the Chourineur, in a stifled voice, "you do but let go my
neckcloth, I will bite your nose off."
"My nose is too small, my lad, and you haven't light enough to see it."
"Come under the 'hanging glim'[4] there."
[4] Under the lamp, called _reverbere_.
"That I will," replied the unknown, "for then we may look into the
whites of each other's eyes."
He then made a desperate rush at the Chourineur, whom he still held by
the throat, and forced him to the end of the alley, and then thrust him
violently into the street, which was but dimly lighted by the suspended
street-lamp. The bandit stumbled; but, rapidly recovering his feet, he
threw himself furiously upon the unknown, whose slim and graceful form
appeared to belie the possession of the irresistible strength he had
displayed. After a struggle of a few minutes, the Chourineur, although
of athletic build, and a first-rate champion in a species of pugilism
vulgarly termed the _savate_, found that he had got what they call his
master. The unknown threw him twice with immense dexterity, by what is
called, in wrestling, the leg-pass, or crook. Unwilling, however, to
acknowledge the superiority of his adversary, the Chourineur, boiling
with rage, returned again to the charge. Then the defender of La
Goualeuse, suddenly altering his mode of attack, rained on the head and
face of the bandit a shower of blows with his closed fist, as hard and
heavy as if stricken by a steel gauntlet. These blows, worthy of the
admiration of Jem Belcher, Dutch Sam, Tom Cribb, or any other celebrated
English pugilist, were so entirely different from the system of the
_savate_, that the Chourineur dropped like an ox on the pavement,
exclaiming, as he fell, "I'm floored!" (_Mon linge est lave!_)
"_Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!_ Have pity on him!" exclaimed La Goualeuse, who,
during the contest, had ventured on the threshold of the alley, adding,
with an air of astonishment, "But who are you, then? Except the
Schoolmaster and Skeleton, there is no one, from the Rue Saint Eloi to
Notre Dame, who can stand against the Chourineur. I thank you very, very
much, sir, for, indeed, I fear that, without your aid, he would have
beaten me."
The unknown, instead of replying, listened with much attention to the
voice of this girl. Perhaps a tone more gentle, sweet, and silvery never
fell on human ear. He endeavoured to examine the features of La
Goualeuse; but the night was too dark, and the beams of the street-lamp
too flickering and feeble. After remaining for some minutes quite
motionless, the Chourineur shook his legs and arms, and then partly rose
from the ground.
"Pray be on your guard!" exclaimed the Goualeuse, retreating again into
the dark passage, and taking her champion by the arm; "take care, or he
will have his revenge on you."
"Don't be frightened, my child; if he has not had enough, I have more
ready for him."
The brigand heard these words.
"Thanks," he murmured; "I'm half throttled, and one eye is closed,--that
is quite enough for one day. Some other time, perhaps, when we may meet
again--"
"What! not content yet,--grumbling still?" said the unknown, with a
menacing tone.
"No, no,--not at all; I do not grumble in the least. You have regularly
served me out,--you are a lad of mettle," said the Chourineur, in a
coarse tone, but still with that sort of deference which physical
superiority always finds in persons of his grade. "You are the better
man, that's clear. Well, except the Skeleton, who seems to have bones of
iron, he is so thin and powerful, and the Schoolmaster, who could eat
three Herculeses for his breakfast, no man living could boast of having
put his foot on my neck."
"Well, and what then?"
"Why, now I have found my master, that's all; you will find yours some
day sooner or later,--everybody does. One thing, however, is certain;
now that you are a better man than the Chourineur, you may 'go your
length' in the Cite. All the women will be your slaves; ogres and
ogresses | 1,730.577425 |
2023-11-16 18:45:58.3547290 | 7,436 | 7 |
Produced by Sandra Laythorpe. HTML version by Al Haines.
DYNEVOR TERRACE.
VOL. II.
BY
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
CONTENTS
1. THE TRYSTE.
II. THE THIRD TIME.
III. MISTS.
IV. OUTWARD BOUND.
V. THE NEW WORLD.
VI. THE TWO PENDRAGONS.
VII. ROLAND AND OLIVER
VIII. THE RESTORATION.
IX. THE GIANT OF THE WESTERN STAR.
X. THE WRONG WOMAN IN THE WRONG PLACE.
XI. AUNT CATHARINE'S HOME.
XII. THE FROST HOUSEHOLD.
XIII. THE CONWAY HOUSEHOLD.
XIV. THE TRUSTEES' MEETING.
XV. SWEET USES OF ADVERSITY.
XVI. THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION.
XVII. 'BIDE A WEE.'
XVIII. THE CRASH.
XIX. FAREWELL TO GREATNESS.
XX. WESTERN TIDINGS.
XXI. STEPPING WESTWARD.
XXII. RATHER SUDDEN.
XXIII. THE MARVEL OF PERU.
CHAPTER I.
THE TRYSTE.
One single flash of glad surprise
Just glanced from Isabel's dark eyes,
Then vanished in the blush of shame
That as its penance instant came--
'O thought unworthy of my race!'
The Lord of the Isles.
As little recked Fitzjocelyn of the murmurs which he had provoked, as
he guessed the true secret of his victory. In his eyes, it was the
triumph of merit over prejudice, and Mrs. Frost espoused the same
gratifying view, though ascribing much to her nephew's activity, and
James himself, flushed with hope and success, was not likely to dissent.
Next they had to make their conquest available. Apart from Louis's
magnificent prognostications, at the lowest computation, the head
master's income amounted to a sum which to James appeared affluence;
and though there was no house provided, it mattered the less since
there were five to choose from in the Terrace, even if his grandmother
had not wished that their household should be still the same. With
Miss Conway's own fortune and the Terrace settled on herself, where
could be any risk?
Would Lady Conway think so? and how should the communication be made?
James at first proposed writing to her, enclosing a letter to Isabel;
but he changed his mind, unable to satisfy himself that, when absent
from restraint, she might not send a refusal without affording her
daughter the option. He begged his grandmother to write to Isabel; but
she thought her letter might carry too much weight, and, whatever might
be her hopes, it was not for her to tell the young lady that such means
were sufficient.
Louis begged to be the bearer of the letter. His aunt would certainly
keep terms with him, and he could insure that the case was properly
laid before Isabel; and, as there could be no doubt at present of his
persuasive powers, James caught at the offer. The party were still at
Beauchastel, and he devised going to his old quarters at Ebbscreek, and
making a descent upon them from thence.
When he came to take up his credentials, he found James and his little
black leathern bag, determined to come at least to Ebbscreek with him,
and declaring it made him frantic to stay at home and leave his cause
in other hands, and that he could not exist anywhere but close to the
scene of action.
Captain Hannaford was smoking in his demi-boat, and gave his former
lodgers a hearty welcome, but he twinkled knowingly with his eye, and
so significantly volunteered to inform them that the ladies were still
at Beauchastel, that James's wrath at the old skipper's impudence began
to revive, and he walked off to the remotest end of the garden.
The Captain, remaining with Louis, with whom he was always on far more
easy terms, looked after the other gentleman, winked again, and
confessed that he had suspected one or other of them might be coming
that way this summer, though he could not say he had expected to see
them both together.
'Mind, Captain,' said Louis,' it wasn't _I_ that made the boat late
this time last year.'
'Well! I might be wrong, I fancied you cast an eye that way. Then
maybe it ain't true what's all over the place here.'
Louis pressed to hear what. 'Why, that when the French were going on
like Robert Spear and them old times, he had convoyed the young lady
right through the midst of them, and they would both have been shot, if
my Lady's butler hadn't come down with a revolver, killed half-a-dozen
of the mob, and rescued them out of it, but that Lord Fitzjocelyn had
been desperately wounded in going back to fetch her bracelet, and Mr.
Delaford had carried him out in his arms.'
'Well!' said Louis, coolly, without altering a muscle of his face, as
the Captain looked for an angry negative.
'And when they got home,--so the story went,--Mr. Frost, the tutor, was
so mad with jealousy and rage, that my Lady declared those moorings
would not suit her no longer, but had let go, and laid her head right
for Beauchastel.'
'Pray what was the young lady supposed to think of the matter?'
'Stories appeared to vary. One version said that Mr. Delaford had
found him on his knees to her; and that my Lady had snatched her
cruelly away, because she would not have her married before her own
daughters, and looked over all the post, for fear there should be a
letter for her. Another declared that Miss Conway would not have him
at any price, and was set upon the poor tutor, and that he was lying
dangerously ill of a low fever. --The women will have it so,' observed
the Captain, 'the story's everywhere, except maybe in the parlour at
Beauchastel, and I wouldn't wonder if Mrs. Mansell knew it all herself,
for her maid has a tongue a yard long. I won't say but I thought there
might be some grain of truth at the bottom--'
'And you shall hear it by-and-by, when I know what it is myself.'
'I'd not say I would have believed it the more if that fine gentleman
had taken his oath of it--a fellow that ain't to be trusted,' observed
the Captain.
This might have led to a revelation, if Louis had had time to attend to
it; but he had pity on James's impatient misery, and proceeded to ask
the loan of the boat. The tide would not, however, serve; and as
waiting till it would was not to be endured, the two cousins set off to
walk together through the woods, Louis beguiling the way by chaffing
James, as far as he would bear, with the idea of Isabel's name being
trifled with by the profane crowd.
He left James at the gate of the park, prowling about like a panther to
try for a glimpse of Isabel's window, and feeding his despair and
jealousy that Louis should boldly walk up to the door, while he, with
so much better a right, was excluded by his unguarded promise to Lady
Conway.
All the tumultuary emotions of his mind were endlessly repeated, and
many a slow and pealing note of the church-clock had added fuel to his
impatience, and spurred him to rush up to the door and claim his
rights, before Louis came bounding past the lodge-gates, flourishing
his cap, and crying, 'Hurrah, Jem! All right!'
'I'm going to her at once!' cried Jem, beginning to rush off; but Louis
caught and imprisoned his arm.
'Not so fast, sir! You are to see her. I promise you shall see her if
you wish it, but it must be in my aunt's way.'
'Let me go, I say!'
'When I have walked five miles in your service, you won't afford me an
arm to help me back. I am not a horse with wings, and I won't be
Cupid's post except on my own terms. Come back.'
'I don't stir till I have heard the state of the case.'
'Yes, you do; for all the sportsmen will be coming home, and my aunt
would not for all the world that Mr. Mansell caught you on the
forbidden ground.'
'How can you give in to such shuffling nonsense! If I am to claim
Isabel openly, why am I not to visit her openly? You have yielded to
that woman's crooked policy. I don't trust you!'
'When you are her son, you may manage her as you please. Just now she
has us in her power, and can impose conditions. Come on; and if you
are good, you shall hear.'
Drawing James along with him through the beechwood glades, he began,
'You would have been more insane still if you had guessed at my luck. I
found Isabel alone. Mrs. Mansell had taken the girls to some juvenile
fete, and Delaford was discreet enough not to rouse my aunt from her
letters. I augured well from the happy conjunction.'
'Go on; don't waste time in stuff.'
'Barkis is willing, then. Is that enough to the point?'
'Fitzjocelyn, you never had any feelings yourself, and therefore you
trifle with those of others.'
'I beg your pardon. It was a shame! Jem, you may be proud. She
trusts you completely, and whatever you think sufficient, she regards
as ample.'
'Like her! Only too like her. Such confidence makes one feel a
redoubled responsibility.'
'I thought I had found something at which you could not grumble.'
'How does she look? How do they treat her?'
'Apparently they have not yet fed her on bread and water. No;
seriously, I must confess that she looked uncommonly well and lovely!
Never mind, Jem; I verily believe that, in spite of absence and all
that, she had never been so happy in her life. If any description
could convey the sweetness of voice and manner when she spoke of you! I
could not look in her face. Those looks can only be for you. We
talked it over, but she heeded no ways and means; it was enough that
you were satisfied. She says the subject has never been broached since
the flight from Northwold, and that Lady Conway's kindness never
varies; and she told me she had little fear but that her dear mamma
would be prevailed on to give sanction enough to hinder her from
feeling as if she were doing wrong, or setting a bad example to her
sisters. They know nothing of it; but Walter, who learnt it no one
knows how, draws the exemplary moral, that it serves his mother right
for inflicting a tutor on him.'
'Has she had my letter? Does she know I am here?'
'Wait! All this settled, and luncheon being ready, down came my Lady,
and we played unconsciousness to our best ability. I must confess my
aunt beat us hollow! Isabel then left us to our conference, which we
conducted with the gravity of a tailor and an old woman making a match
in Brittany.'
'You came out with that valuable improvable freehold, the Terrace, I
suppose?'
'I told the mere facts! My aunt was rather grand about a
grammar-school; she said even a curacy would sound better, and she must
talk it over with Isabel. I gave your letter, conjuring her to let
Isabel have it, and though she declared that it was no kindness, and
would put the poor darling into needless perplexity, she was touched
with my forbearance, in not having given it before, when I had such an
opportunity. So she went away, and stayed a weary while: but when she
came, it was worth the waiting. She said Isabel was old enough to know
her own mind, and the attachment being so strong, and you so
unexceptionable, she did not think it possible to object: she had great
delight in seeing you made happy, and fulfilling the dictates of her
own heart, now that it could be done with moderate prudence. They go to
Scarborough in a fortnight, and you will be welcome there. There's for
you!'
'Louis, you are the best fellow living! But you said I was to see her
at once.'
'I asked, why wait for Scarborough?' and depicted you hovering
disconsolately round the precincts. Never mind, Jem, I did not make
you more ridiculous than human nature must needs paint a lover, and it
was all to melt her heart. I was starting off to fetch you, when I
found she was in great terror. She had never told the Mansells of the
matter, and they must be prepared. She cannot have it transpire while
she is in their house, and, in fact, is excessively afraid of Mr.
Mansell, and wants to tell her story by letter. Now, I think,
considering all things, she has a right to take her own way.'
'You said I was not to go without meeting her!'
'I had assented, and was devising how to march off my lunatic quietly,
when the feminine goodnatured heart that is in her began to relent, and
she looked up in my face with a smile, and said the poor dears were
really exemplary, and if Isabel should walk to the beach and should
meet any one there, she need know nothing about it.'
'What says Isabel?'
'She held up her stately head, and thought it would be a better return
for Mr. Mansell's kindness to tell him herself before leaving
Beauchastel; but Lady Conway entreated her not to be hasty, and
protested that her fears were of Mr. Mansell's displeasure with her for
not having taken better care of her--she dreaded a break, and so
on,--till the end of it was, that though we agree that prudence would
carry us off to-morrow morning, yet her ladyship will look the other
way, if you happen to be on the southern beach at eleven o'clock
to-morrow morning. I suppose you were very headlong and peremptory in
your note, for I could not imagine Isabel consenting to a secret tryste
even so authorized.'
'I never asked for any such thing! I would not for worlds see her led
to do anything underhand.'
'She will honour you! That's right, Jem!'
'Neither as a clergyman, nor as a Dynevor, can I consent to trick even
those who have no claim to her duty!'
'Neither as a gentleman, nor as a human creature,' added Louis, in the
same tone. 'Shall I go back and give your answer?'
'No; you are walking lame enough already.'
'No matter for that.'
'To tell you the truth, I can't stand your being with her again, while
I am made a fool of by that woman. If I'm not to see her, I'll be off.
I'll send her a note; we will cross to Bickleypool, and start by the
mail-train this very night.'
Louis made no objection, and James hurried him into the little parlour,
where in ten minutes the note was dashed off:--
My Own Most Precious One!--(as, thanks to my most unselfish of cousins,
I may dare to call you,)--I regret my fervency and urgency for an
interview, since it led you to think I could purchase even such
happiness by a subterfuge unworthy of my calling, and an ill return of
the hospitality to which we owed our first meeting. We will meet when
I claim you in the face of day, without the sense of stolen felicity,
which is a charm to common-place minds. My glory is in the assurance
that you understand my letter, approve, and are relieved. With such
sanction, and with ardour before you like mine, I see that you could do
no other than consent, and there is not a shadow of censure in my mind;
but if, without compromising your sense of obedience, you could openly
avow our engagement to Mr. Mansell, I own that I should feel that we
were not drawn into a compromise of sincerity. What this costs me I
will not say; it will be bare existence till we meet at Scarborough.
'Your own, J. E. F. D.'
Having written this and deposited it in the Ebbscreek post-office,
James bethought himself that his submissive cousin had thrown himself
on the floor, with his bag for a pillow, trying to make the most of the
few moments of rest before the midnight journey. Seized with
compunction, James exclaimed, 'There, old fellow, we will stay
to-night.'
'Thank you--' He was too sleepy for more.
The delay was recompensed. James was trying to persuade Louis to rouse
himself to be revived by bread-and-cheese and beer, and could extort
nothing but a drowsy repetition of the rhyme, in old days the war-cry
of the Grammar-school against the present headmaster,--
'The Welshman had liked to be choked by a mouse,
But he pulled him out by the tail,'--
when an alarum came in the shape of a little grinning boy from
Beauchastel, with a note on which James had nearly laid hands, as he
saw the writing, though the address was to the Viscount Fitzjocelyn.
'You may have it,' said Louis. 'If anything were wanting, the
coincidence proves that you were cut out for one another. I rejoice
that the moon does not stoop from her sphere.'
'My Dear Cousin,--I trust to you to prevent Mr. F. Dynevor from being
hurt or disappointed; and, indeed, I scarcely think he will, though I
should not avail myself of the permission for meeting him so kindly
intended. I saw at once that you felt as I did, and as I know he will.
He would not like me to have cause to blush before my kind friends--to
know that I had acted a deceit, nor to set an example to my sisters for
which they might not understand the justification. I know that you
will obtain my pardon, if needed; and to be assured of it, would be all
that would be required to complete the grateful happiness of
'Isabel.'
The boy had orders not to wait; and these being seconded by fears of
something that 'walked' in Ebbscreek wood after dark, he was gone
before an answer could be thought of. It mattered the less, since
Isabel must receive James's note early in the morning; and so, in fact,
she did--and she was blushing over it, and feeling as if she could
never have borne to meet his eye but for the part she had fortunately
taken, when Louisa tapped at her door, with a message that Mr. Mansell
wished to speak with her, if she were ready.
She went down-stairs still in a glow; and her old friend's first words
were a compliment on her roses, so pointed, that she doubted for a
moment whether he did not think them suspicious, especially as he put
his hands behind his back, and paced up and down the room, for some
moments. He then came towards her, and said, in a very kind tone,
'Isabel, my dear, I sent for you first, because I knew your own mother
very well, my dear; and though Lady Conway is very kind, and has always
done you justice,--that I will always say for her,--yet there are times
when it may make a difference to a young woman whether she has her own
mother or not.'
Isabel's heart was beating. She was certain that some discovery had
been made, and longed to explain; but she was wise enough not to speak
in haste, and waited to see how the old gentleman would finally break
it to her. He blundered on a little longer, becoming more confused and
distressed every minute, and at last came to the point abruptly. 'In
short, Isabel, my dear, what can you have done to set people saying
that you have been corresponding with the young men at Ebbscreek?'
'I sent a note to my cousin Fitzjocelyn last night,' said Isabel, with
such calmness, that the old gentleman fairly stood with his mouth open,
looking at her aghast.
'Fitzjocelyn! Then it is Fitzjocelyn, is it?' he exclaimed. 'Then,
why could he not set about it openly and honourably? Does his father
object? I would not have thought it of you, Isabel, nor of the lad
neither!'
'You need not think it, dear Mr. Mansell. There is nothing between
Lord Fitzjocelyn and myself but the warmest friendship.'
'Isabel! Isabel! why are you making mysteries? I do not wish to pry
into your affairs. I would have trusted you anywhere; but when it
comes round to me that you have been sending a private messenger to one
of the young gentlemen there, I don't know what to be at! I would not
believe Mrs. Mansell at first; but I saw the boy, and he said you had
sent him yourself. My dear, you may mean, very rightly--I am sure you
do, but you must not set people talking! It is not acting rightly by
me, Isabel; but I would not care for that, if it were acting rightly by
yourself.' And he gazed at her with a piteous, perplexed expression.
'Let me call mamma,' said Isabel.
'As you will, my dear, but cannot you let the simple truth come out
between you and your own blood-relation, without all her words to come
between? Can't you, Isabel? I am sure you and I shall understand each
other.'
'That we shall,' replied Isabel, warmly. 'I have given her no promise.
Dear Mr. Mansell, I have wished all along that you should know that I
am engaged, with her full consent, to Mr. Frost Dynevor.'
'To the little black tutor!' cried Mr. Mansell, recoiling, but
recollecting himself. 'I beg your pardon, my dear, he may be a very
good man, but what becomes of all this scrambling over barricades with
the young Lord?'
Isabel described the true history of her engagement; and it was
received with a long, low whistle, by no means too complimentary.
'And what makes him come and hide in holes and corners, if this is all
with your mamma's good will?'
'Mamma thought you would be displeased; she insisted on taking her own
time for breaking it to you,' said Isabel.
'Was there ever a woman but must have her mystery? Well, I should have
liked him better if he had not given into it!'
'He never did!' said Isabel, indignant enough to disclose in full the
whole arrangement made by Lady Conway's manoeuvres and lax good-nature.
'I knew it would never do,' she added, 'though I could not say so
before her and Fitzjocelyn. My note was to tell them so: and look
here, Mr. Mansell, this is what Mr. Dynevor had already written before
receiving mine.'
She held it out proudly; and Mr. Mansell, making an unwilling sound
between his teeth, took it from her; but, as he read, his countenance
changed, and he exclaimed, 'Ha! very well! This is something like! So
that's it, is it? You and he would not combine to cheat the old man,
like a pair of lovers in a trumpery novel!'
'No, indeed!' said Isabel, 'that would be a bad way of beginning.'
'Where is the young fellow?--at Ebbscreek, did you say? I'll tell you
what, Isabel,' with his hand on the bell, 'I'll have out the dogcart
this minute, and fetch him home to breakfast, to meet my Lady when she
comes down stairs, if it be only for the sake of showing that I like
plain dealing!'
'Isabel could only blush, smile, look doubtful, and yet so very happy
and grateful, that Mr. Mansell became cautious, lest his impulse should
have carried him too far, and, after having ordered the vehicle to be
prepared, he caught her by the hand, and detained her, saying, 'Mind
you, Miss, you are not to take this for over-much. I'm afraid it is a
silly business, and I did not want you to throw yourself away on a
schoolmaster. I must see and talk to the man myself; but I won't have
anything that's not open and above-board, and that my Lady shall see
for once in her life!'
'I'm not afraid,' said Isabel, smiling. 'James will make his own way
with you.'
Isabel ran away to excuse and explain her confession to Lady Conway;
while Mr. Mansell indulged in another whistle, and then went to inform
his wife that he was afraid the girl had been making a fool of herself;
but it was not Lady Conway's fault that she was nothing worse, and he
was resolved, whatever he did, to show that honesty was the only thing
that would go down with him.
The boat was rocking on the green waves, and Louis was in the act of
waving an adieu to deaf Mrs. Hannaford, when a huntsman's halloo caused
James to look round and behold Mr. Mansell standing up in his dogcart,
making energetic signals with his whip.
He had meant to be very guarded, and wait to judge of James before
showing that he approved, but the excitement of the chase betrayed him
into a glow of cordiality, and he shook hands with vehemence.
'That's right!--just in time! Jump in, and come home to breakfast. So
you wouldn't be a party to my Lady's tricks!--just like her--just as
she wheedled poor Conway. I will let her see how I esteem plain
dealing! I don't say that I see my way through this business; but
we'll talk it over together, and settle matters without my Lady.'
James hardly knew where he was, between joy and surprise. The
invitation was extended to his companion; but Fitzjocelyn discerned
that both James and Mr. Mansell would prefer being left to themselves;
he had a repugnance to an immediate discussion with the one aunt, and
was in haste to carry the tidings to the other: and besides, it was
becoming possible that letters might arrive from the travellers.
Actuated by all these motives, he declined the offer of hospitality,
and rowed across to Bickleypool, enlightening the Captain on the state
of affairs as far as he desired.
CHAPTER II.
THE THIRD TIME.
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
And you the toast of all the town,
I sighed and said, amang them a',
Ye are not Mary Morison.
BURNS.
Mrs. Frost and Louis were very merry over the result of Lady Conway's
stratagems, and sat up indulging in bright anticipations until so late
an hour, that Louis was compelled to relinquish his purpose of going
home that night, but he persisted in walking to Ormersfield before
breakfast, that he might satisfy himself whether there were any letters.
It was a brisk October morning, the sportsman's gun and whistle
re-echoing from the hill sides; where here and there appeared the dogs
careering along over green turnip-fields or across amber stubble. The
Little Northwold trees, in dark, sober tints of brown and purple, hung
over the grey wall, tinted by hoary lichen; and as Louis entered the
Ormersfield field paths, and plunged into his own Ferny dell, the long
grass and brackens hung over the path, weighed down with silvery dew,
and the large cavernous web of the autumnal spider was all one thick
flake of wet.
If he could not enter the ravine without thankfulness for his past
escape, neither could he forget gratitude to her who had come to his
relief from hopeless agony! He quickened his pace, in the earnest
longing for tidings, which had seized him, even to heart sickness.
It was the reaction of the ardour and excitement that had so long
possessed him. The victory had been gained--he had been obliged to
leave James to work in his own cause, and would be no longer wanted in
the same manner by his cousin. The sense of loneliness, and of the
want of an object, came strongly upon him as he walked through the prim
old solitary garden, and looked up at the dreary windows of the house,
almost reluctant to enter, as long as it was without Mary's own serene
atmosphere of sympathy and good sense, her precious offices of love,
her clear steady eyes, even in babyhood his trustworthy counsellors.
Was it a delusion of fancy, acting on reflections in the glass, that,
as he mounted the steps from the lawn, depicted Mary's figure through
the dining-room windows? Nay, the table was really laid for
breakfast--a female figure was actually standing over the tea-chest.
'A scene from the Vicar of Wakefield deluding me,' decided Louis,
advancing to the third window, which was open.
It was Mary Ponsonby.
'Mary!'
'You here?--They said you were not at home!'
'My father!--Where?'
'He is not come down. He is as well as possible. We came at eleven
last night. I found I was not wanted,' added Mary, with a degree of
agitation, that made him conclude that she had lost her father.
One step he made to find the Earl, but too much excited to move away or
to stand still, he came towards her, wrung her hand in a more real way
than in his first bewildered surprise, and exclaimed in transport, 'O
Mary! Mary! to have you back again!' then, remembering his inference,
added, low and gravely, 'It makes me selfish--I was not thinking of
your grief.'
'Never mind,' said Mary, smiling, though her eyes overflowed, 'I must
be glad to be at home again, and such a welcome as this--'
'O Mary, Mary!' he cried, nearly beside himself, 'I have not known what
to do without you! You will believe it now, won't you?'--oh, won't
you?'
Mary would have been a wonderful person had she not instantly and
utterly forgotten all her conclusions from Frampton's having declared
him gone to Beauchastel for an unlimited time; but all she did was to
turn away her crimson tearful face, and reply, 'Your father would not
wish it now.'
'Then the speculations have failed? So much the better!'
'No, no! he must tell you--'
She was trying to withdraw her hand, when Lord Ormersfield opened the
door, and in the moment of his amazed 'Louis!' Mary had fled.
'What is it? oh! what is it, father? cried Louis for all greeting, 'why
can she say you would not wish it now?'
'Wish it? wish what?' asked the Earl, without the intuitive perception
of the meaning of the pronoun.
'What you have always wished--Mary and me--What is the only happiness
that life can offer me!'
'If I wished it a year ago, I could only wish it the more now,' said
the Earl. 'But how is this?--I fully believed you committed to Miss
Conway.'
'Miss Conway! Miss Conway!' burst out Louis, in a frenzy. 'Because
Jem Frost was in love with her himself, he fancied every one else must
be the same, and now he will be married to her before Christmas, so
that's disposed of. As to my feeling for her a particle, a shred of
what I do for Mary, it was a mere fiction--a romance, an impossibility.'
'I do not understand you, Louis. Why did you not find this out before?'
'Mrs. Ponsonby called it my duty to test my feelings, and I have tested
them. That one is a beautiful poet's dream. Mary is a woman, the only
woman I can ever love. Not an hour but I have felt it, and now,
father, what does she mean?'
'She means, poor girl, what only her own scrupulous delicacy could
regard as an objection, but what renders me still more desirous to have
a right to protect her. The cause of our return--'
'How? I thought her father was dead.'
'Far worse. At Valparaiso we met Robson, the confidential agent. I
learnt from him that Mr. Pon | 1,734.374769 |
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THE POPULAR RELIGION
AND FOLK-LORE OF
NORTHERN INDIA
BY
W. CROOKE, B.A.
BENGAL CIVIL SERVICE
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.
A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND ILLUSTRATED
WESTMINSTER
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO.
2, Whitehall Gardens, S.W.
1896
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The success of this book has been much beyond my expectations. That
a considerable edition has been exhausted within a few months after
publication proves that it meets a want.
I have now practically re-written the book, and have taken
the opportunity of introducing a considerable amount of fresh
information collected in the course of the Ethnographical Survey of
the North-Western Provinces, the results of which will be separately
published.
For the illustrations, which now appear for the first time, I am
indebted to the photographic skill of Mr. J. O'Neal, of the Thomason
Engineering College, Rurki. I could have wished that they could have
been drawn from a wider area. But Hardwar and its shrines are very
fairly representative of popular Hinduism in Northern India.
W. Crooke.
Saharanpur,
February, 1895.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
Many books have been written on Brahmanism, or the official religion
of the Hindu; but, as far as I am aware, this is the first attempt
to bring together some of the information available on the popular
beliefs of the races of Upper India.
My object in writing this book has been threefold. In the first place
I desired to collect, for the use of all officers whose work lies
among the rural classes, some information on the beliefs of the people
which will enable them, in some degree, to understand the mysterious
inner life of the races among whom their lot is cast; secondly, it
may be hoped that this introductory sketch will stimulate inquiry,
particularly among the educated races of the country, who have,
as yet, done little to enable Europeans to gain a fuller and more
sympathetic knowledge of their rural brethren; and lastly, while I
have endeavoured more to collect facts than to theorize upon them,
I hope that European scholars may find in these pages some fresh
examples of familiar principles. My difficulty has arisen not so much
from deficiency of material, as in the selection and arrangement of
the mass of information, which lies scattered through a considerable
literature, much of which is fugitive.
I believe that the more we explore these popular superstitions and
usages, the nearer are we likely to attain to the discovery of the
basis on which Hinduism has been founded. The official creed has
always been characterized by extreme catholicism and receptivity, and
many of its principles and legends have undoubtedly been derived from
that stratum of the people which it is convenient to call non-Aryan
or Dravidian. The necessity, then, of investigating these beliefs
before they become absorbed in Brahminism, one of the most active
missionary religions of the world, is obvious.
I may say that the materials of this book were practically complete
before I was able to use Mr. J. S. Campbell's valuable collection of
"Notes on the Spirit Basis of Belief and Custom;" but, in revising
the manuscript, I have availed myself to some extent of this useful
collection, and when I have done so, I have been careful to acknowledge
my obligations to it. Even at the risk of overloading the notes
with references, I have quoted the authorities which I have used,
and I have added a Bibliography which may be of use to students to
whom the subject is unfamiliar.
The only excuse I can plead for the obvious imperfections of this
hasty survey of a very wide subject is that it has been written in
the intervals of the scanty leisure of a District Officer's life in
India, and often at a distance from works of reference and libraries.
W. Crooke.
Mirzapur,
February, 1893.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
The Godlings of Nature 1
CHAPTER II.
The Heroic and Village Godlings 83
CHAPTER III | 1,734.374827 |
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THE BRASS BELL
OR
THE CHARIOT OF DEATH
A Tale of Caesar's Gallic Invasion
By EUGENE SUE
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH BY
SOLON DE LEON
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS COMPANY, 1907
NEW EDITION 1916
COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY THE
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS CO.
PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATION
_The Brass Bell_; or, _The Chariot of Death_ is the second of Eugene
Sue's monumental serial known under the collective title of _The
Mysteries of the People; or History of a Proletarian Family Across the
Ages_.
The first story--_The Gold Sickle; or, Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of
Sen_--fittingly preludes the grand drama conceived by the author. There
the Gallic people are introduced upon the stage of history in the
simplicity of their customs, their industrious habits, their bravery,
lofty yet childlike--such as they were at the time of the Roman invasion
by Caesar, 58 B. C. The present story is the thrilling introduction to
the class struggle, that starts with the conquest of Gaul, and, in the
subsequent seventeen stories, is pathetically and instructively carried
across the ages, down to the French Revolution of 1848.
D. D. L.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Preface to the Translation
Chapter 1. The Conflagration 1
Chapter 2. In the Lion's Den 8
Chapter 3. Gallic Virtue 24
Chapter 4. The Trial 35
Chapter 5. Into the Shallows 41
Chapter 6. The Eve of Battle 52
Chapter 7. The Battle of Vannes 59
Chapter 8. After the Battle 80
Chapter 9. Master and Slave 88
Chapter 10. The Last Call to Arms 102
Chapter 11. The Slaves' Toilet 107
Chapter 12. Sold into Bondage 115
Chapter 13. The Booth across the Way 126
FOOTNOTES
CHAPTER I.
THE CONFLAGRATION.
The call to arms, sounded by the druids of the forest of Karnak and by
the Chief of the Hundred Valleys against the invading forces of the
first Caesar, had well been hearkened to.
The sacrifice of Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of Sen, seemed pleasing to
Hesus. All the peoples of Brittany, from North to South, from East to
West, rose to combat the Romans. The tribes of the territory of Vannes
and Auray, those of the Mountains of Ares, and many others, assembled
before the town of Vannes, on the left bank, close to the mouth of the
river which empties into the great bay of Morbihan. This redoubtable
position where all the Gallic forces were to meet, was situated ten
leagues from Karnak, and had been chosen by the Chief of the Hundred
Valleys, who had been elected Commander-in-Chief of the army.
Leaving behind them their fields, their herds, and their dwellings, the
tribes were here assembled, men and women, young and old, and were
encamped round about the town of Vannes. Here also were Joel, his
family, and his tribe.
Albinik the mariner, together with his wife Meroe left the camp towards
sunset, bent on an errand of many days' march. Since her marriage with
Albinik, Meroe; was the constant, companion of his voyages and dangers
at sea, and like him, she wore the seaman's costume. Like him she knew
at a pinch how to put her hand to the rudder, to ply the oar or the axe,
for stout was her heart, and strong her arm.
In the evening, before leaving the Gallic army, Meroe dressed herself in
her sailor's garments--a short blouse of brown wool, drawn tight with a
leather belt, large broad breeches of white cloth, which fell below her
knees, and shoes of sealskin. She carried on her left shoulder her
short, hooded cloak, and on her flowing hair was a leathern bonnet. By
her resolute air, the agility of her step, the perfection of her sweet
and virile countenance, one might have taken Meroe for one of those
young men whose good looks make maidens dream of marriage. Albinik also
was dressed as a mariner. He had flung over his back a sack with
provisions for the way. The large sleeves of his blouse revealed his
left arm, wrapped to the elbow in a bloody bandage.
Husband and wife had left Vannes for some minutes, when Albinik,
stopping, sad and deeply moved, said to Meroe:
"There is still time--consider. We are going to beard the lion in his
den. He is tricky, distrustful and savage. It may mean for us slavery,
torture, or death. Meroe, let me finish alone this trip and this
enterprise, beside which a desperate fight would be but a trifle. Return
to my father and mother, whose daughter you are also!"
"Albinik, you had to wait for the darkness of night to say that to me.
You would not see me blush with shame at the thought of your thinking
me a coward;" and the young woman, while making this answer, instead of
turning back, only hastened her step.
"Let it be as your courage and your love for me bid," replied her
husband. "May Hena, my holy sister, who is gone, protect us at the side
of Hesus."
The two continued their way along the crests of a chain of lofty hills.
They had thus at their feet and before their eyes a succession of deep
and fertile valleys. As far as eye could reach, they saw here villages,
yonder small hamlets, elsewhere isolated farms; further off rose a
flourishing town crossed by an arm of the river, in which were moored,
from distance to distance, large boats loaded with sheaves of wheat,
casks of wine, and fodder.
But, strange to say, although the evening was clear, not a single one of
those large herds of cattle and of sheep was to be seen, which
ordinarily grazed there till nightfall. No more was there a single
laborer in sight on the fields, although it was the hour when, by every
road, the country-folk ordinarily began to return to their homes; for
the sun was fast sinking. This country, so populous the preceding
evening, now seemed deserted.
The couple halted, pensive, contemplating the fertile lands, the
bountifulness of nature, the opulent city, the hamlets, and the houses.
Then, recollecting what they knew was to happen in a few moments, soon
as the sun was set and the moon risen, Albinik and Meroe; shivered with
grief and fear. Tears fell from their eyes, they sank to their knees,
their eyes fixed with anguish on the depths of the valleys, which the
thickening evening shade was gradually invading. The sun had
disappeared, but the moon, then in her decline, was not yet up. There
was thus, between sunset and the rising of the moon, a rather long
interval. It was a bitter one for husband and wife; bitter, like the
certain expectation of some great woe.
"Look, Albinik," murmured the young woman to her spouse, although they
were alone--for it was one of those awful moments when one speaks low in
the middle of a desert--"just look, not a light: not one in these
houses, hamlets, or the town. Night is come, and all within these
dwellings is gloomy as the night without."
"The inhabitants of this valley are going to show themselves worthy of
their brothers," answered Albinik reverently. "They also wish to respond
to the voice of our venerable druids, and to that of the Chief of the
Hundred Valleys."
"Yes; by the terror which is now come upon me, I feel we are about to
see a thing no one has seen before, and perhaps none will see again."
"Meroe, do you catch down there, away down there, behind the crest of
the forest, a faint white glimmer!"
"I do. It is the moon, which will soon be up. The moment approaches. I
feel terror-stricken. Poor women! Poor children!"
"Poor laborers; they lived so long, happy on this land of their fathers:
on this land made fertile by the labor of so many generations! Poor
workmen; they found plenty in their rude trades! Oh, the unfortunates!
the unfortunates! But one thing equals their great misfortune, and that
is their great heroism. Meroe! Meroe!" exclaimed Albinik, "the moon is
rising. That sacred orb of Gaul is about to give the signal for the
sacrifice."
"Hesus! Hesus!" cried the young woman, her cheeks bathed in tears, "your
wrath will never be appeased if this last sacrifice does not calm you."
The moon had risen radiant among the stars. She flooded space with so
brilliant a light that Albinik and his wife could see as in full day,
and as far as the most distant horizon, the country that stretched at
their feet.
Suddenly, a light cloud of smoke, at first whitish, then black,
presently with the red tints of a kindling fire, rose above one
of the hamlets scattered in the plain.
"Hesus! Hesus!" exclaimed Meroe. Then, hiding her face in the bosom of
her husband who was kneeling near her, "You spoke truly. The sacred orb
of Gaul has given the signal for the sacrifice. It is fulfilled."
"Oh, liberty!" cried Albinik, "Holy liberty!----"
He could not finish. His voice was smothered in tears, and he drew his
weeping wife close in his arms.
Meroe did not leave her face hidden in her husband's breast any longer
than it would take a mother to kiss the forehead, mouth, and eyes, of
her new born babe, but when she again raised her head and dared to look
abroad, it was no longer only one house, one village, one hamlet, one
town in that long succession of valleys at their feet that was
disappearing in billows of black smoke, streaked with red gleams. It was
all the houses, all the villages, all the hamlets, all the towns in the
laps of all those valleys, that the conflagration was devouring. From
North to South, from East to West, all was afire. The rivers themselves
seemed to roll in flame under their grain and forage-laden barges, which
in turn took fire, and sank in the waters.
The heavens were alternately obscured by immense clouds of smoke, or
reddened with innumerable columns of fire. From one end to the other,
the panorama was soon nothing but a furnace, an ocean of flame.
Nor were the houses, hamlets, and towns of only these valleys given over
to the flames. It was the same in all the regions which Albinik and
Meroe had traversed in one night and day of travel, on their way from
Vannes to the mouth of the Loire, where was pitched the camp of
Caesar.[1]
All this territory had been burned by its inhabitants, and they
abandoned the smoking ruins to join the Gallic army, assembled in the
environs of Vannes. Thus the voice of the Chief of the Hundred Valleys
had been obeyed--the command | 1,734.375933 |
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NARRATIVE AND MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS.
By Thomas De Quincey.
Contents Of Volume I.
The Household Wreck
The Spanish Nun
Flight Of A Tartar Tribe
Contents Of Volume II.
System Of The Heavens As Revealed By Lord Rosse's Telescopes
Modern Superstition
Coleridge And Opium-Eating
Temperance Movement
On War
The Last Days Of Immanuel Kant
VOLUME I.
THE HOUSEHOLD WRECK.
'To be weak,' we need not the great archangel's voice to tell us, '_is
to be miserable_.' All weakness is suffering and humiliation, no matter
for its mode or its subject. Beyond all other weakness, therefore, and
by a sad prerogative, as more miserable than what is most miserable
in all, that capital weakness of man which regards the _tenure_ of his
enjoyments and his power to protect, even for a moment, the crown of
flowers--flowers, at the best, how frail and few!--which sometimes
settles upon his haughty brow. There is no end, there never will be
an end, of the lamentations which ascend from earth and the rebellious
heart of her children, upon this huge opprobrium of human pride--the
everlasting mutabilities of all which man can grasp by his power or
by his aspirations, the fragility of all which he inherits, and the
hollowness visible amid the very raptures of enjoyment to every eye
which looks for a moment underneath the draperies of the shadowy
_present_, the hollowness, the blank treachery of hollowness, upon which
all the pomps and vanities of life ultimately repose. This trite but
unwearying theme, this impassioned common-place of humanity, is the
subject in every age of variation without end, from the poet,
the rhetorician, the fabulist, the moralist, the divine, and the
philosopher. All, amidst the sad vanity of their sighs and groans, labor
to put on record and to establish this monotonous complaint, which needs
not other record or evidence than those very sighs and groans. What is
life? Darkness and formless vacancy for a beginning, or something beyond
all beginning--then next a dim lotos of human consciousness, finding
itself afloat upon the bosom of waters without a shore--then a few sunny
smiles and many tears--a little love and infinite strife--whisperings
from paradise and fierce mockeries from the anarchy of chaos--dust and
ashes--and once more darkness circling round, as if from the beginning,
and in this way rounding or making an island of our fantastic
existence,--_that_ is human life; _that_ the inevitable amount of man's
laughter and his tears--of what he suffers and he does--of his motions
this way and that way--to the right or to the left--backwards
or forwards--of all his seeming realities and all his absolute
negations--his shadowy pomps and his pompous shadows--of whatsoever he
thinks, finds, makes or mars, creates or animates, loves, hates, or in
dread hope anticipates;--so it is, so it has been, so it will be, for
ever and ever.
Yet in the lowest deep there still yawns a lower deep; and in the vast
halls of man's frailty, there are separate and more gloomy chambers of
a frailty more exquisite and consummate. We account it frailty that
threescore years and ten make the upshot of man's pleasurable existence,
and that, far before that time is reached, his beauty and his power
have fallen among weeds and forgetfulness. But there is a frailty, by
comparison with which this ordinary flux of the human race seems to have
a vast duration. Cases there are, and those not rare, in which a
single week, a day, an hour sweeps away all vestiges and landmarks of
a memorable felicity; in which the ruin travels faster than the flying
showers upon the mountain-side, faster 'than a musician scatters
sounds;' in which 'it was' and 'it is not' are words of the self-same
tongue, in the self-same minute; in which the sun that at noon beheld
all sound and prosperous, long before its setting hour looks out upon
a total wreck, and sometimes upon the total abolition of any fugitive
memorial that there ever had been a vessel to be wrecked, or a wreck to
be obliterated.
These cases, though here spoken of rhetorically, are of daily
occurrence; and, though they may seem few by comparison with the
infinite millions of the species, they are many indeed, if they be
reckoned absolutely for themselves; and throughout the limits of a whole
nation, not a day passes over us but many families are robbed of their
heads, or even swallowed up in ruin themselves, or their course turned
out of the sunny beams into a dark wilderness. Shipwrecks and nightly
conflagrations are sometimes, and especially among some nations,
wholesale calamities; battles yet more so; earthquakes, the famine, the
pestilence, though rarer, | 1,734.376085 |
2023-11-16 18:45:58.5571180 | 1,973 | 223 |
Produced by Joseph Myers and PG Distributed Proofreaders
AUTOBIOGRAPHY
OF
SIR GEORGE BIDDELL AIRY, K.C.B.,
M.A., LL.D., D.C.L., F.R.S., F.R.A.S.,
HONORARY FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
ASTRONOMER ROYAL FROM 1836 TO 1881.
EDITED BY
WILFRID AIRY, B.A., M.Inst.C.E.
1896
PREFACE.
The life of Airy was essentially that of a hard-working, business man,
and differed from that of other hard-working people only in the
quality and variety of his work. It was not an exciting life, but it
was full of interest, and his work brought him into close relations
with many scientific men, and with many men high in the State. His
real business life commenced after he became Astronomer Royal, and
from that time forward, during the 46 years that he remained in
office, he was so entirely wrapped up in the duties of his post that
the history of the Observatory is the history of his life. For writing
his business life there is abundant material, for he preserved all his
correspondence, and the chief sources of information are as follows:
(1) His Autobiography.
(2) His Annual Reports to the Board of Visitors.
(3) His printed Papers entitled "Papers by G.B. Airy."
(4) His miscellaneous private correspondence.
(5) His letters to his wife.
(6) His business correspondence.
(1) His Autobiography, after the time that he became Astronomer Royal,
is, as might be expected, mainly a record of the scientific work
carried on at the Greenwich Observatory: but by no means exclusively
so. About the time when he took charge of the Observatory there was an
immense development of astronomical enterprise: observatories were
springing up in all directions, and the Astronomer Royal was expected
to advise upon all of the British and Colonial Observatories. It was
necessary also for him to keep in touch with the Continental
Observatories and their work, and this he did very diligently and
successfully, both by correspondence and personal intercourse with the
foreign astronomers. There was also much work on important subjects
more or less connected with his official duties--such as geodetical
survey work, the establishment of time-balls at different places,
longitude determinations, observation of eclipses, and the
determination of the density of the Earth. Lastly, there was a great
deal of time and work given to questions not very immediately
connected with his office, but on which the Government asked his
assistance in the capacity of general scientific adviser: such were
the Correction of the Compass in iron ships, the Railway Gauge
Commission, the Commission for the Restoration of the Standards of
Length and Weight, the Maine Boundary, Lighthouses, the Westminster
Clock, the London University, and many other questions.
Besides those above-mentioned there were a great many subjects which
he took up out of sheer interest in the investigations. For it may
fairly be said that every subject of a distinctly practical nature,
which could be advanced by mathematical knowledge, had an interest for
him: and his incessant industry enabled him to find time for many of
them. Amongst such subjects were Tides and Tidal Observations,
Clockwork, and the Strains in Beams and Bridges. A certain portion of
his time was also given to Lectures, generally on current astronomical
questions, for he held it as his duty to popularize the science as far
as lay in his power. And he attended the meetings of the Royal
Astronomical Society with great regularity, and took a very active
part in the discussions and business of the Society. He also did much
work for the Royal Society, and (up to a certain date) for the British
Association.
All of the foregoing matters are recorded pretty fully in his
Autobiography up to the year 1861. After that date the Autobiography
is given in a much more abbreviated form, and might rather be regarded
as a collection of notes for his Biography. His private history is
given very fully for the first part of his life, but is very lightly
touched upon during his residence at Greenwich. A great part of the
Autobiography is in a somewhat disjointed state, and appears to have
been formed by extracts from a number of different sources, such as
Official Journals, Official Correspondence, and Reports. In editing
the Autobiography it has been thought advisable to omit a large number
of short notes relating to the routine work of the Observatory, to
technical and scientific correspondence, to Papers communicated to
various Societies and official business connected with them, and to
miscellaneous matters of minor importance. These in the aggregate
occupied a great deal of time and attention. But, from their detached
nature, they would have but little general interest. At various places
will be found short Memoirs and other matter by the Editor.
(2) All of his Annual Reports to the Board of Visitors are attached to
his Autobiography and were evidently intended to be read with it and
to form part of it. These Reports are so carefully compiled and are so
copious that they form a very complete history of the Greenwich
Observatory and of the work carried on there during the time that he
was Astronomer Royal. The first Report contained only four pages, but
with the constantly increasing amount and range of work the Reports
constantly increased in volume till the later Reports contained 21
pages. Extracts from these Reports relating to matters of novelty and
importance, and illustrating the principles which guided him in his
conduct of the Observatory, have been incorporated with the
Autobiography.
(3) The printed "Papers by G.B. Airy" are bound in 14 large quarto
volumes. There are 518 of these Papers, on a great variety of
subjects: a list of them is appended to this history, as also is a
list of the books that he wrote, and one or two of the Papers which
were separately printed. They form a very important part of his
life's work, and are frequently referred to in the present
history. They are almost all to be found in the Transactions of
Societies or in newspapers, and extend over a period of 63 years (1822
to 1885). The progress made in certain branches of science during this
long period can very fairly be traced by these Papers.
(4) His private correspondence was large, and like his other papers it
was carefully arranged. No business letters of any kind are included
under this head. In this correspondence letters are occasionally found
either dealing with matters of importance or in some way
characteristic, and these have been inserted in this biography. As
already stated the Autobiography left by Airy is confined almost
entirely to science and business, and touches very lightly on private
matters or correspondence.
(5) The letters to his wife are very numerous. They were written
during his occasional absences from home on business or for
relaxation. On these occasions he rarely let a day pass without
writing to his wife, and sometimes he wrote twice on the same
day. They are full of energy and interest and many extracts from them
are inserted in this history. A great deal of the personal history is
taken from them.
(6) All correspondence in any way connected with business during the
time that he was Astronomer Royal is to be found at the Royal
Observatory. It is all bound and arranged in the most perfect order,
and any letter throughout this time can be found with the greatest
ease. It is very bulky, and much of it is, in a historical sense,
very interesting. It was no doubt mainly from this correspondence that
the Autobiography, which so far as related to the Greenwich part of it
was almost entirely a business history, was compiled.
The history of the early part of his life was written in great detail
and contained a large quantity of family matter which was evidently
not intended for publication. This part of the Autobiography has been
compressed. The history of the latter part of his life was not written
by himself at all, and has been compiled from his Journal and other
sources. In both these cases, and occasionally in short paragraphs
throughout the narrative, it has been found convenient to write the
history in the third person.
2, THE CIRCUS,
GREENWICH.
NOTE.
The Syndics of the Cambridge University Press desire to express their
thanks to Messrs Macmillan & Co. for their courteous permission to use
in this work the steel engraving of Sir George Biddell Airy published
in _Nature_ on October 31, 1878.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Personal Sketch of George Biddell Airy
CHAPTER II.
From his birth to his taking his B.A. Degree at Cambridge
CHAPTER III.
At Trinity College, Cambridge, from his taking his B.A. Degree to his
| 1,734.577158 |
2023-11-16 18:45:58.5572050 | 1,912 | 49 |
Produced by KD Weeks, David Edwards and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Books project.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.
[Illustration: RALPH FINDS THE STOLEN GUNS.]
_FOREST AND STREAM SERIES._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
SNAGGED AND SUNK;
OR, THE
ADVENTURES OF A CANVAS CANOE.
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF “GUNBOAT SERIES,” “ROCKY MOUNTAIN
SERIES,” “SPORTSMAN CLUB SERIES,” ETC.
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
FAMOUS CASTLEMON BOOKS.
---------------------
=GUNBOAT SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 6 vols. 12mo.
FRANK THE YOUNG NATURALIST. FRANK ON A GUNBOAT.
FRANK IN THE WOODS. FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG.
FRANK ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI. FRANK ON THE PRAIRIE.
=ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
FRANK AMONG THE RANCHEROS. FRANK AT DON CARLOS’ RANCH.
FRANK IN THE MOUNTAINS.
=SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
THE SPORTSMAN’S CLUB IN THE SADDLE. THE SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AMONG THE
TRAPPERS.
THE SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AFLOAT.
=FRANK NELSON SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
SNOWED UP. THE BOY TRADERS. FRANK IN THE FORECASTLE.
=BOY TRAPPER SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
THE BURIED TREASURE. THE BOY TRAPPER. THE MAIL-CARRIER.
=ROUGHING IT SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
GEORGE IN CAMP. GEORGE AT THE WHEEL. GEORGE AT THE FORT.
=ROD AND GUN SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
DON GORDON’S SHOOTING BOX. ROD AND GUN CLUB.
THE YOUNG WILD FOWLERS.
=GO-AHEAD SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. l2mo. Cloth.
TOM NEWCOMBE. GO-AHEAD. NO MOSS.
=FOREST AND STREAM SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
JOE WAYRING. SNAGGED AND SUNK. STEEL HORSE.
=WAR SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 5 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
TRUE TO HIS COLORS. RODNEY THE PARTISAN.
RODNEY THE OVERSEER. MARCY THE BLOCKADE-RUNNER.
MARCY THE REFUGEE.
_Other Volumes in Preparation._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1888, BY PORTER & COATES.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. IN WHICH I BEGIN MY STORY, 5
II. CAPTURED AGAIN, 28
III. IN THE WATCHMAN’S CABIN, 52
IV. A NIGHT ADVENTURE, 74
V. JAKE COYLE’S SILVER MINE, 98
VI. JAKE WORKS HIS MINE, 120
VII. AMONG FRIENDS AGAIN, 142
VIII. JOE WAYRING IN TROUBLE, 166
IX. TOM VISITS THE HATCHERY, 192
X. MORE TROUBLE FOR TOM BIGDEN, 217
XI. SAM ON THE TRAIL, 242
XII. ABOUT VARIOUS THINGS, 265
XIII. JOE WAYRING’S PLUCK, 289
XIV. THE GUIDE “SURROUNDS” MATT’S CAMP, 314
XV. ON THE RIGHT TRACK AT LAST, 338
XVI. AT THE BOTTOM OF THE RIVER, 363
XVII. THE EXPERT COLUMBIA, 381
XVIII. CONCLUSION, 398
------------------------------------------------------------------------
SNAGGED AND SUNK;
OR,
THE ADVENTURES OF A CANVAS CANOE.
CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH I BEGIN MY STORY.
“Beneath a hemlock grim and dark,
Where shrub and vine are intertwining,
Our shanty stands, well roofed with bark,
On which the cheerful blaze is shining.
The smoke ascends in spiral wreath;
With upward curve the sparks are trending;
The coffee kettle sings beneath
Where sparks and smoke with leaves are blending.”
Joe Wayring’s voice rang out loud and clear, and the words of his song
were repeated by the echoes from a dozen different points among the
hills by which the camp was surrounded on every side. Joe was putting
the finishing touches to the roof of a bark shanty; Roy Sheldon, with
the aid of a double-bladed camp ax, was cutting a supply of hard wood
to cook the trout he had just cleaned; and Arthur Hastings was sitting
close by picking browse for the beds. The scene of their camp was a
spring-hole, located deep in the forest twelve miles from Indian Lake.
Although it was a noted place for trout, it was seldom visited by the
guests of the hotels for the simple reason that they did not know that
there was such a spring-hole in existence, and the guides were much
too sharp to tell them of it.
Hotel guides, as a class, are not fond of work, and neither will they
take a guest very far beyond the sound of their employer’s dinner
horn. The landlords hire them by the month and the guides get just so
much money, no matter whether their services are called into
requisition or not. If business is dull and the guests few in number,
the guides loaf around the hotel in idleness, and of course the less
they do the less they are inclined to do. If they are sent out with a
guest, they take him over grounds that have been hunted and fished
until there is neither fur, fin, nor feather left, cling closely to
the water-ways, avoiding even the shortest “carries,” their sole
object being to earn their wages with the least possible exertion.
They don’t care whether the guest catches any fish or not. But our
three friends, Joe Wayring, Roy Sheldon, and Arthur Hastings, were not
dependent upon the hotel guides for sport during their summer outings.
Being perfectly familiar with the country for miles around Indian
Lake, they went wherever their fancy led them, and with no fear of
getting lost.
“And on the stream a light canoe
Floats like a freshly fallen feather—
A fairy thing that will not do
For broader seas and stormy weather.
Her sides no thicker than the shell
Of Ole Bull’s Cremona fiddle;
The man who rides her will do well
To part his scalp-lock in the middle,”
sang Joe, backing off and looking approvingly at his work. “There,
fellows, that roof is tight, and now it can rain as soon as it
pleases. With two acres of trout right in front of the door, and a
camp located so far from the lake that we are not likely to be
disturbed by any interlopers—what more could three boys who want to be
lazy ask for?”
“There’s one thing I would like to ask for,” replied Roy, “and that is
the assurance that Tom Bigden and his cousins will go back to Mount
Airy without trying to come any tricks on us. I wonder what brought
them up here any way?”
“Why, they came after their rods, of course,” answered Arthur | 1,734.577245 |
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