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Produced by Pat McCoy, Curtis Weyant and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
CAPTAIN KYD;
OR,
THE WIZARD OF THE SEA.
A ROMANCE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE SOUTHWEST," "LAFITTE," "BURTON," &c.
"There's many a one who oft has heard
The name of Robert Kyd,
Who cannot tell, perhaps, a word
Of him, or what he did.
"So, though I never saw the man,
And lived not in his day,
I'll tell you how his guilt began--
To what it led the way."
H. F. Gould.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
NEW-YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-STREET.
1839.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1838,
By HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.
CAPTAIN KYD;
OR,
THE WIZARD OF THE SEA.
BOOK I.
CONTINUED.
CHAPTER VIII.
"The wind blows fair! the vessel feels
The pressure of the rising breeze,
And swiftest of a thousand keels,
She leaps to the careering seas."
WILLIS.
"Commanding, aiding, animating all,
Where foe appear'd to press, or friend to fall,
Cheers Lara's voice."
_Lara._
Towards noon of the day on which the events related in the last chapter
transpired, a signal was displayed on one of the towers of Castle Cor,
and shortly afterward the yacht, which hitherto had appeared so
lifeless, got under weigh. Like a snowy seabird seeking her nest, she
spread her broad white sails and stood in towards the land, fired a gun,
and hove to within cable's length of the beach. A well-manned boat, with
a crimson awning stretched above the stern-sheets, and gay with the
flags of England and of Bellamont, presently put off from her, and
pulled to the foot of the path that led up to the castle. In a few
minutes afterward a party was seen descending the cliff, consisting of
Lady Bellamont, Grace Fitzgerald, Kate Bellamont and the earl, on the
arm of whom the latter leaned pale and sad, followed by a large number
of attendants, and others who had come to witness the embarcation. On
arriving at the boat | 2,276.189613 |
2023-11-16 18:55:00.1996760 | 1,350 | 33 | SKIN***
E-text prepared by Kevin Handy, Ronnie Sahlberg, cbott, John Hagerson, and
the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 25944-h.htm or 25944-h.zip:
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other such characters display properly in the html version.
Text enclosed between pound signs was in bold face in the
original (#bold face#).
A detailed transcriber's note is at the end of the e-text.
ESSENTIALS OF DISEASES OF THE SKIN
Including the Syphilodermata
Arranged in the Form of Questions and Answers Prepared Especially
for Students of Medicine
by
HENRY W. STELWAGON, M.D., PH.D.
* * * * *
Get the Best The New Standard
DORLAND'S
AMERICAN ILLUSTRATED
MEDICAL DICTIONARY
For Students and Practitioners
A New and Complete Dictionary of the terms used in Medicine, Surgery,
Dentistry, Pharmacy, Chemistry, and kindred branches; together with new
and elaborate Tables of Arteries, Muscles, Nerves, Veins, etc.; of
Bacilli, Bacteria, Micrococci, etc.; Eponymic Tables of Diseases,
Operations, Signs and Symptoms, Stains, Tests, Methods of Treatment,
etc. By W.A.N. Dorland, M.D., Editor of the American Pocket Medical
Dictionary. Large octavo, nearly 800 pages, bound in full flexible
leather. Price, $4.50 net; with thumb index, $5.00 net.
JUST ISSUED--NEW (4) REVISED EDITION--2000 NEW WORDS
_It contains a maximum amount of matter in a minimum
space and at the lowest possible cost._
This book contains #double the material in the ordinary students'
dictionary#, and yet, by the use of a clear, condensed type and thin
paper of the finest quality, is only 1-3/4 inches in thickness. It is
bound in full flexible leather, and is just the kind of a book that a
man will want to keep on his desk for constant reference. The book makes
a special feature of #the newer words#, and defines hundreds of
important terms not to be found in any other dictionary. It is
especially #full in the matter of tables#, containing more than a
hundred of great practical value, including new tables of Tests, Stains
and Staining Methods. A new feature is the inclusion of numerous
handsome illustrations, many of them in colors, drawn and engraved
specially for this book.
"I must acknowledge my astonishment at seeing how much he has
condensed within relatively small space. I find nothing to
criticise, very much to commend, and was interested in finding some
of the new words which are not in other recent
dictionaries."--Roswell Park, _Professor of Principles and Practice
of Surgery and Clinical Surgery, University of Buffalo_.
"Dr. Dorland's Dictionary is admirable. It is so well gotten up and
of such convenient size. No errors have been found in my use of
it."--Howard A. Kelly, _Professor of Gynecology, Johns Hopkins
University, Baltimore_.
W. B. SAUNDERS COMPANY, 925 Walnut St., Phila.
London: 9, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden
Fifth Edition, Just Ready With Complete Vocabulary
THE
AMERICAN POCKET
MEDICAL DICTIONARY
EDITED BY
W.A. NEWMAN DORLAND, A.M., M.D.,
Assistant Demonstrator of Obstetrics, University of Pennsylvania.
HUNDREDS OF NEW TERMS
Bound in Full Leather, Limp, with Gold Edges. Price, $1.00 net; with
Patent Thumb Index, $1.25 net.
The book is an #absolutely new one#. It is not a revision of any old work,
but it has been written entirely anew and is constructed on lines that
experience has shown to be the most practical for a work of this kind.
It aims to be #complete#, and to that end contains practically all the
terms of modern medicine. This makes an unusually large vocabulary.
Besides the ordinary dictionary terms the book contains a wealth of
#anatomical and other tables#. This matter is of particular value to
students for memorizing in preparation for examination.
"I am struck at once with admiration at the compact size and
attractive exterior. I can recommend it to our students without
reserve."--James W. Holland, M.D., _of Jefferson Medical College_.
"This is a handy pocket dictionary, which is so full and complete
that it puts to shame some of the more pretentious
volumes."--_Journal of the American Medical Association._
"We have consulted it for the meaning of many new and rare terms,
and have not met with a disappointment. The definitions are
exquisitely clear and concise. We have never found so much
information in so small a space."--_Dublin Journal of Medical
Science._
"This is a handy little volume that, upon examination, seems fairly
to fulfil the promise of its title, and to contain a vast amount of
information in a very small space.... It is somewhat surprising
that it contains so many | 2,276.219716 |
2023-11-16 18:55:00.2710150 | 242 | 44 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
An I.D.B. in South Africa
By Louise Vescelius-Sheldon
Illustrations by G.E. Graves and Al Hencke
Published by John W. Lovell Company, New York.
This edition dated 1888.
An I.D.B. in South Africa, by Louise Vescelius-Sheldon.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
AN I.D.B. IN SOUTH AFRICA, BY LOUISE VESCELIUS-SHELDON.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE MARKED DIAMOND.
"Who is that beautiful woman in the box opposite us, Herr Schwatka?"
"Which one, Major? There are two, if my eyes may be trusted."
"She with the dark hair?"
"That is Mrs Laure, and the gentleman is her husband, Donald Laure."
"What a beautiful creature, is she not?"
"Yes, beautiful indeed, as many of the Cape women are. But the union of
European with African produces, in their descendants, beings endowed
with strange and inconsistent natures. These two bloods mingle but will
not blend; more prominently are these idios | 2,276.291055 |
2023-11-16 18:55:00.8596710 | 4,684 | 37 |
Produced by David Widger
THE DEAD ARE SILENT
By Arthur Schnitzler
Copyright, 1907, by Courtland H. Young
HE could endure the quiet waiting in the carriage no longer; it was
easier to get out and walk up and down. It was now dark; the few
scattered lamps in the narrow side street quivered uneasily in the wind.
The rain had stopped, the sidewalks were almost dry, but the rough-paved
roadway was still moist, and little pools gleamed here and there.
"Strange, isn't it?" thought Franz. "Here we are scarcely a hundred
paces from the Prater, and yet it might be a street in some little
country town. Well, it's safe enough, at any rate. She won't meet any of
the friends she dreads so much here."
He looked at his watch. "Only just seven, and so dark already! It is an
early autumn this year... and then this confounded storm I..." He turned
his coat-collar up about his neck and quickened his pacing. The glass in
the street lamps rattled lightly.
"Half an hour more," he said to himself, "then I can go home. I could
almost wish--that that half-hour were over." He stood for a moment
on the corner, where he could command a view of both streets. "She'll
surely come to-day," his thoughts ran on, while he struggled with his
hat, which threatened to blow away. "It's Friday.... Faculty meeting
at the University; she needn't hurry home." He heard the clanging of
street-car gongs, and the hour chimed from a nearby church tower. The
street became more animated. Hurrying figures passed him, clerks of
neighboring shops; they hastened onward, fighting against the storm.
No one noticed him; a couple of half-grown girls glanced up in idle
curiosity as they went by. Suddenly he saw a familiar figure coming
toward him. He hastened to meet her.... Could it be she? On foot?
She saw him, and quickened her pace.
"You are walking?" he asked.
"I dismissed the cab in front of the theatre. I think I've had that
driver before."
A man passed them, turning to look at the lady. Her companion glared at
him, and the other passed on hurriedly. The lady looked after him. "Who
was it?" she asked, anxiously.
"Don't know him. We'll see no one we know here, don't worry. But come
now, let's get into the cab."
"Is that your carriage?"
"Yes."
"An open one?"
"It was warm and pleasant when I engaged it an hour ago."
They walked to the carriage; the lady stepped in.
"Driver!" called the man.
"Why, where is he?" asked the lady.
Franz looked around. "Well, did you ever? I don't see him anywhere."
"Oh--" her tone was low and timid.
"Wait a moment, child, he must be around here somewhere."
The young man opened the door of a little saloon, and discovered his
driver at a table with several others. The man rose hastily. "In a
minute, sir," he explained, swallowing his glass of wine.
"What do you mean by this?"
"All right, sir... Be there in a minute." His step was a little unsteady
as he hastened to his horses. "Where'll you go, sir?"
"Prater--Summer-house."
Franz entered the carriage. His companion sat back in a corner,
crouching fearsomely under the shadow of the cover.
He took both her hands in his. She sat silent. "Won't you say good
evening to me?"
"Give me a moment to rest, dear. I'm still out of breath."
He leaned back in his corner. Neither spoke for some minutes. The
carriage turned into the Prater Street, passed the Tegethoff Monument,
and a few minutes later was rolling swiftly through the broad, dark
Prater Avenue.
Emma turned suddenly and flung both arms around her lover's neck. He
lifted the veil that still hung about her face, and kissed her.
"I have you again--at last!" she exclaimed.
"Do you know how long it is since we have seen each other?" he asked.
"Since Sunday."
"Yes, and that wasn't good for much."
"Why not? You were in our house."
"Yes--in your house. That's just it. This can't go on. I shall not enter
your house again.... What's the matter?"
"A carriage passed us."
"Dear girl, the people who are driving in the Prater at such an hour,
and in such weather, aren't noticing much what other people are doing."
"Yes--that's so. But some one might look in here, by chance."
"We couldn't be recognized. It's too dark."
"Yes--but can't we drive somewhere else?"
"Just as you like." He called to the driver, who did not seem to hear.
Franz leaned forward and touched the man.
"Turn around again. What are you whipping your horses like that for?
We're in no hurry, I tell you. Drive--let me see--yes--drive down the
avenue that leads to the Reichs Bridge."
"The Reichsstrasse?"
"Yes. But don't hurry so, there's no need of it."
"All right, sir. But it's the wind that makes the horses so crazy."
Franz sat back again as the carriage turned in the other direction.
"Why didn't I see you yesterday?"
"How could I?"...
"You were invited to my sister's."
"Oh--yes."
"Why weren't you there?"
"Because I can't be with you--like that--with others around. No, I just
can't." She shivered. "Where are we now?" she asked, after a moment.
They were passing under the railroad bridge at the entrance to the
Reichsstrasse.
"On the way to the Danube," replied Franz. "We're driving toward the
Reichs Bridge. We'll certainly not meet any of our friends here," he
added, with a touch of mockery.
"The carriage jolts dreadfully."
"We're on cobblestones again."
"But he drives so crooked."
"Oh, you only think so."
He had begun to notice himself that the vehicle was swaying to and
fro more than was necessary, even on the rough pavement. But he said
nothing, not wishing to alarm her.
"There's a great deal I want to say to you today, Emma."
"You had better begin then; I must be home at nine o'clock."
"A few words may decide everything."
"Oh, goodness, what was that!" she screamed. The wheels had caught in a
car-track, and the carriage turned partly over as the driver attempted
to free it. Franz caught at the man's coat. "Stop that!" he cried. "Why,
you're drunk, man!"
The driver halted his horses with some difficulty. "Oh, no--sir--"
"Let's get out here, Emma, and walk."
"Where are we?"
"Here's the bridge already. And the wind is not nearly as strong as
it was. It will be nicer to walk a little. It's so hard to talk in the
carriage."
Emma drew down her veil and followed him. "Don't you call this windy?"
she exclaimed as she struggled against the gust that met her at the
corner.
He took her arm, and called to the driver to follow them.
They walked on slowly. Neither spoke as they mounted the ascent of the
bridge; and they halted where they could hear the flow of the water
below them. Heavy darkness surrounded them. The broad stream stretched
itself out in gray, indefinite outlines; red lights in the distance,
floating above the water, awoke answering gleams from its surface.
Trembling stripes of light reached down from the shore they had just
left; on the other side of the bridge the river lost itself in the
blackness of open fields. Thunder rumbled in the distance; they looked
over to where the red lights soared. A train with lighted windows rolled
between iron arches that seemed to spring up out of the night for an
instant, to sink back into darkness again. The thunder grew fainter and
more distant; silence fell again; only the wind moved, in sudden gusts.
Franz spoke at last, after a long silence. "We must go away."
"Of course," Emma answered, softly.
"We must go away," he continued, with more animation. "Go away
altogether, I mean--"
"Oh, we can't!"
"Only because we are cowards, Emma."
"And my child?"
"He will let you have the boy, I know."
"But how shall we go?" Her voice was very low. "You mean--to run away--"
"Not at all. You have only to be honest with him; to tell him that you
cannot live with him any longer; that you belong to me."
"Franz--are you mad?"
"I will spare you that trial, if you wish. I will tell him myself."
"No, Franz, you will do nothing of the kind."
He endeavored to read her face. But the darkness showed him only that
her head was turned toward him.
He was silent a few moments more. Then he spoke quietly: "You need not
fear; I shall not do it."
They walked toward the farther shore. "Don't you hear a noise?" she
asked. "What is it?"
"Something is coming from the other side," he said.
A slow rumbling came out of the darkness. A little red light gleamed out
at them. They could see that it hung from the axle of a clumsy country
cart, but they could not see whether the cart was laden or not and
whether there were human beings on it. Two other carts followed the
first. They could just see the outlines of a man in peasant garb on the
last cart, and could see that he was lighting his pipe. The carts passed
them slowly. Soon there was nothing to be heard but the low rolling
of the wheels as their own carriage followed them. The bridge dropped
gently to the farther shore. They saw the street disappear into
blackness between rows of trees. Open fields lay before them to the
right and to the left; they gazed out into gloom indistinguishable.
There was another long silence before Franz spoke again. "Then it is the
last time--"
"What?--" Emma's tone was anxious.
"The last time we are to be together. Stay with him, if you will. I bid
you farewell."
"Are you serious?"
"Absolutely."
"There, now you see, it is you who always spoil the few hours we have
together?--not I."
"Yes, you're right," said Franz. "Let's drive back to town."
She held his arm closer. "No," she insisted, tenderly, "I don't want to
go back. I won't be sent away from you."
She drew his head down to hers, and kissed him tenderly. "Where would we
get to if we drove on down there?" she asked.
"That's the road to Prague, dear."
"We won't go quite that far," she smiled, "but I'd like to drive on a
little, down there." She pointed into the darkness.
Franz called to the driver. There was no answer; the carriage rumbled
on, slowly. Franz ran after it, and saw that the driver was fast asleep.
Franz roused him roughly. "We want to drive on down that street. Do you
hear me?"
"All right, sir."
Emma entered the carriage first, then Franz. The driver whipped his
horses, and they galloped madly over the moist earth of the road-bed.
The couple inside the cab held each other closely as they swayed with
the motion of the vehicle.
"Isn't this quite nice?" whispered Emma, her lips on his.
In the moment of her words she seemed to feel the cab mounting into the
air. She felt herself thrown over violently, readied for some hold, but
grasped only the empty air. She seemed to be spinning madly like a top,
her eyes closed, suddenly she found herself lying on the ground, a great
silence about her, as if she were alone, far away from all the world.
Then noises began to come into her consciousness again; hoofs beat the
ground near her; a low moaning came from somewhere; but she could
see nothing. Terror seized her; she screamed aloud. Her terror grew
stronger, for she could not hear her own voice. Suddenly she knew what
had happened; the carriage had hit some object, possibly a mile-stone;
had upset, and she had been thrown out. Where is Franz? was her next
thought. She called his name. And now she could hear her voice, not
distinctly yet, but she could hear it. There was no answer to her call.
She tried to get up. After some effort she rose to a sitting, posture,
and, reaching out, she felt something, a human body, on the ground
beside her. She could now begin to see a little through the dimness.
Franz lay beside her, motionless. She put out her hand and touched
his face; something warm and wet covered it. Her heart seemed to
stop beating--Blood?--Oh, what had happened? Franz was wounded and
unconscious. Where was the coachman? She called him, but no answer
came. She still sat there on the ground. She did not seem to be injured,
although she ached all over. "What shall I do?" she thought; "what shall
I do? How can it be that I am not injured? Franz!" she called again. A
voice answered from somewhere near her.
"Where are you, lady? And where is the gentleman? Wait a minute,
Miss--I'll light the lamps, so we can see. I don't know what's got into
the beasts to-day. It ain't my fault, Miss, sure--they ran into a pile
of stones."
Emma managed to stand up, although she was bruised all over. The fact
that the coachman seemed quite uninjured reassured her somewhat.
She heard the man opening the lamp and striking a match. She waited
anxiously for the light. She did not dare to touch Franz again. "It's
all so much worse when you can't see plainly," she thought. "His eyes
may be open now--there won't be anything wrong...."
A tiny ray of light came from one side. She saw the carriage, not
completely upset, as she had thought, but leaning over toward the
ground, as if one wheel were broken. The horses stood quietly. She saw
the milestone, then a heap of loose stones, and beyond them a ditch.
Then the light touched Franz's feet, crept up over his body to his face,
and rested there. The coachman had set the lamp on the ground beside the
head of the unconscious man. Emma dropped to her knees, and her heart
seemed to stop beating as she looked into the face before her. It was
ghastly white; the eyes were half open, only the white showing. A thin
stream of blood trickled down from one temple and ran into his collar.
The teeth were fastened into the under lip. "No--no--it isn't possible,"
Emma spoke, as if to herself.
The driver knelt also and examined the face of the man. Then he took
the head in both his hands and raised it. "What are you doing?" screamed
Emma, hoarsely, shrinking back at the sight of the head that seemed to
be rising of its own volition.
"Please, Miss--I'm afraid--I'm thinking--there's a great misfortune
happened--"
"No--no--it's not true!" said Emma. "It can't be true!--You are not
hurt? Nor am I--"
The man let the head he held fall back again into the lap of the
trembling Emma. "If only some one would come--if the peasants had only
passed fifteen minutes later."
"What shall we do?" asked Emma, her lips trembling.
"Why, you see, Miss, if the carriage was all right--but it's no good as
it is--we've got to wait till some one comes--" he talked on, but Emma
did not hear him. Her brain seemed to awake suddenly, and she knew what
was to be done. "How far is it to the nearest house?" she asked.
"Not much further, Miss--there's Franz-Josef's land right there. We'd see
the houses if it was lighter--it won't take five minutes to get there."
"Go there, then; I'll stay here--Go and fetch some one."
"I think I'd better stay here with you, Miss. Somebody must come; it's
the main road."
"It'll be too late; we need a doctor at once."
The coachman looked down at the quiet face, then he looked at Emma, and
shook his head.
"You can't tell," she cried.
"Yes, Miss--but there'll be no doctor in those houses."
"But there'll be somebody to send to the city--"
"Oh, yes, Miss--they'll be having a telephone there, anyway! We'll
telephone to the Rescue Society."
"Yes, yes, that's it. Go at once, run--and bring some men back with you.
Why do you wait? Go at once. Hurry!"
The man looked down again at the white face in her lap. "There'll be no
use here for doctor or Rescue Society, Miss."
"Oh, go!--for God's sake go!"
"I'm going, Miss--but don't get afraid in the darkness here."
He hurried down the street. "'Twasn't my fault," he murmured as he ran.
"Such an idea! to drive down this road this time o' night."
Emma was left alone with the unconscious man in the gloomy street.
"What shall I do now?" she thought "It can't be possible--it can't." The
thought circled dizzily in her brain--"It can't be possible." Suddenly
she seemed to hear a low breathing. She bent to the pale lips--no--not
the faintest breath came from them. The blood had dried on temple and
cheek. She gazed at the eyes, the half-closed eyes, and shuddered. Why
couldn't she believe it?... It must be true--this was Death! A shiver
ran through her--she felt but one thing--"This is a corpse. I am here
alone with a corpse!--a corpse that rests on my lap!" With trembling
hands she pushed the head away, until it rested on the ground. Then
a feeling of horrible alone-ness came over her. Why had she sent the
coachman away? What should she do here all alone with this dead man in
the darkness? If only some one would come--but what was she to do then
if anybody did come? How long would she have to wait here? She looked
down at the corpse again. "But I'm not alone with him," she thought,
"the light is there." And the light seemed to her to become alive,
something sweet and friendly, to which she owed gratitude. There was
more life in this little flame than in all the wide night about her. It
seemed almost as if this light was a protection for her, a protection
against the terrible pale man who lay on the ground beside her. She
stared into the light until her eyes wavered and the flame began to
dance. Suddenly she felt herself awake--wide awake. She sprang to her
feet. Oh, this would not do! It would not do at all--no one must find
her here with him. She seemed to be outside of herself, looking at
herself standing there on the road, the corpse and the light below her;
she saw herself grow into strange, enormous proportions, high up into
the darkness. "What am I waiting for?" she asked herself, and her brain
reeled. "What am I waiting for? The people who might come? They don't
need me. They will come, and they will ask questions--and I--why am I
here? They will ask who I am--what shall I answer? I will not answer
them--I will not say a word--they cannot compel me to talk."
The sound of voices came from the distance.
"Already?" she thought, listening in terror. The voices came from the
bridge. It could not be the men the driver was bringing with him. But
whoever it was would see the light--and they must not see it, for then
she would be discovered. She overturned the lantern with her foot,
and the light went out. She stood in utter darkness. She could see
nothing--not even him. The pile of % stones shone dimly. The voices came
nearer. She trembled from head to foot; they must not find her here.
That was the only thing of real importance in all the wide world--that
no one should find her here. She would be lost if they knew that
this--this corpse--was her lover. She clasps her hands convulsively,
praying that the people, whoever they were, might pass by on the farther
side of the road, and not see her. She listens breathless. Yes, they are
there, on the other side--women, two women, or perhaps three. What are
they talking about? They have seen the carriage, they speak of it--she
can distinguish words. "A carriage upset--" What else do they
say? She cannot understand--they | 2,276.879711 |
2023-11-16 18:55:00.9675300 | 1,076 | 13 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
WEBSTER--MAN'S MAN
By Peter B. Kyne
Author Of “Cappy Ricks”
“The Three Godfathers,” Etc.
Illustrated By Dean Cornwell
[Illustration:ustration: 0006]
[Illustration:ustration: 0007]
New York
Doubleday, Page & Company
1917
WEBSTER-MAN'S MAN
CHAPTER I
|WHEN John Stuart Webster, mining engineer and kicker-up-of-dust on
distant trails, flagged the S. P., L. A. & S. L. Limited at a blistered
board station in Death Valley, California, he had definitely resolved to
do certain things. To begin, he would invade the dining car at the first
call to dinner and order approximately twenty dollars' worth of ham and
eggs, which provender is, as all who know will certify, the pinnacle of
epicurean delight to an old sour-dough coming out of the wilderness with
a healthy bankroll and a healthier appetite; for even as the hydrophobic
dog avoids water, so does the adventurer of the Webster type avoid
the weird concoctions of high-priced French chefs until he has first
satisfied that void which yawns to receive ham and eggs.
Following the ham and eggs, Mr. Webster planned to saturate himself from
soul to vermiform appendix with nicotine, which he purposed obtaining
from tobacco with nicotine in it. It was a week since he had smoked
anything, and months since he had tasted anything with an odour even
remotely like tobacco, for the August temperature in Death Valley is no
respecter of moisture in any man or his tobacco. By reason of the fact
that he had not always dwelt in Death Valley, however, John Stuart
Webster knew the dining-car steward would have in the ice chest some
wonderful cigars, wonderfully preserved.
Webster realized that, having sampled civilization thus far, his debauch
would be at an end until he reached Salt Lake City-unless, indeed, he
should find aboard the train something fit to read or somebody worth
talking to. Upon arrival in Salt Lake City, however, his spree would
really begin. Immediately upon leaving the train he would proceed to
a clothing shop and purchase a twenty-five-dollar ready-to-wear suit,
together with the appurtenances thereunto pertaining or in any wise
belonging. These habiliments he would wear just long enough to shop in
respectably and without attracting the attention of the passing throng;
and when later his “tailor-mades” and sundry other finery should be
delivered, he would send the store clothes to one Ubehebe Henry, a
prospector down in the Mojave country, who would appreciate them and
wear them when he came to town in the fall to get drunk.
Having arranged for the delivery of his temporary attire at the best
hotel in town, Webster designed chartering a taxicab and proceeding
forthwith to that hotel, where he would engage a sunny room with a bath,
fill the bathtub, climb blithely in and soak for two hours at least,
for it was nearly eight months since he had had a regular bath and he
purposed making the most of his opportunity. His long-drawn ablutions at
length over, he would don a silken dressing gown and slippers, order up
a barber, and proceed to part with enough hair and whiskers to upholster
an automobile; and upon the completion of his tonsorial adventures he
would encase his person in a suit of mauve- silk pajamas, climb
into bed and stay there for forty-eight hours, merely waking long enough
to take another bath, order up periodical consignments of ham and
eggs and, incidentally, make certain that a friendly side-winder or
chuck-walla hadn't crawled under the blankets with him.
So much for John Stuart Webster's plans. Now for the gentleman himself.
No one--not even the Pullman porter, shrewd judge of mankind that he
was--could have discerned in the chrysalis that flagged the Limited
the butterfly of fashion that was to be. As the ebony George raised
the vestibule platform, opened the car door and looked out, he had no
confidence in the lean, sun-baked big man standing by the train. Plainly
the fellow was not a first-class passenger but a wandering prospector,
for he was dog-dirty, a ruin of rags and hairy as a tarantula. The only
clean thing about him was a heavy-calibred automatic pistol of the army
type, swinging at his hip.
“Day coach an' tourist up in front,” the knight of the whiskbroom
announced in disapproving tones and started to close down the platform.
“So I perceived,” John Stuart Webster replied blandly. “I also observed
that you failed to employ the title _sir_ when addressing a white | 2,276.98757 |
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THE JINGLE BOOK
* * * * *
The Tutor
A tutor who tooted the flute
Tried to teach two young tooters to toot.
Said the two to the tutor,
"Is it harder to toot, or
To tutor two tooters to toot?"
[Illustration]
* * * * *
THE JINGLE BOOK
BY
CAROLYN WELLS
Pictured by
OLIVER HERFORD
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1901
_All rights reserved_
* * * * *
COPYRIGHT, 1899,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped October, 1899.
Reprinted November, 1899; June, 1901.
* * * * *
To Hilda's Child
* * * * *
CONTENTS
THE TUTOR _Frontispiece_
PAGE
A SERIOUS QUESTION 1
TWO OLD KINGS 2
A DAY DREAM 5
OUR CLUB 7
PUZZLED 9
AN INTERCEPTED VALENTINE 11
A LONG-FELT WANT 13
THE MUSICAL CARP 14
THE INTELLIGENT HEN 15
THE HAPPY HYENA 17
A GREAT LADY 18
OPULENT OLLIE 20
THE TWO BEARS 21
THE MACARONI MAN 24
THE 4.04 TRAIN 29
A VALUABLE GIFT 30
THE GRANDILOQUENT GOAT 32
HOW THE CAT WAS BELLED 33
TRIANGULAR TOMMY 40
A MODERN INVENTION 45
AN APRIL JOKE 46
AN ALICE ALPHABET 48
THE FUNNY KITTENS 57
THE STRIKE OF THE FIREWORKS 60
THE ARCH ARMADILLO 63
A DREAM LESSON 64
THE RIVALS 68
THE NEW CUP 70
A PHOTOGRAPHIC FAILURE | 2,277.080179 |
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OBSERVATIONS
ON THE PRESENT STATE
OF THE
AFFAIRS
OF
THE RIVER PLATE.
BY
THOMAS BAINES.
"Malheur au siecle, temoin passif d'une lutte heroique, qui
croirait qu'on peut sans peril, comme sans penetration de
l'avenir, laisser immoler une nation."
CHATEAUBRIAND.
LIVERPOOL:
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED AT THE LIVERPOOL TIMES OFFICE,
CASTLE STREET.
1845.
OBSERVATIONS
ON
THE PRESENT STATE OF
THE AFFAIRS OF THE RIVER PLATE.
The destructive war which has now been waged for so many years, by the
Chief of the Province of Buenos Ayres against the Republic of Uruguay,
involves questions of so much importance to the commercial interests,
and to the national honour of England, that nothing can account for the
very slight attention which it has received from Parliament and the
press, except the fact that many of the principal considerations
connected with it have never yet been fully brought before the British
public. In order to supply this deficiency, and to show how much it
concerns the character of this country that this war should at once be
brought to a close in the only manner in which it can be ended; that is,
by the prompt and decided interference of the Governments of France and
England, I have thought that it might be useful to lay before the public
the following observations and documents, explanatory of the principles
involved in the war; of the conduct pursued by Mr. Mandeville, the
British Minister to the Argentine Confederation, at the most critical
period of its progress; and of the strong and rapidly-increasing
interest which this country, and more especially the port of Liverpool,
has in the preservation of the threatened independence of the Republic
of Uruguay.
Most of the readers of these remarks are no doubt aware that the
Province of the Banda Oriental, or eastern bank of the River Plate, was
first constituted an independent state, under the title of the Republic
of Uruguay, at the close of the war between the Argentine Confederation
and the Empire of Brazil, in the year 1828. This arrangement was in a
great measure brought about by the good offices of Lord Ponsonby, the
Ambassador of the British Government to the Court of Rio, and the result
of his negociations was so agreeable to the English Government, that
the peace thus concluded was made a subject of congratulation in the
speech from the throne in the year 1829. The principal object in forming
this new Republic was, to put an end to the destructive war between
Buenos Ayres and Brazil, originating in the claims put forward by both
these countries to the possession of the Province of the Banda Oriental.
The Brazilians, who had had possession of it for several years, were
naturally unwilling to have so warlike and powerful a state as the
Argentine Republic on their most vulnerable frontier, and the Argentines
were not less unwilling to have the Brazilian frontier pushed more than
a hundred leagues up the River Plate, and within the limits of the
ancient Viceroyalty of Paraguay, which had for ages been occupied by the
Spanish race. As the only effectual solution of these difficulties, the
English Government proposed that the Banda Oriental should be rendered
independent of both countries, and this, after some negociation, was
agreed to by all the parties concerned.
The primary object of the mediation of the English Government was the
re-establishment and preservation of peace and amity between two
nations, with both of which England had valuable commercial relations;
and this object has been completely gained by the arrangement then
effected. During the sixteen years which have elapsed since the treaty
was concluded, no serious difference has occurred between Brazil and the
Argentine Confederation, nor is any likely to occur so long as the
barrier of an independent state is interposed between them. It is only
during the last two years that serious discussions have arisen between
them, and these have originated in the fears of Brazil, lest the
successes of the Buenos Ayrean army, now before Monte Video, should be
such as to break down the barrier established by the Ponsonby treaty,
and again to bring the Buenos Ayreans on the frontiers of Rio Grande.
From apprehension of this event, the Brazilian Government has allowed
General Paz, with his military staff, to pass through its territory to
place himself at the head of the Correntino insurgents, who have risen
against Rosas, and made common cause with Monte Video; it has also
recalled Admiral Grenfell, its commander in the River Plate, as well as
its diplomatic agent at Monte Video, for engaging in an ill-timed
quarrel with the Monte Videan Government; and if the Buenos Ayrean army
should succeed in gaining possession of the city of Monte Video, it will
in all probability, whether backed or not by England and France, decide
to take part in the war, rather than allow General Rosas to succeed in
the designs which he now avows on the Republics of Uruguay and Paraguay,
the two bulwarks of the western provinces of the Brazilian empire.
Notwithstanding the recent victories of the Brazilian General, Baron
Caxias, over the rebels of Rio Grande do Sul, that province is still in
a very unsettled state--far too much so to be safely exposed to the
machinations of such dangerous neighbours as Generals Rosas and Oribe.
It may, therefore, be confidently expected, that if the great naval
powers do not interpose, the progress of events will again bring on a
war between Brazil, strengthened by the army of Uruguay, under General
Rivera, that of Corrientes under General Paz, and the forces of Paraguay
on one side; and Buenos Ayres on the other, backed by those other
provinces of the Argentine Confederation, which still follow the
fortunes of General Rosas.
What the result of such a war would be no one can predict, but its first
consequence would be another blockade of Buenos Ayres, by the Brazilian
fleet, its next the reinforcement of the garrison of Monte Video by a
detachment of Brazilian troops, and its probable final result, after the
whole of the countries engaged in it had been thoroughly ruined, the
establishment of the ascendancy either of the government of Buenos
Ayres, or of that of Brazil at Monte Video. This would be alike opposed
to the wishes and the interests of the Monte Videans themselves, to the
interests of a large portion of South America, and to those of the
nations trading with it. A small Independent State, like the Republic of
Uruguay, governed as it has ever been since the date of its independence
on the most liberal commercial principles, is the best of all checks on
the commercial illiberality of the neighbouring countries, and is much
too valuable to be sacrificed by the Government of any commercial nation
which has at heart the prosperity of its subjects.
If it should be said that neutral nations have no right to interpose
between belligerents, even for the purpose of preserving the national
independence of the weaker, I answer, that no longer since than last
year, the Government of this country was prepared to have interposed, if
it had been necessary, in order to preserve the independence of the
Empire of Morocco; and that the Government of France fully admitted the
right of England to do so in such a case, by giving a promise beforehand
that it would not use its victory either to conquer the territory or to
destroy the independence of the offending state. The reason why England
was prepared to resist the conquest of Morocco was, that such a conquest
would have seriously endangered her interests and influence in the
Mediterranean; and one principal reason why she should interfere to
prevent the conquest of Monte Video by the army and squadron of Buenos
Ayres is, that such a conquest would jeopardise her valuable commerce
and her influence in the River Plate, the only outlet of regions larger
than all the great Kingdoms of Western Europe united. Brazil has the
same right to interpose that Austria would have to resist the conquest
of Sardinia, or Prussia the conquest of Belgium, by France.
Many advantages have resulted both to the commerce of foreign nations,
and to the prosperity of the people of Uruguay, from the recognition of
its independence both of Buenos Ayres and Brazil, which were not
anticipated at the time when it was established, the whole of which, as
we shall show, will be lost if it is allowed to be absorbed by or placed
in dependence on Buenos Ayres. Amongst these advantages are the
following:--
The creation of an Independent State on the eastern bank of the River
Plate has given the commercial nations of Europe trading with those vast
countries of South America, whose only means of intercourse with the
rest of the world is through that River, a greatly increased security
against being again cut off from communication with them, as they were
during the Brazilian blockade, in the years 1825, 6, and 7. At that
time, both banks of the river were involved in the war, the city of
Monte Video being in the hands of the Brazilians, and the Province which
now forms the Republic of Uruguay being in arms against them. The
consequence of this state of things was, that the whole of the countries
watered by the great rivers Parana, Paraguay, Uruguay, and their
innumerable tributary streams, as well as the provinces of Buenos Ayres
and Monte Video, were cut off from all communication with Europe for
nearly three years, and that the great commerce which even then was
carried on by England and other nations with those countries, was for
the time destroyed. Some notion may be formed of the inconvenience which
this country alone sustained from the blockade of the river, from the
following facts. In the years 1822, 3, 4, and 5, the four years
preceding it, the average annual value of the exports from England to
the River Plate, was L909,330, whilst in 1826, 7, and 8, during the
blockade, it fell to L279,463, and in 1827, to L150,000, and even that
small remnant of trade was carried on by vessels which broke the
blockade. At a subsequent period, namely, in the years 1838-9, and 40,
there was again a blockade in the River Plate, established by France, a
power much more capable of making a blockade respected than Brazil, but
as the east bank of the river was no longer under the control of Buenos
Ayres, which was the power against whom the blockade was directed, the
evils resulting from it were comparatively small. Foreign ships were
still able to proceed to Monte Video, (thanks to the independence of
Uruguay), and thus, although one line of intercourse with the interior
was cut off by the blockade of the port of Buenos Ayres, the other up
the river Uruguay was kept open. In consequence of this, the evils of
the blockade were, in a great measure, confined to the city of Buenos
Ayres and its immediate neighbourhood, for the eastern bank of the river
flourished more than ever, the communication with the interior was never
closed, and the commerce of the nations trading with those countries
continued to increase. When it is considered (and it ought never to be
lost sight of,) that the commerce of foreign nations with the whole of
the central regions of South America depends entirely on the keeping
open one or other of these lines of communication, it will be seen that
it is a matter, not merely of national but of universal importance,
though in an especial manner to England, to maintain the entire
independence of Monte Video of Buenos Ayres, so as to diminish as much
as possible the danger of both being closed at the same time and by the
same political events. We say the entire independence of Monte Video,
for though the nominal independence of the country might be preserved,
even if the Buenos Ayrean army, under General Oribe, should get
possession of the city of Monte Video, that officer would be compelled
to lean on General Rosas for support to protect him against the majority
of his fellow countrymen, who are now in arms against him quite as much
as the chiefs of the Banda Oriental were in 1826, 7, and 8, compelled to
lean on Buenos Ayres for protection against the arms of Brazil; and to
follow the fortunes of Buenos Ayres in any war in which General Rosas
might involve himself, either with Brazil or any of the nations of
Europe. This would again be fatal to the trade of the River Plate.
It is not generally known, although it is very important that it should
be, that this trade amounted in 1842, including both imports and
exports, to upwards of Three Millions sterling, at the port of Monte
Video alone. It is still, however, in its infancy, and requires nothing
but a few years of peace, with the introduction of steam navigation on
the Parana, the Uruguay, and their tributaries,[A] to give it an
extension which will render it of vital importance to the merchants and
manufacturers of England. The Parana and the Paraguay, together, are
known to be navigable to Assumption, which is fifteen hundred miles
above Buenos Ayres, to vessels drawing nine feet water, and there is
every reason to believe that both those rivers might be navigated a
thousand miles higher by iron steamers, such as those recently built at
Birkenhead, by order of the East India Company, for the navigation of
the Indus and the Sutlej, the former of which, when carrying guns and
troops, draw only four feet water, the latter of which, when loaded in
the same manner, not more than two and a half. The Uruguay is equally
navigable for several hundred miles to the Salto Chico, (the little
leap), and if a short canal was cut, to turn that rapid and the much
more formidable one of the Salto Grande,[B] it would be navigable for
many hundred miles above the Falls. Several of the tributaries of these
gigantic streams are larger than the Rhine, the Elbe, or the Tagus, and
great numbers of them than the Thames or the Mersey, and the whole of
this vast net-work of waters is connected with the still more stupendous
river of the Amazons, by a short portage to the Madeira, one of the
principal tributaries of that king of rivers. The natural products which
these unrivalled lines of river communication might be made the means of
bringing to the ports on the Rivers Plate and Amazons are varied and
inexhaustible. In addition to the large supplies of hides, wool, tallow,
and provisions, which these countries now furnish, Paraguay and
Corrientes are capable of supplying the finest timber for ship-building
purposes, sugar the growth of free labour, the best kinds of tobacco,
cotton-wool, dyewoods, drugs, the tea of Paraguay, and the precious
metals from Bolivia and the back provinces of Brazil. It is now only
twenty or thirty years since steam navigation was introduced on the
Mississippi, and the consequence of its introduction has been an
extension of cultivation and population such as the world never before
saw. The natural resources of the great valleys of the Parana, Paraguay,
and Uruguay, merely require to be developed by the same means to make
Monte Video and Buenos Ayres as flourishing as New Orleans, and to make
the commerce of the River Plate rival that of the Mississippi. It is
perhaps vain to hope that anything will induce the present Governor of
Buenos Ayres to abandon the suicidal policy which is at once impeding
the intercourse with the interior, and depriving that city of the
principal benefits of its unrivalled position, but this only renders it
the more necessary to keep open the only other course, namely, that
through the Uruguay, by which the resources of these vast countries can
be brought into activity.
For another of the great advantages which has resulted from the
independence of Monte Video, has been the opening of a new channel for
the commercial intercourse between Europe and the central states of
South America, in peace as well as in war; and this channel the Monte
Videan Government has laboured to improve and keep open, as zealously
and as successfully as the Buenos Ayrean Government has laboured to
narrow and impede the old ones. The Buenos Ayrean Government has been
warned repeatedly by its warmest friends of the consequences which would
result from its illiberal commercial policy; but they might just as well
have reasoned with the winds; for, the only effect of the contrast
between the rapidly increasing prosperity of Monte Video and the
declining state of Buenos Ayres, has been to excite the most deadly
hatred and jealousy towards Monte Video on the part of the Buenos Ayrean
Government, and a settled determination to drag down that rapidly
improving city to its own level. The following sketch of the commercial
policy of the two countries will show what have been the principal
causes of the prosperity of Monte Video, and what of the decline of
Buenos Ayres; and also how strong a claim the policy of the former gives
it on the sympathy and support of this country.
A large portion of the revenue, both of Monte Video and of Province of
Buenos Ayres, is raised by taxes on the importation of foreign goods,
and the rate of duties is not excessive in either case. It is not on
this account that any one complains of the Buenos Ayrean Government, but
because it confines foreign commerce to the single port of Buenos Ayres,
and excludes both foreigners and foreign vessels from the other ports of
the Confederation, as strictly as the Chinese formerly excluded them
from every port except Canton. This it is able to effect by its command
over the entrance to the river Parana, the direct route to Entre Rios,
Corrientes, and the other provinces of the Confederation. Whilst the
provincial Government of Buenos Ayres thus excludes all foreign vessels
from the Parana, and as far as its control extends from the Uruguay, it
claims the right to expend the whole of the customs' revenue raised at
Buenos Ayres. The upper provinces very naturally consider this unjust,
and insist on having either a share of the revenue collected at Buenos
Ayres (somewhat on the principle adopted amongst the states of the
German Zollverein), or on having a general Congress of all the provinces
of the Confederation to decide how the money shall be distributed. This
General Rosas and his adherents refuse, and this refusal, coupled with
the equally positive refusal of the same parties to allow foreign
vessels to ascend the river, is one principal cause of the frequent wars
between the states of the Argentine Confederation on the banks of the
river and the Government of Buenos Ayres, one of which is now raging
between it and Corrientes. In this way the commerce with the interior is
continually interrupted. The policy of the Monte Videan Government is in
every respect the reverse of this, for it not only throws open the ports
of Monte Video, Maldonado, and Colonia, on the River Plate, but those of
Soriano and Paysandu, on the Uruguay, the Yaguaron, on the Laguna Merin,
and the dry port of Taquarembo on the Brazilian frontier to all the
world, and thus gives every part of the republic all the advantages of
foreign commerce.
There is a still greater difference, if it is possible, in the policy
adopted by the two governments with regard to the transit trade. At
Monte Video goods may be landed without the payment of any duty, may be
there deposited in the Custom-house stores for any length of time, on
the payment of a smaller warehouse rent than is usually paid in
Liverpool, and may be sent to any of the independent countries in the
interior, or re-shipped to foreign parts, without the payment of a
dollar. The Government goes even further than this, for it allows goods
in transit to be conveyed through the whole territory of the Republic,
with a guia or Custom-house Permit to all parts of the frontier, and to
be forwarded into the Argentine provinces of Entre Rios and Corrientes,
into the Republic of Paraguay, and into the back provinces of the empire
of Brazil, perfectly free from duty. Hence goods are constantly
forwarded up the Uruguay, instead of going to Buenos Ayres to pay duty
to General Rosas. The natural consequence of this is, that the people of
all the adjoining states have a friendly feeling towards Monte Video.
Corrientes has several times risen against the connection with General
Rosas, in support of Monte Video, and Brazil is prepared, if necessary,
to interfere to save it from his grasp. In fact, it is quite evident
that nothing but an entire change of policy on the part of Buenos Ayres
can prevent a general war against its usurpations. The policy of Rosas
with regard to goods in transit to the Independent States of the
interior is altogether different from that of Monte Video, for, when
landed at Buenos Ayres, they pay the same duties as if they were
intended for consumption there, and not a sixpence, or what is less than
a sixpence, a Buenos Ayrean paper dollar, is ever returned. When goods
are intended for re-exportation by sea, the difference is in appearance
less, but much the same in reality, for whilst they can be landed at
Monte Video without paying any duty, can remain there as long as the
owners like, and can then be re-exported duty free, at Buenos Ayres they
cannot be landed without paying the full duties, their owners lose all
claim to have any part of those duties returned, if they are not
re-exported within six months, and it is only with the greatest
difficulty and after waiting many months that they obtain any return at
all, even if they are exported within that time.
A similar contrast is also seen in the spirit in which the Governments
of Buenos Ayres and Monte Video treat the diplomatic agents of foreign
nations. Soon after the death of the Dictator Francia, the English
Government determined to send a diplomatic agent to the Republic of
Paraguay. This gentleman, Mr. Gordon, first landed at Buenos Ayres,
hoping to be allowed to proceed up the Parana to Assumption, the
capital, but he soon found that it was no part of General Rosas's policy
to allow any such communication. The consequence was, that after
remaining at Buenos Ayres for some time combatting the pretences under
which permission was refused, he found that there was no hope of his
being allowed to proceed to the seat of his mission, through the
countries subject to the dominion of General Rosas, and crossed over to
Monte Video. There he was received with every attention, and furnished
by General Rivera with a guard of honour, under whose escort he
travelled to the frontiers of Paraguay. Mr. Gordon's letter of
acknowledgement to General Rivera will be found in the Appendix, and it
would be difficult to find a stronger illustration of the opposite
spirit of the two Governments than is presented by this transaction. Not
Francia himself was ever more determined to cut off Paraguay from
communication with the rest of the world than is General Rosas, and the
key to his conduct is, that he is determined, if possible, to reduce the
people of that Republic to subjection to his authority. No longer since
than the 15th of January last, a long article appeared in the official
_Gazette_ of Buenos Ayres, censuring the Governments of Brazil and
Bolivia for recognizing the independence of Paraguay.
In addition to all these advantages arising out of the independence of
the Republic of Uruguay, it ought to be mentioned that the Government of
Monte Video has preserved an undepreciated silver currency through all
its difficulties, whilst the Buenos Ayrean Government has issued such
masses of paper without ever redeeming it, that the Buenos Ayrean paper
dollar is not worth more than 4-1/4d. at the present time. The other
states of the Argentine Confederation positively refuse to take the
Buenos Ayrean paper money, but foreign merchants are compelled to take
it, or to dispose of their goods by barter, which is seldom possible.
The consequence of the liberal commercial system adopted by Monte Video,
aided by the excellence of its situation has been to raise that city, in
fourteen years, to the position of one of the first commercial places in
America, as will be seen from the following summary of the export and
import trade in 1842, the year before the commencement of the siege:--
EXPORTS.
638,424 Hides, salted $2,553,696
780,097 Hides, dry 2,340,291
60,904 Hides 91,356
100,583 Skins of Sheep 201,706
111,801 (arrobas) Tallow 223,602
4,444 (tons) Bones 31,108
2,690 (arrobas) Mares Oil 4,035
26,462 (arrobas) Hair 79,386
946,955 Horns 28,408.5
96,540 (arrobas) Wool 144,810
3,341 (dozens) Skins of Sheep 6,682
8,019 (quintals) Garras 8,019
1,109 (tons) Ashes 8,872
18,198 (arrobas) Fat 36,396
424 (dozens) Skins of Nonatos 848
938 Ditto Nutria 2,345
513,641 (quintals) Meat 1,540,923
121 (barrels) Tripe, salted 726
150 (barrels) Meat 1,200
2,065 (boxes) Candles 6,195
170 (dozens) Tongues 170
470 Mules 9,400
2,380 (lbs.) Ostrich Feathers 892.4
------------
Value of Exports $7,321,066.1
Value of Imports on which duty was paid $9,237,696
-------------
How much this extensive trade has increased since the establishment
of the independence of Monte Video, will be seen from the following
statement of the increase of British shipping from 1830 to 1842:--
BRITISH SHIPPING.
Years. Ships. Tonnage. Men.
1830 41 7480 425
1831 36 6418 387
1832 30 5577 324
1833 51 9377 541
1834 65 12339 664
1835 54 10571 573
1836 58 11121 628
1837 63 12874 708
1838 100 20800 1143
1839 103 21257 1147
1840 132 23821 1447
1841 159 34537 1788
Up to the 6th of September, 1842, 128 British vessels had arrived at
Monte Video during that year.
COMPARISON OF THE COMMERCE OF MONTE VIDEO AND BUENOS AYRES.
Number of merchant vessels arrived at the Ports of Monte Video and
Buenos Ayres during the half-year ending June 30th, 1842:--
Monte Video. Buenos Ayres.
National 16 0
Brazilian 54 17
American 48 31
Chilian 1 1
British 115 47
French 52 20
Spanish 44 17
Sardinian 76 14
Portuguese 4 2
Hamburgh 14 8
Danish 17 12
Austrian 6 0
Swedish 9 8
Belgian 3 1
Bremen 3 3
Prussian 6 0
Russian 1 1
Hanoverian 1 1
Lubeck 2 0
Norwegian 3 2
Tuscan 1 1
--- ---
475 186
--- ---
Great as this trade is, there is no reason why its future increase
should not be as rapid as its past. There are at present several
millions of cattle roving over the boundless pastures watered by the
Uruguay, the Rio <DW64>, the St. Lucia, and the two hundred arroyos or
rivulets which flow into them, and with a few years of peace, this
number would be doubled, or if it was found more profitable, flocks of
sheep might be introduced instead. The repeal of the duty on foreign
wool, by the Act of 1844, gives additional encouragement to the raising
of this kind of stock, and the reduction in the duty on foreign
provisions made by the tariff of 1842, would, if this country was at
peace, throw a considerable portion of the provision trade created by
that reduction of duty, and at present monopolized by the United States,
into Monte Video. Enormous quantities of meat are now wasted, which it
might be worth while to prepare for this market, in a way suited for the
English taste.
Pastoral countries, such as the territory of Uruguay, New South Wales,
Van Dieman's Land, and South Africa, have this great advantage over
arable countries that their resources can be developed much more
rapidly, with a much smaller amount of labour, and with much less
capital. This is one of the causes of the sudden rise of the trade with
Australia, and it is also a considerable cause of the rapid development
of the prosperity of Monte Video. Its power of producing hides, wool,
tallow, and provisions is unlimited, by any thing except the deficient
numbers of its population; and whilst on this subject, I may mention
that Monte Video is the only one of all the Republics formed out of the
ancient possessions of Spain which has been sufficiently well governed
to attract to its shores any considerable number of emigrants from
Europe. It will be seen from the following table extracted from the
books of the Custom House at Monte Video, that not less than 33,607
emigrants arrived in that port between November, 1835, and December,
1842:--
_Table made from the books at the Sala de Comercio of the
number of passengers who arrived at Monte Video from Nov.
1835 inclusive, to the end of 1842._
KEY:
A: Basques, from both sides of the Pyrenees.
B: Frenchmen.
C: Gallicians.
D: Catalanes.
E: Spaniards from Cadiz, &c.
F: Genoese.
G: Canarios.
H: Portuguese and Brazilians.
I: Miscellaneous.
J: Total.
----+-------+-----+-----+-----+-----+------+------+-----+-----+-----
| A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J
----+-------+-----+-----+-----+-----+------+------+-----+-----+-----
1836| 1116 | 56 |... | 94 | 112 | 365 | 744 | 782 | 331 | 3600
----+-------+-----+-----+-----+-----+------+------+-----+-----+-----
1837| 348 | 72 | 101 | 485 | 310 | 175 | 949 | 454 | 223 | 3117
----+-------+-----+-----+-----+-----+------+------+-----+-----+-----
1838| 1939 | 71 | 85 | 264 | 284 | 645 | 2320 | 294 | 177 | 6079
----+-------+-----+-----+-----+-----+------+------+-----+-----+-----
1839| 233 | 69 | 141 | 64 | 53 | 202 | ... | 160 | 111 | 1033
----+-------+-----+-----+-----+-----+------+------+-----+-----+-----
1840| 1107 | 80 | 106 | 107 | 58 | 727 | ... | 316 | 122 | 2623
----+-------+-----+-----+-----+-----+------+------+-----+-----+-----
1841| 3965 | | 2,277.080202 |
2023-11-16 18:55:01.0602460 | 2,310 | 24 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Beauchamps Career, by George Meredith, v5
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OR | 2,277.080286 |
2023-11-16 18:55:03.0656710 | 5,074 | 71 |
Produced by Stephen Hutcheson and Charles Coulston
HYMNS FROM THE MORNINGLAND
HYMNS
FROM THE MORNINGLAND
BEING
TRANSLATIONS, CENTOS
AND SUGGESTIONS
FROM THE SERVICE BOOKS OF
THE HOLY EASTERN CHURCH
WITH INTRODUCTION
BY
JOHN BROWNLIE, D.D.
_Author of_
"_Hymns and Hymn Writers of the Church Hymnary_"
"_Hymns of the Greek Church_," "_Hymns from the Greek Office Books_"
"_Hymns of the Holy Eastern Church_"
_&c., &c._
_(SIXTH SERIES)_
PAISLEY: ALEXANDER GARDNER
_Publisher by Appointment to the late Queen Victoria_
1911
LONDON:
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO., LMD.
PRINTED BY ALEXANDER GARDNER, PAISLEY.
PREFACE
This sixth series of hymns from the Greek Offices is sent forth in the
hope that some of the flowers that bloom in the gardens of the East, in
which our Lord prayed and His Apostles tilled, may serve to beautify the
homes of the faithful in Western lands. Cut flowers lose their beauty and
freshness soon, but not infrequently their perfume remains; and roots
transplanted do not always continue to put forth leaves and blossoms in
that richness which adorns them in their native soil; but if in the case
of the culled flowers, which are here presented, some of their perfume
may chance to linger, it will probably serve to suggest their original
attractiveness. That they may, in some capacity, be used to adorn the
worship of Christ in our sterner clime, is the earnest prayer of the
translator.
J. B.
Trinity Manse,
Portpatrick, _July, 1911_.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
PAGE
Introduction xi
HYMNS
My God, shall sin its power maintain 3
Christmas--
Hark! upon the morning breezes 9
Hail to the morn that dawns on eastern hills 11
Hail to the King, who comes in weakness now 13
Ye saints, exult with cheerful song 15
He came because the Father willed 17
Now the King Immortal 19
When o'er the world Augustus reigned 21
O Light resplendent of the morn 23
Passiontide--
O wounded hands and feet 27
When Jesus to the judgment hall 29
They brought Him to the hill of death 31
"Watch with Me," the Master said 33
They cried, "Let Him be crucified!" 35
O darkest night that ever fell 37
Nailed to the cross the Saviour dies 39
O Son of God, afflicted 41
This be our prayer, O Saviour of our souls, 43
Easter--
Lo, in its brightness the morning arising 49
In the dark of early morn 51
Glory to God! The morn appointed breaks 53
Glory to God! The Christ hath left the tomb 55
Rise, O glorious orb of day 58
Ascension--
Borne on the clouds, the Christ arose 63
Lift up the gates 65
Borne on the wings of light 67
Pentecost--
Like the beams that from the sun 71
Come, Holy Ghost, in might 73
Spirit of God, in love descend 75
Lord, may Thy Holy Spirit calm 77
O God, the Holy Ghost 78
Various--
When Jesus to the Jordan came 83
When on the mount the Lord appeared 85
Behold, the King of Zion rides 87
Waving in the autumn breeze 89
When in the clouds of heaven 91
Rest in the Lord, O servant by His grace 93
Thou dost not pass a lonesome way 95
The man who erring counsel shuns 97
Lord, a band of foes increasing 99
Light of my life, O Lord, Thou art 101
From the hills the light is streaming 103
The day declines to night 105
Lord, let us feel that Thou art near 107
Come, praise with gladness, the Lord of all creation 109
Penitence and Love--
Now, with my weeping would I cleanse my soul 115
O God of love, on bended knee 117
O God, in mercy hear 119
Come to the Christ in tears 122
Forgive my heart its vain regrets 124
Far let me flee from worldly sin 126
Lord of mercy, at Thy gate 128
Burdened with a heavy load 130
Lord of a countless throng 132
Let all the world abroad 134
Thou Saviour of our sinful race 136
Where the Lord reveals His presence 138
O love of God, surpassing far 140
O God of our salvation 142
O Jesus, when my guilty fears 144
Lord, I am Thine, for Thou hast died for me 146
Aspirations--
Lord, let our eyes the things unseen behold 151
Wake to the songs that lips unsullied sing 153
Bring to the Christ your fears 155
Lord, soothe my anxious, troubled soul 158
Surpassing great the gift of God 160
My hope is firmly set 162
The time is drawing near 164
I will not yield my sword 166
If in the cause of right I must 168
The Christ on Olive's mount in prayer 170
Like music at the stilly hour 172
O Lord, Thou in the hour of need 174
My harp upon the willows, grave 176
To Thee my soul enraptured sings 178
Modern Greek Hymns--
Christ The Word! Thine Incarnation 183
Come, keep this Feast, who holy things revere 186
INTRODUCTION
Critics are of three classes:--the laudatory, who, if they see anything
to complain of, make no complaint; the severe, who, if they see anything
deserving commendation, say nothing about it; and the discriminating, who
see both and say it, and at the same time throw out hints which as a rule
are both acceptable and helpful. Particularly is this the case when the
advice tendered confirms a growing conviction on the part of a writer.
One cannot work continuously at a subject, and all the while get the
thoughtful criticism of his observers, without improving his methods.
From a review of a recent volume by the writer, the following is
taken:--"It seems to us that it is in the adaptation, rather than strict
translation, that the wealth of thought and emotion buried in the service
books of the Eastern Church will be minted into coin of golden praise
meet for sanctuary use, and comparable in worth and beauty to the
splendid currency of these latter days." This is strictly true, and it is
the conviction which has for some time possessed the author, with the
result that he has been giving less attention to translation, or
transliteration, and more attention to suggestion, adaptation, and
reminiscence. One cannot spend a day with the Greek service books (say
with the Triodion, which contains the incomparable Lenten and Easter
offices) without having his mind filled with thoughts the most beautiful,
thoughts which can sometimes be expressed in almost identical phrase with
the original, but which oftener, in order to do them justice by revealing
them in all their richness, require to be dwelt upon, expanded, and
clothed in appropriate western phrase. This is without doubt the best way
in which to deal with the praise material of the Greek service books, and
the present writer has set himself in this volume to act according to
that conviction. Here, there are fewer translations than in any former
volume, and the greater number of the hymns are reminiscences of the
Greek.
The contents of this book may be ranged under three categories:--A few
translations or renderings, as literal as it is possible or desirable to
make them; centos, or patchwork, _i.e._, pieces which are not versions of
any particular hymn in the original, but which are made up of portions of
various hymns; and suggestions, or reminiscences of the Greek. In the
case of the last, the best that can be said of them is that they owe
their existence in the present instance, to the Greek. While to the
ordinary reader there may be nothing in these suggestions to indicate
their source, no one who is acquainted with the praise of the Eastern
Church will fail to detect here and there certain marks which inevitably
announce their origin. In most cases initial Greek headlines have been
dispensed with, for the reason that they can serve no useful purpose, nor
indicate with any certainty the source of any particular hymn.
When one rises from a contemplation of Christian worship as it is
presented to him in the ancient forms of the Apostolic Church, it is with
pain that his ears are assailed with charges which he knows to be as
lacking in truth as they would be if they were levelled against
ourselves. God knows how far we have all drifted from our ideal, and
those who have the best excuse, not the farthest. But this offensive and
ungrateful spirit is surely unbecoming on the part of those who owe so
much to the Church which they censure. If Christian love would abound on
all sides, how soon would the wounds of Christ's Body heal! If those deep
wounds are to be bound up, it will only be by pouring in oil and wine.
Controversy and argument have been tried for centuries. They have failed.
We must all begin where the beloved St. John so feelingly bids
us,--"Little children, love one another." Love implies humility, and if
we are humble, and stoop to love, we will find hearts all over the world
only longing and praying for the balm of that Divine oil. Then dogmatic
differences will be solved in a new manner, and much more.
It is not a pleasant task to revert to the censures which are hurled
against the Eastern Church, by critics who are obviously ignorant of her
past history, and who seem to have taken no trouble to acquaint
themselves with her present position; but when one is continually met
with the same offensive statements, offensive because untrue, there is
only one thing to be done, and that is to meet them with the truth, and
refute them on every possible occasion, in the hope that in the end the
truth will be vindicated.
The charges have certainly not the charm of variety; they are painfully
monotonous:--The Greek Church is "dead," and "non-missionary." Certainly
non-missionary, if dead! To say of any organization, church or other,
that it is dead and non-progressive, is to say the worst that could be
said.
Dead! And what are the signs of death in the Eastern Church? Truly they
are marvellously unusual. Is it because she preserves the beauty,
dignity, and quiet solemnity, which must ever be associated with true
worship, and refuses to admit methods which are alien to it? Many of our
Churches have become societies, or guilds (a familiar term in these
days), in which are included every attraction which can appeal to the
eyes of the world. A Pleasant Sunday Afternoon, is the guise in which the
worship of God is presented to men who are not attracted by the calm and
rest of God's house; and the methods employed are bringing with them
their inevitable results. We fear the Church is in danger of forgetting
that its prime function is to preserve the Holy Worship of God, and by
its means to establish the saints in The Faith; and that its mission is
to go down to the world, inspiring those who are there with the spirit of
Christ; returning at the appointed time to observe the worship of God in
His house, and bringing with it those who are weary with the toil of
life, that they may be refreshed; and is allowing the world to invade its
sanctuary, and scare away the spirit of true worship. It is not enough to
say that present-day methods must be observed, that people will not come
to church unless it conforms to the spirit of the times. The human soul
will still desire to dwell in the house of the Lord, to behold His beauty
and to enquire, when it feels impelled by the Blessed Spirit of
God,--when it longs for peace and spiritual refreshment which can only be
found in communion with the Divine. Doubtless, to the pushful spirit of
the age, the Church which preserves in calm dignity the form of worship
which has been handed down to it through the ages, and tenaciously
adhered to in the midst of persecution and martyrdom, and refuses to
admit the methods of the concert hall, the debating society, and the
lecture room, must appear to be a dead Church indeed. So be it!
But, it is asked, what evidences are there that the Greek Church is a
living Church? What is she doing in the field of literature, theological
in particular? And in aggressive Christian work at home and abroad?
From this enquiry we cannot exclude the Greek Church in Russia, for,
while in the ancient sphere of that Church's operation (in Greece, and
Turkey, and Asia Minor) much is being done in the domain of education in
her schools and theological colleges, and in theological literature, it
is in Russia, where none of the grievous hindrances to activity exists
which for 600 years have frustrated many of her efforts at home, but
where free scope and encouragement for its exercise are guaranteed, that
most evidence of progress is seen.
Here is the testimony of one who cannot, _prima facie_, be deemed
unprejudiced.[1] A few years ago, Father Aurelio Palmieri was sent to
Russia by the Vatican to procure books and manuscripts for the Russian
section of the Papal library at Rome. He writes in the _Tserkoviya
Viedomosto_ (December 6, 1904):--"It is time to render justice to the
truth, and to put an end to those many calumnies, which are propagated
against Russia by envious and interested persons--persons who desire to
deprive her of her influence, and to rob her of her prestige. In the
Russian universities, the instruction given is far more serious than that
given in our own Italy; and the magnificent Ecclesiastical Academies, all
under religious influence, at St. Petersburg, Moscow, Kieff, and Kazan,
make us feel a sense of sadness at the miserable and insufficient
instruction that is given to our own Italian clergy. Let us say frankly,
that in our Italy, and even at Rome, we possess no such establishments
which for beauty of organization, capable professors, and wealth of
libraries, can rival these Russian Ecclesiastical Academies. To convince
people of the truth of my assertion, I need only refer them to the superb
official organs of these Academies... and set out what a vast quantity
of scientific works [this Father Palmieri does] is brought together in
these collections of Russian theological writers, and how far we in Italy
are from giving to the study of theology the development which it
receives in Russia.... I invite the scholars, not only of Italy, but of
every nation, to make acquaintance with the innumerable collection of
books now in the Vatican. They will there find convincing testimony to
the intensity of the intellectual work in Russia, and to the scientific
vitality of her Church...."
Again, in his book, _La Chiesa Russa_ (Florence, 1908), he deplores, not
the ignorance of the East, but the ignorance of the West. "It is
deplorable," he says, "that the intense scientific production of Russia
is almost totally ignored by the West.... A great nation like Russia is
not a negligible quantity affected by an intellectual quagmire (p. 671).
The Russian Ecclesiastical literature is rich in monographs on particular
subjects, and above all in Patristic theology. In this sphere of
research, Russian Orthodoxy can even outrival the German science." Such
is the testimony of one of the most cultured men in Italy.
The question is sometimes asked, What is the Greek Church doing at the
present time in the department of hymnody, in which her ancient offices
are so rich? Much; but as present day compositions are not used in the
canonical services, the supply of such material is not encouraged as it
would be in other circumstances, and as it is in the West, where the
demand for material for congregational hymnaries is so persistent. But
the Greek Church can boast of many hymn writers in her communion, whose
compositions would do no discredit to our Western hymnaries. Any
bookseller in Athens would supply a catalogue of Greek hymnological work
to any interested enquirer.
The writer has before him at this moment a volume of hymns, {TRIADIKON}
(Athens, 1909), the work of Bishop Nektarios, who for many years was head
of the great Rhizareion Theological College in Athens. The volume
contains about two hundred pieces suitable for use during the Church
seasons, and for general use. They were, however, composed, so the author
writes, to be read reverently, or sung privately, in the household. The
language of the hymns composed by present day hymn-writers has the modern
flavour, and so presents difficulties which, however, the student who has
a knowledge of the language of the service books can readily overcome,
with the help of a grammar and dictionary of modern Greek; for, while
modern Greek is nine-tenths similar to ancient Greek (_i.e._, modern
Greek of the first class, for there are several classes, according to the
grade of society) it has yet one-tenth which differs, and it is that
tenth which causes trouble. Such hymns are used at services _extra
ecclesiam_,--at meetings, church schools, colleges, and monasteries, or
at any other non-canonical service. They are, as a rule, set to
attractive music, often by eminent musicians. The translation of two
hymns from the fore-mentioned collection by Bishop Nektarios, are
included in this volume at pp. 183-6.
So, even in the department of hymnody, the Greek Church is showing no
signs of falling away, and, although she refuses to admit modern
productions into her Church services, and adheres to the hymns of her
early hymn-writers (an attitude, by the way, very similar to what we in
Scotland maintained until very recent times, when psalms alone were
permitted in our canonical services, to the exclusion of all hymns), she
has yet a band of hymn-writers who uphold a noble succession, and keep
adding to her treasury of praise, encouraged in their gracious work by
the countenance which the Church gives to its use on all possible
occasions.
But the commonest charge levelled against the Greek Church is that of
being non-missionary; and the charge which is so utterly untrue, is
deemed sufficient to relegate her to the limbo of the effete and
worthless. The truth is, that the missionary zeal, and activity of that
Church, are among the most outstanding features of her history; and when
we consider the terrible odds against which she has had to contend, both
in Europe and Asia, we wonder at the success that has been achieved.
Let us bear in mind that the population of Russia alone is about
170,000,000, that the natural increase goes on at the rate of four
millions annually, and that in twenty years the population will amount to
about 250,000,000. Think of the mighty task laid upon the Church to keep
abreast of such a growth, and at the same time to keep the Faith alive in
the mass,--for the great majority of this vast population are attached to
the Orthodox Church. And this is the task to which the Greek Church
addresses herself, to carry the blessings of Christianity to the farthest
Russian outpost, and to keep the flame alive where it has already been
kindled. Yet this is the Church which English-speaking Christians call
non-missionary. "If we take the English Church, for example, which prides
itself on its missions, and if we exclude all its missions from the
category of mission work which lie within the vast Empire of England's
dominions beyond the seas (that is to say, from India, Africa, Canada,
Australia, to English sailors, etc.), we would find how very few and weak
English missions really are. What a poor role, then, do English missions
play outside English lands! Why, then, do English folk gird at the great
Russian Church for a lack of missionary zeal when she is labouring hard
in her immense county in Europe and Asia for Christ? In Siberia and Asia
generally she is ever spreading the Faith, and that among many tribes and
tongues and peoples; and she has missions in Japan, China, Persia,
Palestine, Alaska, the Aleoutine Islands, and elsewhere."[2]
What the Greek Church is doing in Russian dominions, she is doing also in
her ancient lands, although under quite different auspices. In Turkey and
Asia Minor she keeps the flame aglow amid adverse conditions, and
provides spiritual food for her vast household. Besides, she is the most
active missionary agency in the Levant.
But enough has been said. If we could only overtop the mountains of
prejudice, and we fear we must add, for it is the parent of prejudice,
ignorance, which divide the West from the East, we should be able to look
down not upon a barren wilderness, but a fruitful vineyard, in which the
servants of Christ are working under the eye of their Master, even as we
are working in our separate sphere. Let us think about these things.
----------
[1]_Vide_ an article in the _Re-union Magazine_, by F. W. Groves
Campbell, LL.D., March, 1910 (London: Cope & Fenwick).
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[Transcriber’s Note:
Italicized text delimited by underscores.
This project uses utf-8 encoded characters. If some characters are not
readable, check your settings of your browser to ensure you have a
default font installed that can display utf-8 characters.]
WHAT THE WHITE RACE MAY
LEARN FROM THE INDIAN
BOOKS BY GEORGE WHARTON JAMES
What the White Race May Learn from the Indian.
In and Around the Grand Canyon.
Indians of the Painted Desert Region.
In and Out of the Old Missions of California.
The Wonders of the Colorado Desert.
The Story of Scraggles.
Indian Basketry.
How to Make Indian and Other Baskets.
Travelers’ Handbook to Southern California.
The Beacon Light.
[Illustration: GROUP OF HOPI MAIDENS AND AN OLD MAN AT MASHONGANAVI.]
What the White Race May
Learn from the Indian
BY
GEORGE WHARTON JAMES
AUTHOR OF “IN AND AROUND THE GRAND CANYON,” “INDIAN BASKETRY,” “HOW
TO MAKE INDIAN AND OTHER BASKETS,” “PRACTICAL BASKET MAKING,”
“THE INDIANS OF THE PAINTED DESERT REGION,” “TRAVELERS’ HANDBOOK
TO SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA,” “IN AND OUT OF THE OLD
MISSIONS OF CALIFORNIA,” “THE STORY OF SCRAGGLES,”
“THE WONDERS OF THE COLORADO DESERT,” “THROUGH
RAMONA’S COUNTRY,” “LIVING THE RADIANT
LIFE,” “THE BEACON LIGHT,” ETC.
[Illustration]
CHICAGO
FORBES & COMPANY
1908
COPYRIGHT, 1908
BY
EDITH E. FARNSWORTH
The Lakeside Press
R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY
CHICAGO
[Illustration: WHAT THE WHITE RACE MAY LEARN FROM THE INDIAN]
FOREWORD
I would not have it thought that I commend indiscriminately everything
that the Indian does and is. There are scores of things about the
Indian that are reprehensible and to be avoided. Most Indians smoke,
and to me the habit is a vile and nauseating one. Indians often wear
filthy clothes. They are often coarse in their acts, words, and their
humor. Some of their habits are repulsive. I have seen Indian boys
and men maltreat helpless animals until my blood has boiled with an
indignation I could not suppress, and I have taken the animals away
from them. They are generally vindictive and relentless in pursuit of
their enemies. They often content themselves with impure and filthy
water when a little careful labor would give them a supply of fairly
good water.
Indeed, in numerous things and ways I have personally seen the Indian
is not to be commended, but condemned, and his methods of life avoided.
But because of this, I do not close my eyes to the many good things
of his life. My reason is useless to me unless it teaches me what to
accept and what to reject, and he is kin to fool who refuses to accept
good from a man or a race unless in everything that man or race is
perfect. There is no perfection, in man at least, on earth, and all the
good I have ever received from human beings has been from imperfect men
and women. So I fully recognize the imperfections of the Indian while
taking lessons from him in those things that go to make life fuller,
richer, better.
Neither must it be thought that everything here said of the Indians
with whom I have come in contact can be said of all Indians. Indians
are not all alike any more than white men and women are all alike. One
can find filthy, disgusting slovens among white women, yet we do not
condemn all white women on the strength of this indisputable fact. So
with Indians. Some are good, some indifferent, some bad. In dealing
with them as a race, a people, therefore, I do as I would with my own
race, I take what to me seem to be racial characteristics, or in other
words, the things that are manifested in the lives of the best men and
women, and which seem to represent their habitual aims, ambitions, and
desires.
This book lays no claim to completeness or thoroughness. It is merely
suggestive. The field is much larger than I have gleaned over. The
chapters of which the book is composed were written when away from
works of reference, and merely as transcripts of the remembrances
that flashed through my mind at the time of writing. Yet I believe in
everything I have said I have kept strictly within the bounds of truth,
and have written only that which I personally know to be fact.
The original articles from which these pages have been made were
written in various desultory places,--on the cars, while traveling
between the Pacific and the Atlantic, on the elevated railways of the
metropolis, standing at the desk of my New York friend in his office on
Broadway, even in the woods of Michigan and in the depths of the Grand
Canyon. Two of the new chapters were written at the home of my friend
Bass, at Bass Camp, Grand Canyon, but the main enlargement and revision
has occurred at Santa Clara College, the site of the Eighth Mission
in the Alta California chain of Franciscan Missions. The bells of the
Mission Church have hourly rung in my ears, and the Angelus and other
calls to prayer have given me sweet memories of the good old padres
who founded this and the other missions, as well as shown me pictures
of the devoted priests of to-day engaged in their solemn services. I
have heard the merry shouts of the boys of this college at their play,
for the Jesuits are the educators of the boys of the Catholic Church.
Here from the precincts of this old mission, I call upon the white race
to incorporate into its civilization the good things of the Indian
civilization; to forsake the injurious things of its pseudo-civilized,
artificial, and over-refined life, and to return to the simple,
healthful, and natural life which the Indians largely lived before and
after they came under the dominion of the Spanish padres.
If all or anything of that which is here presented leads any of my
readers to a kinder and more honest attitude of mind towards the
Indians, then I shall be thankful, and the book will have amply
accomplished its mission.
GEORGE WHARTON JAMES.
SANTA CLARA, CALIFORNIA, November 27, 1907.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
FOREWORD 9
I. THE WHITE RACE AND ITS TREATMENT OF THE INDIAN 15
II. THE WHITE RACE AND ITS CIVILIZATION 28
III. THE INDIAN AND NASAL AND DEEP BREATHING 39
IV. THE INDIAN AND OUT-OF-DOOR LIFE 49
V. THE INDIAN AND SLEEPING OUT OF DOORS 70
VI. THE INDIAN AS A WALKER, RIDER, AND CLIMBER 79
VII. THE INDIAN IN THE RAIN AND THE DIRT 93
VIII. THE INDIAN AND PHYSICAL LABOR 105
IX. THE INDIAN AND PHYSICAL LABOR FOR GIRLS AND WOMEN 111
X. THE INDIAN AND DIET 119
XI. THE INDIAN AND EDUCATION 130
XII. THE INDIAN AND HOSPITALITY 143
XIII. THE INDIAN AND CERTAIN SOCIAL TRAITS AND CUSTOMS 156
XIV. THE INDIAN AND SOME LUXURIES 162
XV. THE INDIAN AND THE SEX QUESTION 175
XVI. THE INDIAN AND HER BABY 183
XVII. THE INDIAN AND THE SANCTITY OF NUDITY 197
XVIII. THE INDIAN AND FRANKNESS 204
XIX. THE INDIAN AND REPINING 207
XX. THE INDIAN AND THE SUPERFLUITIES OF LIFE 210
XXI. THE INDIAN AND MENTAL POISE 217
XXII. THE INDIAN AND SELF-RESTRAINT 229
XXIII. THE INDIAN AND AFFECTATION 235
XXIV. THE INDIAN AND ART WORK 240
XXV. THE INDIAN AND RELIGIOUS WORSHIP 250
XXVI. THE INDIAN AND IMMORTALITY 259
XXVII. VISITING THE INDIANS 265
XXVIII. CONCLUSION 268
CHAPTER I
THE WHITE R | 2,279.086695 |
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YOUNG FOLKS' LIBRARY OF
CHOICE LITERATURE.
LEGENDS
OF
NORSELAND
EDITED BY
MARA L. PRATT,
Author of "American History Stories," etc | 2,279.086752 |
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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.--Character of Solon.--His Legislation.--General View
of the Athenian Constitution.
II The Departure of Solon from Athens.--The Rise of Pisistratus.
--Return of Solon.--His Conduct and Death.--The Second and
Third Tyranny of Pisistratus.--Capture of Sigeum.--Colony
In the Chersonesus founded by the first Miltiades.--Death of
Pisistratus.
III The Administration of Hippias.--The Conspiracy of Harmodius
and Aristogiton.--The Death of Hipparchus.--Cruelties of
Hippias.--The young Miltiades sent to the Chersonesus.--The
Spartans Combine with the Alcmaeonidae against Hippias.--The
fall of the Tyranny.--The Innovations of Clisthenes.--His
Expulsion and Restoration.--Embassy to the Satrap of Sardis.
--Retrospective View of the Lydian, Medean, and Persian
Monarchies.--Result of the Athenian Embassy to Sardis.--
Conduct of Cleomenes.--Victory of the Athenians against the
Boeotians and Chalcidians.--Hippias arrives at Sparta.--The
Speech of Sosicles the Corinthian.--Hippias retires to
Sardis.
IV Histiaeus, Tyrant of Miletus, removed to Persia.--The
Government of that City deputed to Aristagoras, who invades
Naxos with the aid of the Persians.--Ill Success of that
Expedition.--Aristagoras resolves upon Revolting from the
Persians.--Repairs to Sparta and to Athens.--The Athenians
and Eretrians induced to assist the Ionians.--Burning of
Sardis.--The Ionian War.--The Fate of Aristagoras.--Naval
Battle of Lade.--Fall of Miletus.--Reduction of Ionia.--
Miltiades.--His Character.--Mardonius replaces Artaphernes
in the Lydian Satrapy.--Hostilities between Aegina and
Athens.--Conduct of Cleomenes.--Demaratus deposed.--Death
Of Cleomenes.--New Persian Expedition.
V The Persian Generals enter Europe.--Invasion of Naxos,
Carystus, Eretria.--The Athenians Demand the Aid of Sparta.
--The Result of their Mission and the Adventure of their
Messenger.--The Persians advance to Marathon.--The Plain
Described.--Division of Opinion in the Athenian Camp.--The
Advice of Miltiades prevails.--The Drear of Hippias.--The
Battle of Marathon.
BOOK III
CHAPTER
I The Character and Popularity of Miltiades.--Naval expedition.
--Siege of Paros.--Conduct of Miltiades.--He is Accused and
Sentenced.--His Death.
II The Athenian Tragedy.--Its Origin.--Thespis.--Phrynichus.--
Aeschylus.--Analysis of the Tragedies of Aeschylus.
III Aristides.--His Character and Position.--The Rise of
Themistocles.--Aristides is Ostracised.--The Ostracism
examined.--The Influence of Themistocles increases.--The
Silver--mines of Laurion.--Their Product applied by
Themistocles to the Increase of the Navy.--New Direction
given to the National Character.
IV The Preparations of Darius.--Revolt of Egypt.--Dispute for
The Succession to the Persian Throne.--Death of Darius.--
Brief Review of the leading Events and Characteristics of
his Reign.
V Xerxes conducts an Expedition into Egypt.--He finally resolves
on the Invasion of Greece.--Vast Preparations for the
Conquest of Europe.--Xerxes arrives at Sardis.--Despatches
Envoys to the Greek States, demanding Tribute.--The Bridge
of the Hellespont.--Review of the Persian Armament at
Abydos.--Xerxes encamps at Therme.
VI The Conduct of the Greeks.--The Oracle relating to Salamis.--
Art of Themistocles.--The Isthmian Congress.--Embassies to
Argos, Crete, Corcyra, and Syracuse.--Their ill Success.--
The Thessalians send Envoys to the Isthmus.--The Greeks
advance to Tempe, but retreat.--The Fleet despatched to
Artemisium, and the Pass of Thermopylae occupied.--Numbers
of the Grecian Fleet.--Battle of Thermopylae.
VII The Advice of Demaratus to Xerxes.--Themistocles.--Actions off
Artemisium.--The Greeks retreat.--The Persians invade
Delphi, and are repulsed with great Loss.--The Athenians,
unaided by their Allies, abandon Athens, and embark for
Salamis.--The irresolute and selfish Policy of the
Peloponnesians.--Dexterity and Firmness of Themistocles.--
Battle of Salamis.--Andros and Carystus besieged by the
Greeks.--Anecdotes of Themistocles.--Honours awarded to him
in Sparta.--Xerxes returns to Asia.--Olynthus and Potidaea
besieged by Artabazus.--The Athenians return | 2,279.087501 |
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SONNETS
AND
CANZONETS.
BY
A. BRONSON ALCOTT.
“LOVE CAN SUN THE REALMS OF LIGHT.”
_Schiller._
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1882.
_Copyright, 1882_,
BY A. BRONSON ALCOTT.
UNIVERSITY PRESS:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
PAGE
TO A. BRONSON ALCOTT, A LETTER BY F. B. SANBORN 5-10
AN ESSAY ON THE SONNET 11-35
SONNETS OF ILLUSTRATION 21-35
I. Love in Spring 21
II. The Maiden in April 22
III. The Estrangement 23
IV. Love in Time 24
V. To those of Noble Heart 24
VI. The Ocean a blessed God 27
VII. The Nightingale 28
VIII. The Fair Saint 29
IX. Love a Poor Palmer 30
X. Love against Love 31
XI. Death 32
XII. Ah, Sweet Content! 34
XIII. The Poet’s Immortality 34
PART FIRST.
PROEM 39
DOMESTIC SONNETS AND CANZONETS 41-8
PART SECOND.
SONNETS OF CHARACTER 94-145
A PROPHETIC ODE 146-149
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
TO A. BRONSON ALCOTT,
UPON READING HIS OCTOGENARIAN POEMS.
The period to which the scholar of two and eighty years belongs, is
seldom that of his youngest readers: it is more likely to be the epoch
of his own golden youth, when his masters were before his eyes, and
his companions were the books and the friends of his heart. Thus the
aged Landor could not bring his thoughts down from the grand forms of
Greek and Roman literature to which they were early accustomed; he had
swerved now and then from that loyalty in middle life, impressed and
acted upon as he was by the great political events of the Napoleonic
era,--but he returned to the epigram and the idyl in the “white winter
of his age,” and the voices of the present and of the future appealed
to him in vain. In the old Goethe there was something more prophetic
and august; he came nearer to his contemporaries, and prepared the way
for a recognition of his greatness by the generation which saw the
grave close over him. In this, that strange but loyal disciple of his,
the Scotch Carlyle, rendered matchless service to his master; yet he,
too, in his unhappy old age, could only at intervals, and by gleams
of inspiration,--as at the Edinburgh University Festival,--come into
communication with the young spirits about him. To you, dear Friend
and Master, belongs the rare good fortune (good genius rather) that
has brought you in these late days, into closer fellowship than of
yore with the active and forthlooking spirit of the time. In youth and
middle life you were in advance of your period, which has only now
overtaken you when it must, by the ordinance of Nature, so soon bid
you farewell, as you go forward to new prospects, in fairer worlds
than ours.
It is this union of youth and age, of the past and the present--yes,
and the future also--that I have admired in these artless poems, over
which we have spent together so many agreeable hours. Fallen upon an
age in literature when the poetic form is everywhere found, but the
discerning and inventive spirit of Poesy seems almost lost, I have
marked with delight in these octogenarian verses, flowing so naturally
from your pen, the very contradiction of this poetic custom of the
period. Your want of familiarity with the accustomed movement of verse
in our time, brings into more distinct notice the genuine poetical
motions of your genius. Having been admitted to the laboratory, and
privileged to witness the action and reaction of your thought, as it
crystallized into song, I perceived, for the first time, how high
sentiment, by which you have from youth been inspired, may become the
habitual movement of the mind, at an age when so many, if they live at
all in spirit, are but nursing the selfish and distorted fancies of
morose singularity. To you the world has been a | 2,279.207272 |
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Transcribed from the 1891 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
MURAD THE UNLUCKY AND OTHER TALES
Contents:
Introduction
Murad the Unlucky
The Limerick Gloves
Madame de Fleury
INTRODUCTION
Maria Edgeworth came of a lively family which had settled in Ireland in
the latter part of the sixteenth century. Her father at the age of five-
and-twenty inherited the family estates at Edgeworthstown in 1769. He
had snatched an early marriage, which did not prove happy. He had a
little son, whom he was educating upon the principles set forth in
Rousseau's "Emile," and a daughter Maria, who was born on the 1st of
January, 1767. He was then living at Hare Hatch, near Maidenhead. In
March, 1773, his first wife died after giving birth to a daughter named
Anna. In July, 1773, he married again, Honora Sneyd, and went to live in | 2,279.9913 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Front | 2,279.993093 |
2023-11-16 18:55:04.1620510 | 92 | 10 |
Produced by Suzan Flanagan and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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In
The
Time
That
Was
Dedicated
to
_Ah-Koo_
Done into English
by
J. Frederic Thorne
(_K | 2,280.182091 |
2023-11-16 18:55:04.2642650 | 1,978 | 10 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
JACK AND THE BEAN-STALK
English Hexameters
By Hallam Tennyson
Illustrated By Randolph Caldecott
London
Macmillan And Co.
And New York
1886
PREFACE
In his last letter to me Caldecott wrote: 'I have been making several
attempts at the Giant, and have been cogitating over the Illustrations
to "Jack" generally. During the winter I shall be able to show you some
of my ideas.' The following unfinished Sketches are the 'ideas,' which,
with Mrs. Caldecott's kind permission, have been reproduced.
H. T.
To My Father,
In Recognition Of What This Booklet Owes To Him,
And To My Nephews,
'Golden-Hair'd' Ally, Charlie, And Michael,
Who Have So Far Condescended
As To Honour It With Their Approbation.
JACK AND THE BEAN-STALK
|JACK was a poor widow's heir, but he lived as a drone
```in a beehive,
`Hardly a handstir a day did he work. To squander her
```earnings
`Seem'd to the poor widow hard, who raved and scolded
```him always.
`Nought in her house was left; not a cheese, not a loaf,
```not an onion;
`Nought but a cow in her yard, and that must go to the
```market.
`"Sell me the cow," cried she; then he sold it, gad! for a
```handful----
`Only to think!------of beans. She shied them out thro'
```the window,
`Cursing him: hied to her bed, there slept, but awoke in
```amazement,
`Seeing a huge bean-stalk, many leaves, many pods, many
```flowers,
`Rise to the clouds more tall than a tall California pine-
```tree;
`High as a lark was Jack, scarce seen, and climbing away
```there.
`"Where an' O where," * he shrill'd; she beheld his boots
```disappearing;
* "<i>Where an' O where is my Highland laddie gone?</i>"
`Pod by pod Jack arose, till he came to a pod that alarm'd
```him.
`Bridge-like this long pod stretch'd out, and touch'd on an
```island
`Veil'd in vapour. A shape from the island waved him a
```signal,
`Waved with a shining hand, and Jack with an humble
```obeisance
`Crawl'd to the shape, who remark'd, "I gave those beans
```to ye, darling.
`I am a fairy, a friend to ye, Jack; see yonder a Giant
`Lives, who slew your own good father, see what a fortress!
`Enter it, have no fear, since I, your fairy, protect you."
`Jack march'd up to the gate, in a moment pass'd to the
```kitchen
`Led by the savoury smell. This Giant's wife with a ladle
`Basted a young elephant (Jack's namesake shriek'd and
```turn'd it).
`Back Jack shrank in alarm: with fat cheeks peony-bulbous,
`Ladle in hand, she stood, and spake in a tone of amuse-
```ment:.
`"Oh! what a cramp'd-up, small, unsesquipedalian object!"
`Then from afar came steps, heavy tramps, as a pavior
```hamm'ring;
`Out of her huge moon-cheeks the redundant peony faded,
`Jack's lank hair she grabb'd, and, looking sad resolution,
`Popt him aghast in among her saucepans' grimy recesses.
`Then strode in, with a loud heavy-booted thunder of heel-
```taps,
`He with a tiger at heel--her Giant, swarthy, colossal:
`"I smell flesh of a man; yea, wife, tho' he prove but a
```morsel,
`Man tastes good." She replied, "Sure thou be'est failing
```in eyesight;
`'Tis but a young elephant, my sweetest lord, not a biped."
`Down he crook'd his monstrous knees, and rested his hip-
```bones,
`Call'd for his hen, said "Lay so she, with a chuck cock-
```a-doodle,
`Dropt him an egg, pure gold, a refulgent, luminous
```oval,--
`That was her use:--when he push'd her aside, cried,
```"Bring me the meat now,"
`Gorged his enormous meal, fell prone, and lost recollection.
`Jack from a saucepan watch'd his broad chest's monstrous
```upheavals:
`Then to the chamber above both dame and tiger ascended.
`"Now for it, hist!" says Jack--"coast clear, and none to
```behold me,"
`Airily Jack stole forth, and seized the plump, money-
```laying,
`Priceless, mystical hen; ran forth, sped away to the bean-
```stalk,
`Heard from afar, then near, heavy tramps, as a pavior
```hamm'ring,
`Sprang down pod by pod, with a bounding, grasshopper
```action,
`Left the Colossus aghast at an edge of his own little
```island,
`Lighted on earth, whom she, that bare him, fondly
```saluting,
`Dropt a maternal tear, and dried that tear with her
```apron,
`Seeing him home and safe; and after it, all was a hey-day,
`Lots of loaves, and tons of cheeses, a barnful of onions;
`Cows and calves, and creams, and gold eggs piled to the
```ceilings:
`Horses, goats, and geese, and pigs, and pugs by the
```hundred.
`Ah! but he found in a while his life of laziness irk-
```some.
`"Climb me," the bean-stalk said with a whisper. Jack,
```reascending,
`Swarm'd to the wonderful isle once more, and high
```habitation;
`Led by the fairy return'd to the fortress, pass'd to the
```kitchen,
`Unseen, hied him again to the saucepans' grimy recesses,
`Peep'd out into the room. The plump wife, peony-
```bulbous,
`Toasted a constrictor, which roll'd in vast revolutions.
`Then strode in, strong-booted again, with a roar, the
```Colossus:
`Call'd for his harp, said "Play." So this, with a sharp
```treble ting-tong,
`Play'd him an air, a delightful, long-drawn, national
```anthem,
`Play'd him an air, untouch'd, (the strings, by a fairy
```magician
`Wrought, were alive). Then he shouted aloud, "Wife,
```bring me the meat now,"
`Gorged his elongate meal; the snake in warm revolutions,
`Making his huge bulk swell, disappear'd like Man's
```macaroni:
`After, he yawn'd and snored, fell prone, and lost recol-
```lection.
`So Jack seized the melodious harp, and bolted. A
```murmur
`"Master, master, a rascal, a rascal!" rang thro' the harp-
```strings.
`Quickly the monster awoke, and wielding a cudgel,--
```an oak tree,--
`Chased little Jack with a shout of mighty, maniacal
```anger;
`Jack to the beanpod sprang with a leap, and desperate
```hurl'd his
`Limbs in a downward, furious, headlong pre-cipitation,
`But for a wink up-glanced; his foeman's ponderous
```hob-nails
`Shone from aloft: down crash'd big pods, and bean
```avalanches.
`"Haste mother, haste mother, oh! mother, haste, and
```bring me the hatchet!"
`Cried Jack, alighting on earth. She brought him an
```axe double-handed.
`Jack cleft clean thro' the haulm; that Giant desperate
```hurl'd his.
`Limbs in a downward, roaring, thund'ring pre-cipitation,
`Crash'd to the ground stone-dead with a crash as a crag
```from a mountain.
`"I'm your master now," said Jack to the harp at his
```elbow;
`"There's your old 'un! of him pray give your candid
```opinion!"
`Sweetly the mystical harp responded, "Master, a rascal!"
[Illustration: 0019]
JACK AND THE BEAN-ST | 2,280.284305 |
2023-11-16 18:55:04.2643430 | 7,436 | 17 |
Produced by A. Elizabeth Warren
STALKY & CO.
By Rudyard Kipling
“Let us now praise famous men”--
Men of little showing--
For their work continueth,
And their work continueth,
Greater than their knowing.
Western wind and open surge
Tore us from our mothers;
Flung us on a naked shore
(Twelve bleak houses by the shore!
Seven summers by the shore!)
‘Mid two hundred brothers.
There we met with famous men
Set in office o’er us.
And they beat on us with rods--
Faithfully with many rods--
Daily beat us on with rods--
For the love they bore us!
Out of Egypt unto Troy--
Over Himalaya--
Far and sure our bands have gone--
Hy-Brasil or Babylon,
Islands of the Southern Run,
And cities of Cathaia!
And we all praise famous men--
Ancients of the College;
For they taught us common sense---
Tried to teach us common sense--
Truth and God’s Own Common Sense
Which is more than knowledge!
Each degree of Latitude
Strung about Creation
Seeth one (or more) of us,
(Of one muster all of us--
Of one master all of us--)
Keen in his vocation.
This we learned from famous men
Knowing not its uses
When they showed in daily work
Man must finish off his work--
Right or wrong, his daily work--
And without excuses.
Servants of the staff and chain,
Mine and fuse and grapnel--
Some before the face of Kings,
Stand before the face of Kings;
Bearing gifts to divers Kings--
Gifts of Case and Shrapnel.
This we learned from famous men
Teaching in our borders.
Who declare’d it was best,
Safest, easiest and best--
Expeditious, wise and best--
To obey your orders.
Some beneath the further stars
Bear the greater burden.
Set to serve the lands they rule,
(Save he serve no man may rule)
Serve and love the lands they rule;
Seeking praise nor guerdon.
This we learned from famous men
Knowing not we learned it.
Only, as the years went by--
Lonely, as the years went by--
Far from help as years went by
Plainer we discerned it.
Wherefore praise we famous men
From whose bays we borrow--
They that put aside Today--
All the joys of their Today--
And with toil of their Today
Bought for us Tomorrow!
Bless and praise we famous men
Men of little showing!
For their work continueth
And their work continueth
Broad and deep continueth
Great beyond their knowing!
Copyright, 1899. by Rudyard Kipling
CONTENTS
I. IN AMBUSH
II. SLAVES OF THE LAMP--PART I.
III. AN UNSAVORY INTERLUDE
IV. THE IMPRESSIONISTS
V. THE MORAL REFORMERS
VI. A LITTLE PREP.
VII. THE FLAG OF THEIR COUNTRY
VIII. THE LAST TERM
IX. SLAVES OF THE LAMP--PART II.
“IN AMBUSH.”
In summer all right-minded boys built huts in the furze-hill behind the
College--little lairs whittled out of the heart of the prickly bushes,
full of stumps, odd root-ends, and spikes, but, since they were strictly
forbidden, palaces of delight. And for the fifth summer in succession,
Stalky, McTurk, and Beetle (this was before they reached the dignity of
a study) had built like beavers a place of retreat and meditation, where
they smoked.
Now, there was nothing in their characters as known to Mr. Prout,
their house-master, at all commanding respect; nor did Foxy, the
subtle red-haired school Sergeant, trust them. His business was to wear
tennis-shoes, carry binoculars, and swoop hawklike upon evil boys. Had
he taken the field alone, that hut would have been raided, for Foxy
knew the manners of his quarry; but Providence moved Mr. Prout,
whose school-name, derived from the size of his feet, was Hoofer, to
investigate on his own account; and it was the cautious Stalky who
found the track of his pugs on the very floor of their lair one peaceful
afternoon when Stalky would fain have forgotten Prout and his works in
a volume of Surtees and a new briar-wood pipe. Crusoe, at sight of the
footprint, did not act more swiftly than Stalky. He removed the pipes,
swept up all loose match-ends, and departed to warn Beetle and McTurk.
But it was characteristic of the boy that he did not approach his allies
till he had met and conferred with little Hartopp, President of the
Natural History Society, an institution which Stalky held in contempt,
Hartopp was more than surprised when the boy meekly, as he knew how,
begged to propose himself, Beetle, and McTurk as candidates; confessed
to a long-smothered interest in first-flowerings, early butterflies, and
new arrivals, and volunteered, if Mr. Hartopp saw fit, to enter on the
new life at once. Being a master, Hartopp was suspicious; but he was
also an enthusiast, and his gentle little soul had been galled by
chance-heard remarks from the three, and specially Beetle. So he was
gracious to that repentant sinner, and entered the three names in his
book.
Then, and not till then, did Stalky seek Beetle and McTurk in their
house form-room. They were stowing away books for a quiet afternoon in
the furze, which they called the “wuzzy.”
“All up,” said Stalky, serenely. “I spotted Heffy’s fairy feet round our
hut after dinner. ‘Blessing they’re so big.”
“Con-found! Did you hide our pipes?” said Beetle.
“Oh, no. Left ‘em in the middle of the hut, of course. What a blind ass
you are, Beetle! D’you think nobody thinks but yourself? Well, we can’t
use the hut any more. Hoofer will be watchin’ it.”
“‘Bother! Likewise blow!’” said McTurk thoughtfully, unpacking the
volumes with which his chest was cased. The boys carried their libraries
between their belt and their collar. “Nice job! This means we’re under
suspicion for the rest of the term.”
“Why? All that Heffy has found is a hut. He and Foxy will watch it. It’s
nothing to do with us; only we mustn’t be seen that way for a bit.”
“Yes, and where else are we to go?” said Beetle. “You chose that place,
too--an’--an’ I wanted to read this afternoon.”
Stalky sat on a desk drumming his heels on the form.
“You’re a despondin’ brute, Beetle. Sometimes I think I shall have to
drop you altogether. Did you ever know your Uncle Stalky forget you yet?
_His rebus infectis_--after I’d seen Heffy’s man-tracks marchin’
round our hut, I found little Hartopp--_destricto ense_--wavin’ a
butterfly-net. I conciliated Hartopp. ‘Told him that you’d read papers
to the Bug-hunters if he’d let you join, Beetle. ‘Told him you liked
butterflies, Turkey. Anyhow, I soothed the Hartoffles, and we’re
Bug-hunters now.”
“What’s the good of that?” said Beetle.
“Oh, Turkey, kick him!”
In the interests of science bounds were largely relaxed for the members
of the Natural History Society. They could wander, if they kept clear
of all houses, practically where they chose; Mr. Hartopp holding himself
responsible for their good conduct.
Beetle began to see this as McTurk began the kicking.
“I’m an ass, Stalky!” he said, guarding the afflicted part. “_Pax_,
Turkey. I’m an ass.”
“Don’t stop, Turkey. Isn’t your Uncle Stalky a great man?”
“Great man,” said Beetle.
“All the same bug-huntin’s a filthy business,” said McTurk. “How the
deuce does one begin?”
“This way,” said Stalky, turning to some fags’ lockers behind him. “Fags
are dabs at Natural History. Here’s young Braybrooke’s botany-case.” He
flung out a tangle of decayed roots and adjusted the slide. “‘Gives one
no end of a professional air, I think. Here’s Clay Minor’s geological
hammer. Beetle can carry that. Turkey, you’d better covet a
butterfly-net from somewhere.”
“I’m blowed if I do,” said McTurk, simply, with immense feeling.
“Beetle, give me the hammer.”
“All right. I’m not proud. Chuck us down that net on top of the lockers,
Stalky.”
“That’s all right. It’s a collapsible jamboree, too. Beastly luxurious
dogs these fags are. Built like a fishin’-rod. ‘Pon my sainted Sam,
but we look the complete Bug-hunters! Now, listen to your Uncle Stalky!
We’re goin’ along the cliffs after butterflies. Very few chaps come
there. We’re goin’ to leg it, too. You’d better leave your book behind.”
“Not much!” said Beetle, firmly. “I’m not goin’ to be done out of my fun
for a lot of filthy butterflies.”
“Then you’ll sweat horrid. You’d better carry my Jorrocks. ‘Twon’t make
you any hotter.”
They all sweated; for Stalky led them at a smart trot west away along
the cliffs under the furze-hills, crossing combe after gorzy combe. They
took no heed to flying rabbits or fluttering fritillaries, and all that
Turkey said of geology was utterly unquotable.
“Are we going to Clovelly?” he puffed at last, and they flung themselves
down on the short, springy turf between the drone of the sea below and
the light summer wind among the inland trees. They were looking into a
combe half full of old, high furze in gay bloom that ran up to a fringe
of brambles and a dense wood of mixed timber and hollies. It was as
though one-half the combe were filled with golden fire to the cliff’s
edge. The side nearest to them was open grass, and fairly bristled with
notice-boards.
“Fee-rocious old cove, this,” said Stalky, reading the nearest.
“‘_Prosecuted with the utmost rigour of the law_. G. M. Dabney, Col.,
J.P.,’ an’ all the rest of it. ‘Don’t seem to me that any chap in his
senses would trespass here, does it?”
“You’ve got to prove damage ‘fore you can prosecute for anything! ‘Can’t
prosecute for trespass,” said McTurk, whose father held many acres in
Ireland. “That’s all rot!”
“Glad of that, ‘cause this looks like what we wanted. Not straight
across, Beetle, you blind lunatic! Anyone could spot us half a mile off.
This way; and furl up your beastly butterfly-net.”
Beetle disconnected the ring, thrust the net into a pocket, shut up
the handle to a two-foot stave, and slid the cane-ring round his waist.
Stalky led inland to the wood, which was, perhaps, a quarter of a mile
from the sea, and reached the fringe of the brambles.
“_Now_ we can get straight down through the furze, and never show up
at all,” said the tactician. “Beetle, go ahead and explore. Snf! Snf!
Beastly stink of fox somewhere!”
On all fours, save when he clung to his spectacles, Beetle wormed into
the gorse, and presently announced between grunts of pain that he had
found a very fair fox-track. This was well for Beetle, since Stalky
pinched him _a tergo_. Down that tunnel they crawled. It was evidently
a highway for the inhabitants of the combe; and, to their inexpressible
joy, ended, at the very edge of the cliff, in a few square feet of dry
turf walled and roofed with impenetrable gorse.
“By gum! There isn’t a single thing to do except lie down,” said Stalky,
returning a knife to his pocket. “Look here!”
He parted the tough stems before him, and it was as a window opened on
a far view of Lundy, and the deep sea sluggishly nosing the pebbles a
couple of hundred feet below. They could hear young jackdaws squawking
on the ledges, the hiss and jabber of a nest of hawks somewhere out of
sight; and, with great deliberation, Stalky spat on to the back of a
young rabbit sunning himself far down where only a cliff-rabbit could
have found foot-hold. Great gray and black gulls screamed against the
jackdaws; the heavy-scented acres of bloom round them were alive with
low-nesting birds, singing or silent as the shadow of the wheeling hawks
passed and returned; and on the naked turf across the combe rabbits
thumped and frolicked.
“Whew! What a place! Talk of natural history; this is it,” said Stalky,
filling himself a pipe. “Isn’t it scrumptious? Good old sea!” He spat
again approvingly, and was silent.
McTurk and Beetle had taken out their books and were lying on their
stomachs, chin in hand. The sea snored and gurgled; the birds, scattered
for the moment by these new animals, returned to their businesses, and
the boys read on in the rich, warm, sleepy silence.
“Hullo, here’s a keeper,” said Stalky, shutting “Handley Cross”
cautiously, and peering through the jungle. A man with a gun appeared on
the sky-line to the east. “Confound him, he’s going to sit down.”
“He’d swear we were poachin’, too,” said Beetle. “What’s the good of
pheasants’ eggs? They’re always addled, too.”
“Might as well get up to the wood, I think,” said Stalky. “We don’t want
G. M. Dabney, Col., J.P., to be bothered about us so soon. Up the wuzzy
and keep quiet! He may have followed us, you know.”
Beetle was already far up the tunnel. They heard him gasp indescribably:
there was the crash of a heavy body leaping through the furze.
“Aie! yeou little red rascal. I see yeou!” The keeper threw the gun to
his shoulder, and fired both barrels in their direction. The pellets
dusted the dry stems round them as a big fox plunged between Stalky’s
legs, and ran over the cliff-edge.
They said nothing till they reached the wood, torn, disheveled, hot, but
unseen.
“Narrow squeak,” said Stalky. “I’ll swear some of the pellets went
through my hair.”
“Did you see him?” said Beetle. “I almost put my hand on him. Wasn’t
he a wopper! Didn’t he stink! Hullo, Turkey, what’s the matter? Are you
hit?”
McTurk’s lean face had turned pearly white; his mouth, generally half
open, was tight shut, and his eyes blazed. They had never seen him like
this save once in a sad time of civil war.
“Do you know that that was just as bad as murder?” he said, in a grating
voice, as he brushed prickles from his head.
“Well, he didn’t hit us,” said Stalky. “I think it was rather a lark.
Here, where are you going?”
“I’m going up to the house, if there is one,” said McTurk, pushing
through the hollies. “I am going to tell this Colonel Dabney.”
“Are you crazy? He’ll swear it served us jolly well right. He’ll report
us. It’ll be a public lickin’. Oh, Turkey, don’t be an ass! Think of
us!”
“You fool!” said McTurk, turning savagely. “D’you suppose I’m thinkin’
of _us_? It’s the keeper.”
“He’s cracked,” said Beetle, miserably, as they followed. Indeed, this
was a new Turkey--a haughty, angular, nose-lifted Turkey--whom they
accompanied through a shrubbery on to a lawn, where a white-whiskered
old gentleman with a cleek was alternately putting and blaspheming
vigorously.
“Are you Colonel Dabney?” McTurk began in this new creaking voice of
his.
“I--I am, and--” his eyes traveled up and down the boy--“who--what the
devil d’you want? Ye’ve been disturbing my pheasants. Don’t attempt to
deny it. Ye needn’t laugh at it.” (McTurk’s not too lovely features had
twisted themselves into a horrible sneer at the word pheasant.) “You’ve
been birds’-nesting. You needn’t hide your hat. I can see that you
belong to the College. Don’t attempt to deny it. Ye do! Your name
and number at once, sir. Ye want to speak to me--Eh? You saw my
notice-boards? Must have. Don’t attempt to deny it. Ye did! Damnable, oh
damnable!”
He choked with emotion. McTurk’s heel tapped the lawn and he stuttered a
little--two sure signs that he was losing his temper. But why should he,
the offender, be angry?
“Lo-look here, sir. Do--do you shoot foxes? Because, if you don’t, your
keeper does. We’ve seen him! I do-don’t care what you call us--but it’s
an awful thing. It’s the ruin of good feelin’ among neighbors. A ma-man
ought to say once and for all how he stands about preservin’. It’s
worse than murder, because there’s no legal remedy.” McTurk was quoting
confusedly from his father, while the old gentleman made noises in his
throat.
“Do you know who I am?” he gurgled at last; Stalky and Beetle quaking.
“No, sorr, nor do I care if ye belonged to the Castle itself. Answer me
now, as one gentleman to another. Do ye shoot foxes or do ye not?”
And four years before Stalky and Beetle had carefully kicked McTurk out
of his Irish dialect! Assuredly he had gone mad or taken a sunstroke,
and as assuredly he would be slain--once by the old gentleman and once
by the Head. A public licking for the three was the least they could
expect. Yet--if their eyes and ears were to be trusted--the old
gentleman had collapsed. It might be a lull before the storm, but--
“I do not.” He was still gurgling.
“Then you must sack your keeper. He’s not fit to live in the same county
with a God-fearin’ fox. An’ a vixen, too--at this time o’ year!”
“Did ye come up on purpose to tell me this?”
“Of course I did, ye silly man,” with a stamp of the foot. “Would you
not have done as much for me if you’d seen that thing happen on my land,
now?”
Forgotten--forgotten was the College and the decency due to elders!
McTurk was treading again the barren purple mountains of the rainy
West coast, where in his holidays he was viceroy of four thousand naked
acres, only son of a three-hundred-year-old house, lord of a crazy
fishing-boat, and the idol of his father’s shiftless tenantry. It was
the landed man speaking to his equal--deep calling to deep--and the old
gentleman acknowledged the cry.
“I apologize,” said he. “I apologize unreservedly--to you, and to the
Old Country. Now, will you be good enough to tell me your story?”
“We were in your combe,” McTurk began, and he told his tale alternately
as a schoolboy and, when the iniquity of the thing overcame him, as an
indignant squire; concluding: “So you see he must be in the habit of
it. I--we---one never wants to accuse a neighbor’s man; but I took the
liberty in this case--”
“I see. Quite so. For a reason ye had. Infamous---oh, infamous!”
The two had fallen into step beside each other on the lawn, and Colonel
Dabney was talking as one man to another. “This comes of promoting a
fisherman--a fisherman--from his lobster-pots. It’s enough to ruin the
reputation of an archangel. Don’t attempt to deny it. It is! Your father
has brought you up well. He has. I’d much like the pleasure of his
acquaintance. Very much, indeed. And these young gentlemen? English
they are. Don’t attempt to deny it. They came up with you, too?
Extraordinary! Extraordinary, now! In the present state of education I
shouldn’t have thought any three boys would be well enough grounded.
But out of the mouths of--No--no! Not that by any odds. Don’t attempt to
deny it. Ye’re not! Sherry always catches me under the liver, but--beer,
now? Eh? What d’you say to beer, and something to eat? It’s long since
I was a boy--abominable nuisances; but exceptions prove the rule. And a
vixen, too!” They were fed on the terrace by a gray-haired housekeeper.
Stalky and Beetle merely ate, but McTurk with bright eyes continued a
free and lofty discourse; and ever the old gentleman treated him as a
brother.
“My dear man, of course ye can come again. Did I not say exceptions
prove the rule? The lower combe? Man, dear, anywhere ye please, so long
as you do not disturb my pheasants. The two are not incompatible. Don’t
attempt to deny it. They’re not! I’ll never allow another gun, though.
Come and go as ye please. I’ll not see you, and ye needn’t see me. Ye’ve
been well brought up. Another glass of beer, now? I tell you a fisherman
he was and a fisherman he shall be to-night again. He shall! Wish
I could drown him. I’ll convoy you to the Lodge. My people are not
precisely--ah--broke to boy, but they’ll know you again.”
He dismissed them with many compliments by the high Lodge-gate in the
split-oak park palings and they stood still; even Stalky, who had played
second, not to say a dumb, fiddle, regarding McTurk as one from another
world. The two glasses of strong home-brewed had brought a melancholy
upon the boy, for, slowly strolling with his hands in his pockets, he
crooned:--“Oh, Paddy dear, and did ye hear the news that’s goin’ round?”
Under other circumstances Stalky and Beetle would have fallen upon him,
for that song was barred utterly--anathema--the sin of witchcraft. But
seeing what he had wrought, they danced round him in silence, waiting
till it pleased him to touch earth.
The tea-bell rang when they were still half a mile from College. McTurk
shivered and came out of dreams. The glory of his holiday estate had
left him. He was a Colleger of the College, speaking English once more.
“Turkey, it was immense!” said Stalky, generously. “I didn’t know you
had it in you. You’ve got us a hut for the rest of the term, where
we simply _can’t_ be collared. Fids! Fids! Oh, Fids! I gloat! Hear me
gloat!”
They spun wildly on their heels, jodeling after the accepted manner of
a “gloat,” which is not unremotely allied to the primitive man’s song of
triumph, and dropped down the hill by the path from the gasometer just
in time to meet their house-master, who had spent the afternoon watching
their abandoned hut in the “wuzzy.”
Unluckily, all Mr. Prout’s imagination leaned to the darker side of
life, and he looked on those young-eyed cherubims most sourly. Boys that
he understood attended house-matches and could be accounted for at
any moment. But he had heard McTurk openly deride cricket--even
house-matches; Beetle’s views on the honor of the house he knew were
incendiary; and he could never tell when the soft and smiling Stalky was
laughing at him. Consequently--since human nature is what it is--those
boys had been doing wrong somewhere. He hoped it was nothing very
serious, but...
“_Ti-ra-ra-la-i-tu_! I gloat! Hear me!” Stalky, still on his heels,
whirled like a dancing dervish to the dining-hall.
“_Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu_! I gloat! Hear me!” Beetle spun behind him with
outstretched arms.
“_Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu_! I gloat! Hear me!” McTurk’s voice cracked.
Now was there or was there not a distinct flavor of beer as they shot
past Mr. Prout?
He was unlucky in that his conscience as a house-master impelled him to
consult his associates. Had he taken his pipe and his troubles to
little Hartopp’s rooms he would, perhaps, have been saved confusion, for
Hartopp believed in boys, and knew something about them. His fate led
him to King, a fellow house-master, no friend of his, but a zealous
hater of Stalky & Co.
“Ah-haa!” said King, rubbing his hands when the tale was told. “Curious!
Now _my_ house never dream of doing these things.”
“But you see I’ve no proof, exactly.”
“Proof? With the egregious Beetle! As if one wanted it! I suppose it
is not impossible for the Sergeant to supply it? Foxy is considered
at least a match for any evasive boy in my house. Of course they were
smoking and drinking somewhere. That type of boy always does. They think
it manly.”
“But they’ve no following in the school, and they are distinctly--er
brutal to their juniors,” said Prout, who had from a distance seen
Beetle return, with interest, his butterfly-net to a tearful fag.
“Ah! They consider themselves superior to ordinary delights.
Self-sufficient little animals! There’s something in McTurk’s Hibernian
sneer that would make me a little annoyed. And they are so careful
to avoid all overt acts, too. It’s sheer calculated insolence. I am
strongly opposed, as you know, to interfering with another man’s house;
but they need a lesson, Prout. They need a sharp lesson, if only to
bring down their over-weening self-conceit. Were I you, I should devote
myself for a week to their little performances. Boys of that order--and
I may flatter myself, but I think I know boys--don’t join the
Bug-hunters for love. Tell the Sergeant to keep his eye open; and, of
course, in my peregrinations I may casually keep mine open, too.”
“_Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu_! I gloat! Hear me!” far down the corridor.
“Disgusting!” said King. “Where do they pick up these obscene noises?
One sharp lesson is what they want.”
The boys did not concern themselves with lessons for the next few days.
They had all Colonel Dabney’s estate to play with, and they explored it
with the stealth of Red Indians and the accuracy of burglars. They could
enter either by the Lodge-gates on the upper road--they were careful to
ingratiate themselves with the Lodge-keeper and his wife--drop down into
the combe, and return along the cliffs; or they could begin at the combe
and climb up into the road.
They were careful not to cross the Colonel’s path--he had served his
turn, and they would not out-wear their welcome--nor did they show up on
the sky-line when they could move in cover. The shelter of the gorze
by the cliff-edge was their chosen retreat. Beetle christened it the
Pleasant Isle of Aves, for the peace and the shelter of it; and here,
the pipes and tobacco once cache’d in a convenient ledge an arm’s length
down the cliff, their position was legally unassailable.
For, observe, Colonel Dabney had not invited them to enter his house.
Therefore, they did not need to ask specific leave to go visiting; and
school rules were strict on that point. He had merely thrown open his
grounds to them; and, since they were lawful Bug-hunters, their extended
bounds ran up to his notice-boards in the combe and his Lodge-gates on
the hill.
They were amazed at their own virtue.
“And even if it wasn’t,” said Stalky, flat on his back, staring into the
blue. “Even suppose we were miles out of bounds, no one could get at us
through this wuzzy, unless he knew the tunnel. Isn’t this better than
lyin’ up just behind the Coll.--in a blue funk every time we had a
smoke? Isn’t your Uncle Stalky--?”
“No,” said Beetle--he was stretched at the edge of the cliff spitting
thoughtfully. “We’ve got to thank Turkey for this. Turkey is the Great
Man. Turkey, dear, you’re distressing Heffles.”
“Gloomy old ass!” said McTurk, deep in a book.
“They’ve got us under suspicion,” said Stalky. “Hoophats _is_ so
suspicious somehow; and Foxy always makes every stalk he does a sort
of--sort of--”
“Scalp,” said Beetle. “Foxy’s a giddy Chingangook.”
“Poor Foxy,” said Stalky. “He’s goin’ to catch us one of these days.
‘Said to me in the Gym last night, ‘I’ve got my eye on you, Mister
Corkran. I’m only warning you for your good.’ Then I said: ‘Well, you
jolly well take it off again, or you’ll get into trouble. I’m only
warnin’ you for your good.’ Foxy was wrath.”
“Yes, but it’s only fair sport for Foxy,” said Beetle. “It’s Hefflelinga
that has the evil mind. ‘Shouldn’t wonder if he thought we got tight.”
“I never got squiffy but once--that was in the holidays,” said Stalky,
reflectively; “an’ it made me horrid sick. ‘Pon my sacred Sam, though,
it’s enough to drive a man to drink, havin’ an animal like Hoof for
house-master.”
“If we attended the matches an’ yelled, ‘Well hit, sir,’ an’ stood on
one leg an’ grinned every time Heffy said, ‘So ho, my sons. Is it thus?’
an’ said, ‘Yes, sir,’ an’ ‘No, sir,’ an’ ‘O, sir,’ an’ ‘Please, sir,’
like a lot o’ filthy fa-ags, Heffy ‘ud think no end of us,” said McTurk
with a sneer.
“Too late to begin that.”
“It’s all right. The Hefflelinga means well. _But_ he is an ass. _And_
we show him that we think he’s an ass. An’ _so_ Heffy don’t love us.
‘Told me last night after prayers that he was _in loco parentis_,”
Beetle grunted.
“The deuce he did!” cried Stalky. “That means he’s maturin’ something
unusual dam’ mean. Last time he told me that he gave me three hundred
lines for dancin’ the cachuca in Number Ten dormitory. _Loco parentis_,
by gum! But what’s the odds as long as you’re ‘appy? _We’re_ all right.”
They were, and their very rightness puzzled Prout, King, and the
Sergeant. Boys with bad consciences show it. They slink out past the
Fives Court in haste, and smile nervously when questioned. They return,
disordered, in bare time to save a call-over. They nod and wink and
giggle one to the other, scattering at the approach of a master. But
Stalky and his allies had long out-lived these manifestations of youth.
They strolled forth unconcernedly, and returned in excellent shape | 2,280.284383 |
2023-11-16 18:55:04.3426610 | 3,235 | 11 |
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POPULAR STORY
OF
BLUE BEARD.
FRONTISPIECE.
[Illustration caption: While Fatima is kneeling to Blue Beard, and
supplicating for mercy, he seizes her by the hair, and raises his
scymetar to cut off her head.]
THE
POPULAR STORY
OF
BLUE BEARD.
Embellished with neat Engravings.
[Illustration]
COOPERSTOWN:
Printed and sold by H. and E. Phinney.
1828
_The Alphabet._
A B C D E F G H I J K
L M N O P Q R S T
U V W X Y Z
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o
p q r s t u v w x y z
_A B C D E F G H I J K
L M N O P Q R S T
U V W X Y Z_
_a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o
p q r s t u v w x y z_
fi fl ff ffi ffl--_fi fl ff ffi ffl_
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0
. , ; : ? ! ' () [] * [dagger] [double dagger] Sec. || ¶
THE
POPULAR STORY
OF
BLUE BEARD.
A long time ago, and at a considerable distance from any town, there
lived a gentleman, who was not only in possession of great riches, but
of the largest estates in that part of the country. Although he had some
very elegant neat mansions on his estates, he generally resided in a
magnificent castle, beautifully situated on a rising ground, surrounded
with groves of the finest evergreens, and other choice trees and shrubs.
The inside of this fine castle was even more beautiful than the outside;
for the rooms were all hung with the richest damask, curiously
ornamented; the chairs and sofas were covered with the finest velvet,
fringed with gold; and his table-dishes and plates were either of silver
or gold, finished in the most elegant style. His carriages and horses
might have served a king, and perhaps were finer than any monarch's of
the present day. The gentleman's appearance, however, did not altogether
correspond to his wealth; for, to a fierce disagreeable countenance, was
added an ugly blue beard, which made him an object of fear and disgust
in the neighbourhood, where he usually went by the name of Blue Beard.
There resided, at some considerable distance from Blue Beard's castle,
an old lady and her two daughters, who were people of some rank, but by
no means wealthy. The two young ladies were very pretty, and the fame of
their beauty having reached Blue Beard, he determined to ask one of them
in marriage. Having ordered a carriage, he called at their house, where
he saw the two young ladies, and was very politely received by their
mother, with whom he begged a few moments conversation.
[Illustration]
After the two young ladies left the room, he began by describing his
immense riches, and then told her the purport of his visit, begging she
would use her interest in his favour. They were both so lovely, he said,
that he would be happy to get either of them for his wife, and would
therefore leave it to their own choice to determine upon the subject,
and immediately took his leave.
When the proposals of Blue Beard were mentioned to the young ladies
by their mother, both Miss Anne and her sister Fatima protested, that
they would never marry an ugly man, and particularly one with such a
frightful blue beard; because, although he possessed immense riches,
it was reported in the country, that he had married several beautiful
ladies, and nobody could tell what had become of them.
Their mother said, that the gentleman was agreeable in his conversation
and manners; that the ugliness of his face, and the blue beard, were
defects which they would soon be reconciled to from habit: that his
immense riches would procure them every luxury their heart could desire;
and he was so civil, that she was certain the scandalous reports about
his wives must be entirely without foundation.
The two young ladies were as civil as they possibly could be, in order
to conceal the disgust they felt at Blue Beard, and, to soften their
refusal, replied to this effect,--That, at present, they had no desire
to change their situation; but if they had, the one sister could never
think of depriving the other of so good a match, and that they did not
wish to be separated.
Blue Beard having called next day, the old lady told him what her
daughters had said; on which he sighed deeply, and pretended to be
very much disappointed; but as he had the mother on his side, he still
continued his visits to the family. Blue Beard, knowing the attractions
that fine houses, fine furniture, and fine entertainments, have on the
minds of ladies in general, invited the mother, her two daughters, and
two or three other ladies who were then on a visit to them, to spend a
day or two with him at his castle.
[Illustration]
Blue Beard's invitation was accepted, and having spent a considerable
time in arranging their wardrobe, and in adorning their persons, they
all set out for the splendid mansion of Blue Beard.
On coming near the castle, although they had heard a great deal of the
taste and expense that had been employed in decorating it, they were
struck with the beauty of the trees that overshadowed the walks through
which they passed, and with the fragrancy of the flowers which perfumed
the air. When they reached the castle, Blue Beard, attended by a number
of his servants in splendid dresses, received them with the most polite
courtesy, and conducted them to a magnificent drawing-room.
An elegant repast was ready in the dining-room, to which they adjourned.
Here they were again astonished by the grandeur of the apartment and the
elegance of the entertainment, and they felt so happy, that the evening
passed away before they were aware.
Next day, after they had finished breakfast, the ladies proceeded to
examine the pictures and furniture of the rooms that were open, and were
truly astonished at the magnificence that every where met their view.
[Illustration]
The time rolled pleasantly away amidst a succession of the most
agreeable amusements, consisting of hunting, music, dancing, and
banquets, where the richest wines, and most tempting delicacies, in most
luxurious profusion, presented themselves in every direction.
The party felt so agreeable amidst these scenes of festivity, that they
continued at the castle several days, during which the cunning Blue
Beard, by every obsequious service, tried to gain the favour of his fair
guests. Personal attentions, even although paid us by an ugly creature,
seldom fail to make a favourable impression; it was therefore no wonder
that Fatima, the youngest of the two sisters, began to think Blue Beard
a very polite, pleasant, and civil gentleman; and that the beard, which
she and her sister had been so much afraid of, was not so very blue.
A short time after her return home, Fatima, who was delighted with
the attention which had been paid her at the castle, told her mother
that she did not now feel any objections to accept of Blue Beard as a
husband. The old lady immediately communicated to him the change in her
daughter's sentiments.
Blue Beard, who lost no time in paying the family a visit, was in a few
days privately married to the young lady and soon after the ceremony,
Fatima, accompanied by her sister, returned to the castle the wife of
Blue Beard.
[Illustration]
On arriving there, they were received at the entrance by all his
retinue, attired in splendid dresses, and Blue Beard, after saluting his
bride, led the way to an elegant entertainment, where, every thing that
could add to to their comfort being prepared, they spent the evening in
the most agreeable manner.
The next day, and every succeeding day, Blue Beard always varied the
amusements, and a month had passed away imperceptibly, when he told his
wife that he was obliged to leave her for a few weeks, as he had some
affairs to transact in a distant part of the country, which required his
personal attendance.
"But," said he, "my dear Fatima, you may enjoy yourself in my absence in
any way that will add to your happiness, and you can invite your friends
to make the time pass more agreeably, for you are sole mistress in this
castle. Here are the keys of the two large wardrobes; this is the key of
the great box that contains the best plate, which we use for company;
this of my strong box, where I keep my money; and this belongs to the
casket, in which are all my jewels. Here also is a master-key to all
the rooms in the house; but this small key belongs to the blue closet
at the end of the long gallery on the ground floor. I give you leave,"
he continued, "to open, or do what you like with all the rest of the
castle except this closet: now, my dear, remember you must not enter
it, nor even put the key into the lock. If you do not obey me in this,
expect the most dreadful of punishments."
[Illustration]
She promised him implicit obedience to his orders, and then accompanied
him to the gate, where Blue Beard, after saluting her in a tender
manner, stepped into the coach, and drove away.
When Blue Beard was gone, Fatima sent a kind invitation to her friends
to come immediately to the castle, and ordered a grand entertainment
to be prepared for their reception. She also sent a messenger to her
two brothers, both officers in the army, who were quartered about forty
miles distant, requesting they would obtain leave of absence, and spend
a few days with her. So eager were her friends to see the apartments and
the riches of Blue Beard's castle, of which they had heard so much, that
in less than two hours after receiving notice, the whole company were
assembled, with the exception of her brothers, who were not expected
till the following day.
As her guests had arrived long before the time appointed them for the
entertainment. Fatima took them thro' every apartment in the castle,
and displayed all the wealth she had acquired by her marriage with Blue
Beard. They went from room to room, and from wardrobe to wardrobe,
expressing fresh wonder and delight at every new object they came to;
but their surprise was increased when they entered the drawing-rooms,
and saw the grandeur of the furniture.
During the day, Fatima was so much engaged, that she never once thought
of the blue closet, which Blue Beard had ordered her not to open; but
when all the visitors were gone, she felt a great curiosity to know its
contents. She took out the key, which was made of the finest gold, and
went to consult with her sister on the subject. Anne used every argument
she could think of to dissuade Fatima from her purpose, and reminded her
of the threats of Blue Beard; but all in vain, for Fatima was now bent
on gratifying her curiosity.
She therefore, in spite of all her sister could do, seized one of the
candles, and hurried down stairs to the fatal closet. On reaching the
door she stopped, and began to reason with herself on the propriety
of her conduct; but her curiosity at length overcame every other
consideration, and, with a trembling hand, she applied the key to the
lock, and opened the door. She had only advanced a few steps, when the
most frightful scene met her view, and, struck with horror and dismay,
she dropped the key of the closet. She was in the midst of blood, and
the heads, bodies, and mutilated limbs of murdered ladies lay scattered
on the floor. These ladies had all been married to Blue Beard, and had
suffered for their imprudent curiosity, the key, which was the gift of a
fairy, always betraying their fatal disobedience.
[Illustration]
The terror of Fatima was not diminished on observing these dreadful
words on the wall--"_The Reward of Disobedience and Imprudent
Curiosity!_" She trembled violently; but, on recovering a little, she
snatched up the key, and having again locked the door, left this abode
of horror.
As soon as she reached her sister's chamber, she related the whole
of her horrid adventure. They then examined the key, but it was all
covered with blood, and they both turned pale with fear. They spent a
good part of the night in trying to clean off the blood from the key,
but it was without effect, for though they washed and scoured it with
brick dust and sand, no sooner was the blood removed from one side, than
it appeared on the other. Fatigued with their exertions, they at last
retired to bed, where they passed a sleepless and anxious night.
Fatima rose at a late hour next day, and consulted with her sister how
she ought to proceed. She thought first of escaping from the castle,
but as her brothers were expected in an hour or two, she resolved to
wait their arrival. A loud knock at the gate made her almost leap for
joy, and she cried, "they are come! they are come!" but what was her
consternation when Blue Beard hastily opened the door, and entered.
It was impossible for Fatima to conceal her agitation, although she
pretended to be very happy at his sudden and unexpected return.
Blue Beard, who guessed what she had been about, requested the keys,
in order, as he said, that he might change his dress. She went to her
ch | 2,280.362701 |
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NEURALGIA
AND
THE DISEASES THAT RESEMBLE IT.
BY
FRANCIS E. ANSTIE, M.D., LONDON,
FELLOW OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS; HONORARY FELLOW OF KING'S
COLLEGE, LONDON; SENIOR ASSISTANT PHYSICIAN TO WESTMINSTER HOSPITAL;
LECTURER ON MEDICINE IN WESTMINSTER HOSP | 2,280.655395 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE
APRICOT TREE.
PUBLISHED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF
THE COMMITTEE OF GENERAL LITERATURE AND EDUCATION,
APPOINTED BY THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING
CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR | 2,280.756534 |
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Produced by Paul Haxo from page images generously made
available by the University of Toronto and the Internet
Archive.
A DUEL IN THE DARK.
_An original Farce,_
IN ONE ACT.
BY J. STIRLING COYNE,
AUTHOR OF
"_My Wife's Daughter_," "_Binks the Bagman_," "_Separate | 2,280.756732 |
2023-11-16 18:55:04.8375300 | 4,358 | 56 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
No Quarter!
By Captain Mayne Reid
Published by Hurst and Company, New York.
This edition dated 1890.
No Quarter! by Captain Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
NO QUARTER! BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
PROLOGUE.
There is no page in England's history so bright, nor of which Englishmen
have such reason to be proud, as that covering the period between 1640
and 1650. This glorious decade was ushered in by the election of the
"Long Parliament," and I challenge the annals of all nations, ancient or
modern, to show an assembly in which sat a greater number of statesmen
and patriots. Brave as pure, fearless in the discharge of their
difficult and dangerous duties, they faltered not in the performance of
them--shrank not from impeaching a traitor to his country, and bringing
his head to the block, even when it carried a crown. True to their
consciences, as to their constituencies, they left England a heritage of
honour that for long haloed her escutcheon, and even to this hour throws
its covering screen over many a deed of shame.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Be a King?"
"Am I not one?"
"In name--nothing more. Ah! were I a man and in your place?"
"What would you do?"
"Give your island churls a taste of kingship, as we know it in France.
My brother wouldn't let his subjects so beard him. Oh, it's
abominable!"
"Ah, _chere_; for subjects your brother has a very different sort of
people to deal with. In France they're not yet come to clamouring for
what they call their rights and liberties. Here in England they've got
Magna Charta into their heads--to a craze."
"I'd have it out of their heads, or have their heads off. _Ciel_! I'd
reign King as King should, or resign. No! not resign. Sooner than that
I'd waste the country with fire and sword--make it a wilderness."
It was Henrietta, wife of Charles the First, who thus expressed herself
to her husband. They were alone in the gardens of Whitehall Palace,
sauntering side by side on a terrace overlooking the Thames, the
afternoon being an unusually fine one. As they made a turn which
brought Westminster Hall before their eyes, the angry fire in those of
the Queen flashed up again, and she added--
"Anything but be dictated to by that _canaille_ of a Parliament!
Anything but let them go on as now?"
"How am I to hinder it, Henriette?" the King timidly interrogated.
"Dismiss--send them packing back to their constituencies, and let them
prate away there as much as they please. Dissolve and do without them,
as you've done before."
"That would be to do without the money we so much need. My subjects are
determined to resist every tax levied under Privy Seal or otherwise. I
can no longer raise loan or sell monopoly. Your own secretary, Sir John
Wintour, has just been telling me how the people of Dean Forest have
been harassing him about the grant we gave him of its timber and mines.
Impossible now to obtain the most insignificant supplies without their
being sanctioned by this _cabal_ called Parliament."
"Then make the _cabal_ sanction them."
"But how, _chere_?"
"Have a score or two of them arrested--lodged in the Tower; and let
Monsieur Tom Lunsford take care of them. He'll soon cure them of their
seditious inclinings."
"To do that were as much as my crown's worth."
"If't be worth no more, you may as well cease wearing it. Fling it into
the Thames, or melt it down and sell it to the Ludgate Street goldsmiths
for old metal. Shame of you, Charles! You talk of kingly rights, yet
fail to exercise them--fear it?"
"My subjects talk of rights, too."
"Yes, and you encourage them--by your timidity. Ever on your knees
begging this and begging that, when a true king would command.
Subjects, indeed! more like our masters. But I'd teach them obedience.
What would they be without a king? What were they born for but to
administer to our wants and our pleasures?"
Words worthy of a Medici; the sentiments of a queen two centuries and a
half ago. Yet not so very different from those entertained by most
Royal personages at the present day and hour. But few of them who would
not sit placidly upon their thrones, see subjects slain, and realms
reduced to desolation, rather than resign crown or yield up one iota of
what they are pleased to call their prerogative. How could it be
otherwise? Environed by sycophantic flatterers, heads bowing, knees
bending, tongues eternally bepraising; things in human shape giving them
adoration as to God Himself--ay, greater than to God--how could it be
otherwise? Not so strange that this proud, pampered woman, from her
cradle accustomed to such slavish obedience, should verily believe it
but her due.
"_Their_ rights?" she continued, with a satirical laugh. "An absurd
notion they've got into their Saxon skulls. Ah! _mon mari_, were I you
for a month--for a week--I'd have it out--stamp it out--I would."
And to give emphasis to her speech, she stamped her foot upon the
ground.
A pretty foot it was, and still a handsome woman she, this daughter of
the Medicis, notwithstanding her being now somewhat _passe_. Ambitious
as Catherine herself--"that mother of a race of kings"--intriguing,
notoriously dissolute, not the less did Charles love her. Perhaps the
more, for the cuckoo's cry is a wonderful incentive to passion, as to
jealousy. He doted upon her with foolish fondness--would have done
anything she commanded, even murder. And to more than this was she now
instigating him; for it was to stifle, trample out the liberties of a
nation, no matter at what cost in life or blood.
Wicked as were her counsels, he would have followed them and willingly,
could he have seen his way clear to success. Men still talk of his
kindly nature--in face of the fact, proved by irresistible evidence,
that he rejoiced at the massacre of the Protestants in Ireland, to say
naught of many other instances of inhumanity brought home to this
so-called "Martyr King." He may not have been--was not--either a Nero
or a Theebaw; and with his favourites and familiars no doubt behaved
amicably enough; at the same time readily sacrificing them when danger
threatened himself. To his wife his fidelity and devotion were such as
to have earned for him the epithet "uxorious," a title which can be more
readily conceded. But in his affection for her--whether upheld by
respect or not--there was a spice of fear. He knew all about the
scandals relating to her mother, Marie of France, with Richelieu, and
his own and father's favourite, the assassinated Buckingham, now
sleeping in his grave. Charles more than suspected, as did all the
world besides, that this same Queen-mother had sent her husband--king as
himself--to an untimely tomb by a "cup of cold poison." And oft as the
dark Italian eyes of her daughter flashed upon him in anger, he felt
secret fear she might some day serve him as had her mother the ill-fated
monarch of France. She was of a race and a land whence such danger
might be reasonably expected and dreaded. Lucrezia Borgia and Tophana
were not the only great female poisoners Italy has produced.
"If you've no care for yourself, then," she went on with untiring
persistence, "think of our children. Think of him," and she nodded
towards a gaudily-dressed stripling of some ten or twelve, seen coming
towards them. It was he who, twenty years after, under the seemingly
innocent soubriquet of "Merry Monarch," made sadness in many a family
circle, smouching England's escutcheon all over with shame, scarce
equalled in the annals of France.
"_Pauvre enfant_!" she exclaimed, as he came up, passing her jewelled
fingers through the curls of his hair; "your father would leave you
bereft of your birthright; some day to be a king with a worthless
crown."
The "pauvre enfant," a sly young wretch, smiled in return for her
caresses, looking dark at his father. Young as he was, he knew what was
meant, and took sides with his mother. She had already well
indoctrinated him with the ideas of Divine Right, as understood by a
Medici.
"_Peste_!" exclaimed the King, looking vexed, possibly at the allusion
to a successor; "were I to follow your counsels, Madam, it might result
in my leaving him no crown at all."
"Then leave him none!" she said in quick return, and with an air of
jaunty indifference. "Perhaps better so. I, his mother, would rather
see him a peasant than prince, with such a future as you are laying out
for him."
"Sire, the Earl of Strafford craves audience of your Majesty."
This was said by a youth in the official costume of the Court, who had
approached from the Palace, and stood with head bent before the King.
A remarkably handsome young fellow he was, and the Queen, as she turned
her eyes on him, seemed to recover sweetness of temper.
"I suppose my company will be _de trop_ now," she said. Then facing
towards the youth, and bestowing upon him one of her syren smiles--slyly
though--she added, "Here, Eustace; bring this to my boudoir," and she
handed him a large book, a _portfeuille_ of pictures, she had been all
the while carrying.
Whether the King caught sight of that smile, and read something wrong in
it, or not, he certainly seemed irritated, hastily interposing--
"No, Henriette, I'd rather have you stay."
"_Con tout plaisir_." A slight cloud upon her brow told the contrary.
"Charles, too?"
"No; he can go. Yes, Trevor. Conduct the Lord Strafford hither."
Eustace Trevor, as the handsome youth was called, bowing, turned and
went off, the Prince with him. Then said the King--
"I wish you to hear what Strafford has to say on the subject we've been
talking of."
"Just what I wish myself," she rejoined, resuming her air of _braverie_.
"If you won't listen to me, a weak woman, perhaps you will to him, a
man--_one of courage_."
Charles writhed under her speech, the last words of it. Even without
the emphasis on them, they were more than an insinuation that he himself
lacked that quality men are so proud of, and women so much admire.
Almost a direct imputation, as if she had called him "coward!" But
there was no time for him to make retort, angry or otherwise, even had
he dared. The man seeking audience was already in the garden, and
within earshot. So, swallowing his chagrin as he best could, and
putting on the semblance of placidity, the King in silence awaited his
coming up.
With an air of confident familiarity, and as much nonchalance as though
they had been but ordinary people, Strafford approached the royal pair.
The Queen had bestowed smiles on him too; he knew he had her
friendship--moreover that she was the King's master. He had poured
flattery into her ears, as another Minister courtier of later time into
those of another queen--perhaps the only point of resemblance between
the two men, otherwise unlike as Hyperion to the Satyr. With all his
sins, Wentworth had redeeming qualities; he was at least a brave man and
somewhat of a gentleman.
"What do you say to this, my lord?" asked the Queen, as he came up.
"I've been giving the King some counsel; advising him to dissolve the
Parliament, or at least do something to stop them in their wicked
courses. Favour us with your opinion, my lord."
"My opinion," answered the Minister, making his bow, "corresponds with
that of your Majesty. _Certes_, half-hand measures will no longer avail
in dealing with these seditious gabblers. There's a dozen of them
deserve having their heads chopped off."
"Just what I've been saying!" triumphantly exclaimed the Queen. "You
hear that, _mon mari_?"
Charles but nodded assent, waiting for his Minister to speak further.
"At the pace they're going now, Sire," the latter continued, "they'll
soon strip you of all prerogative--leave you of Royalty but the rags."
"_Ciel_, yes!" interposed the Queen. "And our poor children! What's to
become of them?"
"I've just been over to the House," proceeded Strafford; "and to hear
them is enough to make one tear his hair. There's that Hampden, with
Heselrig, Vane, and Harry Martin--Sir Robert Harley too--talking as if
England had no longer a king, and they themselves were its rulers."
"Do you tell me that, Strafford?"
It was Charles himself who interrogated, now showing great excitement,
which the Queen's "I told you so" strengthened, as she intended it.
"With your Majesty's permission, I do," responded the Minister.
"By God's splendour!" exclaimed the indignant monarch, "I'll read them a
different lesson--show them that England _has_ a king--one who will
hereafter reign as king should--absolute--absolute!"
"Thank you, _mon ami_," said the Queen, in a side whisper to Strafford,
as she favoured him with one of her most witching smiles, "He'll surely
do something now."
The little bit of by-play was unobserved by Charles, the gentleman-usher
having again come up to announce another applicant for admission to the
presence: an historical character, too--historically infamous--for it
was Archbishop Laud.
Soon after the oily ecclesiastic was seen coming along in a gliding,
stealthy gait, as though he feared giving offence by approaching royalty
too brusquely. His air of servile obsequiousness was in striking
contrast with the bold bearing of the visitor who had preceded him. As
he drew near, his features, that bore the stamp of his low birth and
base nature, were relaxed to their meekest and mildest; a placid smile
playing on his lips, as though they had never told a lie, or himself
done murder!
_Au fait_ to all that concerned the other three--every secret of Court
and Crown--for he was as much the King's Minister as Strafford, he was
at once admitted to their council, and invited to take part in their
conspirings. Appealed to, as the other had been, he gave a similar
response. Strong measures should be taken. He knew the Queen wished it
so, for it was not his first conference with her on that same subject.
Strafford was not permitted time to impart to his _trio_ of listeners
the full particulars of the cruel scheme, which some say, and with much
probability, had its origin in Rome. For the guests of the gay Queen,
expected every afternoon at Whitehall, began to arrive, interrupting the
conference.
Soon the palace garden became lustrous with people in splendid apparel,
the _elite_ of the land still adhering to the King's cause--plumed
cavaliers, with dames old and young, though youth predominated, but not
all of high degree, either in the male or female element. As in modern
garden parties given by royalty, there was a mixture, both socially and
morally, strange even to grotesqueness. The Franco-Italian Queen, with
all her grand ideas of Divine Right and high Prerogative, was not loth
to lay them down and aside when they stood in the way of her pleasures.
She could be a very leveller where self-interest required it; and this
called for it now. The King's failing popularity needed support from
all sides, classes, and parties, bad or good, humble or gentle; and in
the assemblage she saw around her--there by her own invitation--such
high bloods as Harry Jermyn, Hertford, Digby, Coningsby, Scudamore, and
the like, touched sleeves with men of low birth and lower character--
very reprobates, as Lunsford, afterwards designated "the bloody," and
the notorious desperado, David Hide! The feminine element was equally
paralleled by what may be seen in many "society" gatherings of the
present day--virtuous ladies brushing skirts with stage courtesans, and
others who figure under the name of "professional beauties," many of
them bearing high titles of nobility, but now debasing them.
Henrietta, in her usual way, had a pleasant word and smile for all; more
for the men than the women, and sweeter for the younger ones than the
old ones. But even to the gilded youth they were not distributed
impartially. Handsome Harry Jermyn, hitherto reigning favourite, and
having the larger share of them, had reason to suspect that his star was
upon the wane, when he saw the Queen's eyes ever and anon turned towards
another courtier handsome as himself, with more of youth on his side--
Eustace Trevor. The latter, relieved from his duty as gentleman-usher,
had joined the party in the garden. Socially, he had all right to be
there. Son of a Welsh knight, he could boast of ancestry old as
Caractacus, some of his forbears having served under Harry of Monmouth,
and borne victorious banners at Agincourt. But boasting was not in
Eustace Trevor's line, nor conceit of any sort--least of all vanity
about his personal appearance. However handsome others thought him, he
himself was quite unconscious of it. Equally so of the Queen's
admiration; callous to the approaches she had commenced making, to the
chagrin of older favourites. Not that he was of a cold or passionless
nature; simply because Henriette de Medici, though a Queen, a beautiful
woman as well, was not the one destined to inspire his first passion.
For as yet he knew not love. But recently having become attached to the
Court in an official capacity, he thought only of how he might best
perform the duties that had been assigned him.
Though there might be many envies, jealousies, even bitter heartburnings
among the people who composed that glittering throng, they were on the
whole joyous and jubilant. A whisper had gone round of the King's
determination to return to his old ways, and once more boldly confront
what they called the aggressions of the Parliament. These concerned
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MASTERPIECES
IN COLOUR
EDITED BY
T. LEMAN HARE
FRA FILIPPO LIPPI
(1406-1469)
"MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR" SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
BOUCHER. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
CONSTABLE. C. LEWIS HIND.
COROT. SIDNEY ALLNUTT.
DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
DELACROIX. PAUL G. KONODY.
DUeRER. H. E. A. FURST.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
FRA FILIPPO LIPPI. PAUL G. KONODY.
FRAGONARD. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
HOGARTH. C. LEWIS HIND.
HOLBEIN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
INGRES. A. J. FINBERG.
LAWRENCE. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LE BRUN (VIGEE). C. HALDANE MACFALL.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
MANTEGNA. MRS. ARTHUR BELL.
MEMLINC. W. H. J. & J. C. WEALE.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
MILLET. PERCY M. TURNER.
MURILLO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
PERUGINO. SELWYN BRINTON.
RAEBURN. JAMES L. CAW.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
SARGENT. T. MARTIN WOOD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TITIAN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
WATTEAU. C. LEWIS HIND.
WATTS. W. LOFTUS HARE.
WHISTLER. T. MARTIN WOOD.
_Others in Preparation._
[Illustration: PLATE I.--THE VIRGIN ADORING THE INFANT SAVIOUR
(In the Accademia, Florence)
In this earliest known picture by Filippo Lippi, the painter is still
entirely under the influence of his youthful training. It is just like
an illuminated miniature on a large scale, and is lacking in unity of
design or pictorial vision. Note the way in which the figure of the
Madonna is detached from the background, without having any real plastic
life; and how awkwardly the monk is placed in the corner. The rocky
landscape, with its steep perspective, is still quite in the spirit of
the early primitives, although certain realistic details, like the
cut-down tree-stump behind the Virgin, and the reflection of the sky in
the water, show his loving observation of Nature. The picture was for a
long time attributed to Masaccio's master, Masolino.]
Filippo Lippi
BY P. G. KONODY
ILLUSTRATED WITH EIGHT
REPRODUCTIONS IN COLOUR
[Illustration: IN SEMPITERNUM.]
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
NEW YORK: FREDERICK A. STOKES CO.
CONTENTS
Page
I. 9
II. 19
III. 41
IV. 66
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Plate
I. The Virgin Adoring the Infant Saviour Frontispiece
In the Accademia, Florence
Page
II. St. John the Baptist with six other Saints 14
In the National Gallery, London
III. The Vision of St. Bernard 24
In the National Gallery, London
IV. The Annunciation 34
In the National Gallery, London
V. The Coronation of the Virgin 40
In the Accademia, Florence
VI. The Virgin and Child 50
In the Pitti Palace, Florence
VII. The Virgin and Child with two Angels 60
In the Uffizi Gallery, Florence
VIII. The Virgin and Child with Angels and two Abbots 70
In the Louvre, Paris
[Illustration]
I
In Vasari's gossipy _Lives of the Painters_, and indeed in most art
histories written before the era of scientific critical research, there
is an inclination, in the absence of documentary material, to
reconstruct the old masters' characters and lives from the evidence of
their extant works. Many a charming legend, that was originally
suggested by the expression of the painter's personality in his art, and
has been handed down from generation to generation, had to be shelved as
dusty archives yielded new knowledge of indisputable prosaic facts to
the diligent searcher. Whilst the serious student owes a debt of deep
gratitude to those who devote their time and labour to the investigation
of documentary evidence, and to establishing critical standards for the
sifting of the great masters' works from those of their followers and
imitators, the elimination of romance from the history of art is a
hindrance rather than a help to the ordinary person who cares not a jot
about morphological characteristics, but loves nevertheless to spend an
hour now and then in communion with the old masters. For him,
paradoxical though it may seem, there is more significant truth in many
an entirely fictitious anecdote, than in the dry facts recorded by the
conscientious historian.
Thus we know now that Domenico Veneziano outlived Andrea dal Castagno by
several years, and could therefore not have been foully murdered by his
jealous rival. But does not the fable of this act of violence, suggested
no doubt by the fierceness and rugged strength of Andrea's art, help the
layman to understand and appreciate the qualities which constitute the
greatness of that art? We know now that Fra Angelico, far from
accounting it a sin to paint from the nude, was an eager student of
human anatomy; but the stories told of his piety and angelic sweetness
have become so fused with everybody's conception of the Dominican
friar's art, that even those to whom the spiritual significance of art
is a sealed book, search almost instinctively for signs of religious
fervour and exaltation in Fra Angelico's paintings. The stories of
Sodoma's habits of life and of his strange doings at Mont' Oliveto
belong probably to the realm of fiction, but they serve to explain and
accentuate the worldly tendencies of his artistic achievement.
In these instances, to which many others might easily be added,
the artists' personality and manner of life have been fancifully
reconstructed from the character of their work. Very different
is the case of Fra Filippo Lippi. Here criticism has seized upon
certain authentic facts of the Carmelite friar's life and amorous
adventures--facts that in their main current have been established
beyond the possibility of dispute, even though they have been
embroidered upon by imaginative pens--and has dealt with his art in the
light of that knowledge, reading into his paintings not only his
artistic emotions, but his personal desires and passions. Only thus
can it be explained that generation after generation of writers on art
have misconstrued the exquisite and touching innocence and virgin purity
of his Madonna type into an expression of sensuality. Again and again we
read about the pronounced worldliness of Fra Filippo's religious
paintings, about their lack of spiritual significance and devout
feeling.
[Illustration: PLATE II.--ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST WITH SIX OTHER SAINTS
(In the National Gallery, London)
The companion picture to the "Annunciation" lunette is the first
rendering in Italian art of a Santa Conversatione in the open air. It is
just an assembly of seven saints, without any real inner connection, the
two pairs at the sides--SS. Francis and Lawrence on the left, and SS.
Anthony and Peter Martyr on the right--being absorbed in their own
doings and paying no attention to the blessing which St. John apparently
bestows upon SS. Cosmas and Damianus, the patron saints of the Medici
family. The little glimpse of a landscape background behind the marble
bench affords evidence of Fra Filippo's close study of Nature even at
that early period.]
Vasari, of course, is the fountain-head of this misconception of the
Carmelite's art. According to the Aretine biographer, "it was said that
Fra Filippo was much addicted to the pleasures of sense, insomuch that
he would give all he possessed to secure the gratification of whatever
inclination might at the moment be predominant, but if he could by no
means accomplish his wishes, he would then depict the object which had
attracted his attention in his paintings, and endeavour by discoursing
and reasoning with himself to diminish the violence of his inclination.
It was known that, while occupied in the pursuit of his pleasures, the
works undertaken by him received little or none of his attention."
It so happens that many of the discreditable incidents of the friar's
life, recorded by Vasari, have been confirmed by documentary evidence.
There is not a shadow of doubt that Fra Filippo did abduct the nun
Lucrezia Buti from her convent; that Filippino Lippi was the offspring
of this illicit union; and that the Frate subsequently did not avail
himself of the special papal dispensation to wed the nun. There is also
abundant proof to show that Fra Filippo, in spite of the high esteem in
which he was held as an artist, and which caused him to be entrusted
with many a remunerative commission, was for ever in financial straits,
was involved in many vexatious law cases, attempted to cheat his own
assistants, and had no hesitation to break faith with his patrons. But
all this does not affect his art. To read sensuality into his types of
womanhood can only be the result of prejudice, of approaching his
pictures in the light of the knowledge gathered from the pages of the
chroniclers. Worldly he is compared with the pure, exalted | 2,280.954941 |
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Transcriber's Note:
This is Volume I of a three volume set:
Volume I--Unknown
Volume II--Famous
Volume III--Sunset
A combined index to the entire set is located at the end of Volume III.
Narrative content written by J. Cross and material quoted from writers
other than George Eliot are interspersed throughout the text. Their
content is placed in block quotes.
Remaining transcriber's notes are located at the end of the text.
* * * * *
GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE
VOL. I.--UNKNOWN
"OUR FINEST HOPE IS FINEST MEMORY"
[Illustration: Portrait of George Eliot. Etched by M. Rajon.]
GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE
_as related in her Letters and Journals_
ARRANGED AND EDITED BY HER HUSBAND
J. W. CROSS
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
IN THREE VOLUMES.--VOLUME I
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
GEORGE ELIOT'S WORKS.
_LIBRARY EDITION._
ADAM BEDE. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25.
DANIEL DERONDA. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.50.
ESSAYS and LEAVES FROM A NOTE-BOOK. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25.
FELIX HOLT, THE RADICAL. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25.
MIDDLEMARCH. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.50.
ROMOLA. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25.
SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE, and SILAS MARNER. Illustrated.
12mo, Cloth, $1.25.
THE IMPRESSIONS OF THEOPHRASTUS SUCH. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25.
THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25.
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
HARPER & BROTHERS _will send any of the above volumes by mail, postage
prepaid, to any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the
price. For other editions of George Eliot's works published by Harper
& Brothers see advertisement at end of third volume_.
PREFACE.
With the materials in my hands I have endeavored to form an
_autobiography_ (if the term may be permitted) of George Eliot. The
life has been allowed to write itself in extracts from her letters and
journals. Free from the obtrusion of any mind but her own, this method
serves, I think, better than any other open to me, to show the
development of her intellect and character.
In dealing with the correspondence I have been influenced by the
desire to make known the woman, as well as the author, through the
presentation of her daily life.
On the intellectual side there remains little to be learned by those
who already know George Eliot's books. In the twenty volumes which she
wrote and published in her lifetime will be found her best and ripest
thoughts. The letters now published throw light on another side of her
nature--not less important, but hitherto unknown to the public--the
side of the affections.
The intimate life was the core of the root from which sprung the
fairest flowers of her inspiration. Fame came to her late in life,
and, when it presented itself, was so weighted with the sense of
responsibility that it was in truth a rose with many thorns, for
George Eliot had the temperament that shrinks from the position of a
public character. The belief in the wide, and I may add in the
beneficent, effect of her writing was no doubt the highest happiness,
the reward of the artist which she greatly cherished: but the joys of
the hearthside, the delight in the love of her friends, were the
supreme pleasures in her life.
By arranging all the letters and journals so as to form one connected
whole, keeping the order of their dates, and with the least possible
interruption of comment, I have endeavored to combine a narrative of
day-to-day life, with the play of light and shade which only letters,
written in various moods, can give, and without which no portrait can
be a good likeness. I do not know that the particular method in which
I have treated the letters has ever been adopted before. Each letter
has been pruned of everything that seemed to me irrelevant to my
purpose--of everything that I thought my wife would have wished to be
omitted. Every sentence that remains adds, in my judgment, something
(however small it may be) to the means of forming a conclusion about
her character. I ought perhaps to say a word of apology for what may
appear to be undue detail of travelling experiences; but I hope that
to many readers these will be interesting, as reflected through George
Eliot's mind. The remarks on works of art are only meant to be records
of impressions. She would have deprecated for herself the attitude of
an art critic.
Excepting a slight introductory sketch of the girlhood, up to the time
when letters became available, and a few words here and there to
elucidate the correspondence, I have confined myself to the work of
selection and arrangement.
I have refrained almost entirely from quoting remembered sayings by
George Eliot, because it is difficult to be certain of complete
accuracy, and everything depends upon accuracy. Recollections of
conversation are seldom to be implicitly trusted in the absence of
notes made at the time. The value of spoken words depends, too, so
much upon the _tone_, and on the circumstances which gave rise to
their utterance, that they often mislead as much as they enlighten,
when, in the process of repetition, they have taken color from another
mind. "All interpretations depend upon the interpreter | 2,281.07876 |
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[Illustration: THE BALL ROSE AND FLEW DIRECTLY AT THE BASKET.]
THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH AT BASKETBALL
GERTRUDE W. MORRISON
1914
CONTENTS:
CHAPTER I--HESTER IS MIFFED
CHAPTER II--THE KERNEL IN THE ATHLETIC NUT
CHAPTER III--JOHNNY DOYLE
CHAPTER IV--"THERE'S GOOD STUFF IN THAT GIRL"
CHAPTER V--HESTER AT HOME
CHAPTER VI--THE FIRST GAME
CHAPTER VII--THE SECOND HALF
CHAPTER VIII--THE ROUND ROBIN
CHAPTER IX--ANOTHER RAID
CHAPTER X--MOTHER WIT AND THE GRAY MARE
CHAPTER XI--HEBE POCOCK
CHAPTER XII--"OUT OF IT"
CHAPTER XIII--THE WIND VEERS
CHAPTER XIV--RACING THE FLAMES
CHAPTER XV--THE KEYPORT GAME
CHAPTER XVI--UPHILL WORK FOR THE TEAM
CHAPTER XVII--HEBE POCOCK IN TROUBLE
CHAPTER XVIII--MOTHER WIT TO THE RESCUE
CHAPTER XIX--AT LUMBERPORT
CHAPTER XX--WINNING ALL ALONG THE LINE
CHAPTER XXI--WHAT HESTER DID
CHAPTER XXII--WHAT MR. BILLSON COULD TELL
CHAPTER XXIII--CLIMBING UP
CHAPTER XXIV--HESTER WINS
CHAPTER XXV--THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED
CHAPTER I
HESTER IS MIFFED
The referee's whistle sounded sharply, and the eighteen girls of
Central High engaged in playing basketball, as well as an equal number
strung along the side lines, stopped instantly and turned their eyes
on Mrs. Case, the physical instructor.
"Hester Grimes! you are deliberately delaying the game. I have
reprimanded you twice. The third time I will take you out of the team
for the week----"
"I didn't, either!" cried the person addressed, a rather heavily built
girl for her age, with a sturdy body and long arms--well developed in a
muscular way, but without much grace. She had very high color, too,
and at the present moment her natural ruddiness was heightened by
anger.
"You are breaking another rule of the game by directly addressing the
referee," said Mrs. Case, grimly. "Are you ready to play, or shall I
take you out of the game right now?"
The red-faced girl made no audible reply, and the teacher signalled
for the ball to be put into play again. Three afternoons each week
each girl of Central High, of Centerport, who was eligible for
after-hour athletics, was exercised for from fifteen to thirty minutes
at basketball. Thirty-six girls were on the ground at a time. Every
five minutes the instructor blew her whistle, and the girls changed
places. That is, the eighteen actually playing the game shifted with
the eighteen who had been acting as umpires, judges, timekeepers,
scorers, linesmen and coaches. This shifting occupied only a few
seconds, and it put the entire thirty-six girls into the game, shift
and shift about. It was in September, the beginning of the fall term,
and Mrs. Case was giving much attention to the material for the
inter-school games, to be held later in the year.
Hester Grimes had played the previous spring on the champion team, and
held her place now at forward center. But although she had been two
years at Central High, and was now a Junior, she had never learned the
first and greatest truth that the physical instructor had tried to
teach her girls:
"_Keep your temper!_"
Since spring several of the girls playing on the first team of Central
High had left school, graduating as seniors. The work now was to whip
this team into shape, and finally Mrs. Case and the girls themselves,
voting upon the several names in their capacity as members of the
Girls' Branch Athletic League, had settled upon the following roster
of names and positions as the "make-up" of the best-playing basketball
team of Central High:
Josephine Morse, goal-keeper
Evangeline Sitz, right forward
Dora Lockwood, left forward
Hester Grimes, forward center
Laura Belding, jumping center
Lily Pendleton, back center
Dorothy Lockwood, right guard
Nellie Agnew, left guard
Bobby Hargrew, goal guard
The basketball court of Central High was located in the new Girls'
Athletic Field, not far from the school building itself, and
overlooking beautiful Lake Luna and the boathouses and rowing course.
At the opening of Central High this fall the new field and gymnasium
had first come into use.
The athletic field, gymnasium and swimming pool were the finest in the
State arranged for girls' athletics. They had been made possible by
the generosity of one of the very wealthy men of Centerport, Colonel
Richard Swayne, and his interest in the high school girls and their
athletics had been engaged by one of the girls themselves, Laura
Belding by name, but better known among her schoolfellows and friends
as "Mother Wit."
The play went on again under the keen eye of the instructor. Mrs. Case
believed most thoroughly in the efficiency of basketball for the
development and training of girls; but she did not allow her charges
to play the game without supervision. Lack of supervision by
instructors is where the danger of basketball and kindred athletics
lies.
The game is an excellent one from every point of view; yet within the
last few years it has come into disfavor in some quarters, and many
parents have forbidden their daughters to engage in it. Like bicycling
in the past, and football with the boys, basketball has suffered "a
| 2,281.080414 |
2023-11-16 18:55:05.0670790 | 596 | 18 | HETHERINGTON ***
Produced by David Widger.
*THE TRIAL OF HENRY HETHERINGTON*
_By_
*Henry Hetherington*
_On an Indictment for Blasphemy_
CONTENTS
A FULL REPORT OF THE TRIAL OF HENRY HETHERINGTON
THE TRIAL
INDICTMENT
Second Count:
Third Count:
Mr. Bult opened the proceedings
DEFENCE
OBSERVATIONS
Extract from The Sun Newspaper
"TO LORD DENMAN, ON THE LATE PROSECUTION FOR BLASPHEMY
A FULL REPORT OF THE TRIAL OF HENRY HETHERINGTON
ON AN INDICTMENT FOR BLASPHEMY,
LORD DENMAN AND A SPECIAL JURY,
ON TUESDAY, DECEMBER 8, 1840;
FOR SELLING HASLAM'S LETTERS TO THE CLERGY TO ALL DENOMINATIONS:
THE WHOLE OF THE AUTHORITIES CITED IN THE DEFENCE, AT FULL LENGTH.
LONDON:
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY HENRY HETHERINGTON, 1-26, STRAND;
AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.
1840
Price Sixpence.
To
JAMES WATSON,
BOOKSELLER,
THE FRIEND OF TRUTH, THE INFIDEL TO ERROR, AND THE LOVER OF LIBERTY,
THIS TRIAL
IS DEDICATED,
IN PROOF OF THE AFFECTIONATE ATTACHMENT THAT SUBSISTS BETWEEN TWO
FRIENDS, WHO FULLY RECOGNISE AND ACT UPON THE PRINCIPLES AVOWED AND
CONTENDED FOR IN THE FOLLOWING DEFENCE; AND AS A TRIBUTE OF ESTEEM,
TO GOD'S NOBLEST WORK--AN HONEST MAN!
BY HIS FAITHFUL FRIEND,
HENRY HETHERINGTON.
THE TRIAL
COURT OF QUEEN'S BENCH, December 8, 1840.
Sittings at Nisi Prius at Westminster, before Lord DENMAN and a
Middlesex Special Jury.
PROSECUTION FOR BLASPHEMY.
THE QUEEN Versus HETHERINGTON.
This was a prosecution instituted by Her Majesty's Attorney-General, Sir
John Campbell, against Henry Hetherington, bookseller, of 126, Strand,
for the publication of a blasphemous libel.
INDICTMENT
Of Easter term, in the Third Year of the Reign of Queen Victoria.
Middlesex:--
Be it remembered, that on Tuesday, the twenty-eighth day of April, in
the third year of the reign of our sovereign lady Victoria, by the grace
of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Queen,
Defender of the Faith, in the court of our said lady the Queen, before
the Queen | 2,281.087119 |
2023-11-16 18:55:05.2668130 | 779 | 18 |
Produced by Dagny; John Bickers
THE STORY OF A CHILD
By Pierre Loti
Translated by Caroline F. Smith
PREFACE
There is to-day a widely spread new interest in child life, a desire to
get nearer to children and understand them. To be sure child study is
not new; every wise parent and every sympathetic teacher has ever been
a student of children; but there is now an effort to do more consciously
and systematically what has always been done in some way.
In the few years since this modern movement began much has been
accomplished, yet there is among many thoughtful people a strong
reaction from the hopes awakened by the enthusiastic heralding of the
newer aspects of psychology. It had been supposed that our science would
soon revolutionize education; indeed, taking the wish for the fact, we
began to talk about the new and the old education (both mythical) and
boast of our millennium. I would not underrate the real progress, the
expansion of educational activities, the enormous gains made in many
ways; but the millennium! The same old errors meet us in new forms, the
old problems are yet unsolved, the waste is so vast that we sometimes
feel thankful that we cannot do as much as we would, and that Nature
protects children from our worst mistakes.
What is the source of this disappointment? Is it not that education,
like all other aspects of life, can never be reduced to mere science? We
need science, it must be increasingly the basis of all life; but exact
science develops very slowly, and meantime we must live. Doubtless the
time will come when our study of mind will have advanced so far that we
can lay down certain great principles as tested laws, and thus clarify
many questions. Even then the solution of the problem will not be in the
enunciation of the theoretic principle, but will lie in its application
to practice; and that application must always depend upon instinct,
tact, appreciation, as well as upon the scientific law. Even the aid
that science can contribute is given slowly; meanwhile we must work with
these children and lift them to the largest life.
It is in relation to this practical work of education that our effort to
study children gets its human value. There are always two points of
view possible with reference to life. From the standpoint of nature
and science, individuals count for little. Nature can waste a thousand
acorns to raise one oak, hundreds of children may be sacrificed that
a truth may be seen. But from the ethical and human point of view the
meaning of all life is in each individual. That one child should be lost
is a kind of ruin to the universe.
It is this second point of view which every parent and every teacher
must take; and the great practical value of our new study of children
is that it brings us into personal relation with the child world, and so
aids in that subtle touch of life upon life which is the very heart of
education.
It is therefore that certain phases of the study of child life have
a high worth without giving definite scientific results. Peculiarly
significant among these is the study of the autobiographies of
childhood. The door to the great universe is always to the personal
world. Each of us appreciates child life through his own childhood,
and though the children with whom it is his blessed fortune to be
associated. If then it is possible for him to know intimately another
child through autobiography, one more window has been opened into the
child world--one more interpretative unit is given him through which to
read the lesson of the whole.
It is true, autobiographies written later | 2,281.286853 |
2023-11-16 18:55:05.2669260 | 39 | 12 |
Produced by David T. Jones, Ross Cooling and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from | 2,281.286966 |
2023-11-16 18:55:05.3619810 | 2,031 | 8 |
LIFE IN THE IRON-MILLS
by Rebecca Harding Davis
"Is this the end?
O Life, as futile, then, as frail!
What hope of answer or redress?"
A cloudy day: do you know what that is in a town of iron-works? The sky
sank down before dawn, muddy, flat, immovable. The air is thick, clammy
with the breath of crowded human beings. It stifles me. I open the
window, and, looking out, can scarcely see through the rain the grocer's
shop opposite, where a crowd of drunken Irishmen are puffing Lynchburg
tobacco in their pipes. I can detect the scent through all the foul
smells ranging loose in the air.
The idiosyncrasy of this town is smoke. It rolls sullenly in slow folds
from the great chimneys of the iron-foundries, and settles down in
black, slimy pools on the muddy streets. Smoke on the wharves, smoke on
the dingy boats, on the yellow river,--clinging in a coating of greasy
soot to the house-front, the two faded poplars, the faces of the
passers-by. The long train of mules, dragging masses of pig-iron through
the narrow street, have a foul vapor hanging to their reeking sides.
Here, inside, is a little broken figure of an angel pointing upward from
the mantel-shelf; but even its wings are covered with smoke, clotted
and black. Smoke everywhere! A dirty canary chirps desolately in a
cage beside me. Its dream of green fields and sunshine is a very old
dream,--almost worn out, I think.
From the back-window I can see a narrow brick-yard sloping down to
the river-side, strewed with rain-butts and tubs. The river, dull and
tawny-, (la belle riviere!) drags itself sluggishly along, tired
of the heavy weight of boats and coal-barges. What wonder? When I was a
child, I used to fancy a look of weary, dumb appeal upon the face of the
<DW64>-like river slavishly bearing its burden day after day. Something
of the same idle notion comes to me to-day, when from the street-window
I look on the slow stream of human life creeping past, night and
morning, to the great mills. Masses of men, with dull, besotted faces
bent to the ground, sharpened here and there by pain or cunning; skin
and muscle and flesh begrimed with smoke and ashes; stooping all night
over boiling caldrons of metal, laired by day in dens of drunkenness and
infamy; breathing from infancy to death an air saturated with fog and
grease and soot, vileness for soul and body. What do you make of a case
like that, amateur psychologist? You call it an altogether serious thing
to be alive: to these men it is a drunken jest, a joke,--horrible to
angels perhaps, to them commonplace enough. My fancy about the river was
an idle one: it is no type of such a life. What if it be stagnant and
slimy here? It knows that beyond there waits for it odorous sunlight,
quaint old gardens, dusky with soft, green foliage of apple-trees, and
flushing crimson with roses,--air, and fields, and mountains. The future
of the Welsh puddler passing just now is not so pleasant. To be stowed
away, after his grimy work is done, in a hole in the muddy graveyard,
and after that, not air, nor green fields, nor curious roses.
Can you see how foggy the day is? As I stand here, idly tapping the
windowpane, and looking out through the rain at the dirty back-yard and
the coalboats below, fragments of an old story float up before me,--a
story of this house into which I happened to come to-day. You may think
it a tiresome story enough, as foggy as the day, sharpened by no sudden
flashes of pain or pleasure.--I know: only the outline of a dull life,
that long since, with thousands of dull lives like its own, was vainly
lived and lost: thousands of them, massed, vile, slimy lives, like those
of the torpid lizards in yonder stagnant water-butt.--Lost? There is a
curious point for you to settle, my friend, who study psychology in a
lazy, dilettante way. Stop a moment. I am going to be honest. This is
what I want you to do. I want you to hide your disgust, take no heed
to your clean clothes, and come right down with me,--here, into the
thickest of the fog and mud and foul effluvia. I want you to hear this
story. There is a secret down here, in this nightmare fog, that has lain
dumb for centuries: I want to make it a real thing to you. You, Egoist,
or Pantheist, or Arminian, busy in making straight paths for your feet
on the hills, do not see it clearly,--this terrible question which men
here have gone mad and died trying to answer. I dare not put this secret
into words. I told you it was dumb. These men, going by with drunken
faces and brains full of unawakened power, do not ask it of Society or
of God. Their lives ask it; their deaths ask it. There is no reply. I
will tell you plainly that I have a great hope; and I bring it to you
to be tested. It is this: that this terrible dumb question is its own
reply; that it is not the sentence of death we think it, but, from the
very extremity of its darkness, the most solemn prophecy which the world
has known of the Hope to come. I dare make my meaning no clearer, but
will only tell my story. It will, perhaps, seem to you as foul and dark
as this thick vapor about us, and as pregnant with death; but if your
eyes are free as mine are to look deeper, no perfume-tinted dawn will be
so fair with promise of the day that shall surely come.
My story is very simple,--Only what I remember of the life of one
of these men,--a furnace-tender in one of Kirby & John's
rolling-mills,--Hugh Wolfe. You know the mills? They took the great
order for the lower Virginia railroads there last winter; run usually
with about a thousand men. I cannot tell why I choose the half-forgotten
story of this Wolfe more than that of myriads of these furnace-hands.
Perhaps because there is a secret, underlying sympathy between that
story and this day with its impure fog and thwarted sunshine,--or
perhaps simply for the reason that this house is the one where the
Wolfes lived. There were the father and son,--both hands, as I said,
in one of Kirby & John's mills for making railroad-iron,--and Deborah,
their cousin, a picker in some of the cotton-mills. The house was rented
then to half a dozen families. The Wolfes had two of the cellar-rooms.
The old man, like many of the puddlers and feeders of the mills, was
Welsh,--had spent half of his life in the Cornish tin-mines. You may
pick the Welsh emigrants, Cornish miners, out of the throng passing the
windows, any day. They are a trifle more filthy; their muscles are not
so brawny; they stoop more. When they are drunk, they neither yell, nor
shout, nor stagger, but skulk along like beaten hounds. A pure,
unmixed blood, I fancy: shows itself in the slight angular bodies and
sharply-cut facial lines. It is nearly thirty years since the Wolfes
lived here. Their lives were like those of their class: incessant
labor, sleeping in kennel-like rooms, eating rank pork and molasses,
drinking--God and the distillers only know what; with an occasional
night in jail, to atone for some drunken excess. Is that all of their
lives?--of the portion given to them and these their duplicates swarming
the streets to-day?--nothing beneath?--all? So many a political reformer
will tell you,--and many a private reformer, too, who has gone among
them with a heart tender with Christ's charity, and come out outraged,
hardened.
One rainy night, about eleven o'clock, a crowd of half-clothed women
stopped outside of the cellar-door. They were going home from the
cotton-mill.
"Good-night, Deb," said one, a mulatto, steadying herself against the
gas-post. She needed the post to steady her. So did more than one of
them.
"Dah's a ball to Miss Potts' to-night. Ye'd best come."
"Inteet, Deb, if hur'll come, hur'll hef fun," said a shrill Welsh voice
in the crowd.
Two or three dirty hands were thrust out to catch the gown of the woman,
who was groping for the latch of the door.
"No."
"No? Where's Kit Small | 2,281.382021 |
2023-11-16 18:55:05.9679230 | 149 | 12 |
Produced by David Widger
PERSONAL MEMOIRES OF P. H. SHERIDAN
VOLUME 2.
Part 4
By Philip Henry Sheridan
CHAPTER I.
ORGANIZING SCOUTS--MISS REBECCA WRIGHT--IMPORTANT INFORMATION--DECIDE
TO MOVE ON NEWTOWN--MEETING GENERAL GRANT--ORGANIZATION OF THE UNION
ARMY--OPENING OF THE BATTLE OF THE OPEQUON--DEATH OF GENERAL RUSSELL
--A TURNING MOVEMENT--A SUCCESSFUL CAVALRY CHARGE--VICTORY--THREE
LOYAL GIRLS--APPOINTED A BRIGADIER-GENERAL IN THE REGULAR ARMY | 2,281.987963 |
2023-11-16 18:55:06.0402520 | 1,216 | 6 |
Produced by Donald Lainson
FISHERMAN'S LUCK AND SOME OTHER UNCERTAIN THINGS
by Henry van <DW18>
"Now I conclude that not only in Physicke, but likewise in
sundry more certaine arts, fortune hath great share in
them."
M. DE MONTAIGNE: Divers Events.
DEDICATION TO MY LADY GRAYGOWN
Here is the basket; I bring it home to you. There are no great fish in
it. But perhaps there may be one or two little ones which will be to
your taste. And there are a few shining pebbles from the bed of the
brook, and ferns from the cool, green woods, and wild flowers from the
places that you remember. I would fain console you, if I could, for the
hardship of having married an angler: a man who relapses into his mania
with the return of every spring, and never sees a little river without
wishing to fish in it. But after all, we have had good times together as
we have followed the stream of life towards the sea. And we have passed
through the dark days without losing heart, because we were comrades.
So let this book tell you one thing that is certain. In all the life of
your fisherman the best piece of luck is just YOU.
CONTENTS
I. Fisherman's Luck
II. The Thrilling Moment
III. Talkability
IV. A Wild Strawberry
V. Lovers and Landscape
VI. A Fatal Success
VII. Fishing in Books
VIII. A Norwegian Honeymoon
IX. Who Owns the Mountains?
X. A Lazy, Idle Brook
XI. The Open Fire
XII. A Slumber Song
FISHERMAN'S LUCK
Has it ever fallen in your way to notice the quality of the greetings
that belong to certain occupations?
There is something about these salutations in kind which is singularly
taking and grateful to the ear. They are as much better than an ordinary
"good day" or a flat "how are you?" as a folk-song of Scotland or the
Tyrol is better than the futile love-ditty of the drawing-room. They
have a spicy and rememberable flavour. They speak to the imagination and
point the way to treasure-trove.
There is a touch of dignity in them, too, for all they are so free and
easy--the dignity of independence, the native spirit of one who takes
for granted that his mode of living has a right to make its own forms of
speech. I admire a man who does not hesitate to salute the world in the
dialect of his calling.
How salty and stimulating, for example, is the sailorman's hail of "Ship
ahoy!" It is like a breeze laden with briny odours and a pleasant dash
of spray. The miners in some parts of Germany have a good greeting for
their dusky trade. They cry to one who is going down the shaft, "Gluck
auf!" All the perils of an underground adventure and all the joys
of seeing the sun again are compressed into a word. Even the trivial
salutation which the telephone has lately created and claimed for its
peculiar use--"Hello, hello"--seems to me to have a kind of fitness
and fascination. It is like a thoroughbred bulldog, ugly enough to be
attractive. There is a lively, concentrated, electric air about it. It
makes courtesy wait upon dispatch, and reminds us that we live in an age
when it is necessary to be wide awake.
I have often wished that every human employment might evolve its own
appropriate greeting. Some of them would be queer, no doubt; but
at least they would be an improvement on the wearisome iteration of
"Good-evening" and "Good-morning," and the monotonous inquiry, "How
do you do?"--a question so meaningless that it seldom tarries for an
answer. Under the new and more natural system of etiquette, when you
passed the time of day with a man you would know his business, and the
salutations of the market-place would be full of interest.
As for my chosen pursuit of angling (which I follow with diligence when
not interrupted by less important concerns), I rejoice with every true
fisherman that it has a greeting all its own and of a most honourable
antiquity. There is no written record of its origin. But it is quite
certain that since the days after the Flood, when Deucalion
"Did first this art invent
Of angling, and his people taught the same,"
two honest and good-natured anglers have never met each other by the way
without crying out, "What luck?"
Here, indeed, is an epitome of the gentle art. Here is the spirit of
it embodied in a word and paying its respects to you with its native
accent. Here you see its secret charms unconsciously disclosed. The
attraction of angling for all the ages of man, from the cradle to the
grave, lies in its uncertainty. 'Tis an affair of luck.
No amount of preparation in the matter of rods and lines and hooks
and lures and nets and creels can change its essential character.
No excellence of skill in casting the delusive fly or adjusting the
tempting bait upon the hook can make the result secure. You may reduce
the chances, but you cannot eliminate them. There are a thousand points
at which fortune may intervene. The state of the weather, the height of
the water, the appetite | 2,282.060292 |
2023-11-16 18:55:06.0656800 | 7,433 | 40 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Internet Web Archive
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: The Internet Web Archive
https://archive.org/details/indeadofnightnov02spei
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.
A Novel.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON.
1874.
(_All rights reserved_.)
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.
A Novel.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON.
1874.
(_All rights reserved_.)
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHAPTER
I. THE EVE OF THE TRIAL.
II. THE TRIAL.
III. A BOTTLE OF BURGUNDY.
IV. DR. DRAYTON'S SUSPICIONS.
V. HIDE AND SEEK.
VI. FLOWN.
VII. GENERAL ST. GEORGE.
VIII. CUPID AT PINCOTE.
IX. AT THE VILLA PAMPHILI.
X. BACK AGAIN AT PARK NEWTON.
XI. MRS. MCDERMOTT WANTS HER MONEY.
XII. FOOTSTEPS IN THE ROOM.
XIII. THE SQUIRE'S TRIBULATION.
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.
CHAPTER I.
THE EVE OF THE TRIAL.
Within a week of Tom Bristow's first visit to Pincote, and his
introduction to the Copes, father and son, Mr. Cope, junior, found
himself, much to his disgust, fairly on his way to New York. He would
gladly have rebelled against the parental dictum in this matter, if he
had dared to do so; but he knew of old how worse than useless it would
be for him to offer the slightest opposition to his father's wishes.
"You will go and say goodbye to Miss Culpepper as a matter of
course," said Mr. Cope to him. "But don't grow too sentimental over
the parting. Do it in an easy, smiling way, as if you were merely
going out of town for a few days. Don't make any promises--don't talk
about the future--and, above all, don't say a word about marriage. Of
course, you will have to write to her occasionally while you are away.
Just a few lines, you know, to say how you are, and all that. No
mawkish silly love-nonsense, but a sensible, manly letter; and be
wisely reticent as to the date of your return. Very sorry, but you
don't know how much longer your business may detain you--you know the
sort of thing I mean."
When the idea had first entered Mr. Cope's mind that it would be an
excellent thing if he could only succeed in getting his son engaged to
Squire Culpepper's only child, it had not been without an ulterior eye
to the fortune which that young lady would one day call her own that
he had been induced to press forward the scheme to a successful issue.
By marrying Miss Culpepper, his son would be enabled to take up a
position in county society such as he could never hope to attain
either by his own merits, which were of the most moderate kind, or
from his father's money bags alone. But dearly as Mr. Cope loved
position, he loved money still better; and it was no part of his
programme that his son should marry a pauper, even though that pauper
could trace back her pedigree to the Conqueror. And yet, if the squire
went on speculating as madly as he was evidently doing now, it seemed
only too probable that pauperism, or something very much like it,
would be the result, as far as Miss Culpepper was concerned. Instead
of having a fortune of at least twenty thousand pounds, as she ought
to have, would she come in for as many pence when the old man died?
Mr. Cope groaned in spirit as he asked himself the question, and he
became more determined than ever to carry out his policy of waiting
and watching, before allowing the engagement of the young people to
reach a point that would render a subsequent rupture impossible
without open scandal--and scandal was a bugbear of which the banker
stood in extreme dread.
Fortunately, perhaps, for Mr. Cope's view, the feelings of neither
of the people chiefly concerned were very deeply interested. Edward
had obeyed his father in this as in everything else. He had known
Jane from a child, and he liked her because she was clever and
good-tempered. But she by no means realized his ideal of feminine
beauty. She was too slender, too slightly formed to meet with his
approval. "There's not enough of her," was the way he put it to
himself. Miss Moggs, the confectioner's daughter, with her ample
proportions and beaming smile, was far more to his taste. Equally to
his taste was the pastry dispensed by Miss Moggs's plump fingers, of
which he used to devour enormous quantities, seated on a three-legged
stool in front of the counter, while chatting in a free and easy way
about his horses and dogs, and the number of pigeons he had
slaughtered of late. And then it was so much easier to talk to Miss
Moggs than it was to talk to Jane. Miss Moggs looked up to him as to a
young magnifico, and listened to his oracular utterances with becoming
reverence and attention; but Jane, somehow, didn't seem to appreciate
him as he wished to be appreciated, and he never felt, quite sure that
she was not laughing at him in her sleeve.
"So you are going to leave us by the eight o'clock train to-morrow,
are you?" asked Jane, when he went to Pincote to say a few last words
of farewell. He had sat down by her side on the sofa, and had taken
her unresisting hand in his; a somewhat thin, cold little hand, that
returned his pressure very faintly. How different, as he could not
help saying to himself, from the warm, plump fingers of Matilda Moggs.
"Yes, I'm going by the morning train. Perhaps I shall never come back.
Perhaps I shall be drowned," he said, somewhat dolorously.
"Not you, Edward, dear. You will live to plague us all for many a year
to come. I wish I could do your business, and go instead of you."
"You don't mean to say that you would like to cross the Atlantic,
Jane?"
"I mean to say that there are few things in the world would please me
better. What a fresh and glorious experience it must be to one who has
never been far from home!"
"But think of the sea-sickness."
"Think of being out of sight of commonplace land for days and days
together. Think how delightful it must be to be rocked on the great
Atlantic rollers, and what a new and pleasant sensation it must be to
know that there is only a plank between yourself and the fishes, and
yet not to feel the least bit afraid."
Edward shuddered. "When you wake up in the middle of the night, and
hear the wind blowing hard, you will think of me, won't you?" he said.
"Of course I shall. And I shall wish I were by your side to enjoy it.
To be out in a gale on the Atlantic--that must indeed be glorious!"
Edward's fat cheeks became a shade paler, "Don't talk in that way,
Jane," he said. "One never can tell what may happen. I shall write to
you, of course, and all that; and you won't forget me while I'm away,
will you?"
"No, I shall not forget you, Edward; of that you may be quite sure."
Then he drew her towards him, and kissed her; and then, after a few
more words, he went away.
It was just the sort of parting that his father would have approved
of, he said to himself, as he drove down the avenue. No tears, no
sentimental nonsense, no fuss of any kind. Privately he felt somewhat
aggrieved that she had not taken the parting more to heart. "There
wasn't even a single tear in her eye," he said to himself. "She
doesn't half know how to appreciate a fellow."
He would perhaps have altered his opinion in some measure could he
have seen Jane half an hour later. She had locked herself in her
bedroom, and was crying bitterly. Why she was crying thus she
would have found it difficult to explain: in fact, she hardly knew
herself. It is possible that her tears were not altogether tears of
bitterness--that some other feeling than sorrow for her temporary
separation from Edward Cope was stirring the fountains of her heart.
She kept on upbraiding herself for her coldness and want of feeling,
and trying to persuade herself that she was deeply sorry, rather than
secretly--very secretly--glad to be relieved of the tedium of his
presence for several weeks to come. She knew how wrong it was of
her--it was almost wicked, she thought--to feel thus: but, underlying
all her tears, was a gleam of precious sunshine, of which she was
dimly conscious, although she would not acknowledge its presence even
to herself.
After a time her tears ceased to flow. She got up and bathed her eyes.
While thus occupied her maid knocked at the door.
Mr. Bristow was downstairs. He had brought some photographs for Miss
Culpepper to look at.
"Tell Mr. Bristow how sorry I am that I cannot see him to-day," said
Jane. "But my head aches so badly that I cannot possibly go down."
Then when the girl was gone, "I won't see him to-day," she added to
herself. "When Edward and I are married he will come and see us
sometimes, perhaps. Edward will always be glad to see him."
Hearing the front-door clash, she ran to the window and pulled aside a
corner of the blind. In a minute or two she saw Tom walking leisurely
down the avenue. Presently he paused, and turned, and began to scan
the house as if he knew that Jane were watching him. It was quite
impossible that he should see her, but for all that she shrank back,
with a blush and a shy little smile. But she did not loose her hold of
the blind; and presently she peeped again, and never moved her eyes
till Tom was lost to view.
Then she went downstairs into the drawing-room, and found there the
photographs which Tom had left for her inspection. There, too, lying
close by, was a glove which he had dropped and had omitted to pick up
again. "I will give it to him next time he comes," she said softly to
herself. Strange to relate, her next action was to press the glove to
her lips, after which she hid it away in the bosom of her dress. But
young ladies' memories are proverbially treacherous, and Jane's was no
exception to the rule. Tom Bristow's glove never found its way back
into his possession.
Jane Culpepper had drifted into her engagement with Edward Cope almost
without knowing how such a state of affairs had been brought about.
When her father first mentioned the matter to her, and told her that
Edward was fond of her, she laughed at the idea of Edward being fond
of anything but his horses and his gun. When, later on, the young
banker, in obedience to parental instructions, blundered through a
sort of declaration of love, she laughed again, but neither repulsed
nor encouraged him. She was quite heart-whole and fancy-free; but
certainly Mr. Cope, junior, bore only the faintest resemblance to the
vague hero of her girlish dreams--who would come riding one day out of
the enchanted Kingdom of Love, and, falling on his knees before her,
implore her to share his heart and fortune for evermore. To speak the
truth, there was no romance of any kind about Edward. He was
hopelessly prosaic: he was irredeemably commonplace; but they had
known each other from childhood, and she had a kindly regard for him,
arising from that very fact. So, pending the arrival of Prince
Charming, she did not altogether repulse him, but went on treating his
suit as a piece of pleasant absurdity which could never work itself
out to a serious issue either for herself or him. She took the alarm a
little when some whispers reached her that she would be asked, before
long, to fix a day for the wedding; but, latterly, even those whispers
had died away. Nobody seemed in a hurry to press the affair forward to
its legitimate conclusion: even Edward himself showed no impatience on
the point. So long as he could come and go at Pincote as he liked, and
hover about Jane, and squeeze her hand occasionally, and drive her out
once or twice a week behind his high-stepping bays, he seemed to want
nothing more. They were just the same to each other as they had been
when they were children, Jane said to herself--and why should they not
remain so?
But, of late, a slight change had come o'er the spirit of Miss
Culpepper's dream. New hopes, and thoughts, and fears, to which she
had hitherto been a stranger, began to nestle and flutter round her
heart, like love-birds building in spring. The thought of becoming the
wife of Edward Cope was fast becoming--nay, had already become,
utterly distasteful to her. She began to realize the fact that it is
impossible to keep on playing with fire without getting burnt. She had
allowed herself to drift into an engagement with a man for
whom she really cared nothing, thinking, probably, at the
time that for her no Prince Charming would ever come riding
out of the woods; and that, if it would please her father,
she might as well marry Edward Cope as any one else. But
behold! all at once Prince Charming _had_ come, and although, as yet,
he had not gone down on his knees and offered his hand and heart for
evermore, she felt that she could never love but him alone. She felt,
too, with a sort of dumb despair, that she had already given herself
away beyond recall--or, at least, had led the world to think that she
had so given herself away; and that she could not, with any show of
maidenly honour, reclaim a gift which she had let slip from her so
lightly and easily that she hardly knew herself when it was gone.
The eve of Lionel Dering's trial came at last. The Duxley assizes had
opened on the previous Thursday. All the minor cases had been got
through by Saturday night, and one of the two judges had already gone
forward to the next town. The Park Newton murder case had been left
purposely till Monday, and by those who were supposed to know best, it
was considered not unlikely that trial, verdict, and sentence would
all be got through in the course of one sitting.
The celebrated Mr. Tressil, who had been specially engaged for the
defence, found it impossible to get down to Duxley before the five
o'clock train on Sunday afternoon. He was met on the platform by Mr.
Hoskyns and Mr. Bristow. His junior in the case, Mr. Little, was to
meet him by appointment at his rooms later on. Tom was introduced to
Mr. Tressil by Hoskyns as a particular friend of Mr. Dering's, and the
three gentlemen at once drove to the prison. Mr. Tressil had gone
carefully through his brief as he came down in the train. The
information conveyed therein was so ample and complete that it was
more as a matter of form than to serve any real purpose that he went
to see his client. The interview was a very brief one. The few
questions Mr. Tressil had to ask were readily answered, but it was
quite evident that there was no fresh point to be elicited. Then Mr.
Tressil went away, accompanied by Mr. Hoskyns; and Tom was left alone
with his friend.
Edith had taken leave of her husband an hour before. They would see
each other no more till after the trial was over. What the result of
the trial might possibly be they neither of them dared so much as
whisper. Each of them put on a make-believe gaiety and cheerfulness of
manner, hoping thereby to deceive the other--as if such a thing were
possible.
"In two days' time you will be back again at Park Newton," Edith had
said, "and will find yourself saddled with a wife, whom, while a
prisoner, you were compelled to marry against your will. Surely, in so
extreme a case, the Divorce Court would take pity on you, and grant
you some relief."
"An excellent suggestion," said Lionel, with a laugh. "I must have
some talk with Hoskyns about it. Meanwhile, suppose you get your
trunks packed, and prepare for an early start on our wedding tour. Oh!
to get outside these four walls again--to have 'the sky above my head,
and the grass beneath my feet'--what happiness--what ecstasy--that
will be! A week from this time, Edith, we shall be at Chamounix. Think
of that, sweet one! In place of this grim cell--the Alps and Freedom!
Ah me! what a world of meaning there is in those few words!"
The clock struck four. It was time to go. Only by a supreme effort
could Edith keep back her tears--but she did keep them back.
"Goodbye--my husband!" she whispered, as she kissed him on the
lips--the eyes--the forehead. "May He who knows all our sorrows, and
can lighten all our burdens, grant you strength for the morrow!"
Lionel's lips formed the words, "Goodbye," but no sound came from
them. One last clasp of the hand--one last yearning, heartfelt look
straight into each other's eyes, and then Edith was gone. Lionel fell
back on his seat with a groan as the door shut behind her; and there,
with bowed head and clasped fingers, he sat without moving till the
coming of Mr. Tressil and the others warned him that he was no longer
alone.
As soon as Mr. Tressil and Hoskyns were gone, Lionel lighted up his
biggest meerschaum, and Tom was persuaded, for once, into trying a
very mild cigarette. Neither of them spoke much--in fact, neither of
them seemed to have much to say. They were Englishmen, and to-day they
did not belie the taciturnity of their race. They made a few
disjointed remarks about the weather, and they both agreed that there
was every prospect of an excellent harvest. Lionel inquired after the
Culpeppers, and was sorry to hear that the squire was confined to his
room with gout. After that, there seemed to be nothing more to say,
but they understood each other so well that there was no need of words
to interpret between them. Simply to have Tom sitting there, was to
Lionel a comfort and a consolation such as nothing else, except the
presence of his wife, could have afforded him; and for Tom to have
gone to his lodgings without spending that last hour with his friend,
would have been a sheer impossibility.
"I shall see you to-morrow?" asked Lionel, as Tom rose to go.
"Certainly you will."
"Good-night, old fellow."
"Good-night, Dering. Take my advice, and don't sit up reading or
anything to-night, but get off to bed as early as you can."
Lionel nodded and smiled, and so they parted.
Tom had called at Alder Cottage earlier in the day, and had seen Edith
and Mrs. Garside, and had given them their final instructions. He had
one other person still to see--Mr. Sprague, the chemist, and him he
went in search of as soon as he had bidden Lionel good-night.
Mr. Sprague himself came in answer to Tom's ring at the bell, and
ushered his visitor into a stuffy little parlour behind the shop,
where he had been lounging on the sofa in his shirt-sleeves, reading
Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy." And a very melancholy,
careworn-looking man was this chemist whom Tom had come to see. He
looked as if the perpetual battle for daily bread, which had been
going on with him from year's end to year's end ever since he was old
enough to handle a pestle, was at last beginning to daunt him. He had
a cowed, wobegone expression as he passed his fingers wearily through
his thin grizzled locks: although he did his best to put on an air of
cheerfulness at the tardy prospect of a customer.
Tom and the chemist were old acquaintances. Sprague's shop was one of
the institutions of Duxley, and had been known to Tom from his early
boyhood. Once or twice during his present visit to the town he had
called there and made a few purchases, and chatted over old times, and
old friends long dead and gone, with the melancholy chemist.
"You still stick to the old place, Mr. Sprague," said Tom, as he sat
down on the ancient sofa.
"Yes, Mr. Bristow--yes. I don't know that I could do better. My father
kept the shop before me, and everybody in Duxley knows it."
"I suppose you will be retiring on your fortune before long?"
The chemist laughed a hollow laugh. "With thirteen youthful and
voracious mouths to feed, it looks like making a fortune, don't it,
sir?"
"A baker's dozen of youngsters! Fie, Mr. Sprague, fie!"
"Talking about the baker, sir, I give you my word of honour that he
and the butcher take nearly every farthing of profit I get out of my
business. It has come to this: that I can no longer make ends meet, as
I used to do years ago. For the first time in my life, sir, I am
behindhand with my rent, and goodness only knows when and how I shall
get it made up." Mr. Sprague's voice was very pitiable as he finished.
"But, surely, some of your children are old enough to help
themselves," said Tom.
"The eldest are all girls," answered poor Mr. Sprague, "and they have
to stay at home and help their mother with the little ones. My eldest
boy, Alex, is only nine years old."
"Just the age to get him off your hands--just the age to get him into
the Downham Foundation School."
"Oh, sir, what a relief that would be, both to his poor mother and me!
The same thought has struck me, sir, many a time, but I have no
influence--none whatever."
"But it is possible that I may have a little," said Tom, kindly.
"Oh, Mr. Bristow!" gasped the chemist, and then could say no more.
"Supposing--merely supposing, you know," said Tom, "that I were to get
your eldest boy into the Downham Foundation School, and were, in
addition, to put a hundred-pound note into your hands with which to
pay off your arrears of rent, you would be willing to do a trifling
service for me in return?"
"I should be the most ungrateful wretch in the world were I to refuse
to do so," replied the chemist, earnestly.
"Then listen," said Tom. "You are summoned to serve as one of the jury
in the great murder case to-morrow."
Mr. Sprague nodded.
"You will serve, as a matter of course," continued Tom. "I shall be in
the court, and in such a position that you can see me without
difficulty. As soon as the clock strikes three, you will look at me,
and you will keep on looking at me every two or three minutes, waiting
for a signal from me. Perhaps it will not be requisite for me to give
the signal at all--in that case I shall not need your services; but
whether they are needed or no, your remuneration will in every respect
be the same."
"And what is the signal, Mr. Bristow, for which I am to look out?"
"The scratching, with my little finger--thus--of the left-hand side of
my nose."
"And what am I to do when I see the signal?"
"You are to pretend that you are taken suddenly ill, and you are to
keep up that pretence long enough to render it impossible for the
trial to be finished on Monday--long enough, in fact, to make its
postponement to Tuesday morning an inevitable necessity."
"I understand, sir. You want the trial to extend into the second day;
instead of being finished, as it might be, on the first?"
"That is exactly what I want. Can you counterfeit a sudden attack of
illness, so as to give it an air of reality?"
"I ought to be able to do so, sir. I see plenty of the symptoms every
day of my life."
"They will send for a doctor to examine you, you know."
"I suppose so, sir. But my plan will be this: not merely to pretend to
be ill, but to be ill in reality. To swallow something, in fact--say a
pill concocted by myself--which will really make me very sick and ill
for two or three hours, without doing me any permanent injury."
"Not a bad idea by any means. But you understand that you are to take
no action whatever in the matter until you see my signal."
"I understand that clearly."
After a little more conversation, Tom went, carrying with him in his
waistcoat pocket a tiny phial, filled with some dark-coloured fluid
which the chemist had mixed expressly for him.
On the point of leaving, Tom produced three or four rustling pieces of
paper. "Here are thirty pounds on account, Mr. Sprague," said he. "I
think we understand one another, eh?"
The chemist's fingers closed like a vice on the notes. His heart gave
a great sigh of relief. "I am your humble servant to command, Mr.
Bristow," he returned. "You have saved my credit and my good name, and
you may depend upon me in every way."
As Tom was walking soberly towards his lodging, he passed the open
door of the Royal Hotel. Under the portico stood a man smoking a
cigar. Their eyes met for an instant in the lamplight, but they were
strangers to each other, and Tom passed on his way. Next moment he
started, and turned to look again. He had heard a voice say: "Mr. St.
George, your dinner is served."
He had come at last, then, this cousin, who had not been seen in
Duxley since the day of the inquest--on whose evidence to-morrow so
much would depend.
"Is that the man, I wonder," said Tom to himself, "in whose breast
lies hidden the black secret of the murder? If not in his--then in
whose?"
CHAPTER II.
THE TRIAL.
"How say you, prisoner at the bar: Guilty or Not Guilty?"
"Not Guilty."
There was a moment's pause. A slight murmur passed like a ripple
through the dense crowd. Each individual item, male and female, tried
to wriggle itself into a more comfortable position, knowing that it
was fixed in that particular spot for some hours to come. The crier of
the court called silence where silence was already, and next moment
Mr. Purcell, the counsel for the prosecution, rose to his feet. He
glanced up at the prisoner for one brief moment, bowed slightly to the
judge, hitched his gown well forward, fixed one foot firmly on a
spindle of the nearest chair, and turned over the first page of his
brief.
Mr. Purcell possessed in an eminent degree the faculty of clear and
lucid exposition. His manner was passionless, his style frigid. He
aimed at nothing more than giving a cold, unvarnished statement of the
facts. But then the way in which he marshalled his facts--going, step
by step, through the evidence as taken before the magistrates,
bringing out with fatal clearness point after point against the
prisoner, gradually wrapping him round, as it were, in an inextricable
network of evidence from which it seemed impossible for any human
agency to free him--was, to such of his hearers as could appreciate
his efforts, an intellectual treat of a very rare order indeed: Even
Lionel had to ask himself, in a sort of maze: "Am I guilty, or am I
not?" when Mr. Purcell came to the end of his exposition, and took
breath for a moment while the first witness for the prosecution was
being sworn by the clerk of the court.
That first witness was Kester St. George.
Mr. St. George looked very pale--his recent illness might account for
that--but he showed not the slightest trace of nervousness as he
stepped into the witness-box. It was noticed by several people that he
kept his eyes fixed straight before him, and never once turned them on
the prisoner in the dock.
The evidence elicited from Mr. St. George was--epitomized--to the
following effect:--Was own cousin to the prisoner at the bar, but had
not seen him since they were boys together till prisoner called on him
in London a few weeks before the murder. Met prisoner in the street
shortly afterwards. Introduced him to Mr. Osmond, the murdered man,
who happened to be in his (witness's) company at the time. Prisoner,
on the spot, invited both witness and Osmond to visit him at Park
Newton. The invitation was accepted. Witness and Osmond went down to
Park Newton, and up to the night of the murder everything passed off
in the most amicable and friendly spirit. On that evening they all
three dined by invitation with Mr. Culpepper, of Pincote. They got
back to Park Newton about eleven o'clock. Osmond then proposed to
finish up the evening with a game at billiards. Prisoner objected for
a time, but ultimately yielded the point, and they all went into the
billiard-room. The game was to be a hundred up, and everything went on
satisfactorily till Osmond accused prisoner of having played with
the wrong ball. This prisoner denied. An altercation followed.
After some words on both sides, Osmond threw part of a glass of
seltzer-and-brandy into prisoner's face. Prisoner sprang at Osmond and
seized him by the throat. Osmond drew a small revolver and fired at
prisoner, but fortunately missed him. Witness then interposed, dragged
Osmond from the room, and put him into the hands of his (witness's)
valet, with instructions not to leave him till he was safely in bed.
Then went back to prisoner, whom he found still in the billiard-room,
but depressed in spirits, and complaining of one of those violent head
aches that were constitutional with him. Witness himself being subject
to similar headaches, recommended to prisoner's notice a certain
mixture from which he had himself derived much benefit. Prisoner
agreed to take a dose of the mixture. Witness went to his own bedroom
to obtain it, and then took it to the prisoner, whom he found
partially undressed, preparing for bed. Prisoner took the mixture.
Then he and witness bade each other good-night, and separated. Next
morning, at eight o'clock, witness's valet brought a telegram to his
bedroom summoning him to London on important business. He dressed
immediately, and left Park Newton at once--an hour and a half before
the discovery of the murder.
Cross-examined by Mr. Tressil:
The only one of the three who was at all the worse for wine on their
return from Pincote was Mr. Osmond. Had several times seen him in a
similar condition. On such occasions he was very talkative, and rather
inclined to be quarrelsome. Osmond was in error in saying that
prisoner played with the wrong ball. Witness, in his position as
marker, was watching the game very carefully, and was certain that no
such mistake was made. Osmond was grossly insulting; and prisoner, all
through the quarrel, acted with the greatest forbearance. It was not
till after Osmond had thrown the brandy-and-seltzer in his face that
prisoner laid hands on him at all. The instant after, Osmond drew his
revolver and fired. The bullet just missed prisoner's head and lodged
in the wall behind him. After Osmond left the room no animosity or
ill-feeling was evinced by prisoner towards him. On the contrary,
prisoner expressed his deep regret that such a fracas should have
taken place under his roof. Had not the slightest fear that there
would be any renewal of the quarrel afterwards, or would not have left
for London next morning. Certainly thought that an ample apology was
due from Osmond, and never doubted that such an apology would be
forthcoming when he had slept off the effects of the wine. Was never
more surprised or shocked in his life than when he heard of the
murder, and that his cousin was accused of the crime. It seemed to him
too horrible for | 2,282.08572 |
2023-11-16 18:55:06.0657040 | 1,978 | 6 |
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Established by Edward L. Youmans
APPLETONS'
POPULAR SCIENCE
MONTHLY
EDITED BY
WILLIAM JAY YOUMANS
VOL. LV
MAY TO OCTOBER, 1899
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1899
COPYRIGHT, 1899,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
[Illustration: EDUARD OSCAR SCHMIDT.]
APPLETONS' POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.
SEPTEMBER, 1899.
ARE WE IN DANGER FROM THE PLAGUE?
BY VICTOR C. VAUGHAN,
PROFESSOR OF HYGIENE IN THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN.
In an article on the plague in this journal, in May, 1897, the writer
answered this question as follows: "Yes, there is danger; but this,
being foreseen, may be easily avoided. Thorough inspection of persons
and disinfection of things from infected districts will keep the
disease out of Europe and America. Only by the most gross carelessness
could the plague be permitted to enter either of these continents."
It will be of interest to take up this subject again, and study it in
the light of the history of the plague since the article referred to
was written. The plague first appeared in western India, at Bombay,
where it still prevails. We are without any exact information
concerning its introduction into that city. Before the outbreak of the
disease at Bombay the mortality had increased so markedly that it was
a subject of discussion for three meetings of the Grant Medical
Society. The increase was attributed to the filthy condition of the
streets. This society made an investigation of the increased
mortality, and presented a report on the same to the municipal
authorities. Instead of heeding the warning, the authorities jeered at
the society, and refused to allow the report to be read.
Dr. Viegas appears to have been the first physician to recognize the
existence of the plague in the city. In a paper read before the Grant
Medical Society on November 24, 1896, he discussed the possible and
probable avenues by which the disease had found its way into the town.
He stated that sugar and dates had been mentioned as means by which
the plague was imported, but, if this had been the case, he thought it
strange that the infection had not been conveyed from Bagdad and
Bassorah, inasmuch as these articles come almost exclusively from
those places. Again, it was thought possible that the clothes of the
sick or of the dead from the plague in China might have been brought
over to Bombay, but Dr. Viegas was unable to find any evidence in
support of this theory. It had also been claimed that rats sick with
the plague had come by ship from Hong Kong, and had infected the rats
about the docks in Bombay. This theory, Dr. Viegas held, was not
supported by any facts. In short, Dr. Viegas found some objection to
every theory that had been proposed, and leaves us in doubt as to his
own views concerning the avenue by which the plague reached Bombay. He
is quite confident, however, that the filthiness of the city is to
blame for the rapidity with which the disease spread.
In a report by Lieutenant-Colonel Weir on the plague in Bombay a
statement is made that the disease was imported from Suez. Early in
September, 1896, four very suspicious deaths were reported, but, as
none of these had been attended by medical men, no definite conclusion
could be reached concerning them. The first case was reported by Dr.
Viegas late in September, 1896. The patient was a native who had not
been out of the city for months. The first case reported among
Europeans occurred on November 12, 1896. During the winter of 1896 and
1897 the disease prevailed most alarmingly, and reached its highest
mortality during the week ending February 9, 1897, when the deaths
from all causes in Bombay numbered 1,891. During the summer of 1897
the disease declined, and led to the belief that the measures that had
been put in operation would prove successful. This hope, however, was
not realized, and during the winter of 1897 and 1898 there was a
recrudescence of the disease. During the summer of 1898 the disease
again abated, to appear with renewed strength during the winter of
1898 and 1899. During the last week in March, 1899, the total number
of deaths from all causes in Bombay reached 2,408, and the deaths from
plague alone numbered more than 250 a day. It will be seen from these
figures that the plague still rages with undiminished virulence in the
capital of western British India. The abatement of the disease during
the summer months and its increased severity during the colder season
are not directly due to the effects of temperature. In the warm season
many of the natives sleep out of doors, while during the colder
weather they crowd into small, unventilated, filthy rooms. It is the
opinion of practically all observers at Bombay that the recrudescence
of the disease during the winter is due to this overcrowding.
Since the plague has prevailed at Bombay for nearly three years, it
may be well to inquire concerning its probable continuance at that
place. In making this inquiry we may learn something of the sanitary
condition of the city and the habits of its inhabitants. Bombay is the
metropolis of western India, and is situated on a long, narrow island
running almost north and south. The city is located near the southern
end of this island, with its harbor to the east and its sewage outfall
to the west. Its population of about nine hundred thousand is a very
mixed one, consisting of Hindoos of different castes, of Mohammedans,
of Eurasians, and of Europeans. Differences in race, in religion, and
in caste make it exceedingly difficult to carry out sanitary measures
and to look after the sick. The mean temperature is about 79 deg. F., and
the relative humidity seventy-seven per cent. A considerable portion
of the island is below high-water level, and consequently the sewage
must be removed by means of pumps. The mean maximum temperature of the
ground eleven feet below the surface is 84.9 deg. F., and the mean minimum
temperature is 80.9 deg. F. It will be seen from these figures that
organic matter must undergo rapid decomposition both on the surface
and in the sewers. The water supply, which is said to be excellent, is
so carelessly drawn upon by the natives that, although sufficiently
abundant if used properly, it sometimes becomes scant. It not
infrequently happens that the sewers will not carry the volume of
water turned into them. For this reason, together with the tropical
rains, the soil often becomes water-logged. Indeed, the surface in
some sections of the city may be, not inappropriately, compared with a
fermenting muck-heap. Besides the fixed population, there is a
constant current of people flowing to and fro between the island and
the mainland. When there is any opportunity for the employment of a
large number of unskilled laborers, hundreds and thousands from the
surrounding country pour into the city. These people know nothing of
sanitary appliances, they lodge in the most densely crowded parts of
the city, and often a dozen of them will hire a single room, not more
than ten feet square, in which they eat and sleep. It is said that
seventy per cent of the inhabitants of Bombay live in "chawls." These
are tenement buildings of from five to seven stories high, built on
the "flat" system. A narrow hall, at the end of which is a latrine,
runs through each story, and from this doors open into rooms eight by
twelve feet in area. In one of these houses from five hundred to eight
hundred people live. These buildings are crowded together, with only
narrow, dark alleys between. Into these alleys the inhabitants of the
houses on both sides throw all kinds of refuse. In many parts of the
city fecal matter is deposited in boxes or baskets, and these, when
filled, are carried on the heads of scavengers to certain designated
places and the contents dumped into the sewers. It may be of interest
to note, in passing, that these scavengers seem to be largely immune
to the plague and all other infectious diseases.
This is a brief description of the sanitary condition of the city into
which the bubonic plague found its way nearly three years ago. How
long is it likely to remain? Before attempting to answer this question
we might ask what means have been employed to eradicate the disease.
On October 6, | 2,282.085744 |
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The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
by
L. Frank Baum
Contents
Introduction
1. The Cyclone
2. The Council with the | 2,282.086698 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
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IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
[Illustration: GROUP OF INDIANS NEAR NIAGARA.
Drawn & Etched by A. Hervieu.]
IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA,
DURING THE YEARS 1833, 1834, AND 1835.
BY TYRONE POWER, ESQ.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
Publisher in Ordinary to His Majesty.
1836.
CONTENTS
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME.
Page
NAHANT 1 | 2,282.158851 |
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MY QUEEN
A WEEKLY JOURNAL FOR YOUNG WOMEN
No. 1. PRICE, FIVE CENTS.
FROM FARM TO FORTUNE
OR
Only A Farmer’s Daughter
BY GRACE SHIRLEY
PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY STREET & SMITH, 238 William Street, New York City.
_Copyright, 1900, by Street & Smith. All rights reserved. Entered at
York Post-Office as Second-Class Matter._
MY QUEEN
A WEEKLY JOURNAL FOR YOUNG WOMEN
_Issued Weekly. By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second Class
Matter at the N. Y. Post Office, by_ Street & Smith, _238 William St.,
N. Y._
_Entered According to Act of Congress in the year 1900, in the Office of
the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C._
No. 1. NEW YORK, September 29, 1900. Price Five Cents.
From Farm to Fortune;
OR,
ONLY A FARMER’S DAUGHTER.
By GRACE SHIRLEY.
CHAPTER I.
THE DAISY CHAIN.
There was hardly a ripple on the sultry air as Marion Marlowe walked
slowly along the dusty country road picking a daisy here and there and
linking them together in an artistic manner.
When the chain was finished she swung it lightly in her hand,
notwithstanding the fact that each link held one of her heart secrets
interwoven in the form of a wish, as she fashioned the frail necklace.
She paused for a moment upon the brow of the steep hill behind her
father’s farm, and pushing the gingham sunbonnet back from her face,
took her usual evening glance over the surrounding country.
“Same old hills! Same old trees!” she whispered irritably. “And always
that hideous old Poor Farm staring one in the face! Oh, I’m just sick
of country life and a horrid farm! Why couldn’t I have been born
something besides a farmer’s daughter?”
The view which Marion gazed upon was not altogether unlovely, but the
hills were steep and the pastures were scorched and the Poor Farm,
always a blot upon the peaceful picture, stood out with aggressive
ugliness in the keen glow of sunset.
Just over the brow of a low hill rose a curling line of smoke. It came
from the chimney of the little station where the Boston and New York
Express stopped morning and evening, the only connecting link between
them and civilization.
Marion Marlowe was seventeen and superbly handsome. Her twin sister
was fairer, more childish and a trifle smaller, but both were far more
beautiful than most country maidens.
As Marion spoke, her gray eyes darkened until they were almost black,
and the ungainly sunbonnet could not begin to cover her hair, which was
long and silky and a rich, ripe chestnut.
Turning her back upon the Poor Farm, which always offended her, Marion
suddenly gave vent to her mood in a most extraordinary manner.
Posing on the very crest of the hill with her shoulders thrown back
haughtily, she began singing a quaint air which was full of solemn
melody, and as she sang her eyes glistened and her cheeks grew even
redder, for Marion loved the sound of her beautiful voice—she knew well
that she was a magnificent singer, and might readily be forgiven for
glorying in her superb natural endowments.
“And to think it should all be wasted here!” she muttered as she
finished.
There was a scornful wave of her hand as she indicated the inoffensive
country.
She pulled on her sunbonnet with a sudden jerk.
“What could she do?” She asked the question hopelessly, and the very
trees seemed to mock her with their rustling whispers.
She could do nothing! She was only a farmer’s daughter! She must bake,
roast and boil, weed the garden, tend the chickens, and last but not
least, she must marry some stupid farmer and live exactly the life that
her mother had lived before her.
“I won’t do it!” she cried, angrily, when she had reached this point in
her thoughts.
“I’ll never submit to it! Never! Never! I will make a name somehow,
somewhere, some time! Do you hear me, you glorious old sun? I will do
it! I swear it!”
With a sudden impulse she lifted her hand above her head. The setting
sun threw a shaft of light directly across her path which clothed her
in a shining radiance as her vow was registered.
The sky was darkening when Marion drew her sunbonnet on again and
started slowly down the hill toward her father’s pasture.
She let down the bars at the entrance to the pasture lot easily with
her strong, white hands. There were five of the patient creatures
awaiting her coming. The sixth had strayed a little, so she strolled
about, calling to it, through the straggling brush and birches.
Suddenly there came the unmistakable patter of bare feet along the
road; Marion listened a moment and then went on with her search.
“Move faster, there, Bert Jackson! What’s the matter with ye, anyway?”
The words were shouted in a brutal voice which Marion knew only too
well to belong to Matt Jenkins, the keeper of the Poor Farm.
“I am moving as fast as I can,” answered a boyish voice, “but my arm | 2,282.159926 |
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Produced by R. G. P. M. van Giesen
[Illustration: cover]
THE GREAT ADVENTURE SERIES
Percy F. Westerman:
THE AIRSHIP "GOLDEN HIND"
TO THE FORE WITH THE TANKS
THE SECRET BATTLEPLANE
WILMSHURST OF THE FRONTIER FORCE
Rowland Walker:
THE PHANTOM AIRMAN
DASTRAL OF THE FLYING CORPS
DEVILLE MCKEENE:
THE EXPLOITS OF THE MYSTERY AIRMAN
BLAKE OF THE MERCHANT SERVICE
BUCKLE OF SUBMARINE V 2
OSCAR DANBY, V.C.
S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO.
4, 5 & 6, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1.
THE SECRET BATTLEPLANE
[Illustration: "Blake released his grip of the rough-and-ready dart."
--_Page_ 65.]
THE
SECRET BATTLEPLANE
BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
AUTHOR OF
"THE RIVAL SUBMARINES," "A SUB. OF THE R.N.R.," ETC., ETC.
[Illustration: logo]
S. W. PARTRIDGE & Co.
4, 5 & 6, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1
MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN
_First Published 1916_
_Frequently reprinted_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. SNOWED UP
II. A MYSTERIOUS BENEFACTOR
III. THE WONDERS OF THE SECRET BATTLEPLANE
IV. A TRIAL TRIP
V. SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR
VI. THE INTERRUPTED VIGIL
VII. THE BATTLEPLANE'S OFFICIAL DEBUT
VIII. A CROSS-CHANNEL FLIGHT
IX. A FIGHT TO A FINISH
X. TRICKED
XI. THE FATE OF A SPY
XII. SERGEANT O'RAFFERTY'S LUCKY BOMB
XIII. THE FRONTIER
XIV. ATHOL TACKLES VON SECKER
XV. GAME TO THE LAST
XVI. _À BERLIN_
XVII. DISABLED
XVIII. TURNING THE TABLES
XIX. A DUEL WITH A ZEPPELIN
XX. LIBERATED
XXI. ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER
XXII. ALL GOES WELL WITH ENGLAND
CHAPTER I
SNOWED UP
"THAT rotter of a garage fellow!" exclaimed Athol Hawke explosively.
"He hasn't done a thing to the wheel; and, what is more, he rushed
me sixpence for garaging the bike, the young swindler."
"Didn't you go for him?" enquired his chum, Dick Tracey.
"He wasn't there to go for," replied Athol. "He was away on some
job, and left the explanations to a youngster. But, my word, it is
snowing! Think she'll stick it with that groggy wheel?"
The scene was the Market Square, Shrewsbury. The time, nine o'clock
on a Saturday morning, March, 1916. It was, as Athol remarked,
snowing. A week or more of intermittent blizzards had culminated in a
steady fall of large, crisp flakes, and judging by the direction of
the wind, the heavy, dull-grey clouds and an erratic barometer, the
worst was yet to come.
Athol Hawke was a lad of seventeen, although he looked several years
older. He was tall, lightly yet firmly built, of bronzed complexion,
grey eyes and with dark hair. The fact that he was wearing waterproof
overalls, leggings and fur gloves tended to conceal his build.
His companion, who was similarly attired, was Athol's junior by the
short space of three days. In height he was five feet seven--four
inches less than that of his chum; build, thick-set; complexion might
have been fair but exposure to wintry conditions had resulted in his
face being burnt to a reddish colour. His hair was light brown, with
a tendency to crispness; his eyes blue. By disposition he was
remarkably bright and cheerful, characteristics that served as a foil
to Hawke's almost invariable staidness.
The two chums were riding a motor-bicycle and side-car. They had
"been on the road" nearly a week. What possessed them to select a
time of blizzard and equinoctial gales to go tearing across England;
why they were apparently "joy-riding" in wartime; why they chose a
district that was most decidedly within the region of activity of
hostile air-craft--all this will have to be explained in due course.
At eleven o'clock on the previous day they had ridden into the quaint
and picturesque old town of Shrewsbury, having left Chester shortly
after daybreak. During the run they had made the disconcerting
discovery that several of the spokes of the side-car wheel had worked
loose, possibly owing to the drag of the snow and the atrocious
"pot-holes" and setts of Lancashire. The wheel might last out till
the end of their tour--and it might not. Dick suggested risking it,
but the ever-cautious Athol demurred. They would remain at
Shrewsbury, he declared, until the following day and get the damage
made good.
A motor mechanic had promised faithfully to carry out the job, and
had let them down badly.
"Well, what's the programme?" asked Athol. "We may be able to push
on, but I guess it's pretty thick over the hills. Already there's a
good two inches of snow--and it's still tumbling down."
Dick surveyed his surroundings in his customary optimistic manner.
The cobbled square was already hidden by a dazzling white mantle. The
roofs of the old buildings and the detached pillared market-house
were covered with fallen flakes. A weather-worn statue, poised
stolidly upon a lofty pedestal, was fast resembling the time-honoured
character of Father Christmas.
Save for a few belated lady-clerks of the Army Pay Department, who
cast curious glances at the two snow-flaked motor-cyclists as they
hastened to their daily toil, the square was deserted. At the corner
of an adjacent street two recruiting sergeants stood in meditative
silence, regarding with a set purpose the pair of strapping youths.
"More of 'em, by Jove!" exclaimed Dick, as his eyes caught those of
one of the representatives of His Majesty's Army. "Here they come,
old man. Stand by to give 'em five rounds rapid."
"Nothin' doing, sergeant," announced Athol as the foremost non-com.,
beaming affably, vouchsafed some remark about the weather as a
preliminary feeler to a more important topic. His companion had
diplomatically "frozen on" to Dick.
With a dexterity acquired by much practice each lad unbuttoned his
mackintosh coat and from the inner breast pocket of his coat produced
a formidable-looking document.
"Bless my soul!" ejaculated the first sergeant. "Who'd a' thought it?
Very good, sir; we can't touch you--at least, not yet. You never
know."
"You speak words of wisdom, sergeant," rejoined Athol, as he replaced
his paper. "Now, to get back to more immediate surroundings, what do
you think of our chances of getting to Ludlow to-day?"
"On that thing?" asked the sergeant. "Not much. It's as thick as can
be over Wenlock Edge. This is nothing to what's it's like up there.
You'd never get through."
The word "never" put Dick on his mettle.
"We'll have a jolly good shot at it, anyway," he said. "Come along,
Athol, old man. Hop in and we'll have a shot at this Excelsior
business."
Athol Hawke would like to have lodged a protest. He was anxious
concerning the groggy side-car wheel, but almost before he knew where
he was, Dick Tracey had started the engine and the motor was swishing
through the crisp, powdery snow.
Down the steep Wyle Cop and across the narrow English Bridge they
went, then turning shook the snow of Shrewsbury from the wheels,
since it was literally impossible to shake the dust from their feet.
Mile after mile they reeled off, the road rising steadily the while.
Tearing through the snow flakes was really exhilarating. The air was
keen and bracing; the scenery fairy-like in the garb of glittering
white.
"Glad we pushed on," exclaimed Dick. "We're doing it on our heads,
don't you know. The little beast of an engine is pulling splendidly."
The words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a perceptible
slowing down of the | 2,282.163489 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE WONDERFUL STORY OF LINCOLN
"I see him, as he stands,
With gifts of mercy in his outstretched hands;
A kindly light within his gentle eyes,
Sad as the toil in which his heart grew wise;
His lips half parted with the constant smile
That kindled truth but foiled the deepest guile;
His head bent forward, and his willing ear
Divinely patient right and wrong to hear:
Great in his goodness, humble in his state,
Firm in his purpose, yet not passionate,
He led his people with a tender hand,
And won by love a sway beyond command."
GEORGE H. BOKER.
_Inspiration Series of Patriotic Americans_
THE WONDERFUL STORY OF LINCOLN
AND THE MEANING OF HIS LIFE FOR THE YOUTH AND PATRIOTISM OF
AMERICA
BY C. M. STEVENS
_Author of "The Wonderful Story of Washington"_
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
Copyright, 1917, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. INTRODUCTORY CONSIDERATIONS
A Personal Life and Its Interest to Americans.
The Process of Life from Within.
A Life Built as One Would Have the Nation.
II. THE PROBLEM OF A WORTH-WHILE LIFE
The Lincoln Boy of the Kentucky Woods.
Home-Seekers in the Wild West.
A Wonderful Family in the Desolate Wilderness.
Way-Marks of Right Life.
III. THE LINCOLN BOY
How the Lincoln Boy Made the Lincoln Man.
Some Signs Along the Early Way.
Illustrations Showing the Making of a Man.
Lincoln's First Dollar.
The Characteristics of a Superior Mind.
IV. THE WILDERNESS AS THE GARDEN OF POLITICAL LIBERTY
Small Beginnings in Public Esteem.
Tests of Character on the Lawless Frontier.
The Pioneer Missionary of Humanity.
Experiences in the Indian War.
Life-Making Decisions.
V. BUSINESS NOT HARMONIOUS WITH THE STRUGGLE FOR LEARNING
Making a Living and Learning the Meaning of Life.
Out of the Wilderness Paths into the Great Highway.
Lincoln's First Law Case.
The Man Who Could Not Live for Self Alone.
VI. HELPFULNESS AND KINDNESS OF A WORTH-WHILE CHARACTER
The Love of Freedom and Truth.
Wit-Makers and Their Wit.
Turbulent Times and Social Storms.
The Frontier "Fire-Eater."
Honor to Whom Honor Is Due.
VII. SIMPLICITY AND SYMPATHY ESSENTIAL TO GENUINE CHARACTER
Nearing the Heights of a Public Career.
Some Characteristics of Momentous Times.
The Beginnings of Great Tragedy.
The Life Struggle of a Man Translated Into the Life Struggle
of a Nation.
Some Human Interests Making Lighter the Burdens of
the Troubled Way.
VIII. THE MAN AND THE CONFIDENCE OF THE PEOPLE
Typical Incidents From Among Momentous Scenes.
Experiences Demanding Mercy and Not Sacrifice.
Humanity and the Great School of Experience.
Simple Interests That Never Grow Old.
Some Incidents From the Great Years.
IX. FALSEHOOD AIDS NO ONE'S TRUTH
Freedom to Misrepresent Is Not Freedom.
Homely Ways To Express Truth.
X. THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY
The Great Tragedy.
The Time When "Those Who Came To Scoff Remained
To Pray."
Some Typical Examples Giving Views of Lincoln's Life.
Remembrance At the End of a Hundred Years.
XI. CONCLUDING REFLECTIONS
A Masterpiece of Meaning for America.
The Harmonizing Contrast of Men.
The Mission of America.
LINCOLN AND AMERICAN FREEDOM
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY CONSIDERATIONS
I. A PERSONAL LIFE AND ITS INTEREST TO AMERICANS
"America First" has probably as many varieties of meaning and use as
"Safety First." It means to every individual very much according to
what feelings it inspires in him of selfishness or patriotism. We are
inspired as we believe, and, to be an American, it is necessary to
appreciate the meaning and mission of America.
American history is composed of the struggle to get clear the meaning
of American liberty. Through many years of distress and sacrifice,
known as the Revolutionary War, the American people freed themselves
from un-American methods and masteries imposed on them from across
the sea. Out of that turmoil of minds came forth one typical leader
and American, George Washington. But we did not yet have clear the
meaning of America, and through yet more years of even worse
suffering, involving the Civil War, we freed ourselves from the
war-making methods and masteries entrenched within our own government.
Out of that political turmoil of minds appeared another American,
Abraham Lincoln, whose life represents supremely the most important
possibilities in the meaning and ideal of America. To know the
mind-making process that developed Washington and Lincoln is to know
not only the meaning but also the mission of America.
Every American child and every newcomer to our | 2,282.164549 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: 'THEN BEGAN A TERRIBLE FIGHT BETWEEN THE MAN AND THE
HORSE.' _Page_ 124.
LEFT ON THE PRAIRIE
BY
M. B. COX (NOEL WEST).
_ILLUSTRATED BY A. PEARCE_
LONDON:
WELLS GARDNER, BARTON & CO.,
3, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, & 44, VICTORIA STREET, S.W.
1899.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. AT LONGVIEW
II. JACK IN TROUBLE
III. JACK'S RESOLUTION
IV. JACK STARTS ON HIS JOURNEY
V. JACK GOES IN SEARCH OF <DW65>
VI. JACK IS DESERTED
VII. JACK IS RESCUED
VIII. WHAT JACK LEARNED FROM PEDRO
IX. JACK ARRIVES AT SWIFT CREEK RANCH
X. JACK'S VISIT AT SWIFT CREEK RANCH
XI. JACK CROSSES THE RANGE WITH CHAMPION JOE
XII. AT LAST!
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
'THEN BEGAN A TERRIBLE FIGHT BETWEEN THE MAN AND THE HORSE'......
... _Frontispiece_
'JACK COULD HELP HIS FATHER, TOO, WHEN HE ARRIVED HOME'
'HE RUSHED OFF TO THE WOODSHED, AND WEPT AS IF HIS HEART WOULD BREAK'
'HE GOT OUT OF HIS WINDOW'
'JACK STRUCK UP "FOR EVER WITH THE LORD"'
'"YOU'D BETTER NOT COME BACK WITHOUT THE HORSE"'
'JACK FOUGHT HARD, BUT THEY WERE TOO MANY FOR HIM'
'"HERE," SAID THE MEXICAN, "DRINK THIS"'
'PEDRO LET THE NOOSE FALL OVER SENOR'S NECK'
'JACK MADE HIMSELF USEFUL'
'CARRYING HIM INTO A NICE WARM ROOM'
'THROUGH A DENSE FOREST OF PINES'
'JACK RUSHED INTO THE MIDST OF THE HORSES TOWARDS A YELLOW-COATED
BRONCHO'
'"OH, MOTHER DARLING! I AIN'T DEAD, AND I'VE FOUND YOU AT LAST!"'
LEFT ON THE PRAIRIE.
CHAPTER I.
AT LONGVIEW.
Little Jack Wilson had been born in England; but when he was quite a
baby his parents had sailed across the sea, taking him with them, and
settled out on one of the distant prairies of America. Of course, Jack
was too small when he left to remember anything of England himself, but
as he grew older he liked to hear his father and mother talk about the
old country where he and they had been born, and to which they still
seemed to cling with great affection. Sometimes, as they looked
out-of-doors over the burnt-up prairie round their new home, his father
would tell him about the trim green fields they had left so far behind
them, and say with a sigh, 'Old England was like a _garden_, but this
place is nothing but a _wilderness_!'
Longview was the name of the lonely western village where George
Wilson, his wife, and Jack had lived for eight years, and although we
should not have thought it a particularly nice place, they were very
happy there. Longview was half-way between two large mining towns,
sixty miles apart, and as there was no railway in those parts, the
people going to and from the different mines were obliged to travel by
waggons, and often halted for a night at Longview to break the journey.
It was a very hot and dusty village in summer, as there were no nice
trees to give pleasant shade from the sun, and the staring rows of
wooden houses that formed the streets had no gardens in front to make
them look pretty. In winter it was almost worse, for the cold winds
came sweeping down from the distant mountains and rushed shrieking
across the plains towards the unprotected village. They whirled the
snow into clouds, making big drifts, and whistled round the frame
houses as if threatening to blow them right away.
Jack was used to it, however, and, in spite of the heat and cold, was a
happy little lad. His parents had come to America, in the first place,
because times were so bad in England, and secondly, because Mrs.
Wilson's only sister had emigrated many years before them to Longview,
and had been so anxious to have her relations near her.
Aunt Sue, as Jack called her, had married very young, and accompanied
her husband, Mat Byrne, to the West. He was a miner, and when he
worked got good wages; but he was an idle, thriftless fellow, who soon
got into disfavour with his employers, and a year or two after the
Wilsons came he took to drink, and made sad trouble for his wife and
his three boys. George Wilson had expostulated with him often, and
begged him to be more steady, but Mat was jealous of his honest
brother-in-law, who worked so hard and was fairly comfortable, and
therefore he resented the kind words of advice, and George was obliged
to leave him alone.
George Wilson made his living by freighting--that is, carrying goods
from place to place by waggons, as there was no rail by which to send
things. Sometimes, when he took extra long journeys, he would have to
leave his wife and boy for some weeks to keep each other company.
'Take care of your mother, Jack, my boy,' he would say, before
starting. 'She has no man to look after her or do things for her but
ye till I get home.' And right well did the little fellow obey orders.
He was a most helpful boy for his age, and was devoted to his mother,
who was far from strong. He got up early every morning, and did what
are called the _chores_ in America; these are all the small daily jobs
that have to be done in and around a house. First, he chopped wood and
lit a fire in the stove; after that he carried water in a bucket and
filled the kettle, and then leaving the water to boil, he laid the
breakfast-table and ground the coffee.
When breakfast was over, he ran off to school, and afterwards had many
a good romp with his cousins, Steve, Hal, and Larry Byrne, who lived
quite close to his home. Jack was very fond of his Aunt Sue; she was
so like his gentle mother. He often ran in to see her, but he always
fled when he heard his Uncle Mat coming, whose loud, rough voice
frightened him.
Jack was very sorry for his cousins, as they did not seem to care a bit
for their father; indeed, at times they were very much afraid of him,
and Steve, the eldest, who was a big fellow, nearly sixteen, told Jack
that if it wasn't for his mother, he would run away from home and go
off to be a cowboy, instead of working as a miner with his father. But
he knew what a sad trouble it would be to the poor woman if he went
away from her, and he was too good a son to give her pain.
When his father was away freighting, Jack, even while he was at play,
kept a good look-out across the prairie, watching every day for his
return. He could see for miles, and when he spied the white top of the
familiar waggon appearing in the distance, he would rush home shouting,
'Mother! Mother! Daddy's coming! I see the waggon ever such a long
way off.' And then the two would get to work and prepare a nice supper
for him.
Jack could help his father, too, when he arrived home, for there were
four tired horses to unharness, and water, and feed. Jack knew them
all well; Buck and Jerry in front as leaders, and Rufus and Billy
harnessed to the waggon. George Wilson was very proud of his horses,
and they certainly had a good master, for he always looked after them
first, and saw them comfortably into their stable before he began his
own supper.
[Illustration: 'JACK COULD HELP HIS FATHER, TOO, WHEN HE ARRIVED HOME.']
Trouble, however, was dawning over the happy household. The life in
the hot village had never suited Mrs. Wilson, and it told on her more
as time went on. She looked white and thin, and felt so tired and
weary if she did any work, that her husband got alarmed and brought in
a doctor to see her. The doctor frightened him still more. He said
the place was slowly killing her, as the air was so close and hot.
'You must take her away at once,' he said emphatically, 'if you want to
save her life. She has been here too long, I fear, as it is. Go away
to the mountains and try the bracing air up there; she may come back
quite strong after a year there if she avoids all unnecessary fatigue.
Take my advice and go as soon as you can. There's no time to lose!'
These words came as an awful shock to George Wilson, who had no idea
his wife was so ill, and had hoped a few bottles of tonic from the
doctor would restore her failing strength. But the medical warning
could not be disregarded, and he could see for himself now how fast she
was wasting away. They must go away from Longview as soon as possible.
It was a sad thing for the Wilsons to contemplate the breaking up of
their home, but there was no help for it. They talked matters well
over, and came at last to the conclusion that it would be better not to
take Jack with them. They would probably be moving on from place to
place, and in a year he would forget all he had learnt at school.
After a long consultation with Aunt Sue, it was arranged that Jack
should stay at the Byrnes' house and keep on at his lessons, his Uncle
Mat having given his consent after hearing the Wilsons would pay well
for his keep.
George Wilson and his wife felt keenly the idea of leaving Jack, and it
was agreed that if they decided to stay in the mountains altogether,
someone should be found who would take the boy to them.
It was terrible breaking the news to poor little Jack that his parents
were going away from him, and for a time he was quite inconsolable.
His father talked very kindly and quietly to him, and at last made him
see that the arrangement was really all for the best.
'Ye see, Jack,' he said, 'the doctor says your mother is seriously ill,
an' the only chance for her is to take her off to the mountains.'
'Can't I go too, Daddy?' pleaded Jack, with tears in his eyes. 'I'll
do such lots o' work.'
'No, my lad; it won't do for ye to miss yer schoolin', as ye'd be bound
to do if ye came wanderin' about with us. It's only fur a year, so ye
must try an' be a brave boy, an' stay with yer good Aunt Sue until we
come back agin or send fur ye. We know what's best fur ye, an',
laddie, won't it be fine if Mother gets strong and well agin?'
'Aye, dad! That would be grand!' said Jack, brightening up.
'Well, it's a sad partin' fur us all; but there's nothin' else to be
done, an' ye must try an' keep up a good heart fur yer mother's sake,
as I doubt she'll fret sadly o'er leavin' ye.'
Jack promised to be brave, but there was a troubled look on his usually
bright face as he watched the rapid preparations going on for the
departure. The things had to be sold out of the house, as they could
not take much with them. The sale at first excited Jack, as so many
people came to buy; but when he saw their furniture, beds, chairs and
tables all being carried oft by strangers, he realized fully what the
breaking up of his home meant, and it made him feel very sad.
There was a lot to be done. Jack went with his father to buy a stock
of provisions for their long journey, and then they tried to make the
clumsy waggon as comfortable as possible for the sick mother. Aunt Sue
packed up, as her sister was so weak, and the trial of leaving Jack was
proving almost too much for her slender stock of strength. All the
same, she bravely tried to hide the pain the parting gave her, and for
her boy's sake tried to be cheerful even to the last.
Alone with Aunt Sue, she opened her heart, and received true sympathy
in her trouble from that good woman, who knew well that the chief
sorrow to her sister was the fear she might never see her little lad
again.
'You mustn't get so down-hearted, Maggie,' said Mrs. Byrne kindly, 'but
hope for the best. I have heard the air in them mountains is just
wonderful to cure cases like yours, and perhaps ye'll get quite strong
afore long.'
'If it pleases God,' said her sister gently. 'And now, Sue, ye'll
promise me to look well after Jack. I know ye're fond o' him fur his
own sake as well as mine; but I'm feared if Mat gets one o' his mad
fits on he might treat him badly.'
'Don't you fear, Maggie,' returned Mrs. Byrne soothingly; 'I'll treat
him as one o' my boys, an' ye know I manage to keep them out o' their
father's way when he's too quarrelsome. Besides, Mat knows as ye're
payin' well for Jack, and that, if naught else, will keep him civil to
the lad.'
'I hope so,' murmured the mother sadly; 'an' if all goes well we'll
have our boy with us again in a year.'
'Aye, a year'll go quick enough, never fear!' concluded her sister
cheerfully; 'an' Jack'll get on finely at his schoolin' in that time.'
The night before they started came, and Jack, who had gone early to
bed, lay sobbing quietly to himself, quite unable to go to sleep.
Before long his mother came softly into the room and stood beside him.
She noticed the flushed, tear-stained face on the pillow, and exclaimed
in a grieved voice, 'Oh, Jack, darling, don't take on so! It'll break
my heart if I think o' ye frettin' all the time.'
'I can't help it, Mother!' cried Jack. 'What shall I do without Dad
an' ye?'
'Ye must think o' the meeting ahead, dearie. P'raps if Daddy does well
in this new part of the country, an' I can get strong again, we may
make our home up near the grand mountains as ye've never seen. It's so
different from this hot prairie, fur there are big trees to shade ye
from the sun, an' little brooks, called creeks, running down the sides
of the hills.'
'Aye, I'd like to go an' live up thar,' cried Jack. 'I hope ye'll send
fur me soon, an' I'll try an' be good. I do love Aunt Sue, but I'm
scared o' Uncle Mat at times.'
'Never fear, Jack,' said his mother, putting her arms round him; 'Aunt
Sue'll see as ye come to no harm. But, oh! dearie, how I wish I could
take ye with me!' And the poor woman broke down and mingled her tears
with Jack's.
But the boy suddenly remembered his promise to his father, and, knowing
how bad the excitement was for his mother, he made | 2,282.182842 |
2023-11-16 18:55:06.1636630 | 3,234 | 121 |
Transcribed from the 1887 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
CASSELL'S NATIONAL LIBRARY
* * * * *
THE HISTORY
OF THE
CALIPH VATHEK
BY
WILLIAM BECKFORD.
[Picture: Printer's mark]
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
_LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_.
1887.
INTRODUCTION
William Beckford, born in 1759, the year before the accession of King
George the Third, was the son of an Alderman who became twice Lord Mayor
of London. His family, originally of Gloucestershire, had thriven by the
plantations in Jamaica; and his father, sent to school in England, and
forming a school friendship at Westminster with Lord Mansfield, began the
world in this country as a merchant, with inheritance of an enormous West
India fortune. William Beckford the elder became Magistrate, Member of
Parliament, Alderman. Four years before the birth of William Beckford
the younger he became one of the Sheriffs of London, and three years
after his son's birth he was Lord Mayor. As Mayor he gave very sumptuous
dinners that made epochs in the lives of feeding men. His son's famous
"History of the Caliph Vathek" looks as if it had been planned for an
Alderman's dream after a very heavy dinner at the Mansion House. There
is devotion in it to the senses, emphasis on heavy dining. Vathek piqued
himself on being the greatest eater alive; but when the Indian dined with
him, though the tables were thirty times covered, there was still want of
more food for the voracious guest. There is thirst: for at one part of
the dream, when Vathek's mother, his wives, and some eunuchs "assiduously
employed themselves in filling bowls of rock crystal, and emulously
presented them to him, it frequently happened that his avidity exceeded
their zeal, insomuch that he would prostrate himself upon the ground to
lap up the water, of which he could never have enough." And the
nightmare incidents of the Arabian tale all culminate in a most terrible
heartburn. Could the conception of Vathek have first come to the son
after a City dinner?
Though a magnificent host, the elder Beckford was no glutton. In the
year of his first Mayoralty, 1763, Beckford, stood by the side of
Alderman Wilkes, attacked for his No. 45 of _The North Briton_. As
champion of the popular cause, when he had been again elected to the
Mayoralty, Beckford, on the 23rd of May, 1770, went up to King George the
Third at the head of the Aldermen and Livery with an address which the
king snubbed with a short answer. Beckford asked leave to reply, and
before His Majesty recovered breath from his astonishment, proceeded to
reply in words that remain graven in gold upon his monument in Guildhall.
Young Beckford, the author of "Vathek," was then a boy not quite eleven
years old, an only son; and he was left three years afterwards, by his
father's death, heir to an income of a hundred thousand a year, with a
million of cash in hand.
During his minority young Beckford's mother, who was a granddaughter of
the sixth Earl of Abercorn, placed him under a private tutor. He was
taught music by Mozart; and the Earl of Chatham, who had been his
father's friend, thought him so fanciful a boy--"all air and fire"--that
he advised his mother to keep the Arabian Nights out of his way. Happily
she could not, for Vathek adds the thousand and second to the thousand
and one tales, with the difference that it joins to wild inventions in
the spirit of the East touches of playful extravagance that could come
only from an English humourist who sometimes laughed at his own tale, and
did not mind turning its comic side to the reader. The younger William
Beckford had been born at his father's seat in Wiltshire, Fonthill Abbey;
and at seventeen amused himself with a caricature "History of
Extraordinary Painters," encouraging the house-keeper of Fonthill to show
the pictures to visitors as works of Og of Basan and other worthies in
her usual edifying manner.
Young Beckford's education was continued for a year and a half at Geneva.
He then travelled in Italy and the Low Countries, and it was at this time
that he amused himself by writing, at the age of about twenty-two,
"Vathek" in French, at a single sitting; but he gave his mind to it and
the sitting lasted three days and two nights. An English version of it
was made by a stranger, and published without permission in 1784.
Beckford himself published his tale at Paris and Lausanne in 1787, one
year after the death of a wife to whom he had been three years married,
and who left him with two daughters.
Beckford went to Portugal and Spain; returned to France, and was present
at the storming of the Bastille. He was often abroad; he bought Gibbon's
library at Lausanne, and shut himself up with it for a time, having a
notion of reading it through. He was occasionally in Parliament, but did
not care for that kind of amusement. He wrote pieces of less enduring
interest than "Vathek," including two burlesques upon the sentimental
novel of his time. In 1796 he settled down at Fonthill, and began to
spend there abundantly on building and rebuilding. Perhaps he thought of
Vathek's tower when he employed workmen day and night to build a tower
for himself three hundred feet high, and set them to begin it again when
it fell down. He is said to have spent upon Fonthill a quarter of a
million, living there in much seclusion during the last twenty years of
his life. He died in 1844.
The happy thought of this William Beckford's life was "Vathek." It is a
story that paints neither man nor outward nature as they are, but
reproduces with happy vivacity the luxuriant imagery and wild incidents
of an Arabian tale. There is a ghost of a moral in the story of a
sensual Caliph going to the bad, as represented by his final introduction
to the Halls of Eblis. But the enjoyment given by the book reflects the
real enjoyment that the author had in writing it--enjoyment great enough
to cause it to be written at a heat, in one long sitting, without
flagging power. Young and lively, he delivered himself up to a free run
of fancy, revelled in the piled-up enormities of the Wicked Mother, who
had not brought up Vathek properly, and certainly wrote some parts of his
nightmare tale as merrily as if he were designing matter for a pantomime.
Whoever, in reading "Vathek," takes it altogether seriously, does not
read it as it was written. We must have an eye for the vein of
caricature that now and then comes to the surface, and invites a laugh
without disturbing the sense of Eastern extravagance bent seriously upon
the elaboration of a tale crowded with incident and action. Taken
altogether seriously, the book has faults of construction. But the
faults turn into beauties when we catch the twinkle in the writer's eye.
H. M.
THE HISTORY OF THE CALIPH VATHEK
Vathek, ninth Caliph of the race of the Abassides, was the son of
Motassem, and the grandson of Haroun Al Raschid. From an early accession
to the throne, and the talents he possessed to adorn it, his subjects
were induced to expect that his reign would be long and happy. His
figure was pleasing and majestic; but when he was angry one of his eyes
became so terrible that no person could bear to behold it, and the wretch
upon whom it was fixed instantly fell backward, and sometimes expired.
For fear, however, of depopulating his dominions and making his palace
desolate he but rarely gave way to his anger.
Being much addicted to women and the pleasures of the table, he sought by
his affability to procure agreeable companions; and he succeeded the
better as his generosity was unbounded, and his indulgences unrestrained,
for he was by no means scrupulous, nor did he think with the Caliph Omar
Ben Abdalaziz that it was necessary to make a hell of this world to enjoy
Paradise in the next.
He surpassed in magnificence all his predecessors. The palace of
Alkoremmi, which his father Motassem had erected on the hill of Pied
Horses, and which commanded the whole city of Samarah, was in his idea
far too scanty; he added therefore five wings, or rather other palaces,
which he destined for the particular gratification of each of his senses.
In the first of these were tables continually covered with the most
exquisite dainties, which were supplied both by night and by day,
according to their constant consumption, whilst the most delicious wines
and the choicest cordials flowed forth from a hundred fountains that were
never exhausted. This palace was called "The Eternal or Unsatiating
Banquet."
The second was styled "The Temple of Melody, or the Nectar of the Soul."
It was inhabited by the most skilful musicians and admired poets of the
time, who not only displayed their talents within, but, dispersing in
bands without, caused every surrounding scene to reverberate their songs,
which were continually varied in the most delightful succession.
The palace named "The Delight of the Eyes, or the Support of Memory," was
one entire enchantment. Rarities collected from every corner of the
earth were there found in such profusion as to dazzle and confound, but
for the order in which they were arranged. One gallery exhibited the
pictures of the celebrated Mani, and statues that seemed to be alive.
Here a well-managed perspective attracted the sight; there the magic of
optics agreeably deceived it; whilst the naturalist on his part
exhibited, in their several classes, the various gifts that Heaven had
bestowed on our globe. In a word, Vathek omitted nothing in this palace
that might gratify the curiosity of those who resorted to it, although he
was not able to satisfy his own, for he was of all men the most curious.
"The Palace of Perfumes," which was termed likewise "The Incentive to
Pleasure," consisted of various halls, where the different perfumes which
the earth produces were kept perpetually burning in censers of gold.
Flambeaux and aromatic lamps were here lighted in open day. But the too
powerful effects of this agreeable delirium might be avoided by
descending into an immense garden, where an assemblage of every fragrant
flower diffused through the air the purest odours.
The fifth palace, denominated "The Retreat of Joy, or the Dangerous," was
frequented by troops of young females beautiful as the houris, and not
less seducing, who never failed to receive with caresses all whom the
Caliph allowed to approach them; for he was by no means disposed to be
jealous, as his own women were secluded within the palace he inhabited
himself.
Notwithstanding the sensuality in which Vathek indulged, he experienced
no abatement in the love of his people, who thought that a sovereign
immersed in pleasure was not less tolerable to his subjects than one that
employed himself in creating them foes. But the unquiet and impetuous
disposition of the Caliph would not allow him to rest there; he had
studied so much for his amusement in the life-time of his father as to
acquire a great deal of knowledge, though not a sufficiency to satisfy
himself; for he wished to know everything, even sciences that did not
exist. He was fond of engaging in disputes with the learned, but liked
them not to push their opposition with warmth; he stopped the mouths of
those with presents whose mouths could be stopped, whilst others, whom
his liberality was unable to subdue, he sent to prison to cool their
blood: a remedy that often succeeded.
Vathek discovered also a predilection for theological controversy, but it
was not with the orthodox that he usually held. By this means he induced
the zealots to oppose him, and then persecuted them in return; for he
resolved at any rate to have reason on his side.
The great prophet Mahomet, whose vicars the caliphs are, beheld with
indignation from his abode in the seventh heaven the irreligious conduct
of such a vicegerent. "Let us leave him to himself," said he to the
genii, who are always ready to receive his commands; "let us see to what
lengths his folly and impiety will carry him; if he run into excess we
shall know how to chastise him. Assist him, therefore, to complete the
tower which, in imitation of Nimrod, he hath begun, not, like that great
warrior, to escape being drowned, but from the insolent curiosity of
penetrating the secrets of Heaven; he will not divine the fate that
awaits him."
The genii obeyed, and when the workmen had raised their structure a cubit
in the day-time, two cubits more were added in the night. The expedition
with which the fabric arose was not a little flattering to the vanity of
Vathek. He fancied that even insensible matter showed a forwardness to
subserve his designs, not considering that the successes of the foolish
and wicked form the first rod of their chastisement.
His pride arrived at its height when, having ascended for the first time
the eleven thousand stairs of his tower, he cast his eyes below, and
beheld men not larger than pismires, mountains than shells, and cities
than bee-hives. The idea which such an elevation inspired of his own
grandeur completely bewildered him; he was almost ready to adore himself,
till, lifting his eyes upward, he saw the stars as high above him as they
appeared when he stood on the surface of the earth. He consoled himself,
however, for this transient perception of his littleness with the thought
of | 2,282.183703 |
2023-11-16 18:55:06.1645880 | 2,035 | 13 | BOYS***
E-text prepared by Internet Archive; University of Florida; and David
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 11023-h.htm or 11023-h.zip:
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GEMS OF POETRY, FOR GIRLS AND BOYS
1850.
[Illustration: View of Cincinnati.]
[Illustration: Cotton Plant.]
MAY-DAY SONG.
[Illustration]
"The flowers are blooming everywhere,
On every hill and dell,
And O, how beautiful they are!
How sweetly, too, they smell!
"The little brooks, they dance along,
And look so glad and gay;
I love to hear their pleasant song,
I feel as glad as they.
"The young lambs bleat and frisk about,
The bees hum round their hive,
The butterflies are coming out,--
'Tis good to be alive.
"The trees, that looked so stiff and gray,
With green wreaths now are hung;
O mother! let me laugh and play,
I cannot hold my tongue.
"See yonder bird spread out his wings,
And mount the clear blue skies;
And hark! how merrily he sings,
As far away he flies."
[Illustration]
"Go forth, my child, and laugh and play,
And let your cheerful voice,
With birds, and brooks, and merry May,
Cry aloud, Rejoice! rejoice!
[Illustration]
"I would not check your bounding mirth,
My little happy boy,
For He who made this blooming earth
Smiles on an infant's joy."
ALEXANDER SELKIRK.
[Illustration]
I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute,
From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms
Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,--
I start at the sound of my own.
[Illustration]
The beasts, that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see,
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.
[Illustration]
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestowed upon man,
O had I the wings of a dove.
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheered by the sallies of youth.
Religion! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver or gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard,
Ne'er sighed at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.
Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report,
Of a land I shall visit no more.
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.
[Illustration]
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But, alas! recollection, at hand,
Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest.
The beast is laid down in his lair,
Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
There is mercy in every place;
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.
[Illustration]
DON'T KILL THE BIRDS.
[Illustration: D]
Don't kill the birds!--the little birds,
That sing about your door,
soon as the joyous spring has come,
And chilling storms are o'er.
The little birds!--how sweet they sing!
O! let them joyous live;
And do not seek to take their life,
Which you can never give.
Don't kill the birds!--the pretty birds
That play among the trees!
'T would make the earth a cheerless place,
Should we dispense with these.
The little birds! how fond they play!
Do not disturb their sport;
But let them warble forth their songs,
Till winter cuts them short.
[Illustration]
Don't kill the birds!--the happy birds
That bless the field and grove:
Such harmless things to look upon,
They claim our warmest love.
[Illustration]
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.
[Illustration: W]
Who showed the little ant the way
Her narrow hole to bore,
And spend the pleasant summer day
In laying up her store?
The sparrow builds her pretty nest
Of wool, and hay, and moss;
Who told her how to build it best,
And lay the twigs across?
Who taught the busy bee to fly
Among the sweetest flowers,
And lay his store of honey by,
To eat in winter hours?
'Twas God who showed them all the way,
And gave them all their skill;
He teaches children, if they pray,
To do his holy will.
[Illustration]
WINTER SPORT.
[Illustration: D]
Down, down the hill how swift I go!
Over the ice, and over the snow;
A horse or cart I do not fear.
For past them both my sled I steer.
[Illustration]
Hurra! my boy! I'm going down,
While you toil up; but never frown;
The far hill-top you soon will gain,
And then, with all your might and main,
You'll dash by me; while, full of glee,
I'll up again to dash by thee!
So on we glide--O, life of joy;
What pleasure has the glad school-boy!
THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.
[Illustration: H]
How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view;
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well.
The old oaken bucket--the iron-bound bucket--
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.
That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure--
For often, at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well.
The old oaken bucket--the iron-bound bucket--
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from that loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well.
The old oaken bucket--the iron-bound bucket--
The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well.
[Illustration]
THE GOOD-NATURED GIRLS.
[Illustration: T]
Two good little girls, Julia-Ann and Maria,
As happily lived as good girls could desire;
And though they were neither grave, sullen, nor mute,
They seldom or never were heard to dispute.
If one wants a thing that the other could get,
They don't go to scratching and fighting for it;
But each one is willing to give up her right,
For they'd rather have nothing than quarrel and fight.
If one of them happens to have something nice | 2,282.184628 |
2023-11-16 18:55:06.2400750 | 230 | 13 |
Produced by Ramon Pajares and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
* Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected.
* Original spelling was kept.
* Variant spellings were made consistent when a predominant
usage was found.
* Italics are represented between underscores as in _italics_.
* Small caps are represented in upper case as in SMALL CAPS.
LIFE IN A GERMAN CRACK REGIMENT
LIFE IN A GERMAN
CRACK REGIMENT
BY
BARON VON SCHLICHT
(COUNT VON BAUDISSIN)
NEW YORK
DODD MEAD AND COMPANY
PREFACE
LIEUTENANT BILSE, Beyerlein, and Baron von Schlicht,[A] the author
of the present work, with their many less-known followers, have
managed among them to create what may be regarded as a novel | 2,282.260115 |
2023-11-16 18:55:06.2401640 | 4,361 | 6 |
Produced by Don Kretz, Juliet Sutherland, and Distributed Proofreaders
[Illustration]
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 447
NEW YORK, JULY 26, 1884
Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XVIII, No. 447.
Scientific American established 1845
Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.
Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. CHEMISTRY.--The Bitter Substance of Hops.--By Dr. H. BUNGENER.
--What gives hops their bitter taste?--Processes for obtaining
hop-bitter acid.--Analysis of the same.
II. ENGINEERING AND MECHANICS.--Improvements in the Harbor
of Antwerp.--With engraving of caisson for deepening the
river.
Progress of Antwerp.--Recent works in the harbor.
Bicycles and Tricycles.--By C.V. BOYS.---Advantages of the
different machines.--Manner of finding the steepness of a hill
and representing same on a map.--Experiments on ball bearings.--
The Otto bicycle.
The Canal Iron Works, London.
Marinoni's Rotary Printing Press.--With 2 engravings.
Chenot's Economic Filter Press.--With engraving.
Steel Chains without Welding.--Method and machines for making
same.--Several figures.
III. TECHNOLOGY.--Some Economic Processes connected with the
Cloth Making Industry.--By Dr. WM. RAMSAY.--How to save and
utilize soap used in wool scouring.--To recover the indigo from
the refuse.--Extraction of potash from _suint_.--Use of
bisulphide of carbon.
IV. PHYSICS. ELECTRICITY, ETC.--Thury's Dynamo Electric Machine.
--5 figures.
Breguet's Telephone.
Munro's Telephonic Experiments.--9 figures.
Apparatus for Maneuvering Bichromate of Potassa Piles from a
Distance.--2 figures.
Magnetic Rotations.--By E.L. VOICE.--1 figure.
Lighton's Immersion Illuminator.--1 figure.
Foucault's Pendulum Experiments.--By RICHARD A. PROCTOR.
--4 figures.
V. ARCHITECTURE, ART, ETC.--St. Paul's Vicarage, Forest Hill,
Kent.--2 engravings.
Designs for Iron Gates.--An engraving.
VI. ASTRONOMY.--A New Lunarian.--By Prof. C.W. MACCORD.
--With 3 figures.
VII. GEOLOGY.--Coal and its Uses.--By JAMES PYKE.--Formation
of carboniferous rocks and the coal in the same.--Processes of
nature.--Greatness of this country due to coal.--Manufacture of
gas.--Products of the same.
VIII. NATURAL HISTORY, BOTANY. ETC.--The Wine Fly.--The
egg.--Larva.--Pupa and fly.
The "Potetometer." an Instrument for Measuring the Transpiration
of Water by Plants.--1 figure.
Bolivian Cinchona Forests.
Ferns.--Nephrolepis Davillioides Furcans and Nephrolepis Duffi.
--2 engravings.
IX. PHYSIOLOGY, HYGIENE, ETC.--The Upright Attitude of Mankind.
--Review of a lecture by Dr. S.V. CLEVENGER, in which he
tries to prove that man must have originated from a four footed
being.
Our Enemies, the Microbes.--Affections caused by the same.--
Experiments of Davaine, Pasteur, and others.--How to prevent
bacterides from entering the body.--5 figures.
X. BIOGRAPHY.--Gaston Plante, the Scientist.--With portrait
Warren Colburn, the American Mathematician.
* * * * *
IMPROVEMENTS IN THE HARBOR OF ANTWERP.
The harbor of Antwerp, which, excepting those of London and Liverpool,
is the largest in Europe, has been improved wonderfully during the last
decade. Before 1870 it was inferior to the harbor at Havre, but now it
far surpasses the same. The river Scheldt, which is about 1,500 ft.
wide, was badgered out up to the vertical walls of the basin, so that
the largest ships can land at the docks. The river was deepened by the
use of caissons, in the lower parts of which the workmen operated in
compressed air. The annexed cut shows that part of one of the caissons
which projects above the surface of the water. The depth of the river at
low tide is about 26 ft., and at high tide about 39 ft. Some of the old
sluices, channels, basins, etc., which were rendered useless by the
improvements made in the river Scheldt have been filled up, and
thereby the city has been enriched by several handsome and elegant
squares.--_Illustrirte Zeitung_.
* * * * *
PROGRESS OF ANTWERP.
Antwerp is now the chief port on the Continent. Since 1873 the progress
has continued, and made very rapid advances. In 1883 the tonnage of the
port reached 3,734,428 registered tons. This marvelous development is
partly due to the position of Antwerp as the embarking point from the
Continent of Europe to America, and partly also to the recent additions
and changes which have been carried out there, and which, now nearly
completed, have made this cosmopolitan port one of the best organized in
the world. This is so well known that vessels bound for Switzerland with
a cargo of corn from Russia pass Marseilles and go two thousand miles
out of their way for the purpose of unloading at Antwerp. No other port,
in fact, offers the same facilities. There is not another place in the
world where fifty vessels of 3,000 tons can come alongside as easily as
the penny boats on the Thames run into the landing.
[Illustration: CAISSONS FOR DEEPENING THE RIVER AT ANTWERP.]
Since the opening of the St. Gothard Tunnel nearly all the alimentary
provisions that Italy sends to the British Isles pass through Antwerp.
In 1882 82,000,000 eggs and 30,000 pounds of fruit were shipped there
for England. The greater part of these came from Italy. Antwerp has
become also an important port for emigrants; 35,125 embarked in 1882,
out of which number 3,055 were bound for New York. The city was always
destined, from its topographical position, to be at the head of a very
considerable traffic; political reasons alone for many years prevented
this being the case. These have happily now disappeared, and, since
1863, when the "Scheldt was liberated," the progress of commerce has
been more rapid than even the most ardent Antwerp patriot dared hope. At
that date the toll of 1s. 11d. on all vessels going up the river, and of
71/2d. on vessels going down, was abolished, and reforms were introduced
among the taxes on the general navigation; the tax on tonnage in the
port itself was abolished, and the pilot tax was lowered. The results of
these measures became immediately apparent. Traffic increased with
such rapidity that in 1876 the crowding on the quays was such that the
relation of the tonnage to the length of the quay was about 270 tons per
yard, which is four times as great as at Liverpool.
A few words now, briefly, as to the nature of the important works[1]
completed at Antwerp. They were commenced in 1877, and have opened for
the port an era of prosperity such as was never experienced even during
the sixteenth century, the zenith of her splendor. These works have
cost L4,000,000, and have necessitated the employment of 12,000 tons
of wrought iron, of 490,000 cubic yards of brickwork and concrete, of
32,000 cubic yards of masonry, and of more than 3,300,000 cubic yards
of earthwork in filling and dredging, etc. The quay walls run the whole
length of the town, a distance of rather more than two miles. It rests
on a foundation laid without timber footings, and giving a depth of
twenty-six feet at low water, sufficient drawing for the largest ships
afloat. Beyond this wall are the real quays, which consists of first a
line of rails reserved for hydraulic cranes serving to unload vessels
and deposit their cargo railway trucks; secondly, a second line of rails
parallel with the first, on which these trucks are stationed; thirdly,
sheds extending toward the town for a width of one hundred and fifty
feet, and covered with galvanized iron sheetings. A third line of rails
parallel with the two others runs from end to end of these sheds, and a
number of lines placed transversely with this one connect it by means of
spring bridges with, fourthly, four more lines also parallel with the
quays, whence the goods start for the different stations, and thence to
their destinations. The total width of these immense constructions is
about three hundred and twenty feet. Such is their magnitude that about
six hundred houses had to be pulled down to make place for them. A
railing running along their entire length cuts them off from the town.
[Transcribers note 1: changed from 'words']
During the course of last year 4,379 vessels entered the port of
Antwerp, gauging a total of 3,734,428 tons, which places Antwerp, as I
have already stated, at the head of European ports. In 1882 the tonnage
of Havre was only 2,200,000, that of Genoa 2,250,000, and of Bilboa
315,000, owing to its iron ore exports. Among the English ports a few
only exceed Antwerp. London is still the first port in the world, with
a tonnage of 10,421,000 tons, and Liverpool the second, with 7,351,000
tons; Newcastle follows with 6,000,000 tons, also in excess of Antwerp,
but both Hull and Glasgow are below, with respectively 1,875,000 and
2,110,000 tons.--_Pall Mall Gazette_.
* * * * *
BICYCLES AND TRICYCLES.
[Footnote: A recent lecture before the Society of Arts, London.]
By C.V. BOYS.
The subject of this paper is one of such wide interest, and of such
great importance, that it is quite unnecessary for me to make any
apology for bringing it to your notice. Exactly two months ago, I had
the honor of dealing with the same subject at the Royal Institution. On
that occasion I considered main principles only, and avoided anything in
which none but riders were likely to take an interest, or which was in
any way a matter of dispute. As it may be assumed that the audience here
consists largely of riders, and of those who are following those matters
of detail, the elaboration, simplification, and perfection of which
have brought the art of constructing cycles to its present state of
perfection, I purpose treating the subject from a totally different
point of view. I do not intend, in general, to describe anything,
assuming that the audience is familiar with the construction of the
leading types of machines, but rather to consider the pros and cons
of the various methods by which manufacturers have striven to attain
perfection. As a discussion on the subject of this paper will doubtless
follow--and I hope makers or riders of every class of machine will
freely express their opinion, for by so doing they will lend an interest
which I alone could not hope to awaken--I shall not consider it
necessary to assume an absolutely neutral position, which might be
expected of me if there were no discussion, but shall explain my own
views without reserve.
The great variety of cycles may be grouped under the following heads:
1. The Bicycle unmodified.
2. The Safety bicycle, a modification of 1.
3. The Center-cycle.
4. The Tricycle, which includes five general types:
(a.) Rear steerer of any sort.
(b.) Coventry rotary.
(c.) Front steerer of any sort (except e).
(d.) Humber pattern.
(e.) The Oarsman.
5. Double machines: sociables and tandems.
6. The Otto.
It is perfectly obvious that not one machine is superior to all others
in every respect, for if that were the case, the rest would rapidly
become extinct. Not one shows any signs of becoming extinct, and,
therefore, it may be assumed that each one possesses some points in
which it is superior to others, the value of which is considered by
its riders to far outweigh any points in which it may be inferior. The
widely varying conditions under which, and purposes for which, machines
are used and the very different degrees of importance which differently
constituted minds attach to the peculiarities of various machines, will,
probably, prevent any from becoming extinct. Nevertheless, the very
great advantages which some of these possess over others will, no doubt,
in time become evident by the preponderance of the better class of
machines.
The bicycle, which surpasses all other machines in simplicity,
lightness, and speed, will probably, for these reasons, always remain a
favorite with a large class. The fact that it requires only one track
places it at a great advantage with respect to other machines, for it is
common for a road which is unpleasant from mud or stones to have a hard,
smooth edge, a kind of path, where the bicyclist can travel in peace,
but which is of little advantage to other machines. Again, the bicycle
can be wheeled through narrow gates or door ways, and so kept in places
which are inaccessible to tricycles. One peculiarity of the bicycle,
and to a certain extent of the center-cycle, is that the plane of the
machine always lies in the direction of the resultant force, that the
machine leans over to an amount depending on the velocity and the
sharpness of the curve described. For this reason all lateral strain on
the parts is abolished, and if we except the slipping away of the wheel
from under the rider, which can hardly occur on a country road, an upset
from taking a curve too quickly is impossible. This leaning to either
side by the machine and rider gives rise to that delightful gliding
which none but the bicyclist or the skater can experience. In this
respect the bicycle has an enormous advantage over any machine, tricycle
or Otto, which must at all times remain upright, and which must,
therefore, at a high speed, be taken round a curve with discretion.
The perfect and instantaneous steering of the bicycle, combined with
its narrowness, counteract, to a great extent, the advantage which the
tricyclist has of being able to stop so much more quickly, for
the bicyclist can "dodge" past a thing for which the rider of the
three-wheeler must pull up. In one other respect the bicyclist has an
advantage which, though of no real importance, has great weight with
many people. The bicycle well ridden presents a picture of such perfect
elegance that no one on anything else need expect to appear to advantage
in comparison.
The chief disadvantage of the bicycle is the fact that a rider cannot
stop for any purpose, or go back a little, without dismounting. For town
riding, where a stoppage is frequently necessitated by the traffic, this
perpetual mounting and dismounting is not only tiresome, but wearying,
so much so that few bicyclists care to ride daily in town.
The position of the rider on a bicycle, with respect to the treadles,
is by no means good, for if he is placed sufficiently far forward to be
able to employ his weight to advantage without bending himself double,
he will be in so critical a position that a mere touch will send him
over the handles. He has, therefore, to balance stability and safety
against comfort and power; the more forward he is, the more furiously he
can drive his machine, and the less does he suffer from friction and the
shaking of the little wheel; the more backward he is, the less is he
likely to come to grief riding down hill, or over unseen stones. The
bicyclist is no better off than the rider of any other machine with a
little wheel, the vibration from which may weary him nearly as much as
the work he does. The little wheel as a mud-throwing machine engine is
still more effective on the bicycle than it is on any tricycle, for in
general it is run at a higher speed.
I now come to the usual complaint about the bicycle. There is a fashion
just now to call it dangerous and the tricycle safe. But the difference
in safety has been much exaggerated. The bicyclist is more likely to
suffer from striking a stone than his friend on three wheels, but then
he should not strike one where the tricyclist would strike a dozen.
Properly ridden, neither class of machine can be considered dangerous;
an accident should never happen except it be due to the action of
others. People, carts, cattle, and dogs on the road are liable to such
unexpected movements, that the real danger of the cyclist comes from the
outside; to danger from absolute collapse, due to a hidden flaw in
the materials employed, every one is liable, but, the bicyclist more
remotely than the tricyclist, owing to the greater simplicity of his
machine. The bicyclist, though he has further to fall in case of an
accident from any of these causes, is in a better position than the
tricyclist, for he is outside instead of inside his machine; he can in
an instant get clear.
It would appear that many tricyclists consider accidents of the kind
next to impossible, for in several machines the rider is so involved
that an instantaneous dismount without a moment's notice, at any speed,
is absolutely impossible. There remains one objection, which, however,
should be of next to no importance--the difficulty of learning the
bicycle prevents many from taking to the light and fast machine, because
they are afraid of a little preliminary trouble.
The chief objections to the bicycle, then, are the liability of the
rider to go over the handles, the impossibility of stopping very
quickly, and the inability to remain at rest or go backward, and the
difficulty of learning.
The first two of these are, to a large extent, overcome in the safety
bicycles, but not without the introduction of what is in comparison a
certain degree of complication, or without the loss of the whole of the
grace or elegance of the bicycle. On almost all of these safety bicycles
the rider is better placed than on the unmodified bicycle, but though
safer, I do not think bicyclists find them complete in speed, though, no
doubt, they are superior in that respect to the tricycle. Though they do
not allow the rider to stop without dismounting, the fatigue resulting
from this cause is less than it is with a bicycle, owing to the fact
that with the small machines the rider has so small a distance to climb.
Of these machines, the Extraordinary leaves the rider high up in the air
on a full-sized wheel, but places him further back and more over the
pedals. The motion of these is peculiar, being not circular, but oval, a
form which has certain advantages.
In the Sun and Planet | 2,282.260204 |
2023-11-16 18:55:06.2414700 | 2,157 | 18 |
Produced by Ron Swanson
THE MIDDLE PERIOD
_THE AMERICAN HISTORY SERIES_
THE MIDDLE PERIOD
1817-1858
BY
JOHN W. BURGESS, PH.D., LL.D.
PROFESSOR OF POLITICAL SCIENCE AND CONSTITUTIONAL LAW, AND DEAN OF THE
FACULTY OF POLITICAL SCIENCE, IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY IN THE CITY OF
NEW YORK
_WITH MAPS_
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
To the memory of my former teacher, colleague, and friend,
JULIUS HAWLEY SEELYE,
philosopher, theologian, statesman, and educator, this volume is
reverently and affectionately inscribed.
PREFACE
There is no more serious and delicate task in literature and morals
than that of writing the history of the United States from 1816 to
1860. The periods which precede this may be treated without fear of
arousing passion, prejudice, and resentment, and with little danger of
being misunderstood. Even the immaculateness of Washington may be
attacked without exciting anything worse than a sort of uncomfortable
admiration for the reckless courage of the assailant. But when we pass
the year 1820, and especially when we approach the year 1860, we find
ourselves in a different world. We find ourselves in the midst of the
ideas, the motives, and the occurrences which, and of the men who,
have, in large degree, produced the animosities, the friendships, and
the relations between parties and sections which prevail to-day.
Serious and delicate as the task is, however, the time has arrived
when it should be undertaken in a thoroughly impartial spirit. The
continued misunderstanding between the North and the South is an ever
present menace to the welfare of both sections and of the entire
nation. It makes it almost impossible to decide any question of our
politics upon its merits. It offers an almost insuperable obstacle to
the development of a national opinion upon the fundamental principles
of our polity. If we would clear up this confusion in the common
consciousness, we must do something to dispel this misunderstanding;
and I know of no means of accomplishing this, save the rewriting of
our history from 1816 to 1860, with an open mind and a willing spirit
to see and to represent truth and error, and right and wrong, without
regard to the men or the sections in whom or where they may appear.
I am by no means certain that I am able to do this. I am old enough to
have been a witness of the great struggle of 1861-65, and to have
participated, in a small way, in it. My early years were embittered by
the political hatreds which then prevailed. I learned before my
majority to regard secession as an abomination, and its chief cause,
slavery, as a great evil; and I cannot say that these feelings have
been much modified, if any at all, by longer experiences and maturer
thought. I have, therefore, undertaken this work with many misgivings.
Keenly conscious of my own prejudices, I have exerted my imagination
to the utmost to create a picture in my own mind of the environment of
those who held the opposite opinion upon these fundamental subjects,
and to appreciate the processes of their reasoning under the
influences of their own particular situation. And I have with sedulous
care avoided all the histories written immediately after the close of
the great contest of arms, and all rehashes of them of later date. In
fact I have made it an invariable rule to use no secondary material;
that is, no material in which original matter is mingled with
somebody's interpretation of its meaning. If, therefore, the facts in
my narration are twisted by prejudices and preconceptions, I think I
can assure my readers that they have suffered only one twist. I have
also endeavored to approach my subject in a reverent spirit, and to
deal with the characters who made our history, in this almost tragic
period, as serious and sincere men having a most perplexing and
momentous problem to solve, a problem not of their own making, but a
fatal inheritance from their predecessors.
I have been especially repelled by the flippant superficiality of the
foreign critics of this period of our history, and their evident
delight in representing the professions and teachings of the "Free
Republic" as canting hypocrisy. It has seemed to me a great misfortune
that the present generation and future generations should be taught to
regard so lightly the earnest efforts of wise, true, and honorable men
to rescue the country from the great catastrophe which, for so long,
impended over it. The passionate onesidedness of our own writers is
hardly more harmful, and is certainly less repulsive.
I recently heard a distinguished professor of history and politics say
that he thought the history of the United States, in this period,
could be truthfully written only by a Scotch-Irishman. I suppose he
meant that the Scotch element in this ideal historian would take the
Northern point of view, and the Irish element the Southern; but I
could not see how this would produce anything more than another pair
of narratives from the old contradictory points of view; and he did
not explain how it would.
My opinion is, on the contrary, that this history must be written by
an American and a Northerner, and from the Northern point of
view--because an American best understands Americans, after all;
because the victorious party can be and will be more liberal,
generous, and sympathetic than the vanquished; and because the
Northern view is, in the main, the correct view. It will not improve
matters to concede that the South had right and the North might, or,
even, that both were equally right and equally wrong. Such a doctrine
can only work injury to both, and more injury to the South than to the
North. Chewing the bitter cud of fancied wrong produces both spiritual
misery and material adversity, and tempts to foolish and reckless
action for righting the imagined injustice. Moreover, any such
doctrine is false, and acquiescence in it, however kindly meant, is
weak, and can have no other effect than the perpetuation of error and
misunderstanding. The time has come when the men of the South should
acknowledge that they were in error in their attempt to destroy the
Union, and it is unmanly in them not to do so. When they appealed the
great question from the decision at the ballot-box to the "trial by
battle," their leaders declared, over and over again, in calling their
followers to arms, that the "God of battles" would surely give the
victory to the right. In the great movements of the world's history
this is certainly a sound philosophy, and they should have held to it
after their defeat. Their recourse to the crude notion that they had
succumbed only to might was thus not only a bitter, false, and
dangerous consolation, but it was a stultification of themselves when
at their best as men and heroes.
While, therefore, great care has been taken, in the following pages,
to attribute to the Southern leaders and the Southern people sincerity
of purpose in their views and their acts, while their ideas and their
reasoning have been, I think, duly appreciated, and patiently
explained, while the right has been willingly acknowledged to them and
honor accorded them whenever and wherever they have had the right and
have merited honor, and while unbounded sympathy for personal
suffering and misfortune has been expressed, still not one scintilla
of justification for secession and rebellion must be expected. The
South must acknowledge its error as well as its defeat in regard to
these things, and that, too, not with lip service, but from the brain
and the heart and the manly will, before any real concord in thought
and feeling, any real national brotherhood, can be established. This
is not too much to demand, simply because it is right, and nothing can
be settled, as Mr. Lincoln said, until it is settled right. Any
interpretation of this period of American history which does not
demonstrate to the South its error will be worthless, simply because
it will not be true; and unless we are men enough to hear and accept
and stand upon the truth, it is useless to endeavor to find a bond of
real union between us. In a word, the conviction of the South of its
error in secession and rebellion is absolutely indispensable to the
establishment of national cordiality; and the history of this period
which fails to do this will fail in accomplishing one of the highest
works of history, the reconciliation of men to the plans of Providence
for their perfection.
I have not, in the following pages, undertaken to treat _all_ of the
events of our experience from 1816 to 1860. The space allowed me would
not admit of that. And even if it had, I still would have selected
only those events which, in my opinion, are significant of our
progress in civilization, and, as I am writing a political history,
only those which are significant of our progress in political
civilization. The truthful record, connection, and interpretation of
such events is what I call history in the highest sense, as
distinguished from chronology, narrative, and romance. Both necessity
and philosophy have confined me to these.
I cannot close these prefatory sentences without a word of grateful
acknowledgment to my friend and colleague, Dr. Harry A. Cushing, for
the important services which he has rendered me in the preparation of
this work.
JOHN W. BURGESS.
323 WEST FIFTY-SEVENTH STREET, NEW YORK CITY.
JANUARY 22, 1897.
CONT | 2,282.26151 |
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E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed
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available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
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OVERSHADOWED.
A Novel.
by
SUTTON E. GRIGGS
Author of "Imperium in Imperio."
Nashville, Tenn.:
The Orion Publishing Co.
1901.
Copyrighted
Sutton E. Griggs
1901.
DEDICATION.
To the Memory of
ALBERTA,
Who, in the absence of this her oldest
brother, crossed over the dark stream, smiling
as she went, this volume is most
affectionately dedicated by
_THE AUTHOR._
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
The task assigned to the <DW64>s of the United States is unique in the
history of mankind.
He whose grandfather was a savage and whose father was a slave has been
bidden to participate in a highly complex civilization on terms of
equality with the most cultured, aggressive and virile type of all
times, the Anglo-Saxon.
The stupendous character of the task is apparent when it is called to
mind that the civilization in which they are to work out their
respective destinies is fitted to the nature of the Anglo-Saxon, because
he evolved it; while, on the other hand, the nature of the <DW64> _must
be fitted to the civilization_, thus necessitating the casting aside of
all that he had evolved.
This attempt on the part of the infant child of modern civilization to
keep pace with the hale and hearty parent thereof, has served to
contribute its quota of tragedies to the countless myriads that have
been enacted under the sun, since the Cosmic forces first broke forth
out of night into light, and began their upward, sightless, or shall we
rather say, full visioned tread in quest of the "music of the spheres"
and the higher purposes of the GREAT BEYOND.
What part in the great final programme these Cosmic forces have assigned
to the attempt of the <DW64> to journey by the side of the white man,
none are yet able to say, the situation being still in process of
unfoldment.
While we watch with becoming reverence and muse thereon, we catch up our
lyre to sing to the memory of those slain in their name, if not by their
order.
Very respectfully yours,
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
I. A Girl Perplexed
II. The Cause Revealed but not Removed
III. Other Actors
IV. A Lady who did not know that she was a Lady
V. What a Kiss Did
VI. Up to Date Aristocracy in a <DW64> Church
VII. Rev. Josiah Nerve, D. D. S.
VIII. He Narrowly Escapes
IX. The Pit is Dug
X. The Victims
XI. Murder
XII. The Visit of a Policeman
XIII. Backward, then Forward
XIV. As Least Expected
XV. An Awful Resolve
XVI. A Political Trick
XVII. Paving the Way
XVIII. John Wysong Confesses
XIX. Added Sorrows
XX. Speaker Lanier
XXI. The Hanging
XXII. Worse than Death
XXIII. Full of Joy
XXIV. Opposing the Wedding
XXV. Erma and an Assassin
XXVI. Name the Chapter After you Read It
XXVII. The Funeral
PROEM.
A farmer who is planting corn in a fertile field, halts beneath the
shade of a huge oak to rest at noon.
Accidentally a grain of corn drops from his bag, finds lodgement in the
soil, and in time begins to grow.
The grains that fell in the field will have their difficulties in
reaching maturity.
There is the danger of too much water, of the drought, of the coming
worms.
But the grain that came to life under the oak has its _peculiar_
struggles.
It must contend for sustenance with the roots of the oak.
It must wrestle with the shade of the oak.
The life of this isolated grain of corn is one continuous tragedy.
OVERSHADOWED is the story of this grain of corn, the Anglo-Saxon being
the oak, and the <DW64> the plant struggling for existence.
To be true to life, the story must indeed be a sombre one.
So, OVERSHADOWED is a tragedy--a story of sorrow and suffering.
Yet the gloom is enlivened by the presence of a heroic figure, a
beautiful, noble girl, who stands unabashed in the presence of every
ill.
OVERSHADOWED does not point the way out of the dungeon which it
describes, but it clearly indicates the task before the reformer when he
comes.
If you have time and inclination for such a recital--the curtain rises
and the play begins.
OVERSHADOWED.
CHAPTER I.
A GIRL, PERPLEXED.
To-and-fro, to-and-fro, with hurried, restless tread, Erma Wysong walked
her parlor floor, forgetful of the young man who sat in a corner and
gazed at her, with all of his powers of sight apparently doing double
duty. Her hair | 2,282.262445 |
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
Footnotes have been moved to follow the paragraphs in which they are
referenced.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
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the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.
This is the fourth of four volumes, which can be found at Project
Gutenberg here:
Volume I http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53967
Volume II http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53968
Volume III http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53969
Volume IV http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53970
[Illustration:
_Rob^t. Cooper Scul^t._
COUNT DE LAS CASES.
]
MEMOIRS
OF
THE LIFE, EXILE,
AND
CONVERSATIONS,
OF THE
EMPEROR NAPOLEON.
BY
THE COUNT DE LAS CASES.
A NEW EDITION.
WITH PORTRAITS
AND NUMEROUS OTHER EMBELLISHMENTS.
VOL. IV.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED FOR HENRY COLBURN,
BY RICHARD BENTLEY; BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH; J. CUMMING, DUBLIN:
AND ALL BOOKSELLERS.
-------
MDCCCXXXVI.
ANDOVER: STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY B. BENSLEY.
[Illustration:
NAPOLEON’S HUMANITY.
London: Published for HENRY COLBURN, December, 1835.
]
MEMOIRS
OF
THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON.
REMOVAL OF FOUR PERSONS OF OUR ESTABLISHMENT.--RECOLLECTIONS
OF THE EMPEROR’S EARLY LIFE.
Oct. 18, 1816.—I did not see the Emperor until five o’clock, when he
sent for me to attend him in the drawing-room. He continued indisposed;
but he had been engaged all the morning in dictating to the Grand
Marshal. He summoned all the persons of his suite in succession. He was
low-spirited and heavy; but at the same time there was a certain
restlessness about him. He sought to amuse himself in various ways. He
first tried chess, then dominos, and then chess again; but he was at
length compelled to return to his chamber, finding it impossible to sit
up. The state of the weather, joined to the vexations to which we are
exposed, concur in producing torments almost beyond endurance. The
weather has an effect on the nerves, and the persecutions that are
heaped upon us are still worse to bear. Every word uttered by the
Governor increases our misery. To-day he had signified his intention of
removing four of our establishment, which has been the cause of general
lamentation among the household: the individuals singled out for removal
regret their separation from their companions; while those who are to
remain are tormented by the fear of speedily sharing the same fate. We
compared Sir Hudson Lowe to Scylla, devouring the four companions of
Ulysses.
The Governor has informed me that he also intends removing my servant,
who is an inhabitant of the island, and with whom I am very well
satisfied. He is doubtless afraid that the man will become too much
attached to me. He proposes to send me a servant of his own choosing, a
favour for which I feel very grateful, though I have no intention of
availing myself of the kind offer.
At dinner the Emperor ate but little. During the dessert, however, his
spirits revived a little, and we began to converse on the events of his
early life. This is a subject on which he delights to dwell, and which
always affords him a source of new and lively interest. He repeated many
of the particulars which I have already related at different times. He
said that he loved to go back to that happy age when all is gaiety and
enjoyment;—that happy period of hope and rising ambition, when the world
first opens before us, and the mind fondly cherishes every romantic
dream. He spoke of his regiment, and the pleasures he had enjoyed when
he first mingled in society. On mentioning the different balls and fêtes
which he had attended in his youthful days, he described one as having
been particularly splendid. “But,” said he, “at that time my notions of
splendour were very different from what they now are.”
Alluding to the date of certain circumstances, he observed that it would
be difficult for him to divide his life year by year. We observed that
if he would only date the events of four or five years, we could easily
take all the rest upon ourselves. He reverted to his military _début_ at
Toulon, the circumstances that first called him into notice, the sudden
ascendency which he acquired by his first successes, and the ambition
with which they inspired him: “And yet,” said he, “I was far from
entertaining a high opinion of myself. It was not till after the battle
of Lodi that I conceived those lofty notions of ambition which were
confirmed in Egypt, after the victory of the Pyramids and the possession
of Cairo. Then,” said he, “I willingly resigned myself to every
brilliant dream.”
The Emperor had become very cheerful and talkative, and he did not
retire until midnight. We looked upon this as a sort of resuscitation.
MADAME DE GENLIS’ NOVELS.
19th.—Our four proscripts, namely, the Pole, Santini, Archambault, and
Rousseau, left us about the middle of the day. In an hour they sailed
for the Cape with a brisk wind.
About three o’clock the Emperor sent for me. He was in the drawing-room,
and he desired to have Madame de Genlis’ novels brought to him. He read
a few pages aloud; but he soon laid down the books, observing that they
told him nothing. It was not so with me: the few pages that I had just
heard touched many tender strings. They presented a picture of the
elegant society of Paris, detailed the names of streets and monuments,
described familiar conversations, and retraced well-known portraits: all
this produced a forcible impression on me. The realities exist, I myself
exist, and yet we are separated, by distance, time, and, doubtless, by
eternity! I could at this moment look with indifference on pleasure and
gaiety; but the recollection of persons and places, which had thus been
revived, filled me with feelings of deep melancholy and regret.
The Grand Marshal now arrived, and the Emperor dictated to him till
dinner-time.
In the evening the Emperor asked for the Arabian Nights; but he was
unable to read, and soon laid aside the book.
VALUATION OF THE BOOKS SENT OUT TO US.—THE
GRAND MARSHAL COMES TO LIVE NEARER TO US.
20th.—I spent the day in estimating the value of the books sent to us
from London, and for which an enormous sum is claimed from the Emperor.
Our valuation did not amount to even half that sum.
The Emperor did not appear in the drawing-room until a moment before
dinner; he had not, he said, seen any body the whole day; he had sought
for diversion, and found it in continued application. After dinner he
again took up the Arabian Nights.
The Grand Marshal and his family have this day left Hut’s Gate, their
first residence, which was situated about one league from Longwood. They
have at last taken possession of their new house, by which means we are
now nearly under the same roof. This was quite an event for them and for
us.
EXPEDITION OF ST. LOUIS IN EGYPT.—OUR FEMALE AUTHORS.—MADAME DE
STAEL.—THE WRITERS INIMICAL TO NAPOLEON WILL BITE AGAINST GRANITE.
21st.—I went after breakfast to see Madame Bertrand. She was so confined
at Hut’s Gate that she will have no cause to regret being shut up within
our enclosure | 2,282.282177 |
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[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: A BIG BLACK BEAR MADE FURIOUS EFFORTS TO SEIZE | 2,282.380026 |
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THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE
by Robert Louis Stevenson
STORY OF THE DOOR
Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance that was never
lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward
in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary and yet somehow lovable.
At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something
eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which never
found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent
symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts
of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone,
to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theatre, had
not crossed the doors of one for twenty years. But he had an approved
tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high
pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity
inclined to help rather than to reprove. "I incline to Cain's heresy,"
he used to say quaintly: "I let my brother go to the devil in his own
way." In this character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last
reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of
downgoing men. And to such as these, so long as they came about his
chambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanour.
No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson; for he was undemonstrative
at the best, and even his friendship seemed to be founded in a similar
catholicity of good-nature. It is the mark of a modest man to accept his
friendly circle ready-made from the hands of opportunity; and that was
the lawyer's way. His friends were those of his own blood or those whom
he had known the longest; his affections, like ivy, were the growth of
time, they implied no aptness in the object. Hence, no doubt the
bond that united him to Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman, the
well-known man about town. It was a nut to crack for many, what these
two could see in each other, or what subject they could find in common.
It was reported by those who encountered them in their Sunday walks,
that they said nothing, looked singularly dull and would hail with
obvious relief the appearance of a friend. For all that, the two men put
the greatest store by these excursions, counted them the chief jewel
of each week, and not only set aside occasions of pleasure, but
even resisted the calls of business, that they might enjoy them
uninterrupted.
It chanced on one of these rambles that their way led them down a
by-street in a busy quarter of London. The street was small and what
is called quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the weekdays. The
inhabitants were all doing well, it seemed and all emulously hoping to
do better still, and laying out the surplus of their grains in coquetry;
so that the shop fronts stood along that thoroughfare with an air of
invitation, like rows of smiling saleswomen. Even on Sunday, when it
veiled its more florid charms and lay comparatively empty of passage,
the street shone out in contrast to its dingy neighbourhood, like a
fire in a forest; and with its freshly painted shutters, well-polished
brasses, and general cleanliness and gaiety of note, instantly caught
and pleased the eye of the passenger.
Two doors from one corner, on the left hand going east the line was
broken by the entry of a court; and just at that point a certain
sinister block of building thrust forward its gable on the street. It
was two storeys high; showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower
storey and a blind forehead of discoloured wall on the upper; and bore
in every feature, the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence. The
door, which was equipped with neither bell nor knocker, was blistered
and distained. Tramps slouched into the recess and struck matches on the
panels; children kept shop upon the steps; the schoolboy had tried
his knife on the mouldings; and for close on a generation, no one had
appeared to drive away these random visitors or to repair their ravages.
Mr. Enfield and the lawyer were on the other side of the by-street; but
when they came abreast of the entry, the former lifted up his cane and
pointed.
"Did you ever remark that door?" he asked; and when his companion had
replied in the affirmative. "It is connected in my mind," added he,
"with a very odd story."
"Indeed?" said Mr. Utterson, with a slight change of voice, "and what
was that?"
"Well, it was this way," returned Mr. Enfield: "I was coming home from
some place at the end of the world, about three o'clock of a black
winter morning, and my way lay through a part of town where there was
literally nothing to be seen but lamps. Street after street and all the
folks asleep--street after street, all lighted up as if for a procession
and all as empty as a church--till at last I got into that state of mind
when a man listens and listens and begins to long for the sight of a
policeman. All at once, I saw two figures: one a little man who was
stumping along eastward at a good walk, and the other a girl of maybe
eight or ten who was running as hard as she was able down a cross
street. Well, sir, the two ran into one another naturally enough at
the corner; and then came the horrible part of the thing; for the man
trampled calmly over the child's body and left her screaming on the
ground. It sounds nothing to hear, but it was hellish to see. It wasn't
like a man; it was like some damned Juggernaut. I gave a few halloa,
took to my heels, collared my gentleman, and brought him back to where
there was already quite a group about the screaming child. He was
perfectly cool and made no resistance, but gave me one look, so ugly
that it brought out the sweat on me like running. The people who had
turned out were the girl's own family; and pretty soon, the doctor, for
whom she had been sent put in his appearance. Well, the child was not
much the worse, more frightened, according to the Sawbones; and there
you might have supposed would be an end to it. But there was one curious
circumstance. I had taken a loathing to my gentleman at first sight. So
had the child's family, which was only natural. But the doctor's case
was what struck me. He was the usual cut and dry apothecary, of no
particular age and colour, with a strong Edinburgh accent and about as
emotional as a bagpipe. Well, sir, he was like the rest of us; every
time he looked at my prisoner, I saw that Sawbones turn sick and white
with desire to kill him. I knew what was in his mind, just as he knew
what was in mine; and killing being out of the question, we did the next
best. We told the man we could and would make such a scandal out of this
as should make his name stink from one end of London to the other. If
he had any friends or any credit, we undertook that he should lose them.
And all the time, as we were pitching it in red hot, we were keeping the
women off him as best we could for they were as wild as harpies. I never
saw a circle of such hateful faces; and there was the man in the middle,
with a kind of black sneering coolness--frightened too, I could see
that--but carrying it off, sir, really like Satan. `If you choose to
make capital out of this accident,' said he, `I am naturally helpless.
No gentleman but wishes to avoid a scene,' says he. `Name your figure.'
Well, we screwed him up to a hundred pounds for the child's family; he
would have clearly liked to stick out; but there was something about the
lot of us that meant mischief, and at last he struck. The next thing was
to get the money; and where do you think he carried us but to that place
with the door?--whipped out a key, went in, and presently came back
with the matter of ten pounds in gold and a cheque for the balance on
Coutts's, drawn payable to bearer and signed with a name that I can't
mention, though it's one of the points of my story, but it was a name at
least very well known and often printed. The figure was stiff; but the
signature was good for more than that if it was only genuine. I took the
liberty of pointing out | 2,283.280325 |
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HOCUS POCUS; OR THE WHOLE ART OF LEGERDEMAIN, IN PERFECTION. BY HENRY
DEAN.
[Illustration:
Strange feats are herein taught by slight of hand,
With which you may amuse yourself and friend,
The like in print was never seen before,
And so you’ll say when once you’ve read it o’er.
]
HOCUS POCUS;
OR THE WHOLE ART OF
_LEGERDEMAIN_,
IN PERFECTION.
By which the meaneſt capacity may perform the
whole without the help of a teacher.
_Together with the Uſe of all the Inſtruments_
_belonging thereto | 2,283.356233 |
2023-11-16 18:55:07.3446420 | 57 | 45 |
E-text prepared by Roger Frank 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 25893-h.htm or 258 | 2,283.364682 |
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VOL. XXXII. No. 11.
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
* * * * *
“To the Poor the Gospel is Preached.”
* * * * *
NOVEMBER, 1878.
_CONTENTS_:
EDITORIAL.
THE ANNUAL MEETING 321
PARAGRAPHS 321, 322
MR. STANLEY’S INTEREST IN CHRIST | 2,283.36664 |
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SPEECHES, ADDRESSES,
AND
OCCASIONAL SERMONS,
BY
THEODORE PARKER,
MINISTER OF THE TWENTY-EIGHTH CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH IN BOSTON.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
BOSTON:
HORACE B. FULLER,
(SUCCESSOR TO WALKER, FULLER, AND COMPANY,)
245, WASHINGTON STREET.
1867.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by
THEODORE PARKER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court
of the District of Massachusetts.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.
I.
A SERMON OF THE SPIRITUAL CONDITION OF BOSTON.--Preached
at the Melodeon, on Sunday, February 18, 1849
PAGE 1
II.
SOME THOUGHTS ON THE MOST CHRISTIAN USE OF THE
SUNDAY.--A Sermon preached at the Melodeon, on Sunday,
January 30, 1848 56
III.
A SERMON OF IMMORTAL LIFE.--Preached at the Melodeon
on Sunday, September 20, 1846 105
IV.
THE PUBLIC EDUCATION OF THE PEOPLE.--An Address
delivered before the Onondaga Teachers' Institute at Syracuse,
New York, October 4, 1849 139
V.
THE POLITICAL DESTINATION OF AMERICA, AND THE
SIGNS OF THE TIMES.--An Address delivered before
several literary Societies in 1848 198
VI.
A DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF JOHN
QUINCY ADAMS.--Delivered at the Melodeon, on Sunday,
March 5, 1848 252
VII.
A SPEECH AT A MEETING OF THE AMERICAN ANTI-SLAVERY
SOCIETY, TO CELEBRATE THE ABOLITION OF
SLAVERY BY THE FRENCH REPUBLIC, April 6, 1848 331
VIII.
A SPEECH AT FANEUIL HALL, BEFORE THE NEW ENGLAND
ANTI-SLAVERY CONVENTION, May 31, 1848 344
IX.
SOME THOUGHTS ON THE FREE SOIL PARTY, AND THE
ELECTION OF GENERAL TAYLOR, December, 1848 360
A SERMON OF THE SPIRITUAL CONDITION OF BOSTON.--PREACHED AT THE
MELODEON, ON SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1849.
MATTHEW VIII. 20.
By their fruits ye shall know them.
Last Sunday I said something of the moral condition of Boston; to-day I
ask your attention to a Sermon of the Spiritual Condition of Boston. I
use the word spiritual in its narrower sense, and speak of the condition
of this town in respect to piety. A little while since, in a sermon of
piety, I tried to show that love of God lay at the foundation of all
manly excellence, and was the condition of all noble, manly development;
that love of truth, love of justice, love of love, were respectively the
condition of intellectual, moral, and affectional development, and that
they were also respectively the intellectual, moral, and affectional
forms of piety; that the love of God as the Infinite Father, the
totality of truth, justice, and love was the general condition of the
total development of man's spiritual powers. But I showed, that
sometimes this piety, intellectual, moral, affectional or total, did not
arrive at self-consciousness; the man only unconsciously loving the
Infinite in one or all these modes, and in such cases the man was a
loser by frustrating his piety, and allowing it to stop in the truncated
form of unconsciousness.
Now what is in you will appear out of you; if piety be there in any of
these forms, in either mode, it will come out; if not there, its fruits
cannot appear. You may reason forward or backward: if you know piety
exists, you may foretell its appearance; if you find fruits thereof, you
may reason back and be sure of its existence. Piety is love of God as
God, and as we only love what we are like, and in that degree, so it is
also a likeness to God. Now it is a general doctrine in Christendom that
divinity must manifest itself; and, in assuming the highest form of
manifestation known to us, divinity becomes humanity. However, that
doctrine is commonly taught in the specific and not generic form, and is
enforced by an historical and concrete example, but not by way of a
universal thesis. It appears thus: The Christ was God; as such He must
manifest himself; the form of manifestation was that of a complete and
perfect man. I reject the concrete example, but accept the universal
doctrine on which the special dogma of the Trinity is erected. From that
I deduce this as a general rule: If you follow the law of your nature,
and are simple and true to that, as much of godhead as there is in you,
so much of manhood will come out of you, and, as much of manhood comes
out of you, so much of godhead was there within you; as much subjective
divinity, so much objective humanity.
Such being the case, the demands you can make on a man for manliness
must depend for their answer on the amount of piety on deposit in his
character; so it becomes important to know the condition of this town in
respect of piety, for if this be not right in the above sense, nothing
else is right; or, to speak more clerically, "Unless the Lord keep the
city, the watchman waketh but in vain," and unless piety be developed or
a-developing in men, it is vain for the minister to sit up late of a
Saturday night to concoct his sermon, and to rise up early of a Sunday
morning to preach the same; he fights but as one that beateth the air,
and spends his strength for that which is nought. They are in the right,
therefore, who first of all things demand piety: so let us see what
signs or proof we have, and of what amount of piety in Boston.
To determine this, we must have some test by which to judge of the
quality, distinguishing piety from impiety, and some standard whereby to
measure the quantity thereof; for though you may know what piety is in
you, I what is in me, and God what is in both and in all the rest of us,
it is plain that we can only judge of the existence of piety in other
men, and measure its quantity by an outward manifestation thereof, in
some form which shall serve at once as a trial test and a standard
measure.
Now, then, as I mentioned in that former sermon, it is on various sides
alleged that there are two outward manifestations of piety, a good deal
unlike: each is claimed by some men as the exclusive trial test and
standard measure. Let me say a word of each.
I. Some contend for what I call the conventional standard; that is, the
manifestation of piety by means of certain prescribed forms. Of these
forms there are three modes or degrees: namely, first, the form of
bodily attendance on public worship; second, the belief in certain
doctrines, not barely because they are proven true, or known without
proof, but because they are taught with authority; and third, a passive
acquiescence in certain forms and ceremonies, or an active performance
thereof.
II. The other I call the natural standard; that is, the manifestation of
piety in the natural form of morality in its various degrees and modes
of action.
* * * * *
It is plain, that the amount of piety in a man or a town, will appear
very different when tested by one or the other of these standards. It
may be that very little water runs through the wooden trough which feeds
the saw-mill at Niagara, and yet a good deal, blue and bounding, may
leap over the rock, adown its natural channel. In a matter of this
importance, when taking account of a stock so precious as piety, it is
but fair to try it by both standards.
* * * * *
Let us begin with the conventional standard, and examine piety by its
manifestation in the ecclesiastical forms. Here is a difficulty at the
outset, in determining upon the measure, for there is no one and general
ecclesiastical standard, common to all parties of Christians, from the
Catholic to the Quaker; each measures by its own standard, but denies
the correctness of all the others. It is as if a foot were declared the
unit of long measure, and then the actual foot of the chief justice of a
State, were taken as the rule by which to correct all measurements; then
the foot would vary as you went from North Carolina to South, and, in
any one State, would vary with the health of the judge. However, to do
what can be done with a measure thus uncertain, it is plain, that,
estimated by any ecclesiastical standard, the amount of piety is small.
There is, as men often say, "A general decline of piety;" that is a
common complaint, recorded and registered. But what makes the matter
worse to the ecclesiastical philosopher, and more appalling to the
complainers, is this: it is a decline of long standing. The disease
which is thus lamented is said to be acute, but is proved to be chronic
also; only it would seem, from the lamentations of some modern
Jeremiahs, that the decline went on with accelerated velocity, and, the
more chronic the disease was, the acuter it also became.
Tried by this standard, things seem discouraging. To get a clearer view,
let us look a little beyond our own borders, at first, and then come
nearer home. The Catholic church complains of a general defection. The
majority of the Christian church confesses that the Protestant
Reformation was not a revival of religion, not a "Great awakening," but
a great falling to sleep; the faith of Luther and Calvin was a great
decline of religion--a decline of piety in the ecclesiastical form; that
modern philosophy, the physics of Galileo and Newton, the metaphysics of
Descartes and of Kant, mark another decline of religion--a decline of
piety in the philosophical form; that all the modern democracy of the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, marks a yet further decline of
religion--a decline of piety in the political form; that all the modern
secular societies, for removing the evils of men and their sins, mark a
yet fourth decline of religion--a decline of piety in the philanthropic
form. Certainly, when measured by the mediaeval standard of Catholicism,
these mark four great declensions of piety, for, in all four, the old
principle of subordination to an external and personal authority is set
aside.
All over Europe this decline is still going on; ecclesiastical
establishments are breaking down; other establishments are a-building
up. Pius the Ninth seems likely to fulfil his own prophecy, and be the
last of the Popes; I mean the last with temporal power. There is a great
schism in the north of Europe; the Germans will be Catholics, but no
longer Roman. The old forms of piety, such as service in Latin, the
withholding of the Bible from the people, compulsory confession, the
ungrateful celibacy of a reluctant priesthood--all these are protested
against. It is of no avail that the holy coat of Jesus, at Treves, works
greater miracles than the apostolical napkins and aprons; of no avail
that the Virgin Mary appeared on the nineteenth of September, 1846, to
two shepherd-children, at La Salette, in France. What are such things to
Ronge and Wessenberg? Neither the miraculous coat, nor the miraculous
mother, avails aught against this untoward generation, charm they never
so wisely. The decline of piety goes on. By the new Constitution of
France, all forms of religion are equal; the Catholic and the
Protestant, the Mahometan and the Jew, are equally sheltered under the
broad shield of the law. Even Spain, the fortress walled and moated
about, whither the spirit of the middle ages retired and shut herself up
long since, womanning her walls with unmanly priests and kings, with
unfeminine queens and nuns--even Spain fails with the general failure.
British capitalists buy up her convents and nunneries, to turn them into
woollen mills. Monks and nuns forget their beads in some new
handicraft; sister Mary, who sat still in the house, is now also busy
with serving, careful, indeed, about more things than formerly, but not
cumbered nor troubled as before. Meditative Rachels, and Hannahs, long
unblest, who sat in solitude, have now become like practical Dorcas,
making garments for the poor; the Bank is become more important than the
Inquisition. The order of St. Francis d'Assisi, of St. Benedict, even of
St. Dominic himself, is giving way before the new order of Arkwright,
Watt, and Fulton,--the order of the spinning jenny and the power-loom.
It is no longer books on the miraculous conception, or meditations on
the five wounds of the Saviour, or commentaries on the song of songs
which is Solomon's, that get printed there: but fiery novels of Eugene
Sue, and George Sand; and so extremes meet.
Protestant establishments share the same peril. A new sect of
Protestants rises up in Germany, who dissent as much from the letter and
spirit of Protestantism, as the Protestants from Catholicism; men that
will not believe the infallibility of the Bible, the doctrine of the
Trinity, the depravity of man, the eternity of future punishment, nor
justification by faith--a justification before God, for mere belief
before men. The new spirit gets possession of new men, who cannot be
written down, nor even howled down. Excommunication or abuse does no
good on such men as Bauer, Strauss, and Schwegler; and it answers none
of their questions. It seems pretty clear, that in all the north of
Germany, within twenty years, there will be entire freedom of worship,
for all sects, Protestant and Catholic.
In England, Protestantism has done its work less faithfully than in
Germany. The Protestant spirit of England came here two hundred years
ago, so that new and Protestant England is on the west of the ocean; in
England, an established church lies there still, an iceberg in the
national garden. But even there, the decline of the ecclesiastical form
of piety is apparent: the new bishops must not sit in the House of
Lords, till the old ones die out, for the number of lords spiritual must
not increase, though the temporal may; the new attempt, at Oxford and
elsewhere, to restore the Middle Ages, will not prosper. Bring back all
the old rites and forms into Leeds and Manchester; teach men the
theology of Thomas Aquinas, or of St. Bernard; bid them adore the
uplifted wafer, as the very God, men who toil all day with iron mills,
who ride in steam-drawn coaches, and talk by lightning in a whisper,
from the Irk to the Thames,--they will not consent to the philosophy or
the theology of the Middle Ages, nor be satisfied with the old forms of
piety, which, though too elevated for their fathers in the time of
Elizabeth, are yet too low for them, at least too antiquated. Dissenters
have got into the House of Commons; the test-act is repealed, and a man
can be a captain in the army, or a postmaster in a village, without
first taking the Lord's Supper, after the fashion of the Church of
England. Some men demand the abandonment of tithes, the entire
separation of Church and State, the return to "The voluntary principle"
in religion. "The battering ram which levelled old Sarum," and other
boroughs as corrupt, now beats on | 2,283.38045 |
2023-11-16 18:55:07.4372490 | 198 | 12 |
E-text prepared by sp1nd, Matthew Wheaton, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (http://archive.org/)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 42140-h.htm or 42140-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/greuzeocad00mackuoft
Masterpieces in Colour
Edited by--T. Leman Hare
GREUZE
1725-1805
* * * * * *
"MASTERPIEC | 2,283.457289 |
2023-11-16 18:55:07.4418810 | 2,941 | 13 |
Produced by David Widger
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE."
By Thomas Nelson Page
1891
It was his greatest pride in life that he had been a soldier--a soldier
of the empire. (He was known simply as "The Soldier," and it is probable
that there was not a man or woman, and certain that there was not a
child in the Quarter who did not know him: the tall, erect old Sergeant
with his white, carefully waxed moustache, and his face seamed with two
sabre cuts. One of these cuts, all knew, had been received the summer
day when he had stood, a mere boy, in the hollow square at Waterloo,
striving to stay the fierce flood of the "men on the white horses"; the
other, tradition said, was of even more ancient date.)
Yes, they all knew him, and knew how when he was not over thirteen, just
the age of little Raoul the humpback, who was not as tall as Pauline, he
had received the cross which he always wore over his heart sewed in the
breast of his coat, from the hand of the emperor himself, for standing
on the hill at Wagram when his regiment broke, and beating the
long-roll, whilst he held the tattered colors resting in his arm, until
the men rallied and swept back the left wing of the enemy. This the
children knew, as their fathers and mothers and grandfathers and
grandmothers before them had known it, and rarely an evening passed that
some of the gamins were not to be found in the old man's kitchen,
which was also his parlor, or else on his little porch, listening with
ever-new delight to the story of his battles and of the emperor. They
all knew as well as he the thrilling part where the emperor dashed by
(the old Sergeant always rose reverently at the name, and the little
audience also stood,--one or two nervous younger ones sometimes bobbing
up a little ahead of time, but sitting down again in confusion under
the contemptuous scowls and pluckings of the rest),--where the emperor
dashed by, and reined up to ask an officer what regiment that was
that had broken, and who was that drummer that had been promoted
to ensign;--they all knew how, on the grand review afterwards, the
Sergeant, beating his drum with one hand (while the other, which had
been broken by a bullet, was in a sling), had marched with his company
before the emperor, and had been recognized by him. They knew how he had
been called up by a staff-officer (whom the children imagined to be
a fine gentleman with a rich uniform, and a great shako like Marie's
uncle, the drum-major), and how the emperor had taken from his own
breast and with his own hand had given him the cross, which he had never
from that day removed from his heart, and had said, "I would make you a
colonel if I could spare you."
This was the story they liked best, though there were many others which
they frequently begged to be told--of march and siege and battle, of
victories over or escapes from red-coated Britishers and fierce German
lancers, and of how the mere presence of the emperor was worth fifty
thousand men, and how the soldiers knew that where he was no enemy could
withstand them. It all seemed to them very long ago, and the soldier of
the empire was the only man in the Quarter who was felt to be greater
than the rich nobles and fine officers who flashed along the great
streets, or glittered through the boulevards and parks outside. More
than once when Paris was stirred up, and the Quarter seemed on the eve
of an outbreak, a mounted orderly had galloped up to his door with
a letter, requesting his presence somewhere (it was whispered at the
prefect's), and when he returned, if he refused to speak of his visit
the Quarter was satisfied; it trusted him and knew that when he advised
quiet it was for its good. He loved France first, the Quarter next. Had
he not been offered--? What had he not been offered! The Quarter knew,
or fancied it knew, which did quite as well. At least, it knew how he
always took sides with the Quarter against oppression. It knew how he
had gone up into the burning tenement and brought the children down out
of the garret just before the roof fell. It knew how he had jumped into
the river that winter when it was full of ice, to save Raoul's little
lame dog which had fallen into the water; it knew how he had reported
the gendarmes for arresting poor little Aimee just for begging a man in
the Place de L'Opera for a franc for her old grandmother, who was blind,
and how he had her released instead of being sent to ------. But what
was the need of multiplying instances! He was "the Sergeant," a soldier
of the empire, and there was not a dog in the Quarter which did not feel
and look proud when it could trot on the inside of the sidewalk by him.
Thus the old Sergeant came to be regarded as the conservator of order in
the Quarter, and was worth more in the way of keeping it quiet than all
the gendarmes that ever came inside its precincts. And thus the children
all knew him.
One story that the Sergeant sometimes told, the girls liked to hear,
though the boys did not, because it had nothing about war in it, and
Minette and Clarisse used to cry so when it was told, that the Sergeant
would stop and put his arms around them and pet them until they only
sobbed on his shoulder.
It was of how he had, when a lonely old man, met down in Lorraine his
little Camille, whose eyes were as blue as the sky, and her hand as
white as the flower from which she took her name, and her cheeks as pink
as the roses in the gardens of the Tuileries. He had loved her, and she,
though forty years his junior, had married him and had come here to live
with him; but the close walls of the city had not suited her, and she
had pined and languished before his eyes like a plucked lily, and, after
she bore him Pierre, had died in his arms, and left him lonelier than
before. And the old soldier always lowered his voice and paused a moment
(Raoul said he was saying a mass), and then he would add consolingly:
"But she left a soldier, and when I am gone, should France ever need
one, Pierre will be here." The boys did not fancy this story for the
reasons given, and besides, although they loved the Sergeant, they did
not like Pierre. Pierre was not popular in the Quarter,--except with the
young girls and a few special friends. The women said he was idle and
vain like his mother, who had been, they said, a silly lazy thing with
little to boast of but blue eyes and a white skin, of which she was too
proud to endanger it by work, and that she had married the Sergeant for
his pension, and would have ruined him if she had lived, and that Pierre
was just like her.
The children knew nothing of the resemblance. They disliked Pierre
because he was cross and disagreeable to them, and however their older
sisters might admire his curling brown hair, his dark eyes, and delicate
features, which he had likewise inherited from his mother, they did not
like him; for he always scolded when he came home and found them there;
and he had several times ordered the whole lot out of the house; and
once he had slapped little Raoul, for which Jean Maison had beaten him.
Of late, too, when it drew near the hour for him to come home, the old
Sergeant had two or three times left out a part of his story, and had
told them to run away and come back in the morning, as Pierre liked to
be quiet when he came from his work--which Raoul said was gambling.
Thus it was that Pierre was not popular in the Quarter.
He was nineteen years old when war was declared.
They said Prussia was trying to rob France,--to steal Alsace and
Lorraine. All Paris was in an uproar. The Quarter, always ripe for any
excitement, shared in and enjoyed the general commotion. It struck off
from work. It was like the commune; at least, so people said. Pierre was
the loudest declaimer in the district. He got work in the armory.
Recruiting officers went in and out of the saloons and cafes, drinking
with the men, talking to the women, and stirring up as much fervor as
possible. It needed little to stir it. The Quarter was seething. Troops
were being mustered in, and the streets and parks were filled with the
tramp of regiments; and the roll of the drums, the call of the bugles,
and the cheers of the crowds as they marched by floated into the
Quarter. Brass bands were so common that although in the winter a couple
of strolling musicians had been sufficient to lose temporarily every
child in the Quarter, it now required a full band and a grenadier
regiment, to boot, to draw a tolerable representation.
Of all the residents of the Quarter, none took a deeper interest than
the soldier of the empire. He became at once an object of more than
usual attention. He had married in Lorraine, and could, of course, tell
just how long it would take to whip the Prussians. He thought a single
battle would decide it. It would if the emperor were there. His little
court was always full of inquirers, and the stories of the emperor were
told to audiences now of grandfathers and grandmothers.
Once or twice the gendarmes had sauntered down, thinking, from seeing
the crowd, that a fight was going on. They had stayed to hear of the
emperor. A hint was dropped by the soldier of the empire that perhaps
France would conquer Prussia, and then go on across to Moscow to settle
an old score, and that night it was circulated through the Quarter that
the invasion of Russia would follow the capture of Berlin. The emperor
became more popular than he had been since the _coup d'etat_. Half the
Quarter offered its services.
The troops were being drilled night and day, and morning after morning
the soldier of the empire locked his door, buttoned his coat tightly
around him, and with a stately military air marched over to the park to
see the drill, where he remained until it was time for Pierre to have
his supper.
The old Sergeant's acquaintance extended far beyond the Quarter. Indeed,
his name had been mentioned in the papers more than once, and his
presence was noted at the drill by those high in authority; so that he
was often to be seen surrounded by a group listening to his accounts of
the emperor, or showing what the _manuel_ had been in his time. His air,
always soldierly, was now imposing, and many a visitor of distinction
inquiring who he might be, and learning that he was a soldier of the
empire, sought an introduction to him. Sometimes they told him that they
could hardly believe him so old, could hardly believe him much older
than some of those in the ranks, and although at first he used to
declare he was like a rusty flint-lock, too old and useless for service,
their flattery soothed his vanity, and after a while, instead of shaking
his head and replying as he did at first that France had no use for old
men, he would smile doubtfully and say that when they let Pierre go,
maybe he would go too, "just to show the children how they fought then."
The summer came. The war began in earnest. The troops were sent to the
front, the crowds shouting, "On to Berlin." Others were mustered in
and sent after them as fast as they were equipped. News of battle
after battle came; at first, of victory (so the papers said), full and
satisfying, then meagre and uncertain, and at last so scanty that only
the wise ones knew there had been a defeat. The Quarter was in a fever
of patriotism.
Jean Maison and nearly all the young men had enlisted and gone, leaving
their sweethearts by turns waving their kerchiefs and wiping their
eyes with them. Pierre, however, still remained behind. He said he was
working for the Government. Raoul said he was not working at all; that
he was skulking.
Suddenly the levy came. Pierre was conscripted.
That night the Sergeant enlisted in the same company. Before the week
was out, their regiment was equipped and dispatched to the front, for
the news came that the army was making no advance, and it was said that
France needed more men. Some shook their heads and said that was not
what she needed, that what she needed was better officers. A suggestion
of this by some of the recruits in the old Sergeant's presence drew from
him the rebuke that in his day "such a speech would have called out a
corporal and a file of grenadiers."
The day they were mustered in, the captain of the company sent for him
and bade him have the first sergeant's chevrons sewed on his sleeve. The
order had come from the colonel, | 2,283.461921 |
2023-11-16 18:55:07.4616630 | 986 | 25 | MYSTERY ***
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "LOOK AT THE HIGH CLIFF, CAPTAIN," URGED BOB.--Page 169.]
DAVE FEARLESS
AND THE CAVE OF MYSTERY
OR
_ADRIFT ON THE PACIFIC_
BY
ROY ROCKWOOD
Author of "Dave Fearless After a Sunken Treasure," etc.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY
BOOKS FOR BOYS
BY
ROY ROCKWOOD
DAVE FEARLESS AFTER A SUNKEN TREASURE
DAVE FEARLESS ON A FLOATING ISLAND
DAVE FEARLESS AND THE CAVE OF MYSTERY
Copyright 1918 BY
GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. Splendid Fortune
II. Foul Play
III. Mr. Schmitt-Schmitt
IV. A Pair of Schemers
V. Doctor Barrell's "Accident"
VI. The Pilot's Plot
VII. The Mysterious Jar
VIII. Outwitting an Enemy
IX. A Bold Project
X. The Wooded Island
XI. A Race for Life
XII. Overboard
XIII. Adrift on the Pacific
XIV. Strange Companions
XV. A Perilous Cruise
XVI. Landed
XVII. A Remarkable Scene
XVIII. The Outcast's Secret
XIX. A Day of Adventures
XX. On Board the "Swallow"
XXI. The Island Harbor
XXII. The House of Tears
XXIII. Ready for Action
XXIV. In the Royal Palace
XXV. The Captives
XXVI. A Thrilling Adventure
XXVII. The Poisoned Darts
XXVIII. A Wild Ride
XXIX. Found!
XXX. Disaster
XXXI. A Lucky Find
XXXII. Conclusion
DAVE FEARLESS AND THE CAVE OF MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
SPLENDID FORTUNE
"It's gone! It's gone!"
"What is gone, Dave?"
"The treasure, Bob."
"But it was on board--in the boxes."
"No--those boxes are filled with old iron and lead. We have been
tricked, robbed! After all our trouble, hardship, and peril, I fear that
the golden reward we counted on so grandly has slipped from our grasp."
It was on the deck of the _Swallow_, moored in the harbor of a far-away
Pacific Ocean tropical island, that Dave Fearless spoke. He had just
rushed up from the cabin in a great state of excitement.
Below loud, anxious, and angry voices sounded. As one after another of
the officers and sailors appeared on the deck, all of them looked pale
and perturbed.
What might be called a terrific, an overwhelming discovery had just been
made by Captain Paul Broadbeam and by Dave's father, Amos Fearless, the
veteran ocean diver.
For two weeks, after a hard battle with the sea and its monsters, after
fighting savages and piratical enemies, the beautiful steamer, the
_Swallow_, had plowed through sun-tipped waves, favored by gentle
breezes, homeward-bound.
Every heart on board had been light and happy. Labeled and sealed on
the sandy floor of the ballast room, lay four boxes believed to contain
over half a million dollars in gold coin.
Legally this vast treasure belonged to Amos and Dave Fearless, father
and son. To those who had aided and protected them, however, from
Doctor Barrell, on board the _Swallow_ to make deep-sea soundings and
secure specimens of rare marine monsters for the United States
Government, down to Bob Vilett, Dave's chosen chum and the ambitious
young assistant engineer of the vessel, every soul on board knew that
when they reached San Francisco, the generous ocean diver and his son
would make a most liberal division of the splendid fortune they had
fished up in mid-ocean.
As said, the serenity of these fond hopes was now rudely blasted. Dave,
rushing up on deck quite pale and agitated, had made the announcement
that brought Bob to his | 2,283.481703 |
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Produced by Alicia Williams, Jeannie Howse and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1905 to 1906
Lucy Maud Montgomery was born at Clifton (now New London), Prince
Edward Island, Canada, on November 30, 1874. She achieved
international fame in her lifetime, putting Prince Edward Island and
Canada on the world literary map. Best known for her "Anne of Green
Gables" books, she was also a prolific writer of short stories and
poetry. She published some 500 short stories and poems and twenty
novels before her death in 1942. The Project Gutenberg collection of
her short stories was gathered from numerous sources and is presented
in chronological publishing order:
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1896 to 1901
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1902 to 1903
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1904
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1905 to 1906
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to 1908
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1909 to 1922
* * * * *
Short Stories 1905 to 1906
A Correspondence and a Climax 1905
An Adventure on Island Rock 1906
At Five O'Clock in the Morning 1905
Aunt Susanna's Birthday Celebration 1905
Bertie's New Year 1905
Between the Hill and the Valley 1905
Clorinda's Gifts 1906
Cyrilla's Inspiration 1905
Dorinda's Desperate Deed 1906
Her Own People 1905
Ida's New Year Cake 1905
In the Old Valley 1906
Jane Lavinia 1906
Mackereling Out in the Gulf 1905
Millicent's Double 1905
The Blue North Room 1906
The Christmas Surprise At Enderly Road 1905
The Dissipation of Miss Ponsonby 1906
The Falsoms' Christmas Dinner 1906
The Fraser Scholarship 1905
The Girl at the Gate 1906
The Light on the Big Dipper 1906
The Prodigal Brother 1906
The Redemption of John Churchill 1906
The Schoolmaster's Letter 1905
The Story of Uncle Dick 1906
The Understanding of Sister Sara 1905
The Unforgotten One 1906
The Wooing of Bessy 1906
Their Girl Josie 1906
When Jack and Jill Took a Hand 1905
A Correspondence and A Climax
At sunset Sidney hurried to her room to take off the soiled and faded
cotton dress she had worn while milking. She had milked eight cows and
pumped water for the milk-cans afterward in the fag-end of a hot
summer day. She did that every night, but tonight she had hurried more
than usual because she wanted to get her letter written before the
early farm bedtime. She had been thinking it out while she milked the
cows in the stuffy little pen behind the barn. This monthly letter was
the only pleasure and stimulant in her life. Existence would have
been, so Sidney thought, a dreary, unbearable blank without it. She
cast aside her milking-dress with a thrill of distaste that tingled to
her rosy fingertips. As she slipped into her blue-print afternoon
dress her aunt called to her from below. Sidney ran out to the dark
little entry and leaned over the stair railing. Below in the kitchen
there was a hubbub of laughing, crying, quarrelling children, and a
reek of bad tobacco smoke drifted up to the girl's disgusted nostrils.
Aunt Jane was standing at the foot of the stairs with a lamp in one
hand and a year-old baby clinging to the other. She was a big
shapeless woman with a round good-natured face--cheerful and vulgar as
a sunflower was Aunt Jane at all times and occasions.
"I want to run over and see how Mrs. Brixby is this evening, Siddy,
and you must take care of the baby till I get back."
Sidney sighed and went downstairs for the baby. It never would have
occurred to her to protest or be petulant about it. She had all her
aunt's sweetness of disposition, if she resembled her in nothing else.
She had not grumbled because she had to rise at four that morning, get
breakfast, milk the cows, bake bread, prepare seven children for
school, get dinner, preserve twenty quarts of strawberries, get tea,
and milk the cows again. All her days were alike as far as hard work
and dullness went, but she accepted them cheerfully and
uncomplainingly. But she did resent having to look after the baby when
she wanted to write her letter.
She carried the baby to her room, spread a quilt on the floor for him
to sit on, and gave him a box of empty spools to play with.
Fortunately he was a phlegmatic infant, fond of staying in one place,
and not given to roaming about in search of adventures; but Sidney
knew she would have to keep an eye on him, and it would be distracting
to literary effort.
She got out her box of paper and sat down by the little table at the
window with a small kerosene lamp at her elbow. The room was small--a
mere box above the kitchen which Sidney shared with two small cousins.
Her bed and the cot where the little girls slept filled up almost all
the available space. The furniture was poor, but everything was
neat--it was the only neat room in the house, indeed, for tidiness was
no besetting virtue of Aunt Jane's.
Opposite Sidney was a small muslined and befrilled toilet-table, above
which hung an eight-by-six-inch mirror, in which Sidney saw herself
reflected as she devoutly hoped other people did not see her. Just at
that particular angle one eye appeared to be as large as an orange,
while the other was the size of a pea, and the mouth zigzagged from
ear to ear. Sidney hated that mirror as virulently as she could hate
anything. It seemed to her to typify all that was unlovely in her
life. The mirror of existence into which her fresh young soul had
looked for twenty years gave back to her wistful gaze just such
distortions of fair hopes and ideals.
Half of the little table by which she sat was piled high with
books--old books, evidently well read and well-bred books, classics of
fiction and verse every one of them, and all bearing on the flyleaf
the name of Sidney Richmond, thereby meaning not the girl at the
table, but her college-bred young father who had died the day before
she was born. Her mother had died the day after, and Sidney thereupon
had come into the hands of good Aunt Jane, with those books for her
dowry, since nothing else was left after the expenses of the double
funeral had been paid.
One of the books had Sidney Richmond's name printed on the title-page
instead of written on the flyleaf. It was a thick little volume of
poems, published in his college days--musical, unsubstantial, pretty
little poems, every one of which the girl Sidney loved and knew by
heart.
Sidney dropped her pointed chin in her hands and looked dreamily out
into the moonlit night, while she thought her letter out a little more
fully before beginning to write. Her big brown eyes were full of
wistfulness and romance; for Sidney was romantic, albeit a faithful
and understanding acquaintance with her father's books had given to
her romance refinement and reason, and the delicacy of her own nature
had imparted to it a self-respecting bias.
Presently she began to write, with a flush of real excitement on her
face. In the middle of things the baby choked on a small twist spool
and Sidney had to catch him up by the heels and hold him head downward
until the trouble was ejected. Then she had to soothe him, and finally
write the rest of her letter holding him on one arm and protecting the
epistle from the grabs of his sticky little fingers. It was certainly
letter-writing under difficulties, but Sidney seemed to deal with them
mechanically. Her soul and understanding were elsewhere.
Four years before, when Sidney was sixteen, still calling herself a
schoolgirl by reason of the fact that she could be spared to attend
school four months in the winter when work was slack, she had been
much interested in the "Maple Leaf" department of the Montreal weekly
her uncle took. It was a page given over to youthful Canadians and
filled with their contributions in the way of letters, verses, and
prize essays. Noms de plume were signed to these, badges were sent to
those who joined the Maple Leaf Club, and a general delightful sense
of mystery pervaded the department.
Often a letter | 2,283.48246 |
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The Christian Foundation,
Or,
Scientific and Religious Journal
Vol. 1. No 3.
March, 1880.
CONTENTS
The Influence Of The Bible Upon Moral And Social Institutions.
The Influence Of The Bible Upon Social Life And Social Institutions.
Law, Cause, And Agent.
The Inconsistency Of Modern Unbelievers Or Materialists.
Materialism In Its Bearings Upon Person And Personality.
Was It Right?
It Only Needs To Be Seen, And Its Ugliness At Once Appears.
Did The Race Ascend From A Low State Of Barbarism?
The Flood Viewed From A Scientific And Biblical Standpoint.
The Mosaic Law In Greece, In Rome, And In The Common Law Of England.
Did Adam Fall Or Rise?
Did They Dream It, Or Was It So?
Miscellaneous.
THE INFLUENCE OF THE BIBLE UPON MORAL AND SOCIAL INSTITUTIONS.
It is profitable for us to occasionally survey the dark arena where men
have played their part, in lonely gloom, without a Savior and without a
God. Pagan morality, being without the motives and restraints of revealed
religion, and guided wholly by the passions and the lights of reason and
nature, is grossly defective. It has no settled standard of right and
wrong. It is vain to look, in all heathen philosophy for any settled
principles of duty or motives that commend themselves to enlightened
minds.
What is the basis and character of virtue? What is the law of moral
conduct? What is the object which governs it? In what does human happiness
consist? These are questions which have never been satisfactorily answered
by the unaided powers of the human mind. The annals of Pagan history show
the real results of all their speculations upon these questions. They are
comprehensively presented in the following: "They became vain in their
imaginations and their foolish hearts were darkened. They were filled with
all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness,
envy, murder, deceit, malignity. They were backbiters, haters of God,
despiteful, proud, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents,
without natural affection, implacable and unmerciful." Their manners and
habits were the results of mere whim and caprice when they were not the
results of simple love of wickedness. The vice of one community was the
virtue of another; and refinement in one was unpardonable rudeness in
another. The public festivals celebrated in Egypt are disgraceful upon the
pages of history, being accompanied with shameful practices. Egypt was
noted for corrupt morals as far back as the times of Abraham. Asia Minor
was no better; unrighteousness, sensuality and luxury prevailed. In Greece
there was brutal savageness in its most hideous forms; in the age of its
greatest refinement sin was dressed up in the finest style. The Olympic,
Pythian and Isthmian games, which were kept up to give strength to the
body and courage in the battle, were debasing and corrupting to the lowest
degree of wretchedness. The ages of ancient heroism were filled up with
crime and debauchery. They were fruitful in | 2,283.482482 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: "So you're not dead after all, my hearty." _Page 37_]
[Illustration: Title page]
THE WRECKERS
OF
SABLE ISLAND
BY
J. MACDONALD OXLEY
_Author of "Up Among the Ice-Floes," "Diamond Rock," &c._
T. NELSON AND SONS
_London, Edinburgh, and New York_
1897
CONTENTS.
I. THE SETTING FORTH
II. IN ROUGH WEATHER
III. THE WRECK
IV. ALONE AMONG STRANGERS
V. ERIC LOOKS ABOUT HIM
VI. BEN HARDEN
VII. A SABLE ISLAND WINTER
VIII. ANXIOUS TIMES
IX. FAREWELL TO SABLE ISLAND
X. RELEASE AND RETRIBUTION
THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND.
CHAPTER I.
THE SETTING FORTH.
A voyage across the Atlantic Ocean in the year 1799 was not the
every-day affair that it has come to be at the present time. There
were no "ocean greyhounds" then. The passage was a long and trying one
in the clumsy craft of those days, and people looked upon it as a more
serious affair than they now do on a tour round the world.
In the year 1799 few people thought of travelling for mere pleasure.
North, south, east, and west, the men went on missions of discovery, of
conquest, or of commerce; but the women and children abode at home,
save, of course, when they ventured out to seek new homes in that new
world which was drawing so many to its shores.
It was therefore not to be wondered at that the notion of Eric Copeland
going out to his father in far-away Nova Scotia should form the subject
of more than one family council at Oakdene Manor, the beautiful country
seat of the Copeland family, situated in one of the prettiest parts of
Warwickshire.
Eric was the only son of Doctor Copeland, surgeon-in-chief of the
Seventh Fusiliers, the favourite regiment of the Duke of Kent, the
father of Queen Victoria. This regiment formed part of the garrison at
Halifax, then under the command of the royal duke himself; and the
doctor had written to say that if the squire, Eric's grandfather,
approved, he would like Eric to come out to him, as his term of service
had been extended three years beyond what he expected, and he wanted to
have his boy with him. At the same time, he left the matter entirely
in the squire's hands for him to decide.
So far as the old gentleman was concerned, he decided at once.
"Send the boy out there to that wild place, and have him scalped by an
Indian or gobbled by a bear before he's there a month? Not a bit of
it. I won't hear of it. He's a hundred times better off here."
The squire, be it observed, held very vague notions about Nova Scotia,
and indeed the American continent generally, in spite of his son's
endeavours to enlighten him. He still firmly believed that there were
as many wigwams as houses in New York, and that Indians in full
war-paint and plumes were every day seen on the streets of
Philadelphia; while as for poor little Nova Scotia, it was more than
his mind could take in how the Duke of Kent could ever bring himself to
spend a week in such an outlandish place, not to speak of a number of
years.
So soon as Eric learned of his father's request, he was not less quick
in coming to a conclusion, but it was of a precisely opposite kind to
the squire's. He was what the Irish would call "a broth of a boy."
Fifteen last birthday, five feet six inches in height, broad of
shoulder and stout of limb, yet perfectly proportioned, as nimble on
his feet as a squirrel, and as quick of eye as a king-bird, entirely
free from any trace of nervousness or timidity, good-looking in that
sense of the word which means more than merely handsome, courteous in
his manners, and quite up to the mark in his books, Eric represented
the best type of the British boy as he looked about him with his brave
brown eyes, and longed to be something more than simply a school-boy,
and to see a little of that great world up and down which his father
had been travelling ever since he could remember.
"Of course I want to go to father," said he, promptly and decidedly.
"I don't believe there are any bears or Indians at Halifax; and even if
there should be, I don't care. I'm not afraid of them."
He had not the look of a boy that could be easily frightened, or turned
aside from anything upon which he had set his heart, and the old squire
felt as though he were seeing a youthful reflection of himself in the
sturdy spirit of resolution shown by his grandson.
"But, Eric, lad," he began to argue, "whether the Indians and bears are
plentiful or not, I don't see why you want to leave Oakdene, and go
away out to a wild place that is only fit for soldiers. You're quite
happy with us here, aren't you?" And the old gentleman's face took on
rather a reproachful expression as he put the question.
Eric's face flushed crimson, and crossing over to where the squire sat,
he bent down and kissed his wrinkled forehead tenderly.
"I am quite happy, grandpa. You and grandma do so much for me that it
would be strange if I wasn't. But you know I have been more with you
than I have with my own father; and now when he wants me to go out to
him, I want to go too. You can't blame me, can you?"
What Eric said was true enough. The doctor's regiment had somehow come
in for more than its share of foreign service. It had carried its
colours with credit over the burning plains of India, upon the
battle-fields of the Continent, and then, crossing to America, had
taken its part, however ineffectually, in the struggle which ended so
happily in the birth of a new nation. During all of his years Eric had
remained at Oakdene, seeing nothing of his father save when he came to
them on leave for a few months at a time.
These home-comings of the doctor were the great events in Eric's life.
Nothing was allowed to interfere with his enjoyment of his father's
society. All studies were laid aside, and one day of happiness
followed another, as together they rode to hounds, whipped the
trout-streams, shot over the coverts where pheasants were in plenty, or
went on delightful excursions to lovely places round about the
neighbourhood.
Dr. Copeland enjoyed his release from the routine of military duty
quite as much as Eric did his freedom from school, and it would not
have been easy to say which of the two went in more heartily for a good
time.
It was just a year since the doctor had last been home on leave, and a
year seems a very long time to a boy of fifteen, so that when the
letter came proposing that Eric should go out to his father (it should
have been told before that his mother was dead, having been taken away
from him when he was a very little fellow), and spend three long years
with him without a break, if the doctor had been in Kamtchatka or
Tierra del Fuego instead of simply in Nova Scotia, Eric would not have
hesitated a moment, but have jumped at the offer.
The old squire was very loath to part with his grandson, and it was
because he knew it would be so that the doctor had not positively asked
for Eric to be sent out, but had left the question to be decided by the
squire.
Perhaps Eric might have failed to carry his point but for the help
given him by Major Maunsell, a brother-officer of Doctor Copeland's,
who had been home on leave, and in whose charge Eric was to be placed
if it was decided to let him go.
The major had come to spend a day or two at Oakdene a little while
before taking his leave of England, and of course the question of
Eric's returning to Nova Scotia with him came up for discussion. Eric
pleaded his case very earnestly.
"Now please listen to me a moment," said he, taking advantage of a
pause in the conversation. "I love you, grandpa and grandma, very
dearly, and am very happy with you here; but I love my father too, and
I never see him, except just for a little while, when he comes home on
leave, and it would be lovely to be with him all the time for three
whole years. Besides that, I do want to see America, and this is such
a good chance | 2,283.482625 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
DOCTOR BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS.
By Mr. M. A. Titmarsh.
London:
Chapman and Hall
1840.
[Illustration: 0008]
[Illustration: 0009]
[Illustration: 00011]
DOCTOR BIRCH.
| 2,283.557557 |
2023-11-16 18:55:07.5396860 | 7,032 | 6 |
Produced by V. L. Simpson, S.D., 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.)
ELEMENTARY THEOSOPHY
L. W. ROGERS
LOS ANGELES
THEOSOPHICAL BOOK CONCERN
1917
Copyright
By
L. W. Rogers
1917
PREFACE
To comprehend the significance of great world changes, before Time has
fully done his work, is difficult. While mighty events are still in
their formative period the future is obscure. But our inability to
outline the future cannot blind us to the unmistakable trend of the
evolutionary forces at work. One thing that is clear is that our boasted
Christian civilization is the theater in which has been staged the most
un-Christian war of recorded history and in which human atrocity has
reached a point that leaves us vaguely groping for a rational
explanation of it. Another obvious fact is that the more than twenty
nations involved have been forced into measures and methods before
unknown and which wholly transform the recognized function and powers of
governments. With these startling facts of religious and political
significance before us thoughtful people are beginning to ask if we are
not upon the threshold of a complete breaking down of modern
civilization and the birth of a new order of things, in which direct
government by the people throughout the entire world will be coincident
with the rise of a universal religion based on the brotherhood of man.
In such a time any contribution to current literature that will help to
clear the ground of misconceptions and to bring to the attention of
those interested in such things, that set of fundamental natural truths
known as theosophy, may perhaps be helpful. Whether or not the world is
about to recast its ethical code there can at least be no doubt that it
is eagerly seeking reliable evidence that we live after bodily death and
that it will welcome a hypothesis of immortality that is inherently
reasonable and therefore satisfies the intellect as well as the heart.
Those who are dissatisfied with the old answers to the riddle of
existence and demand that Faith and Reason shall walk hand in hand, may
find in the following pages some explanation of the puzzling things in
life--an explanation that disregards neither the intuitions of religion
nor the facts of science.
Of course no pretension is made of fully covering the ground. The book
is a student's presentation of some of the phases of theosophy as he
understands them. They are presented with no authority whatever, and are
merely an attempt to discuss in simple language some of the fundamental
truths about the human being. No claim is made to originality but it is
hoped that by putting the old truths in a somewhat different way, with
new illustrations and arguments, they may perhaps be seen from a new
viewpoint. The intention has been to present elementary theosophy simply
and clearly and in the language familiar to the ordinary newspaper
reader. All technical terms and expressions have been avoided and the
reader will not find a single foreign word in the book.
L. W. R.
CONTENTS
I. THEOSOPHY 9
II. THE IMMANENCE OF GOD 15
III. THE EVOLUTION OF THE SOUL 23
IV. LIFE AFTER BODILY DEATH 29
V. THE EVOLUTIONARY FIELD 43
VI. THE MECHANISM OF CONSCIOUSNESS 49
VII. DEATH 59
VIII. THE ASTRAL WORLD 69
IX. REBIRTH: ITS REASONABLENESS 103
X. REBIRTH: ITS JUSTICE 135
XI. REBIRTH: ITS NECESSITY 153
XII. WHY WE DO NOT REMEMBER 167
XIII. VICARIOUS ATONEMENT 181
XIV. THE FORCES WE GENERATE 187
XV. SUPERPHYSICAL EVOLUTION 205
CHAPTER I.
THEOSOPHY
Rediscovery is one of the methods of progress. Very much that we believe
to be original with us at the time of its discovery or invention proves
in time to have been known to earlier civilizations. The elevator, or
lift, is a very modern invention and we supposed it to be a natural
development of our civilization, with its intensive characteristics,
until an antiquarian startled us with the announcement that it was used
in Rome over two thousand years ago; not, of course, as we use it, but
for the same purpose, and involving the same principles. A half century
ago our scientific men were enthusiastic over the truths of evolution
that were being discovered and placed before western civilization. But
as we learn more and more of the thought and intellectual life of the
Orient it becomes clear that the idea of evolution permeated that part
of the world centuries ago. Even the most recent and startling
scientific discoveries occasionally serve to prove that what we supposed
to be the fantastic beliefs of the ancients were really truths of nature
that we were not yet able to comprehend! The transmutation of metals is
an example. We have already gone far enough in that direction to show
that the alchemists of old were not the foolish and superstitious people
we supposed them to be. We have given far too little credit to past
civilizations and we are coming to understand now that we have rated
them too low. Our modesty must necessarily increase as it becomes
clearer that much of our supposed contribution to the world's progress
is not invention but rediscovery. We are beginning to see that it is not
safe to put aside without careful examination an idea or a belief that
was current in the world thousands of years ago. Like the supposed folly
of the alchemists it may contain profound truths of nature that have
thus far been foreign to our modes of thinking.
Theosophy is both very old and very new--very old because the principles
it contains were known and taught in the oldest civilizations, and very
new because it includes the latest investigations of the present day. It
is sometimes said by those who desire to speak lightly of it that it is
a philosophy borrowed from the Buddhists, or at least from the Orient.
That is, of course, an erroneous view. It is true that the Buddhists
hold some beliefs in common with theosophists. It is also true that
Methodists hold some beliefs in common with Unitarians, but that does
not show that Unitarianism was borrowed from Wesley! When different
people study the same facts of nature they are likely to arrive at
substantially the same conclusions. Theosophy is based upon certain
truths of nature. Those who study those truths and formulate a belief
from them must reasonably be expected to resemble theosophists in their
views. Buddhism is not unique in resembling theosophy. In the same list
may be placed the Vedanta philosophy, the Cabala of the Jews, the
teachings of the Christian Gnostics, and the philosophy of the Stoics.
The more general charge must also be denied; theosophy is not something
transplanted from the Orient. It belongs to the race, as the earth does,
and cannot be localized, even to a continent. As it is taught today in
Europe and America it is probably unknown to the masses of the Orient,
for the great general truths it embodies have here the special
application and peculiar emphasis required by a totally different
civilization. But that theosophical principles were earlier known and
more widely accepted in the Orient is quite true. That fact can in no
possible way lessen their value to us. Precisely the same thing is true
of the principles of mathematics. The science of mathematics reached
European civilization directly from the Arabs, but we do not foolishly
decline to make use of the knowledge on that account.
The literal meaning of the word theosophy is self-evident--knowledge of
God. It has three aspects, determined by the different ways in which the
human being acquires knowledge--through the study of concrete facts, by
the study of the relationship of the individual consciousness to its
source, and through the use of reasoning faculties in constructing a
logical explanation of life and its purpose. In one aspect it is,
therefore, a science. It deals with the tangible, with the facts and
phenomena of the material scientist and makes its appeal to the evidence
of the physical senses. In another aspect it is a religion. It deals
with the relationship between the source of all consciousness and its
multiplicity of individual expressions; with the complex relationships
that arise between these personalities; with the duties and obligations
which thus come into existence; with the evolution of the individual
consciousness and its ultimate translation to higher spheres. In its
other aspect it is a philosophy of life. It deals with man, his origin,
his evolution, his destiny. It seeks to explain the universe and to
throw a flood of light upon the problem of existence that will enable
those who study its wisdom to go forward in their evolution rapidly,
safely and comfortably, instead of blundering onward in the darkness of
ignorance, reaping as they go the painful harvests of misdirected
energy.
While theosophy is distinctly a science and a philosophy it is not, in
the same full sense, a religion. It has its distinctive religious
aspect, it is true, but when we speak of a religion we usually have in
mind a certain set of religious dogmas and a church that propagates
them. Theosophy is a universal thing like mathematics--a body of natural
truths applicable to all phases of life. It sees all religions as
equally important, as peculiarly adapted to the varying civilizations in
which they are found, and it presents a synthesis of the fundamental
principles upon which all of them rest.
From all of this it will be seen that there is a vast difference
between theosophy and theology. Theosophy declares the immortality of
man but not as a religious belief. It appeals to the scientific facts in
relation to the nature of consciousness. It knows no such word as
"faith," as it is ordinarily used. Its faith arises from the constancy
of natural law, the balance and sanity of nature, and the harmonious
adjustment of the universe. Theosophy is very ancient in that it is the
great fund of ancient wisdom about man and his earth, that has come down
through countless centuries, reaching far back into prehistoric times.
But added to that hoary wisdom are the up-to-date facts that have been
acquired by its most successful students, who have evolved their
consciousness to levels transcending the physical senses--facts which,
however, do not derive their authority from the method of their
discovery but from their inherent reasonableness. A detailed discussion
of such methods of consciousness and the proper value to be placed upon
such investigations rightly belongs to another chapter. It is enough now
to warn the reader against the error of confusing the pronouncements of
pseudo psychism with the work of the psychic scientists who have already
done much toward placing a scientific foundation beneath the universal
hope of immortality.
CHAPTER II.
THE IMMANENCE OF GOD
The antagonism between scientific and religious thought was the cause of
the greatest controversy in the intellectual world in the nineteenth
century. If the early teaching of the Christian Church had not been lost
the conflict could not have arisen. The Gnostic philosophers, who were
the intellect and heart of the church, had a knowledge of nature so true
that it could not possibly come into collision with any fact of science.
But unfortunately they were enormously outnumbered by the ignorant and
the authority passed wholly into their hands. It was inevitable that
misunderstanding should follow. The gross materialization of the early
teaching, the superstition, the bigotry and the persecution of the
Middle Ages was a perfectly natural result. That perverted,
materialistic view has come down to us, and even now gives trend to the
religious thought of Western civilization. Of that degradation of the
early teaching the Encyclopedia Britannica says:
The conception of God as wholly external to man, a purely
mechanical theory of creation, is throughout Christendom
regarded as false to the teaching of the New Testament as
also to Christian experience.
It is, indeed, false to the teaching of the Christ but if it is so
regarded "throughout Christendom" it is only on the part of its
scholars; most certainly not by the masses of the people. The popular
conception is undeniably that the relationship between God and man is
identical with that between an inventor and an animated machine. It is
an absolutely anthropomorphic view of the Supreme Being and thinks of
God as being apart from man in precisely the same sense that a father is
apart from his son. It may be an exalted, idealized conception of the
relationship of father and son but it is nevertheless just that
relationship, and along that line runs practically all the teaching and
preaching of those who speak officially in modern religious
interpretation. Emerson sought to counteract that popular misconception
but he was regarded as a heretic by all but an infinitesimal portion of
the church.
The idea of the immanence of God is as different from the popular
conception as noontide is different from midnight. It is so radically
different that one who accepts that ancient belief must put aside his
old ideas of what man is and raise him in dignity and potential power to
a level that will, at first, seem actually startling; for it means, in
its uttermost significance that God and man are but two phases of the
one eternal life and consciousness that constitute our universe! The
idea of the immanence of God is that He _is_ the universe; that the
solar system is an emanation of the Supreme Being as clouds are an
emanation of the sea, and that the relationship between God and man is
not merely that of father and son but also that of ocean and raindrop.
This conception makes man _a part of_ God, having potentially within him
all the attributes and powers of the Supreme Being. It is the idea that
nothing exists except God and that humanity is one portion of Him, and
one phase of His being, as clouds are one expression of the waters that
constitute the sea. The immanence of God is a conception of the universe
that puts science and religion into perfect harmony with each other
because miraculous creation disappears and evolutionary creation takes
its place.
Although the anthropomorphic idea of God has such widespread dominion in
Occidental thought the immanence of God is plainly taught and repeatedly
emphasized in the Christian scriptures. "For in Him we live, and move,
and have our being," is certainly very explicit and admits of no
anthropomorphic interpretation. It could not be said that a son lives
and moves in his father. The declaration presents the relationship of a
lesser consciousness within a greater, and constituting a part of it.
The essentially divine nature of man is made clear in the declaration in
Genesis that he is an image of God. To say that the likeness is on the
material side would, of course, be absurd. In divine essence, in latent
power, in potential spirituality, man is an image of God, because he is
a part of Him. The same idea is more directly put in the Psalms with the
assertion, "ye are gods."[A] If the idea of the immanence of God is
sound man, as a literal fragment of the consciousness of the Supreme
Being, is an embryo god, destined to ultimately evolve his latent powers
into perfect expression.
The oneness of life was explicitly asserted by Jesus in his teaching.
Emerson's teaching of the immanence of God is unmistakable in both his
prose and poetry. "There is no bar or wall," he says, "in the soul where
man, the effect, ceases and God, the Cause, begins." Still more
explicitly he puts it:
The realms of being to no other bow;
Not only all are Thine, but all are Thou.
The statement is as complete as it is emphatic. "Not only all are Thine,
_but all are thou_." It's an unqualified assertion that humanity is a
part of God, as leaves are part of a tree--not something a tree has
created in the sense that a man creates a machine but something that is
an emanation of the tree, and is a living part of it. Thus only has God
made man. Humanity is a growth, a development, an emanation, an
evolutionary expression of the Supreme Being.
It is upon the unity of all life that theosophy bases its declaration of
universal brotherhood, regarding it as a fact in nature. The immanence
of God gives a scientific basis of morality. The theosophical conception
is that men are separated in form but are united in the one
consciousness which is the life base of the universe. Their relationship
to each other is somewhat like that of the fingers to each other--they
are separate individuals on the form side but they are united in the
one consciousness that animates the hand. If we imagine each finger to
possess a consciousness of its own, which is limited to itself and
cannot pass beyond to the hand, we shall have a fair analogy of the
unity and identity of interests of all living things. Under such
circumstances an injury to one finger would not appear to the others as
an injury to them, but if the finger consciousness could be extended to
the hand the reality of the injury to all would be apparent. Likewise an
injury to any human being is literally an injury to the race. The race
does not recognize the truth of it just because, and only because, of
the limitation of consciousness. Lowell put the fact clearly when he
said:
He's true to God who's true to man;
Wherever wrong is done
To the humblest and weakest
'Neath the all-beholding sun,
That wrong is also done to us;
And they are slaves most base
Whose love of right is for themselves,
And not for all the race.
He's true to God who's true to man because they are one life; because
they are but different expressions of the one eternal consciousness;
because they are as inseparable as the light and warmth of the sun. It
follows that being true to man is fidelity to God.
The popular idea is that people should be moral because that sort of
conduct is pleasing to the Supreme Being and that He will, in the life
beyond physical existence, in some way punish those who have broken the
moral laws. It is belief in an external authority that threatens
punishment as a deterrent to law breaking, as a state devises penalties
commensurate with offenses. But the immanence of God represents a
condition in which not punishments, but consequences, automatically
follow all violations of natural law. Under such a state of affairs it
would require no penalties, but only knowledge, to insure right conduct,
for it would be perceived that there is no possible escape from the
consequences of an evil act.
It is not difficult to see the relative value of the two systems of
thought when put to a practical test in human affairs. Imagine an
unscrupulous man of great mental capacity who is amassing an enormous
fortune through sharp practices that enable him to acquire the earnings
of others while he safely keeps just within the limits of the law. We
can point out to him that while he is not violating the law, and cannot
therefore be prosecuted, he is nevertheless inflicting injury upon
others and consequently public opinion will condemn him. But such a man
usually cares nothing at all for public opinion and he sees no good
reason why he should not continue in his injurious work. But if he can
be made to understand that all life is one and that we are so knit
together in consciousness that an injury to another must ultimately
react upon the person who inflicts it; if he once clearly understands
that to enslave another is to put chains upon himself, that to maim
another is to strike himself, he will require neither the fear of an
exterior hell nor the threat of legal penalties to induce him to follow
a moral course. He would see that his own larger and true self-interest
could be served only when his conduct was in harmony with the welfare of
all. It is but a simple statement of the truth to say that the immanence
of God furnishes a scientific basis of morality.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Psalms LXXXII--6.
CHAPTER III.
THE EVOLUTION OF THE SOUL
If we accept the idea of the immanence of God we shall be forced to
abandon belief in a miraculous instantaneous creation of man and the
earth on which he exists. The old, absurd, unscientific, impossible idea
that the race came from an original human pair must be replaced by the
hypothesis of the evolution of the soul.
It was about the fact of evolution that the great storm of controversy
raged between scientists and theologians in the middle of the nineteenth
century, and later. The evolutionary truths were not at first well
understood. They seemed to question or deny the existence of God. Deep
within humanity is intuitive religious belief. It is a natural faith
that transcends all facts, like the faith of a child in its mother.
Because evolution was contrary to all preconceived ideas of the earth's
inception it seemed at first to shatter faith and destroy hope, and
against fact and reason itself rose the protest of intuition with
spiritual intensity. People felt more than they reasoned and cried out
that science was about to destroy the belief in God. But time has proved
that they had merely misinterpreted the meaning of evolution. Further
understanding has shown that, instead of destroying the belief in God,
evolution has given us a new and better understanding of the whole
matter and has placed the hope of immortality on firmer ground than it
previously occupied.
Evolution is an established and generally accepted fact. No educated
person now thinks of questioning it. It is settled beyond dispute that
all things in the physical world have become what they are through a
long, slow, gradual evolution and that organisms the most perfect in
form and most complex in function have evolved from simpler ones. The
age of miracle has passed and belief in miracle has passed so far as its
relation to the material world is concerned. It is no longer necessary
to have a belief in an anthropomorphic God, performing feats in defiance
of natural law, in order to account for that which exists. Science has
reduced the cosmos to comprehension and shown that, given nebulous
physical matter, we can understand how the earth came into existence.
But why should we stop with the application of the laws of evolution to
material things? Only the outright materialist, who asserts that life is
a product of matter, can logically do so, and so great an authority in
the scientific world as Sir Oliver Lodge has asserted that there is no
longer any such thing as scientific materialism.[B] Those who accept the
idea of the existence of the soul at all must necessarily accept the
idea of the evolution of the soul. How can consciousness possibly
escape the laws that evolve the media for the expression of
consciousness? There must be the evolution of mind as certainly as there
is evolution of matter. The material and the spiritual, form and life,
are inseparable. Indeed, scientific progress has now brought us to the
point where matter, as such, practically disappears and we are face to
face with the fact that matter is really but a manifestation of force.
How, then, is it longer possible to speak of the soul and not accept the
evolution of the soul? Psychology is no less a science than physiology.
The phenomena of consciousness are as definitely studied as physical
phenomena, and it is no more difficult to account for a myriad souls
than to account for a million suns and their planets. The scientists who
have taken the position that the universe has a spiritual side as well
as a material side are among the most eminent and distinguished of the
modern world. If evolution has produced the starry heavens from the
material side it has likewise evolved the human souls of our world and
others from the spiritual side. It is no more difficult to understand
the one than the other.
From the scientific viewpoint the old popular belief in the creation of
the earth and the race by an act suddenly accomplished is, of course,
preposterous. If we could know nothing back of the present moment and
were called upon to account for the world as we see it--with its cities,
its ships and railways, its cultivated fields and parks--many people who
still believe in instantaneous creation of the soul would save
themselves much mental exertion by declaring that God had made it all as
it stands for the use and entertainment of man. But we know that it is
utterly absurd to think of the world leaping into existence
instantaneously--nothing existing one day and all trains running on time
between ready-made cities the next, carrying ready-made people about. It
sounds ridiculous only because we are putting it in material terms, but
in very truth it is less ludicrous than thinking of the instantaneous
creation of the creators of cities and railways.
The idea that we are a sudden creation is only possible because of the
very vague ideas of what human souls are. The chief difficulty with the
popular notion that a human soul is as new as the body it inhabits is
that it is a vague and indefinite conception of life, and the moment we
begin to think seriously about it the weakness of the idea becomes
apparent. Such a notion has no relationship to the processes of
reasoning. How can one reason with a man who believes it possible for a
soul to spring into existence from the void? What is the use in
reasoning about the "whys and wherefores" when it settles the whole
matter to say: "God did it"?
One thing that prevents us from believing not only that millions of
souls were created in the twinkling of an eye, but also that the world
as it now is was likewise suddenly created, is that we happen to know
quite definitely the history of the world a little way into the past,
and that history affirms that the earth and all life on it is the
product of slow evolutionary growth.
The evolution of the soul places the realm of religion on a scientific
basis. Not only the origin of the soul but its development and its
destiny at once appear in a new light. The mind is instinctively
impressed with the dignity of the idea of the evolution of the soul,
which, with its corollary, the immanence of God, makes the divinity of
man a fact in nature.
FOOTNOTES:
[B] Raymond: or Life and Death.
CHAPTER IV.
LIFE AFTER BODILY DEATH
One of the really remarkable facts of modern life is the disinclination
to accept at apparent value the scientific and other evidence there is
to prove that consciousness persists after the death of the physical
body. There is in existence a large amount of such evidence and much of
it is offered by scientists of the highest standing; and yet the average
man continues to speak of the subject as though nothing about it had yet
been definitely learned. It is the tendency of the human mind to adjust
itself very slowly to the truth, as it is discovered. Sometimes a
generation passes away between the discovery and the general acceptance
of a great truth. When we recall the intense opposition to the
introduction of steam-driven boats and vehicles, and the slowness with
which the world settles down to any radical change in its methods of
thinking, it will perhaps seem less remarkable that the truth about the
life after bodily death has waited so long for general recognition.
The evidence upon which a belief in the continuity of consciousness is
based is of two kinds--that furnished by physical science and that
furnished by psychic science. Together they make a very complete case.
The printed evidence of the first division--physical science--is
voluminous. In addition to that gathered by the Society for Psychical
Research there are the researches and experiments by the scientists of
England, France and Italy, among whom are Crookes, Lodge, Flammarion and
Lombroso. Crookes was a pioneer in the work of studying the human
consciousness and tracing its activities beyond the change called death.
All of that keenness of intellect and great scientific knowledge, which
has enabled him to make so many valuable discoveries and inventions, and
has won for him world-wide fame, were brought to bear upon the subject,
and for a period of four years he patiently investigated and
experimented. Many illustrated articles prepared by him, fully
describing his work, were published at the time in _The Journal of
Science_ of which he was then the editor.
Three vital points in psychic research were established by Sir William
Crookes. One was that there is psychic force. He demonstrated its
existence by levitation. He showed next, that the force is directed by
intelligence. By various clever experiments he obtained most conclusive
evidence of that fact. He then demonstrated that the intelligence
directing the force is not that of living people. Crookes also went
exhaustively into the subject of materialization and here, again, he was
remarkably successful. He was the first scientist to photograph the
materialized human form and engage in direct conversation with the
person who thus returned from the mysterious life beyond. This evidence
from the camera must be regarded as particularly interesting. It was
received with much amazement at the time, but that was before we had
revised our erroneous ideas about the nature of matter and before the
day of liquid air. Materialization is no longer a startling idea, for
that is precisely what liquid air is--a condensation of invisible matter
to the point where it becomes tangible and can be weighed, measured,
seen and otherwise known to the physical senses.
All these things Sir William Crookes did upon his own premises and under
the most rigid scientific conditions. All the methods and mechanism
known to modern science were employed and he finally announced his
complete satisfaction and acceptance of the genuineness of the phenomena
observed.
As Sir William Crookes was the earliest, Sir Oliver Lodge is the latest
of the famous scientists who have taken up the investigation of the
continuity of consciousness. In a lecture upon the subject, before the
Society for the Advancement of Science, he declared not only that the
subject of life after physical death was one which science might
legitimately and profitably investigate but that the existence of an
invisible realm had been established. He declared the continent of an
invisible world had been discovered, and added, "already a band of
daring investigators have landed on its treacherous but promising
shores."
Different scientists make a specialty of certain kinds of psychic
investigation and while Crookes made a detailed and careful study of
materialization Lodge has given equally painstaking efforts to
investigations by the use of that class of sensitives known as
"mediums." A medium is not necessarily a clairvoyant, and usually is
not clairvoyant. A person in whose body the etheric matter easily
separates from the physical matter is a medium and can readily be
utilized as a sort of telephone between the visible and the invisible
planes. A medium is an abnormal person and is a good medium in
proportion to the degree of abnormality. If the etheric matter of the
body is easily extruded the physical body readily falls into the trance
condition and the mechanism of conversation can be operated by the
so-called "dead" person who has temporarily taken possession of it. In
such cases it is not the medium who speaks for the living-dead
communicator. He is speaking directly himself, but he may often do it
with great difficulty and not always succeed in accurately expressing
the thought he has in mind. He may have to contend with other thoughts,
moods and emotions than his own and to those who understand something of
his difficulties it is not strange that such communications are
frequently unsatisfactory. It is not often that an analogy can be found
that will give a physical plane comprehension of a superphysical
condition, but perhaps a faint understanding may be had by thinking of a
"party line" telephone that any one of a dozen people may use at any
moment he can succeed in getting possession of it. A listener attempting
to communicate with one of them may | 2,283.559726 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE DIVINE COMEDY
THE VISION
OF
HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE
BY
DANTE ALIGHIERI
PARADISE
Complete
TRANSLATED BY
THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A.
PARADISE
LIST OF CANTOS
Canto 1
Canto 2
Canto 3
Canto 4 | 2,283.560903 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Christian
Boissonnas and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
BIRDS AND ALL NATURE.
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.
VOL. V. FEBRUARY, 1899. NO. 2
CONTENTS.
Page
GINGER. 49
SAP ACTION. 54
EMERSON AND THE WOODPECKER STORY. 56
THE CRAB-EATING OPOSSUM. 59
WASHINGTON AND LINCOLN. 60
THE GEOGRAPHIC TURTLE. 62
NOSES. 65
THE WHITE IBIS. 71
THE HELPLESS. 72
FEBRUARY. 73
THE IRIS. 74
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 74
THE PEACOCK. 77
OWLS. 78
THE DUCK MOLE. 80
THE HIBERNATION OF ANIMALS. 84
THE CAPE MAY WARBLER. 86
SNOWFLAKES. 89
A TIMELY WARNING. 89
A WINDOW STUDY. 90
FIVE LITTLE WOODMEN. 91
THE COCOA-NUT. 95
THE BLACK WALNUT AND BUTTERNUT. 96
THE EDIBLE PINE. 96
GINGER.
_Zingiber officinale Roscoe._
DR. ALBERT SCHNEIDER, Northwestern University School of Pharmacy.
"And ginger shall be hot i' the mouth, too."
--_Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, II., 3._
The well-known spice ginger is the underground stem (_rhizome_) of an
herbaceous reed-like plant known as _Zingiber officinale_. The rhizome
is perennial, but the leaf and flower-bearing stems are annual. The
stems are from three to six feet high. The leaves of the upper part
of the stem are sword-shaped; the lower leaves are rudimentary and
sheath-like. The flowers occur in the form of conical spikes borne upon
the apex of stems which bear only sheath-like leaves.
The ginger plant is said to be a native of southern Asia, although it
is now rarely found growing wild. It is very extensively cultivated in
the tropical countries of both hemispheres, particularly in southern
China, India, Africa, and Jamaica. The word ginger is said to have
been derived from the Greek "Zingiber," which again was derived from
the Arabian "Zindschabil," which means the "root from India." It is
further stated that the word was derived from Gingi, a country west of
Pondecheri where the plant is said to grow wild.
True ginger must not be confounded with "wild ginger," which is a small
herbaceous plant (_Asarum canadense_) of the United States. The long,
slender rhizomes of _Asarum_ have a pungent, aromatic taste similar to
ginger. According to popular belief this plant has a peculiar charm.
Friends provided with the leaves are enabled to converse with each
other, though many miles apart and speaking in the faintest whisper.
The early Greeks and Romans made extensive use of ginger as a spice
and as a medicine. During the third century it was apparently a very
costly spice, but during the eleventh century it became cheaper, owing
to extensive cultivation, and was quite generally used in Europe.
Dioscrides and Plinius maintained that this spice was derived chiefly
from Arabia. The noted traveler and historian, Marco Polo (1280-1290)
is said to have been the first European who saw the wild-growing plant
in its home in India. As early as the thirteenth century a considerable
number of varieties of ginger were under cultivation, which received
distinctive names as Beledi, Colombino, Gebeli, Deli, etc., usually
named after the country or locality from which it was obtained.
At the present time Jamaica supplies the United States with nearly all
of the ginger, and this island is, therefore, known as "the land of
ginger." Cochin-China and Africa also yield much ginger. In Jamaica
the process of cultivation is somewhat as follows: During March and
April portions of rhizomes, each bearing an "eye" (bud), are placed
in furrows about one foot apart and covered with a few inches of soil.
The lazy planter leaves portions of the rhizomes in the soil from year
to year so as to avoid the necessity of planting, such ginger being
known as "ratoon ginger" in contradistinction to the "plant ginger."
The planted ginger soon sprouts, sending up shoots which require
much sunlight and rain, both of which are plentiful in Jamaica. The
field should be kept free from weeds which is not generally done for
several reasons. In the first place pulling the weeds is apt to loosen
the soil about the rhizomes which induces the development of "ginger
rot," perhaps due to a fungus. Secondly, the Jamaica ginger planter is
naturally lazy and does not like to exert himself. The careful planter
burns the soil over before planting so as to destroy the seeds of
weeds. In brief it may be stated that ginger is planted, tended, and
gathered much as potatoes are in the United States. As soon as gathered
the rhizomes are freed from dirt, roots, and branches and thrown into
a vessel of water preparatory to peeling. Peeling consists in removing
the outer coat by means of a narrow-bladed knife. As soon as peeled the
rhizomes are again thrown into water and washed. The object of keeping
the "roots" in water and washing them frequently is to produce a white
article. To this end bleaching by means of burning sulphur and chlorine
fumes has been resorted to. Some ginger, especially that of Jamaica,
is dusted over with powdered lime; this colors the ginger white very
effectively. The bleaching processes also serve to destroy parasites
which may infest the ginger before it is thoroughly dried.
The drying or curing of ginger is done in the sun. A piece of ground
is leveled and laid with stone and cement. Upon this the rhizomes are
spread from day to day for from six to eight days. At night and during
rains they are placed under cover. The small planter does the curing
upon mats of sticks, boards, palm or banana leaves raised somewhat
above the ground. Very frequently the drying is done upon leaves placed
directly upon the ground.
Not by any means all the ginger upon the market is peeled. The Jamaica
ginger usually is; the African ginger is usually unpeeled, and hence
dark in color; the Chinese ginger is usually partially peeled. Peeling
makes the product appear whiter and hastens drying very materially, but
much of the ethereal oil and active principle is thereby lost since it
occurs most plentifully in the outer coat.
The ginger crop impoverishes the soil very rapidly; every few years a
new field must be planted. Forest soil is said to yield the best crops
and in Jamaica thousands of acres of forest are annually destroyed
by fire to prepare new ginger fields. Ginger appears upon the market
either whole or ground. Unfortunately the ground article is oftentimes
adulterated; for instance, with sago, tapioca, potato, wheat, and rice
starch, with cayenne pepper, mustard, and other substances.
Ginger has been an important commercial and household article ever
since the first century of our era. Poets and prose writers of the past
and present have praised ginger and the many preparations having ginger
in composition, because of their aromatic pungent taste and stimulating
effect. The opening quotation from Shakespeare indicates the properties
of ginger. That it was a highly-valued spice during the time of
Mandeville (1300-1372) is evident from a quotation from his "travels."
"Be alle that contree growe the gode gyngevere (ginger), and therefore
thidre gon the Marchauntes for Spicerye."
[Illustration: GINGER. FROM KOEHLER'S MEDICINAL-PFLANZEN.]
Explanation of plate:
_A_, plant abut natural size; 1, flower bud; 2, flower; 3, outer floral
parts separated; 4, longitudinal section of flower; 5, nectary with
rudimentary and perfect stamens; 6, pistil and rudimentary stamen; 7,
upper end of style with stigma; 8 and 9, ovary in longitudinal and
transverse sections.
Green ginger pickled in sugar was highly prized during the middle
ages. There are a number of beverages which contain ginger. Gingerade
is water charged with carbonic acid gas and flavored with ginger, being
almost identical with ginger-pop. Ginger-beer is prepared by fermenting
cream-of-tartar, ginger, and sugar with yeast and water. Ginger-ale is
supposed to be identical | 2,283.561049 |
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Transcribers Notes: Title and Table of Contents added.
* * * * *
THE IDLER MAGAZINE.
AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY.
June 1893.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
MEMOIRS OF A FEMALE NIHILIST.
II.--IN PRISON.
BY SOPHIE WASSILIEFF.
THE LEGS OF SISTER URSULA.
BY RUDYARD KIPLING.
"LIONS IN THEIR DENS."
VI.--EMILE ZOLA.
BY V. R. MOONEY.
PEOPLE I HAVE NEVER MET.
BY SCOTT R | 2,283.581469 |
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Produced by Donald Lainson
A PHYLLIS OF THE SIERRAS
By Bret Harte
CHAPTER I.
Where the great highway of the Sierras nears the summit, and the pines
begin to show sterile reaches of rock and waste in their drawn-up files,
there are signs of occasional departures from the main road, as if the
weary traveller had at times succumbed to the long ascent, and turned
aside for rest and breath again. The tired eyes of many a dusty
passenger on the old overland coach have gazed wistfully on those sylvan
openings, and imagined recesses of primeval shade and virgin wilderness
in their dim perspectives. Had he descended, however, and followed one
of these diverging paths, he would have come upon some rude wagon track,
or "logslide," leading from a clearing on the <DW72>, or the ominous
saw-mill, half hidden in the forest it was slowly decimating. The
woodland hush might have been broken by the sound of water passing over
some unseen dam in the hollow, or the hiss of escaping steam and throb
of an invisible engine in the covert.
Such, at least, was the experience of a young fellow of five-and-twenty,
who, knapsack on back and stick in hand, had turned aside from the
highway and entered the woods one pleasant afternoon in July. But he
was evidently a deliberate pedestrian, and not a recent deposit of
the proceeding stage-coach; and although his stout walking-shoes were
covered with dust, he had neither the habitual slouch and slovenliness
of the tramp, nor the hurried fatigue and growing negligence of an
involuntary wayfarer. His clothes, which were strong and serviceable,
were better fitted for their present usage than the ordinary garments
of the Californian travellers, which were too apt to be either above or
below their requirements. But perhaps the stranger's greatest claim to
originality was the absence of any weapon in his equipment. He carried
neither rifle nor gun in his hand, and his narrow leathern belt was
empty of either knife or revolver.
A half-mile from the main road, which seemed to him to have dropped out
of sight the moment he had left it, he came upon a half-cleared area,
where the hastily-cut stumps of pines, of irregular height, bore an odd
resemblance to the broken columns of some vast and ruined temple. A few
fallen shafts, denuded of their bark and tessellated branches, sawn into
symmetrical cylinders, lay beside the stumps, and lent themselves to the
illusion. But the freshly-cut chips, so damp that they still clung in
layers to each other as they had fallen from the axe, and the stumps
themselves, still wet and viscous from their drained life-blood, were
redolent of an odor of youth and freshness.
The young man seated himself on one of the logs and deeply inhaled the
sharp balsamic fragrance--albeit with a slight cough and a later hurried
respiration. This, and a certain drawn look about his upper lip,
seemed to indicate, in spite of his strength and color, some pulmonary
weakness. He, however, rose after a moment's rest with undiminished
energy and cheerfulness, readjusted his knapsack, and began to lightly
pick his way across the fallen timber. A few paces on, the muffled whir
of machinery became more audible, with the lazy, monotonous command
of "Gee thar," from some unseen ox-driver. Presently, the slow,
deliberately-swaying heads of a team of oxen emerged from the bushes,
followed by the clanking chain of the "skids" of sawn planks, which they
were ponderously dragging with that ostentatious submissiveness peculiar
to their species. They had nearly passed him when there was a sudden
hitch in the procession. From where he stood he could see that a
projecting plank had struck a pile of chips and become partly imbedded
in it. To run to the obstruction and, with a few dexterous strokes and
the leverage of his stout stick, dislodge the plank was the work not
only of the moment but of an evidently energetic hand. The teamster
looked back and merely nodded his appreciation, and with a "Gee up! Out
of that, now!" the skids moved on.
"Much obliged, there!" said a hearty voice, as if supplementing the
teamster's imperfect acknowledgment.
The stranger looked up. The voice came from the open, sashless,
shutterless window of a rude building--a mere shell of boards and beams
half hidden in the still leafy covert before him. He had completely
overlooked it in his approach, even as he had ignored the nearer
throbbing of the machinery, which was so violent as to impart a decided
tremor to the slight edifice, and to shake the speaker so strongly that
he was obliged while speaking to steady himself by the sashless frame
of the window at which he stood. He had a face of good-natured and alert
intelligence, a master's independence and authority of manner, in spite
of his blue jean overalls and flannel shirt.
"Don't mention it," said the stranger, smiling with equal but more
deliberate good-humor. Then, seeing that his interlocutor still
lingered a hospitable moment in spite of his quick eyes and the jarring
impatience of the machinery, he added hesitatingly, "I fancy I've
wandered off the track a bit. Do you know a Mr. Bradley--somewhere
here?"
The stranger's hesitation seemed to be more from some habitual
conscientiousness of statement than awkwardness. The man in the window
replied, "I'm Bradley."
"Ah! Thank you: I've a letter for you--somewhere. Here it is." He
produced a note from his breast-pocket. Bradley stooped to a sitting
posture in the window. "Pitch it up." It was thrown and caught cleverly.
Bradley opened it, read it hastily, smiled and nodded, glanced behind
him as if to implore further delay from the impatient machinery, leaned
perilously from the window, and said,--
"Look here! Do you see that silver-fir straight ahead?"
"Yes."
"A little to the left there's a trail. Follow it and skirt along the
edge of the canyon until you see my house. Ask for my wife--that's Mrs.
Bradley--and give her your letter. Stop!" He drew a carpenter's pencil
from his pocket, scrawled two or three words across the open sheet
and tossed it back to the stranger. "See you at tea! Excuse me--Mr.
Mainwaring--we're short-handed--and--the engine--" But here he
disappeared suddenly.
Without glancing at the note again, the stranger quietly replaced it
in his pocket, and struck out across the fallen trunks towards the
silver-fir. He quickly found the trail indicated by Bradley, although it
was faint and apparently worn by a single pair of feet as a shorter and
private cut from some more travelled path. It was well for the stranger
that he had a keen eye or he would have lost it; it was equally
fortunate that he had a mountaineering instinct, for a sudden profound
deepening of the blue mist seen dimly through the leaves before him
caused him to slacken his steps. The trail bent abruptly to the right;
a gulf fully two thousand feet deep was at his feet! It was the Great
Canyon.
At the first glance it seemed so narrow that a rifle-shot could have
crossed its tranquil depths; but a second look at the comparative size
of the trees on the opposite mountain convinced him of his error. A
nearer survey of the abyss also showed him that instead of its walls
being perpendicular they were made of successive ledges or terraces to
the valley below. Yet the air was so still, and the outlines so clearly
cut, that they might have been only the reflections of the mountains
around him cast upon the placid mirror of a lake. The spectacle arrested
him, as it arrested all men, by some occult power beyond the mere
attraction of beauty or magnitude; even the teamster never passed
it without the tribute of a stone or broken twig tossed into its
immeasurable profundity.
Reluctantly leaving the spot, the stranger turned with the trail that
now began to skirt its edge. This was no easy matter, as the undergrowth
was very thick, and the foliage dense to the perilous brink of the
precipice. He walked on, however, wondering why Bradley had chosen so
circuitous and dangerous a route to his house, which naturally would
be some distance back from the canyon. At the end of ten minutes'
struggling through the "brush," the trail became vague, and, to all
appearances, ended. Had he arrived? The thicket was as dense as before;
through the interstices of leaf and spray he could see the blue | 2,283.683679 |
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Proofreading Team.
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 99.
September 13, 1890.
OUT FOR A HOLIDAY.
(_BY OUR IMPARTIAL AND NOT-TO-BE-BIASSED CRITIC._)
I had often been told that St. Margaret's Bay, between Deal and Dover,
was lovely beyond compare. Seen from the Channel, I had heard it
described as "magnificent," and evidence of its charms nearer at hand,
was adduced in the fact that Mr. ALMA TADEMA, R.A., had made it his
headquarters during a portion of the recent summer.
[Illustration]
So I determined to visit it. I had to take a ticket to Martin's Mill,
a desolate spot, containing a railway station, a railway hotel, and
(strange to say) a mill. I was told by an obliging official on my
arrival, that St. Margaret's Bay was a mile and a half distant--"to
the village." And a mile and a half--a very good mile and a half--it
was! Up hill, down dale, along the dustiest of dusty roads, bordered
by telegraph poles that suggested an endless lane without a turning.
On climbing to the summit of each hill another long stretch of road
presented itself. At length the village was reached, and I looked
about me for the sea. A cheerful young person who was flirting with a
middle-aged cyclist seemed surprised when I asked after it. "Oh, the
sea!" she exclaimed, in a tone insinuating that the ocean was at a
decided discount in her part of the world--"oh, you will find _that_
a mile further on." I sighed wearily, and recommenced my plodding
stumbles.
I passed two unhappy-looking stone eagles protecting a boarding-house,
and a shed given over to the sale of lollipops and the hiring
of a pony-chaise. The cottages seemed to me to be of the
boat-turned-bottom-upwards order of architecture, and were adorned
with placards, announcing "Apartments to Let." Everything seemed to
let, except, perhaps, the church, which, however (on second thoughts),
appeared to be let alone. But if the houses were not, in themselves,
particularly inviting, their names were pleasing enough, although,
truth to tell, a trifle misleading. For instance, there was a "Marine
Lodge," which seemed a very considerable distance from the ocean,
and a "Swiss _chalet_," that but faintly suggested the land renowned
equally for mountains and merry juveniles. I did not notice any shops,
although I fancy, from the appearance of a small barber's pole that I
found in front of a cottage, that the hair-dressing interest must have
had a local representative. For the rest, an air of hopefulness, if
not precisely cheerfulness, was given to the place by the presence
of a Convalescent Hospital. Leaving the village behind me, I
came, footsore and staggering, at length to the Bay. I was cruelly
disappointed. Below me was what appeared to be a small portion of
Rosherville, augmented with two bathing-machines, and a residence
for the Coast-guard. There was a hotel, (with a lawn-tennis ground),
and several placards, telling of land to let. The descent to the sea
was very steep, and, on the high road above it, painfully modern
villas were putting in a disfiguring appearance. On the beach was a
melancholy pic-nic party, engaged in a mild carouse. In the gloaming
was a light-ship, marking the end of the Goodwin Sands.
On a beautiful day no doubt St. Margaret's Bay would look quite
as lovely as Gravesend, but when it rained I question whether it
would compare favourably with Southend under similar atmospheric
circumstances. There was some shrubbery creeping up the white
hill-side that may have been considered artistic, and possibly the
great expanse of ocean (when completely free from mist) had to a
certain extent a sort of charm. As I looked towards the coast of
France I had an excellent view of a steamer, crammed with (presumably)
noisy excursionists, coming from Margate. But when I have said this I
have nothing more to add, save that you can get from Martin's Mill
to St. Margaret's Bay by an omnibus. By catching this conveyance you
avoid a tedious walk, which puts you out of temper for the rest of the
day.
P.S.--I missed the omnibus!
* * * * *
GOOD YOUNG "ZUMMERSET!"
(_CHAMPION IN CRICKET OF THE SECOND-CLASS COUNTIES._)
Eight matches played, and eight matches won!
_That_'s what none of the First-class Counties have done.
'Tis clear that Young Zummerset knows "how to do it."
Bravo, PALAIRET, WOODS, TYLER, ROE, HEWITT!
Go on in this fashion, and soon you'll be reckoned
Among the First-Classers, instead of the Second.
Wet wickets this season, boys, seldom a rummer set,
But they anyhow seem to have suited Young Zummerset!
* * * * *
THE REAL GRIEVANCE OFFICE.
(_BEFORE_ MR. COMMISSIONER PUNCH.)
_A Medical Officer (with martial manner, and well set up)
introduced._
_The Commissioner_. Well, Sir--may I call you Colonel?--what can I do
for you?
_Medical Officer_ (_smiling_). I am afraid, Sir, you may give me no
military rank, as it would be contrary to the Regulations.
_The Com._ Have I not the pleasure of addressing a soldier?
[Illustration]
_Med. Off._ Well, yes, Sir, I suppose I may claim | 2,283.68843 |
2023-11-16 18:55:07.7690960 | 35 | 10 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
IN THE SIXTIES
By Harold Frederic
New York: Charles Scri | 2,283.789136 |
2023-11-16 18:55:07.9628670 | 3,563 | 9 |
Produced by Andrew Leader of www.polishwriting.net
An Obscure Apostle
A Dramatic Story
TRANSLATED BY C.S. DE SOISSONS FROM THE ORIGINAL POLISH OF
MME. ORZESZKO
LONDON
GREENING & CO., LTD.
20 CECIL COURT, CHARING CROSS ROAD
1899
Printed by Cowan & Co., Limited Perth.
PREFACE
ELIZA ORZESZKO
In Lord Palmerston's days, the English public naturally heard a great
deal about Poland, for there were a goodly number of Poles, noblemen
and others, residing in London, exiles after the unsuccessful
revolution, who, believing that England would help them to recover
their lost liberty, made every possible effort to that end through
Count Vladislas Zamoyski, the prime minister's personal friend. But
even in those times, when the English press was writing much about the
political situation in Poland, little was said about that which
constitutes the greatest glory of a nation, namely, its literature and
art, which alone can be secure of immortality. Only lately, in fact,
has any public attention been paid by English people to Polish
literature. However, among the authors who have attracted considerable
attention of late, is the writer of "By Fire and Sword," whose "Quo
Vadis," has met with a phenomenal reception. Henryk Sienkiewicz has by
his popularity proved that in unfortunate, almost forgotten, Poland,
there is an abundance of literary talent and an important output of
works of which few English readers have any conception. For instance,
who has ever heard, in Great Britain, of Adam Michiewicz the great
Polish poet, who, critics declare, can be placed in the same category
with Homer, Virgil, Dante, Tasso, Klopstock, Camoens, and Milton?
Joseph Kraszewski as a novel writer occupies in Poland as high a
position as Maurice Jokai does in Hungarian literature, while Mme.
Eliza Orzeszko is considered to be the Polish Georges Sand, even by the
Germans, who are in many respects the rivals of Slavs in politics and
literature.
Henryk Sienkiewicz, asked by an interviewer what he thought about the
contemporary Polish literary talents, replied: "At the head of all
stand Waclaw Sieroszewski and Stefan Zeromski; they are young, and very
promising writers. But Eliza Orzeszko still holds the sceptre as a
novelist."
When the "Revue des Deux Mondes" asked the authors of different
nationalities to furnish an essay on women of their respective
countries, Mme. Orzeszko was chosen among the Polish writers to write
about the Polish women. It may be stated that translations of her
novels appeared in the same magazine more than twenty years ago. She is
not only a talented but also a prolific writer. She has suffered much
in her life, and her sufferings have brought out those sterling
qualities of soul and heart, which make her books so intensely human,
and characterise all her works, and place her high above contemporary
Polish writers. The present volume may stand as a proof of her
all-embracing talent.
C.S. DE SOISSONS.
AN OBSCURE APOSTLE
INTRODUCTION
On the summits of civilisation the various branches of the great tree
of humanity are united and harmonised. Education is the best apostle
of universal brotherhood. It polishes the roughness without and cuts
the overgrowth within; it permits of the development, side by side
and with mutual respect, of the natural characteristics of different
individuals; it prunes even religious beliefs produced by the needs
of the time, and reduces them to their simplest expression, the
result being that people can live without antipathies.
Quite a different state of affairs exists in the social valley
unlighted by the sun of knowledge. There people are the same to-day
as they were in the remote centuries. Time, while making tombs for
the dead people, has not buried with them the forms which, being
continually regenerated, create among amazed societies unintelligible
anachronisms. Here exist distinctions which, with sharp edges, push
back everything which belongs not to them; here are crawling moral
and physical miseries which are unknown, even by name, to those who
have reached the summits; here is a gathering of dark figures,
standing out against the background of the world, resembling vague
outlines of sphinxes keeping guard over the graveyards; here are
widely-spread petrifications of faiths, sentiment and customs,
testifying by their presence that geniuses of many centuries can
simultaneously rule the world. Patricians and plebeians changed their
formal parts. The first became defenders and propagators of equality;
the second stubbornly hold to distinctions. And if in times of yore
oppression was directed by those who stood high against those who, in
dust and humility, swarmed in the depths, in our times, from the
depths arise unhealthy exhalations, which poison life and make the
roads of civilisation difficult to the chosen ones.
Such unfortunate valleys, rendering many people unhappy, separating
the rest of the world by a chain of high mountains, exist in
Israelitic society, as well as in the society of other nations, and
there they are even more numerous than elsewhere. Their too long
existence is the result of many historical causes and characteristics
of the race. To-day they constitute a phenomenon; attracting the
thinker and the artist by their great influence and the originality
of their colouring, composed of mysterious shadows and bright lights.
But who is familiar with them and who studies them? Even those who,
on account of the same blood and traditions, should be attracted
toward these localities, plunged in darkness, send there neither
painters nor apostles--sometimes they do not even believe in their
existence. For instance, what a surprise it would be to Israelitic
society, gathered in the largest city in the country, composed of
cultivated men and of women, who by their beauty, refinement and wit
are in no way inferior to the women of other nations: what a surprise
it would be to this society, gowned in purple and fine linen, if
somebody would all at once describe Szybow and what is transpiring
there!
Szybow? On what planet is it, and if on ours, what population has it?
The people there, are they white, black or brown?
Well then, readers, I am going to make you acquainted with that
deep--very deep--social valley. Not long ago there was enacted there
an interesting drama worthy of your kind glance--of your heart's
strong throb and a moment of long, sad thought. But in order to bring
out facts and figures they must be thrown against the background on
which they have risen and developed, and in the deep perspectives of
which there are elements which are the causes of their existence.
Therefore you must permit me, before raising the curtain which hides
the first scenes of the drama, to tell you in brief the history of
the small town.
CHAPTER I
Far, far from the line of the railroads which run through the
Bialorus (a part of Poland around the city of Mohileff which now
belongs to Russia), far from even the navigable River Dzwina, in one
of the most remote corners of the country, amidst quiet, large, level
fields--still existing in some parts of Europe--between two sandy
roads which disappear into the depths of a great forest, there is a
group of gray houses of different sizes standing so closely together
that anyone looking at them would say that they had been seized by
some great fright and had crowded together in order to be able to
exchange whispers and tears.
This is Szybow, a town inhabited by Israelites, almost exclusively,
with the exception of a small street at the end of the place in
which, in a few houses, live a few very poor burghers and very quiet
old retired officials.
It is the only street that is quiet, and the only street in which
flowers bloom in summer. In the other streets no flowers bloom, and
they are dreadfully noisy. There the people talk and move about
continually, industriously, passionately, within the houses and in
the narrow dark alleys called streets, and in the round,
comparatively large market-place in the centre of the town, around
which there are numerous doors of stinking small shops. In this
market-place after a week of transactions by the people of the
vicinity, there remains an inconceivable quantity of dirt and
sweepings, and here is also the high, dusky, strangely-shaped meeting
house.
This building is one of the specimens, rare to-day, of Hebrew
architecture. A painter and an archeologist would look upon it with
an equal amount of interest. At first glance it can be easily seen
that it is a synagogue, although it does not look like other
churches. Its four thick walls form a monotonous quadrangle, and its
brown colour gives it a touch of dignity, sadness, and antiquity.
These walls must be very old indeed, for they are covered with green
strips of moss. The higher parts of the walls are cut with a row of
long, narrow, deeply-set windows, recalling, by their shape, the
loop-holes of a fortress. The whole building is covered by a roof
whose three large heavy turrets, built one upon the other, look like
three moss-covered gigantic mushrooms.
Every gathering, whether of greater importance or of common
occurrence, was held here, sheltered beneath the brown walls and
mushroom-like roof of the temple. Here in the large round courtyard
are the heders (Hebrew schools), where the kahals (church committees)
gather. Here stands a low black house with two windows, a real mud
hovel, inhabited for several centuries and for many generations by
Rabbis of the family of Todros, famous in the community and even far
beyond it. Here at least everything is clean, and while in other
parts of the place, in the spring especially, the people nearly sink
into the mud, the school courtyard is always clean. It would be
difficult to find on it even a wisp of straw, for as soon as anything
is noticed, it is at once picked up by a passer-by, anxious to keep
clean the place around the temple.
How important Szybow is to the Israelites living in Bialorus, and
even in Lithuania, can be judged by an embarrassing incident which
occurred to a merry but unwise nobleman while in conversation with a
certain Jewish agent, more spiritual than humble.
The agent was standing at the door of the office of the noble, bent a
little forward, smiling, always ready to please and serve the noble,
and say a witty word to put him in good humour. The noble was feeling
pretty good, and joked with the Jew.
"Chaimek," spoke he, "wert thou in Cracow?"
"I was not, serene lord."
"Then thou art stupid."
Chaimek bowed.
"Chaimek, wert thou in Rome?"
"I was not, serene lord."
"Then thou art very stupid."
Chaimek bowed again, but in the meanwhile he had made two steps
forward. On his lips wandered one of those smiles common to the
people of his race--clever, cunning, in which it is impossible to say
whether there is humility or triumph, flattery or irony.
"Excuse me, your lordship," he said softly, "has your lordship been
in Szybow?"
Szybow was situated about twenty miles from the place at which this
conversation was held.
The nobleman answered, "I was not."
"And what now?" answered Chaimek still more softly.
The answer of the jolly nobleman to that embarrassing question is not
recorded, but the use of Szybow as an argument against the insult
shows that to the Jew Szybow was of the same relative importance as
were Rome and Cracow to the nobleman, i.e., as the place which was
the concentration of civil and religious authorities.
If someone were to have asked the Jew why he attributed such
importance to a small, poor town, he would probably mention two
families who had lived in Szybow for centuries--Ezofowichs and
Todros. Between these two families there existed the difference that
the Ezofowichs represented the concentration in the highest degree of
the element of secular importance, i.e., large family, numerous
relatives, riches, and keenness in the transaction of large business
interests, and in increasing their wealth. On the other hand, the
Todros family represented the spiritual element--piety, religious
culture, and severe, almost ascetic, purity of life.
It is probable that if Chaimek were asked the reason for the
importance given to the little town, he would forget to name the
Ezofowichs because, although the Israelites were proud of the riches
and influence of that family as one of their national glories, this
lustre, purely worldly, paled in comparison with the rays of holiness
which surrounded the name of Todros.
The Todros were for generations considered by the whole Hebrew
population of Bialorus and Lithuania as the most accomplished example
and enduring pillar of orthodoxy. Was it really so? Here and there
could be found scholarly Talmudists, who smiled when a question arose
in regard to the Talmudistic orthodoxy of the Todros, and when they
gathered together the name of Todros was sadly whispered about. But
although the celebrated orthodoxy of the Todros was much discussed by
these scholars, they were greatly in the minority--only a score among
the masses of believers. The crowd believed, worshipped, and went to
Szybow as to a holy place, to make obeisance and ask for advice,
consolation, and medicines.
Szybow had not always possessed such an attractive power of
orthodoxy; on the contrary, its founders were schismatics,
representing in Israel the spirit of opposition and division,
Karaites. In the times of yore they had converted to their belief the
powerful inhabitants of the rich land on the shores of Chersoneses,
and they became their kings. Afterwards, in accordance with the
traditions of that reign, they wandered into the world with their
legislative book, the Bible, double exiles, from Palestine and
Crimea, and a small part of them, brought to Lithuania by the Grand
Duke Witold, went as far as Bialorus and settled there in a group of
houses and mud-hovels called Szybow.
In those times, on Friday and Saturday evenings, great tranquillity
and darkness was spread through the town, because Karaites, contrary
to the Talmudists, did not celebrate the holy day of Sabbath with an
abundance of light and noisy joy and copious feasts, but they greeted
it with darkness, silence, sadness, and meditation upon the downfall
of the national temple, and the glory and might of the people of
Israel. Then, from the blackest houses, from behind the small dark
windows, there flowed into the quiet without the sound of singing;
the parents were sadly telling their children of the prophets who, on
the shores of the rivers in Babylon, broke their harps and cut their
fingers so that none could force them to sing in captivity, of the
blessed country of Havili, situated somewhere in the south of Arabia,
where the ten tribes of Israel lived in liberty, happiness, and
peace, not knowing quarrels or the use of the sword. They talked of
the holy river, Sabbation, hiding the Israelitic wanderers from the
eyes of their toes. In time, however, lights began to shine in the
windows on Fridays, and then, little by little, they began to talk
and pray aloud. Rabbinits arrived. The worshippers of Talmudistic
authorities, representative of blind faith in oral traditions
gathered and transmitted by Kohens, Tanaits, and Gaons, came and
pushed aside the handful of heretics and wrecks. Under the influence
of the newcomers the community of Karaites began to melt away. | 2,283.982907 |
2023-11-16 18:55:07.9666140 | 152 | 8 |
Produced by Rene Anderson Benitz and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: In this text the following character |
| representations are: |
| [.a] = a with dot above, |
| [.o] = o with dot above, |
| [=a] = a with macron above, |
| [=o] = o with macron above, |
| [=n] = n with macron above, |
| ['=a] = a with acute accent over macron above. |
| Some illustrations have been | 2,283.986654 |
2023-11-16 18:55:08.2690450 | 2,745 | 12 |
Produced by David Widger
THE DALTONS;
OR,
THREE ROADS IN LIFE.
By Charles Lever.
With Illustrations By Phiz.
In Two Volumes: Volume Two.
Boston:
Little, Brown, And Company.
1904.
THE DALTONS; or, THREE ROADS IN LIFE
CHAPTER I. A MORNING OF MISADVENTURES.
"Well, my Lord, are we to pass the day here," said Count Trouville,
the second of the opposite party, as Norwood returned from a fruitless
search of George Onslow, "or are we to understand that this is the
English mode of settling such matters?"
"I am perfectly ready, Monsieur le Comte, to prove the contrary, so far
as my own poor abilities extend," said Norwood, calmly.
"But your friend has disappeared, sir. You are left alone here."
"Which is, perhaps, the reason of your having dared to insult me,"
rejoined the other; "that being, perhaps, the French custom in such
affairs."
"Come, come, gentlemen," interposed an old cavalry officer, who acted
as second friend to Guilmard, "you must both see that all discussion of
this kind is irregular and unseemly. We have come here this morning for
one specific purpose,----to obtain reparation for a great injury. The
gentleman who should have offered us the amende has suddenly withdrawn
himself. I offer no opinion on the fact that he came out accompanied by
only one friend; we might, perhaps, have devised means to obviate this
difficulty. For his own absence we have no remedy. I would therefore ask
what you have to propose to us in this emergency?"
"A little patience,--nothing more. My friend must have lost his way;
some accident or other has detained him, and I expect to see him here
every instant."
"Shall we say half an hour longer, my Lord?" rejoined the other, taking
out his watch. "That will bring us to eight o'clock."
"Which, considering that our time was named'sharp six,'" interposed
Trouville, "is a very reasonable 'grace.'"
"Your expression is an impertinence, Monsieur," said Norwood, fiercely.
"And yet I don't intend to apologize for it," said the other, smiling.
"I'm glad of it, sir. It's the only thing you have said to-day with
either good sense or spirit."
"Enough, quite enough, my Lord," replied the Frenchman, gayly. "'Dans la
bonne societe, on ne dit jamais de trop.' Where shall it be, and when?"
"Here, and now," said Norwood, "if I can only find any one who will act
for me."
"Pray, my Lord, don't go in search of him," said Trouville, "or we shall
despair of seeing you here again."
"I will give a bail for my reappearance, sir, that you cannot doubt of,"
cried Norwood, advancing towards the other with his cane elevated.
A perfect burst of horror broke from the Frenchmen at this threat,
and three or four immediately threw themselves between the contending
parties.
"But for this, my Lord," said the old officer, "I should have offered
you my services."
"And I should have declined them, sir," said Norwood, promptly. "The
first peasant I meet with will suffice;" and, so saying, he hurried
from the spot, his heart almost bursting with passion. With many a
malediction of George--with curses deep and cutting on every one whose
misconduct had served to place him in his present position--he took his
way towards the high-road.
"What could have happened?" muttered he; "what confounded fit of
poltroonery has seized him? a fellow that never wanted pluck in his
life! Is it possible that he can have failed now? And this to occur at
the very moment they are beggared! Had they been rich, as they were a
few months back, I'd have made the thing pay. Ay, by Jove! I 'd have
'coined my blood,' as the fellow says in the play, and written a
swingeing check with red ink! And now I have had a bad quarrel, and
nothing to come of it! And so to walk the high-roads in search of some
one who can load a pistol."
A stray peasant or two, jogging along to Florence, a postilion with
return horses, a shabbily dressed curate, or a friar with a sack behind
him, were all that he saw for miles of distance, and he returned
once more to interrogate the calessino driver as to the stranger who
accompanied him from the city.
Any one whose misfortune it may have been to make inquiries from
an Italian vetturino of any fact, no matter how insignificant or
unimportant, will sympathize with Norwood's impatience at the evasive
and distrustful replies that now met his questions. Although the fact
could have no possible concern or interest for him, he prevaricated and
contradicted himself half-a-dozen times over, as to the stranger's age,
country, and appearance, so that, utterly baffled and provoked, the
Viscount turned away and entered the park.
"I, too, shall be reported missing, I suppose," said he, bitterly, as he
walked along a little path that skirted a piece of ornamental water. "By
Jupiter! this is a pleasant morning's work, and must have its reparation
one day or other."
A hearty sneeze suddenly startled him as he spoke; he turned hastily
about, but could see no one, and yet his hearing was not to be deceived!
He searched the spot eagerly; he examined the little boat-shed, the
copse, the underwood,--everything, in fact,--but not a trace of living
being was to be seen; at last a slight rustling sound seemed to issue
from a piece of rustic shell-work, representing a river god reclining
on his urn, and, on approaching, he distinctly detected the glitter of a
pair of eyes within the sockets of the figure.
"Here goes for a brace of balls into him," cried Norwood, adjusting a
cap on his pistol. "A piece of stonework that sneezes is far too like a
man to be trusted."
Scarcely was the threat uttered, when a tremulous scream issued from
within, and a voice, broken with terror, called out,----
"D-don't fire, my Lord. You'll m-m-murder me. I'm Purvis--Sc-Sc-Scroope
Purvis."
"How did you come to be there, then?" asked Norwood, half angrily.
"I 'll tell you when I g-get out!" was the answer; and he disappeared
from the loophole at which he carried on the conversation for some
seconds. Norwood began to fancy that the whole was some mystification of
his brain, for no trace of him was to be had; when he emerged from
the boat-house with his hat stripped of the brim, and his clothes in
tatters, his scratched face and hands attesting that his transit had not
been of the easiest. "It's like a r-r-rat-hole," cried he, puffing for
breath.
"And what the devil brought you there?" asked Norwood, rudely.
"I ca-came out to see the fight!" cried he; "and when you're inside
there you have a view of the whole park, and are quite safe, too."
"Then it was you who drove out in the calessino meant for the doctor?"
said Norwood, with the air of a man who would not brook an equivocation.
"Yes; that was a d-d-dodge of mine to get out here," said he, chuckling.
"Well, Master Purvis," said Norwood, drawing his arm within his own, "if
you can't be the 'doctor,' you shall at least be the'second.' This is a
dodge of mine; so come along, and no more about it."
"But I ca-can't; I never was--I never could be a se-se-second."
"You shall begin to-day, then, or my name's not Norwood. You've been the
cause of a whole series of mishaps and misfortunes; and, by Jove! if the
penalty were a heavier one, you should pay it."
"I tell you, I n-never saw a duel; I--I never f-fought one; I never will
fight one; I don't even know how they g-go about it."
"You shall learn, sir, that's all," said Norwood, as he hastened along,
dragging the miserable Purvis at his side.
"But for you, sir," continued he, in a voice thick with passion,--"but
for you, sir, and your inveterate taste for prying into what does not
concern you, we should have experienced no delay nor disappointment this
morning. The consequences are, that I shall have to stand where another
ought to have stood, and take to myself a quarrel in which I have had no
share."
[Illustration: 022]
"H-how is that? Do----do----do tell me all about it!" cried Purvis,
eagerly.
"I 'll tell you nothing, sir, not a syllable. Your personal adventures
on this morning must be the subject of your revelations when you get
back to Florence, if ever you do get back."
"Why, I--I'm----I'm not going to fight anybody," exclaimed he, in
terror.
"No, sir, but _I_ am; and in the event of any disastrous incident,
_your_ position may be unpleasant. If Trouville falls, you 'll have to
make for Lombardy, and cross over into Switzerland; if he shoots me,
you can take my passport; it is _vise_ for the Tyrol. As they know me
at Innsprueck, you 'd better keep to the southward,--some of the smaller
places about Botzen, or Brixen."
"But I don't know Bo-Bo-Botzen on the map! and I don't see why I'm to
sk-sk-skulk about the Continent like a refu-refu-refugee Pole!"
"Take your own time, then; and, perhaps, ten years in a fortress may
make you wiser. It's no affair of mine, you know; and I merely gave you
the advice, as I'm a little more up to these things than you are."
"But, supposing that I 'll have no-nothing to do with the matter, that I
'll not be present, that I refuse to see--"
"You shall and you must, sir; and if I hear another word of objection
out of your mouth, or if you expose me, by any show of your own
poltroonery, to the ribald insolence of these Frenchmen, by Heaven! I
'll hold your hand in my own when I fire at Count Trouville."
"And I may be mu-mu-murdered!" screamed Purvis. "An innocent man's
bl-blood shed, all for nothing!"
"Bluebeard treated his wives to the same penalty for the same crime,
Master Purvis. And now listen to me, sir, and mark well my words. With
the causes which have led to this affair you have no concern whatever;
your only business here is in the capacity of my second. Be present when
the pistols are loaded; stand by as they step the ground; and, if you
can do no more, try, at least, to look as if you were not going to be
shot at." Neither the counsel nor the tone it was delivered in were very
reassuring; and Purvis went along with his head down and his hands in
his pockets, reflecting on all the "accidents by firearms" he had read
of in the newspapers, together with the more terrible paragraphs about
fatal duels, and criminal proceedings against all concerned in them.
The Frenchmen were seated in the garden, at a table, and smoking their
cigars, as Norwood came up, and, in a few words, explained that a
countryman of his own, whom he had met by chance, would undertake the
duties of his friend.
"I have only to say, gentlemen," he added, "that he has never even
witnessed an affair of this kind; and I have but to address myself to
the loyal good faith of Frenchmen to supply any deficiencies in his
knowledge. Mr. Purvis, Messieurs."
The old Colonel, having courte | 2,284.289085 |
2023-11-16 18:55:08.2691770 | 6,272 | 6 |
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Garcia, Charles Franks,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE JEW AND OTHER STORIES
BY IVAN TURGENEV
_Translated from the Russian_
_By CONSTANCE GARNETT_
TO THE MEMORY OF STEPNIAK
WHOSE LOVE OF TURGENEV
SUGGESTED THIS TRANSLATION
INTRODUCTION
In studying the Russian novel it is amusing to note the childish
attitude of certain English men of letters to the novel in general,
their depreciation of its influence and of the public's 'inordinate'
love of fiction. Many men of letters to-day look on the novel as a mere
story-book, as a series of light-, amusing pictures for their
'idle hours,' and on memoirs, biographies, histories, criticism, and
poetry as the age's _serious_ contribution to literature. Whereas
the reverse is the case. The most serious and significant of all
literary forms the modern world has evolved is the novel; and brought to
its highest development, the novel shares with poetry to-day the honour
of being the supreme instrument of the great artist's literary skill.
To survey the field of the novel as a mere pleasure-garden marked out
for the crowd's diversion--a field of recreation adorned here and there
by the masterpieces of a few great men--argues in the modern critic
either an academical attitude to literature and life, or a one-eyed
obtuseness, or merely the usual insensitive taste. The drama in all but
two countries has been willy-nilly abandoned by artists as a coarse
playground for the great public's romps and frolics, but the novel can
be preserved exactly so long as the critics understand that to exercise
a delicate art is the one _serious_ duty of the artistic life. It
is no more an argument against the vital significance of the novel that
tens of thousands of people--that everybody, in fact--should to-day
essay that form of art, than it is an argument against poetry that for
all the centuries droves and flocks of versifiers and scribblers and
rhymesters have succeeded in making the name of poet a little foolish in
worldly eyes. The true function of poetry! That can only be vindicated
in common opinion by the severity and enthusiasm of critics in stripping
bare the false, and in hailing as the true all that is animated by the
living breath of beauty. The true function of the novel! That can only
be supported by those who understand that the adequate representation
and criticism of human life would be impossible for modern men were the
novel to go the way of the drama, and be abandoned to the mass of vulgar
standards. That the novel is the most insidious means of mirroring human
society Cervantes in his great classic revealed to seventeenth-century
Europe. Richardson and Fielding and Sterne in their turn, as great
realists and impressionists, proved to the eighteenth century that the
novel is as flexible as life itself. And from their days to the days of
Henry James the form of the novel has been adapted by European genius to
the exact needs, outlook, and attitude to life of each successive
generation. To the French, especially to Flaubert and Maupassant, must
be given the credit of so perfecting the novel's technique that it has
become the great means of cosmopolitan culture. It was, however,
reserved for the youngest of European literatures, for the Russian
school, to raise the novel to being the absolute and triumphant
expression by the national genius of the national soul.
Turgenev's place in modern European literature is best defined by saying
that while he stands as a great classic in the ranks of the great
novelists, along with Richardson, Fielding, Scott, Balzac, Dickens,
Thackeray, Meredith, Tolstoi, Flaubert, Maupassant, he is the greatest
of them all, in the sense that he is the supreme artist. As has been
recognised by the best French critics, Turgenev's art is both wider in
its range and more beautiful in its form than the work of any modern
European artist. The novel modelled by Turgenev's hands, the Russian
novel, became _the_ great modern instrument for showing 'the very
age and body of the time his form and pressure.' To reproduce human life
in all its subtlety as it moves and breathes before us, and at the same
time to assess its values by the great poetic insight that reveals man's
relations to the universe around him,--that is an art only transcended
by Shakespeare's own in its unique creation of a universe of great human
types. And, comparing Turgenev with the European masters, we see that if
he has made the novel both more delicate and more powerful than their
example shows it, it is because as the supreme artist he filled it with
the breath of poetry where others in general spoke the word of prose.
Turgenev's horizon always broadens before our eyes: where Fielding and
Richardson speak for the country and the town, Turgenev speaks for the
nation. While Balzac makes defile before us an endless stream of human
figures, Turgenev's characters reveal themselves as wider apart in the
range of their spirit, as more mysteriously alive in their inevitable
essence, than do Meredith's or Flaubert's, than do Thackeray's or
Maupassant's. Where Tolstoi uses an immense canvas in _War and
Peace_, wherein Europe may see the march of a whole generation,
Turgenev in _Fathers and Children_ concentrates in the few words of
a single character, Bazarov, the essence of modern science's attitude to
life, that scientific spirit which has transformed both European life
and thought. It is, however, superfluous to draw further parallels
between Turgenev and his great rivals. In England alone, perhaps, is it
necessary to say to the young novelist that the novel can become
anything, can be anything, according to the hands that use it. In its
application to life, its future development can by no means be gauged.
It is the most complex of all literary instruments, the chief method
to-day of analysing the complexities of modern life. If you love your
art, if you would exalt it, treat it absolutely seriously. If you would
study it in its highest form, the form the greatest artist of our time
has perfected--remember Turgenev.
EDWARD GARNETT.
November 1899.
CONTENTS
THE JEW
AN UNHAPPY GIRL
THE DUELLIST
THREE PORTRAITS
ENOUGH
THE JEW
...'Tell us a story, colonel,' we said at last to Nikolai Ilyitch.
The colonel smiled, puffed out a coil of tobacco smoke between his
moustaches, passed his hand over his grey hair, looked at us and
considered. We all had the greatest liking and respect for Nikolai
Ilyitch, for his good-heartedness, common sense, and kindly indulgence
to us young fellows. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, stoutly-built man;
his dark face, 'one of the splendid Russian faces,' [Footnote: Lermontov
in the _Treasurer's Wife_.--AUTHOR'S NOTE.] straight-forward,
clever glance, gentle smile, manly and mellow voice--everything about
him pleased and attracted one.
'All right, listen then,' he began.
It happened in 1813, before Dantzig. I was then in the E---- regiment of
cuirassiers, and had just, I recollect, been promoted to be a cornet. It
is an exhilarating occupation--fighting; and marching too is good enough
in its way, but it is fearfully slow in a besieging army. There one sits
the whole blessed day within some sort of entrenchment, under a tent, on
mud or straw, playing cards from morning till night. Perhaps, from
simple boredom, one goes out to watch the bombs and redhot bullets
flying.
At first the French kept us amused with sorties, but they quickly
subsided. We soon got sick of foraging expeditions too; we were
overcome, in fact, by such deadly dulness that we were ready to howl for
sheer _ennui_. I was not more than nineteen then; I was a healthy
young fellow, fresh as a daisy, thought of nothing but getting all the
fun I could out of the French... and in other ways too... you
understand what I mean... and this is what happened. Having nothing to
do, I fell to gambling. All of a sudden, after dreadful losses, my luck
turned, and towards morning (we used to play at night) I had won an
immense amount. Exhausted and sleepy, I came out into the fresh air, and
sat down on a mound. It was a splendid, calm morning; the long lines of
our fortifications were lost in the mist; I gazed till I was weary, and
then began to doze where I was sitting.
A discreet cough waked me: I opened my eyes, and saw standing before me
a Jew, a man of forty, wearing a long-skirted grey wrapper, slippers,
and a black smoking-cap. This Jew, whose name was Girshel, was
continually hanging about our camp, offering his services as an agent,
getting us wine, provisions, and other such trifles. He was a thinnish,
red-haired, little man, marked with smallpox; he blinked incessantly
with his diminutive little eyes, which were reddish too; he had a long
crooked nose, and was always coughing.
He began fidgeting about me, bowing obsequiously.
'Well, what do you want?' I asked him at last.
'Oh, I only--I've only come, sir, to know if I can't be of use to your
honour in some way...'
'I don't want you; you can go.'
'At your honour's service, as you desire.... I thought there might be,
sir, something....'
'You bother me; go along, I tell you.'
'Certainly, sir, certainly. But your honour must permit me to
congratulate you on your success....'
'Why, how did you know?'
'Oh, I know, to be sure I do.... An immense sum... immense....Oh! how
immense....'
Girshel spread out his fingers and wagged his head.
'But what's the use of talking,' I said peevishly; 'what the devil's the
good of money here?'
'Oh! don't say that, your honour; ay, ay, don't say so. Money's a
capital thing; always of use; you can get anything for money, your
honour; anything! anything! Only say the word to the agent, he'll get
you anything, your honour, anything! anything!'
'Don't tell lies, Jew.'
'Ay! ay!' repeated Girshel, shaking his side-locks. 'Your honour doesn't
believe me.... Ay... ay....' The Jew closed his eyes and slowly wagged
his head to right and to left.... 'Oh, I know what his honour the
officer would like.... I know,... to be sure I do!'
The Jew assumed an exceedingly knowing leer.
'Really!'
The Jew glanced round timorously, then bent over to me.
'Such a lovely creature, your honour, lovely!...' Girshel again closed
his eyes and shot out his lips.
'Your honour, you've only to say the word... you shall see for
yourself... whatever I say now, you'll hear... but you won't believe...
better tell me to show you... that's the thing, that's the thing!'
I did not speak; I gazed at the Jew.
'Well, all right then; well then, very good; so I'll show you then....'
Thereupon Girshel laughed and slapped me lightly on the shoulder, but
skipped back at once as though he had been scalded.
'But, your honour, how about a trifle in advance?'
'But you're taking me in, and will show me some scarecrow?'
'Ay, ay, what a thing to say!' the Jew pronounced with unusual warmth,
waving his hands about. 'How can you! Why... if so, your honour, you
order me to be given five hundred... four hundred and fifty lashes,' he
added hurriedly....' You give orders--'
At that moment one of my comrades lifted the edge of his tent and called
me by name. I got up hurriedly and flung the Jew a gold coin.
'This evening, this evening,' he muttered after me.
I must confess, my friends, I looked forward to the evening with some
impatience. That very day the French made a sortie; our regiment marched
to the attack. The evening came on; we sat round the fires... the
soldiers cooked porridge. My comrades talked. I lay on my cloak, drank
tea, and listened to my comrades' stories. They suggested a game of
cards--I refused to take part in it. I felt excited. Gradually the
officers dispersed to their tents; the fires began to die down; the
soldiers too dispersed, or went to sleep on the spot; everything was
still. I did not get up. My orderly squatted on his heels before the
fire, and was beginning to nod. I sent him away. Soon the whole camp was
hushed. The sentries were relieved. I still lay there, as it were
waiting for something. The stars peeped out. The night came on. A long
while I watched the dying flame.... The last fire went out. 'The damned
Jew was taking me in,' I thought angrily, and was just going to get up.
'Your honour,'... a trembling voice whispered close to my ear.
I looked round: Girshel. He was very pale, he stammered, and whispered
something.
'Let's go to your tent, sir.' I got up and followed him. The Jew shrank
into himself, and stepped warily over the short, damp grass. I observed
on one side a motionless, muffled-up figure. The Jew beckoned to
her--she went up to him. He whispered to her, turned to me, nodded his
head several times, and we all three went into the tent. Ridiculous to
relate, I was breathless.
'You see, your honour,' the Jew whispered with an effort, 'you see.
She's a little frightened at the moment, she's frightened; but I've told
her his honour the officer's a good man, a splendid man.... Don't be
frightened, don't be frightened,' he went on--'don't be frightened....'
The muffled-up figure did not stir. I was myself in a state of dreadful
confusion, and didn't know what to say. Girshel too was fidgeting
restlessly, and gesticulating in a strange way....
'Any way,' I said to him, 'you get out....' Unwillingly, as it seemed,
Girshel obeyed.
I went up to the muffled-up figure, and gently took the dark hood off
her head. There was a conflagration in Dantzig: by the faint, reddish,
flickering glow of the distant fire I saw the pale face of a young
Jewess. Her beauty astounded me. I stood facing her, and gazed at her in
silence. She did not raise her eyes. A slight rustle made me look round.
Girshel was cautiously poking his head in under the edge of the tent. I
waved my hand at him angrily,... he vanished.
'What's your name?' I said at last.
'Sara,' she answered, and for one instant I caught in the darkness the
gleam of the whites of her large, long-shaped eyes and little, even,
flashing teeth.
I snatched up two leather cushions, flung them on the ground, and asked
her to sit down. She slipped off her shawl, and sat down. She was
wearing a short Cossack jacket, open in front, with round, chased silver
buttons, and full sleeves. Her thick black hair was coiled twice round
her little head. I sat down beside her and took her dark, slender hand.
She resisted a little, but seemed afraid to look at me, and there was a
catch in her breath. I admired her Oriental profile, and timidly pressed
her cold, shaking fingers.
'Do you know Russian?'
'Yes... a little.'
'And do you like Russians?'
'Yes, I like them.'
'Then, you like me too?'
'Yes, I like you.'
I tried to put my arm round her, but she moved away quickly....
'No, no, please, sir, please...'
'Oh, all right; look at me, any way.'
She let her black, piercing eyes rest upon me, and at once turned away
with a smile, and blushed.
I kissed her hand ardently. She peeped at me from under her eyelids and
softly laughed.
'What is it?'
She hid her face in her sleeve and laughed more than before.
Girshel showed himself at the entrance of the tent and shook his finger
at her. She ceased laughing.
'Go away!' I whispered to him through my teeth; 'you make me sick!'
Girshel did not go away.
I took a handful of gold pieces out of my trunk, stuffed them in his
hand and pushed him out.
'Your honour, me too....' she said.
I dropped several gold coins on her lap; she pounced on them like a cat.
'Well, now I must have a kiss.'
'No, please, please,' she faltered in a frightened and beseeching voice.
'What are you frightened of?'
'I'm afraid.'
'Oh, nonsense....'
'No, please.'
She looked timidly at me, put her head a little on one side and clasped
her hands. I let her alone.
'If you like... here,' she said after a brief silence, and she raised
her hand to my lips. With no great eagerness, I kissed it. Sara laughed
again.
My blood was boiling. I was annoyed with myself and did not know what to
do. Really, I thought at last, what a fool I am.
I turned to her again.
'Sara, listen, I'm in love with you.'
'I know.'
'You know? And you're not angry? And do you like me too?'
Sara shook her head.
'No, answer me properly.'
'Well, show yourself,' she said.
I bent down to her. Sara laid her hands on my shoulders, began
scrutinising my face, frowned, smiled.... I could not contain myself,
and gave her a rapid kiss on her cheek. She jumped up and in one bound
was at the entrance of the tent.
'Come, what a shy thing you are!'
She did not speak and did not stir.
'Come here to me....'
'No, sir, good-bye. Another time.'
Girshel again thrust in his curly head, and said a couple of words to
her; she bent down and glided away, like a snake.
I ran out of the tent in pursuit of her, but could not get another
glimpse of her nor of Girshel.
The whole night long I could not sleep a wink.
The next night we were sitting in the tent of our captain; I was
playing, but with no great zest. My orderly came in.
'Some one's asking for you, your honour.'
'Who is it?'
'A Jew.'
'Can it be Girshel?' I wondered. I waited till the end of the rubber,
got up and went out. Yes, it was so; I saw Girshel.
'Well,' he questioned me with an ingratiating smile, 'your honour, are
you satisfied?'
'Ah, you------!' (Here the colonel glanced round. 'No ladies present, I
believe.... Well, never mind, any way.') 'Ah, bless you!' I responded,
'so you're making fun of me, are you?'
'How so?'
'How so, indeed! What a question!'
'Ay, ay, your honour, you're too bad,' Girshel said reproachfully, but
never ceasing smiling. 'The girl is young and modest.... You frightened
her, indeed, you did.'
'Queer sort of modesty! why did she take money, then?'
'Why, what then? If one's given money, why not take it, sir?'
'I say, Girshel, let her come again, and I '11 let you off... only,
please, don't show your stupid phiz inside my tent, and leave us in
peace; do you hear?'
Girshel's eyes sparkled.
'What do you say? You like her?'
'Well, yes.'
'She's a lovely creature! there's not another such anywhere. And have
you something for me now?'
'Yes, here, only listen; fair play is better than gold. Bring her and
then go to the devil. I'll escort her home myself.'
'Oh, no, sir, no, that's impossible, sir,' the Jew rejoined hurriedly.
'Ay, ay, that's impossible. I'll walk about near the tent, your honour,
if you like; I'll... I'll go away, your honour, if you like, a
little.... I'm ready to do your honour a service.... I'll move away...
to be sure, I will.'
'Well, mind you do.... And bring her, do you hear?'
'Eh, but she's a beauty, your honour, eh? your honour, a beauty, eh?'
Girshel bent down and peeped into my eyes.
'She's good-looking.'
'Well, then, give me another gold piece.'
I threw him a coin; we parted.
The day passed at last. The night came on. I had been sitting for a long
while alone in my tent. It was dark outside. It struck two in the town.
I was beginning to curse the Jew.... Suddenly Sara came in, alone. I
jumped up took her in my arms... put my lips to her face.... It was cold
as ice. I could scarcely distinguish her features.... I made her sit
down, knelt down before her, took her hands, touched her waist.... She
did not speak, did not stir, and suddenly she broke into loud,
convulsive sobbing. I tried in vain to soothe her, to persuade her....
She wept in torrents.... I caressed her, wiped her tears; as before, she
did not resist, made no answer to my questions and wept--wept, like a
waterfall. I felt a pang at my heart; I got up and went out of the tent.
Girshel seemed to pop up out of the earth before me.
'Girshel,' I said to him, 'here's the money I promised you. Take Sara
away.'
The Jew at once rushed up to her. She left off weeping, and clutched
hold of him.
'Good-bye, Sara,'I said to her. 'God bless you, good-bye. We'll see each
other again some other time.'
Girshel was silent and bowed humbly. Sara bent down, took my hand and
pressed it to her lips; I turned away....
For five or six days, my friends, I kept thinking of my Jewess. Girshel
did not make his appearance, and no one had seen him in the camp. I
slept rather badly at nights; I was continually haunted by wet, black
eyes, and long eyelashes; my lips could not forget the touch of her
cheek, smooth and fresh as a downy plum. I was sent out with a foraging
party to a village some distance away. While my soldiers were ransacking
the houses, I remained in the street, and did not dismount from my
horse. Suddenly some one caught hold of my foot....
'Mercy on us, Sara!'
She was pale and excited.
'Your honour... help us, save us, your soldiers are insulting us....
Your honour....'
She recognised me and flushed red.
'Why, do you live here?'
'Yes.'
'Where?'
Sara pointed to a little, old house. I set spurs to my horse and
galloped up. In the yard of the little house an ugly and tattered Jewess
was trying to tear out of the hands of my long sergeant, Siliavka, three
hens and a duck. He was holding his booty above his head, laughing; the
hens clucked and the duck quacked.... Two other cuirassiers were loading
their horses with hay, straw, and sacks of flour. Inside the house I
heard shouts and oaths in Little-Russian.... I called to my men and told
them to leave the Jews alone, not to take anything from them. The
soldiers obeyed, the sergeant got on his grey mare, Proserpina, or, as
he called her, 'Prozherpila,' and rode after me into the street.
'Well,' I said to Sara, 'are you pleased with me?'
She looked at me with a smile.
'What has become of you all this time?'
She dropped her eyes.
'I will come to you to-morrow.'
'In the evening?'
'No, sir, in the morning.'
'Mind you do, don't deceive me.'
'No... no, I won't.'
I looked greedily at her. By daylight she seemed to me handsomer than
ever. I remember I was particularly struck by the even, amber tint of
her face and the bluish lights in her black hair.... I bent down from my
horse and warmly pressed her little hand.
'Good-bye, Sara... mind you come.'
'Yes.'
She went home; I told the sergeant to follow me with the party, and
galloped off.
The next day I got up very early, dressed, and went out of the tent. It
was a glorious morning; the sun had just risen and every blade of grass
was sparkling in the dew and the crimson glow. I clambered on to a high
breastwork, and sat down on the edge of an embrasure. Below me a stout,
cast-iron cannon stuck out its black muzzle towards the open country. I
looked carelessly about me... and all at once caught sight of a bent
figure in a grey wrapper, a hundred paces from me. I recognised Girshel.
He stood without moving for a long while in one place, then suddenly ran
a little on one side, looked hurriedly and furtively round... uttered a
cry, squatted down, cautiously craned his neck and began looking round
again and listening. I could see all his actions very clearly. He put
his hand into his bosom, took out a scrap of paper and a pencil, and
began writing or drawing something. Girshel continually stopped, started
like a hare, attentively scrutinised everything around him, and seemed
to be sketching our camp. More than once he hid his scrap of paper, half
closed his eyes, sniffed at the air, and again set to work. At last, the
Jew squatted down on the grass, took off his slipper, and stuffed the
paper in it; but he had not time to regain his legs, when suddenly, ten
steps from him, there appeared from behind the <DW72> of an earthwork the
whiskered countenance of the sergeant Siliavka, and gradually the whole
of his long clumsy figure rose up from the ground. The Jew stood with
his back to him. Siliavka went quickly up to him and laid his heavy paw
on his shoulder. Girshel seemed to shrink into himself. He shook like a
leaf and uttered a feeble cry, like a hare's. Siliavka addressed him
threateningly, and seized him by the collar. I could not hear their
conversation, but from the despairing gestures of the Jew, and his
supplicating appearance, I began to guess what it was. The Jew twice
flung himself at the sergeant's feet, put his hand in his pocket, pulled
out a torn check handkerchief, untied a knot, and took out gold
coins.... Siliavka took his offering with great dignity, but did not
leave off dragging the Jew by the collar. Girshel made a sudden bound
and rushed away; the sergeant sped after him in pursuit. The Jew ran | 2,284.289217 |
2023-11-16 18:55:08.3596490 | 2,093 | 10 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Katherine Ward, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
LEGENDS & ROMANCES OF BRITTANY
[Illustration: GRAELENT AND THE FAIRY-WOMAN _Fr._]
LEGENDS & ROMANCES
OF BRITTANY
_BY_
LEWIS SPENCE F.R.A.I.
AUTHOR OF "HERO TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE RHINE"
"A DICTIONARY OF MEDIEVAL ROMANCE AND ROMANCE WRITERS"
"THE MYTHS OF MEXICO AND PERU"
ETC. ETC.
_WITH THIRTY-TWO ILLUSTRATIONS BY_
W. OTWAY CANNELL A.R.C.A.(Lond.)
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH
GREAT BRITAIN
PREFACE
Although the folk-tales and legends of Brittany have received
ample attention from native scholars and collectors, they have not as
yet been presented in a popular manner to English-speaking readers.
The probable reasons for what would appear to be an otherwise
incomprehensible omission on the part of those British writers who
make a popular use of legendary material are that many Breton
folk-tales strikingly resemble those of other countries, that from
a variety of considerations some of them are unsuitable for
presentation in an English dress, and that most of the folk-tales
proper certainly possess a strong family likeness to one another.
But it is not the folk-tale alone which goes to make up the
romantic literary output of a people; their ballads, the heroic
tales which they have woven around passages in their national
history, their legends (employing the term in its proper sense),
along with the more literary attempts of their romance-weavers,
their beliefs regarding the supernatural, the tales which cluster
around their ancient homes and castles--all of these, although
capable of separate classification, are akin to folk-lore, and I
have not, therefore, hesitated to use what in my discretion I
consider the best out of immense stores of material as being much
more suited to supply British readers with a comprehensive view of
Breton story. Thus, I have included chapters on the lore which
cleaves to the ancient stone monuments of the country, along with
some account of the monuments themselves. The Arthurian matter
especially connected with Brittany I have relegated to a separate
chapter, and I have considered it only fitting to include such of
the _lais_ of that rare and human songstress Marie de France as deal
with the Breton land. The legends of those sainted men to whom
Brittany owes so much will be found in a separate chapter, in
collecting the matter for which I have obtained the kindest
assistance from Miss Helen Macleod Scott, who has the preservation of
the Celtic spirit so much at heart. I have also included chapters on
the interesting theme of the black art in Brittany, as well as on
the several species of fays and demons which haunt its moors and
forests; nor will the heroic tales of its great warriors and
champions be found wanting. To assist the reader to obtain the
atmosphere of Brittany and in order that he may read these tales
without feeling that he is perusing matter relating to a race of
which he is otherwise ignorant, I have afforded him a slight
sketch of the Breton environment and historical development, and in
an attempt to lighten his passage through the volume I have here and
there told a tale in verse, sometimes translated, sometimes original.
As regards the folk-tales proper, by which I mean stories collected
from the peasantry, I have made a selection from the works of Gaidoz,
Sebillot, and Luzel. In no sense are these translations; they are
rather adaptations. The profound inequality between Breton folk-tales
is, of course, very marked in a collection of any magnitude, but as
this volume is not intended to be exhaustive I have had no difficulty
in selecting material of real interest. Most of these tales were
collected by Breton folk-lorists in the eighties of the last century,
and the native shrewdness and common sense which characterize much of
the editors' comments upon the stories so carefully gathered from
peasants and fishermen make them deeply interesting.
It is with a sense of shortcoming that I offer the reader this volume
on a great subject, but should it succeed in stimulating interest in
Breton story, and in directing students to a field in which their
research is certain to be richly rewarded, I shall not regret the
labour and time which I have devoted to my task.
L. S.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I The Land, the People and their Story 13
II Menhirs And Dolmens 37
III The Fairies of Brittany 54
IV Sprites And Demons of Brittany 96
V World-Tales in Brittany 106
VI Breton Folk-Tales 156
VII Popular Legends of Brittany 173
VIII Hero-Tales of Brittany 211
IX The Black Art and Its Ministers 241
X Arthurian Romance in Brittany 254
XI The Breton Lays of Marie De France 283
XII The Saints of Brittany 332
XIII Costumes and Customs of Brittany 372
Glossary and Index 392
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Graelent and the Fairy-Woman _Frontispiece_
Nomenoe 23
The Death of Marguerite in the Castle of Trogoff 34
Raising a Menhir 44
The Seigneur of Nann And the Korrigan 58
Merlin And Vivien 66
The Fairies of Broceliande Find the Little Bruno 72
Fairies in a Breton 'Houle' 81
The Poor Boy And the Three Fairy Damsels 88
The Demon-Dog 102
N'Oun Doare And the Princess Golden Bell 112
The Bride of Satan 144
Gwennolaik and Nola 170
The Devil in the Form of a Leopard appears before
the Alchemist 179
The Escape of King Gradlon from the Flooded City of
Ys 186
A Peasant Insurrection 197
Morvan returns to his Ruined Home 214
The Finding of Silvestik 232
Heloise as Sorceress 250
King Arthur and Merlin at the Lake 257
Tristrem and Ysonde 268
King Arthur and the Giant of Mont-Saint-Michel 276
The Were-Wolf 288
Gugemar comes upon the Magic Ship 294
Gugemar's Assault on the Castle of Meriadus 300
Eliduc carries Guillardun to the Forest Chapel 312
Convoyon and his Monks carry off the Relics of St
Apothemius 336
St Tivisiau, the Shepherd Saint 339
St Yves instructing Shepherd-boys in the Use of the
Rosary 352
Queen Queban stoned to Death 369
Modern Brittany 377
The Souls of the Dead 385
CHAPTER I: THE LAND, THE PEOPLE AND THEIR STORY
The romantic region which we are about to traverse in search of the
treasures of legend was in ancient times known as Armorica, a
Latinized form of the Celtic name, Armor ('On the Sea'). The Brittany
of to-day corresponds to the departments of Finistere, Cotes-du-Nord,
Morbihan, Ille-et-Vilaine, and Loire-Inferieure. A popular division of
the country is that which partitions it into Upper, or Eastern, and
Lower, or Western, Brittany, and these tracts together have an area of
some 13,130 square miles.
Such parts of Brittany as are near to the sea-coast present marked
differences to the inland regions, where raised plateaux are covered
with dreary and unproductive moorland. These plateaux, again, rise
into small ranges of hills, not of any great height, but, from their
wild and rugged appearance, giving the impression of an altitude much
loftier than they possess. The coast-line is ragged, indented, and
inhospitable, lined with deep reefs and broken by the estuaries of
brawling rivers. In the southern portion the district known as 'the
Emerald Coast' presents an almost subtropical appearance; the air is
mild and the whole region pleasant and fruitful. But with this
exception Brittany is a country of bleak shores and grey seas, barren
moorland and dreary horizons, such a land as legend loves, such a
region, cut off and isolated from the highways of humanity, as the
discarded genii of ancient faiths might seek as a last stronghold.
Regarding the origin of the race which peoples this secluded
peninsula there are no wide differences of opinion. If we take the
word 'Celt' as describing any branch of the many divergent races which
came under the influence of one particular type of culture, the true
originators of which were absorbed among the folk they governed and | 2,284.379689 |
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[Illustration: Julius Caesar]
CAESAR
_A SKETCH_
BY
JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE, M.A.
FORMERLY FELLOW OF EXETER COLLEGE, OXFORD
_"Pardon, gentles all
The flat unraised spirit that hath dared
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
So great an object."_
--SHAKESPEARE, Henry V.
PREFACE.
I have called this work a "sketch" because the materials do not exist
for a portrait which shall be at once authentic and complete. The
original authorities which are now extant for the life of Caesar are
his own writings, the speeches and letters of Cicero, the eighth book
of the "Commentaries" on the wars in Gaul and the history of the
Alexandrian war, by Aulus Hirtius, the accounts of the African war and
of the war in Spain, composed by persons who were unquestionably
present in those two campaigns. To these must be added the "Leges
Juliae" which are preserved in the Corpus Juris Civilis. Sallust
contributes a speech, and Catullus a poem. A few hints can be gathered
from the Epitome of Livy and the fragments of Varro; and here the
contemporary sources which can be entirely depended upon are brought to
an end.
The secondary group of authorities from which the popular histories of
the time have been chiefly taken are Appian, Plutarch, Suetonius, and
Dion Cassius. Of these the first three were divided from the period
which they describe by nearly a century and a half, Dion Cassius by
more than two centuries. They had means of knowledge which no longer
exist--the writings, for instance, of Asinius Pollio, who was one of
Caesar's officers. But Asinius Pollio's accounts of Caesar's actions,
as reported by Appian, cannot always be reconciled with the
Commentaries; and all these four writers relate incidents as facts
which are sometimes demonstrably false. Suetonius is apparently the
most trustworthy. His narrative, like those of his contemporaries, was
by tradition. His biographies of the earlier Caesars betray the
same spirit of animosity against them which taints the credibility of
Tacitus, and prevailed for so many years in aristocratic Roman society.
But Suetonius shows nevertheless an effort at veracity, an antiquarian
curiosity and diligence, and a serious anxiety to tell his story
impartially. Suetonius, in the absence of evidence direct or
presumptive to the contrary, I have felt myself able to follow. The
other three writers I have trusted only when I have found them
partially confirmed by evidence which is better to be relied upon.
The picture which I have drawn will thus be found deficient in many
details which have passed into general acceptance, and I have been
unable to claim for it a higher title than that of an outline drawing.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
Free Constitutions and Imperial Tendencies.--Instructiveness of Roman
History.--Character of Historical Epochs.--The Age of
Caesar.--Spiritual State of Rome.--Contrasts between Ancient and Modern
Civilization.
CHAPTER II.
The Roman Constitution.--Moral Character of the Romans.--Roman
Religion.--Morality and Intellect.--Expansion of Roman Power.--The
Senate.--Roman Slavery.--Effects of Intercourse with Greece.--Patrician
Degeneracy.--The Roman Noble.--Influence of Wealth.--Beginnings of
Discontent.
CHAPTER III.
Tiberius Gracchus.--Decay of the Italian Yeomanry.--Agrarian
Law.--Success and Murder of Gracchus.--Land Commission.--Caius
Gracchus.--Transfer of Judicial Functions from the Senate to the
Equites.--Sempronian Laws.--Free Grants of Corn.--Plans for Extension
of the Franchise.--New Colonies.--Reaction.--Murder of Caius Gracchus
CHAPTER IV.
Victory of the Optimates.--The Moors.--History of Jugurtha.--The Senate
corrupted.--Jugurthine War.--Defeat of the Romans.--Jugurtha comes to
Rome.--Popular Agitation.--The War renewed.--Roman Defeats in Africa
and Gaul.--Caecilius Metellus and Caius Marius.--Marriage of
Marius.--The Caesars.--Marius Cons | 2,284.387378 |
2023-11-16 18:55:08.3683500 | 6,272 | 6 |
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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 OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE FOREST
OR
Laying the Ghost of Oak Ridge
BY CAPTAIN QUINCY ALLEN
AUTHOR OF "THE OUTDOOR CHUMS," "THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE LAKE," "THE
OUTDOOR CHUMS AFTER BIG GAME," ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1911 BY
GROSSET & DUNLAP
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS SERIES
BY CAPTAIN QUINCY ALLEN
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS
Or The First Tour of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE LAKE
Or Lively Adventures on Wildcat Island
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE FOREST
Or Laying the Ghost of Oak Ridge
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE GULF
Or Rescuing the Lost Balloonists
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS AFTER BIG GAME
Or Perilous Adventures in the Wilderness
[Illustration: "WOW! LOOK AT THE BUNCH, WILL YOU?"]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A QUESTION OF NERVE 1
II LAYING PLANS 12
III THE CAMP BY THE WAYSIDE 21
IV THINGS BEGIN TO HAPPEN 30
V JED, THE RUNAWAY BOUND BOY 38
VI FARMER DOBSON CHANGES HIS MIND 47
VII THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 57
VIII EVERYTHING SEEMS TO COME THEIR WAY 66
IX FRANK TRIES TO SOLVE THE RIDDLE 75
X THE "TOTE" ROAD IN THE FOREST 84
XI FARMER DOBSON AND HIS PRIZE BULL 93
XII THE NIGHT ALARM 101
XIII A CHANGE OF BASE 110
XIV FIGHTING THE QUICKSAND 121
XV JERRY MAKES A GUESS 129
XVI A TIME FOR QUICK ACTION 137
XVII THE NEWS ADOLPHUS BROUGHT 146
XVIII THE DEN OF VIPERS 155
XIX AN ORDER TO VACATE 164
XX A MORNING WITH THE BLACK BASS 172
XXI THE SHERIFF DIPS INTO FAIRY STORIES 183
XXII PADDLING ACROSS LAKE SURPRISE 192
XXIII DOCTOR WILL TO THE FRONT 200
XXIV THE PROOF OF THE NEGATIVE 208
XXV CONCLUSION 217
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE FOREST
CHAPTER I
A QUESTION OF NERVE
"That's a likely yarn, Sandy. I tell you I don't believe in ghosts."
"All right. You can say what you like, Bluff Masters, but Caleb declares
he saw it."
"Oh, shucks! He must have been dreaming."
"Guess you never had any experience with that sort of things."
"Only once, and that time it turned out to be a crazy man. Since then
I've got my opinion of any fellow who takes stock in ghost stories."
"Think you're mighty brave just because you've got that old gun of yours
along--been having it at the locksmith's again, I reckon. Seems like
it's there half the time, getting some tinkering done. I dare you to go
out to Oak Ridge and settle this ghost question once for all. There you
are, and it's either take me up, or back down off that high horse."
"Vacation's set in, and my chums don't seem to know just where to go.
Tell you what, I've got a good notion to put it up to the crowd right
away."
"Talk is cheap, Bluff. I'll believe it when I hear of you fellows going.
So long," and the speaker, a boy who attended the same school in
Centerville that Bluff did, walked down the main street of the little
town that lay on Lake Camalot.
Bluff looked after him for a minute, as though he might be turning the
daring project over in his mind. Then he fondled the repeating shotgun
he was carrying, as if he resented the slur the other had cast upon its
good qualities.
"Say, now, perhaps that would be a dandy idea, all right. Some people
take considerable stock in that blooming old ghost story, and I reckon
it would make a lot of silly ones sleep sounder if we went out and
learned that the thing was only a fake after all. Wonder what the rest
of the boys would say if I proposed it. And Will, he'd declare he wanted
to take a snapshot of the ghost with his camera."
The idea seemed to amuse the boy, for he laughed softly to himself as
he once more shouldered his gun, took a new grip on the package of
ammunition he was carrying home, and again started along the main street
of the town.
It was a July morning. School was out, the Glorious Fourth was but a
memory, and the boys were trying to make suitable plans for spending
their vacation in various little outings of a character to suit their
love for the open.
There were an unusual number of people on the street that morning, Bluff
noticed. A circus was in town, and they had promised a street parade at
some time before noon, so that the boys and girls haunted the main
thoroughfare in large and constantly increasing numbers.
Now Bluff liked to see such an exhibition just as well as the next one,
but he believed he had plenty of time to get home with his gun and come
back again.
A little further on he came face to face with a rough-looking fellow
about his own age, whose freckled countenance took on a sneer at sight
of the gun which Bluff carried.
"See yuh been repairin' the little old shootin'-iron again, Bluff. Think
yuh happen tuh be some punkins because once yuh held up some of my crowd
with that stick when we happened to be empty-handed. Sho! yuh can be
brave enough when it's all one-sided, but turn the tables around an' I
bet you'd run faster than we did over on Wildcat Island," said this
worthy, as he stopped in front of the other.
Bluff belonged to a club of four boys who had formed plans to spend
their vacations in the open whenever possible. They called it the Rod,
Gun and Camera Club, and when a convenient storm tore off the roof from
half the Academy, the previous October, necessitating a short session of
holidays, they had gone up into the woods to camp, as told in the first
volume of this series, entitled "The Outdoor Chums; or, First Tour of
the Rod, Gun and Camera Club."
Here they were constantly annoyed by a crowd of town idlers, under the
leadership of one Andy Lasher, and the four chums passed through a
series of the most entertaining adventures, such as pleases all boys who
love excitement. These three comrades of Bluff were named Frank Langdon,
Jerry Wallington and Will Milton, the latter being a camera crank of the
first water, always ready to sacrifice his comfort and time if there was
any hope of securing a picture to commemorate the event.
During their outing, Jerry, being lost in the woods during a storm,
succeeded in saving the life of Andy, who after that refused to
continue his mean tactics of plaguing the chums, so that the leadership
of the opposition fell upon another fellow, the same Pet Peters who was
now jeering Bluff.
When the Easter week of holidays came, in early April, the chums had
decided to spend a portion of the time camping on a timber-covered
island near the foot of the ten-mile lake, and which was seldom visited
by any one on account of the stories told about the vast number of
wildcats to be found there, as well as the wild man who had been seen at
various times. A fire on the little steamboat plying the lake, and the
robbery of a passenger, played an important part in the exciting events
that occurred while the chums were at Wildcat Island, all of which,
including the solving of the mystery connected with the wild man, have
been set down in the second volume of this series, called "The Outdoor
Chums on the Lake; or, Lively Adventures on Wildcat Island."
As can be seen from what Bluff said, the boys were a bit uncertain as to
where they should go during the early part of vacation time. Later on
they expected to separate, as Will was to accompany his widowed mother
to the seashore, and two of the others also had plans after the same
kind; but for a couple of weeks they wanted some little, delightful
camping experience, not too far away.
Bluff secretly had a contempt for Pet Peters. Still, he knew the other
was an antagonist not to be lightly esteemed, and that once he set his
mind on a thing he could hardly be called off. The trouble was, as a
rule, his object proved to be a vindictive one, rather than worthy of
praise.
"Oh, I don't pretend to be a hero," said Bluff, as he gave the other boy
look for look, "and I'll put you wise to that right here. But when it
comes to a pinch, and some mighty mean fellows are trying to play tricks
on me and my chums, I can hold my own, all right. This gun may be
unlucky about getting out of order too often, but she can scatter the
shot, and is all to the good. You want to fight shy of her, Pet, that's
all."
"Say, they named yuh all right when they called yuh Bluff. Sometimes
these yer windbags they get punctured like. Take care that don't happen
to you. I reckon the parade must be comin', ter judge from all the
racket along yonder. Better fall in front and let the people of
Centerville see the great hero, hey?"
Bluff had turned his head to look. If what the other said were true,
then he would have no time to go home and leave his gun.
There did seem to be considerable excitement just at the bend in the
street, and it was growing greater with the passage of every second. Men
were running, shouting, and making for the sidewalks. Some caught up
small children in their arms. Every one appeared tremendously stirred,
as though an event far out of the common were about to occur.
Bluff laughed.
"Seems like people get crazier every year over the old circus. I
understand this is a bum one, anyway. Look at 'em scoot! They couldn't
act more like a lot of loons if the elephant had broken loose and was on
the warpath. I don't hear the band playing, do you, Pet?" he said.
"No, I don't. And I reckon there's somethin' gone wrong around that bend
in the street. Them fellers wouldn't act that way, else. See that fat
woman tumble over, will yuh! Now she rolls like a barrel to the
pavement. She's nigh about scairt to death, I tell yuh! What kin it be?"
exclaimed Pet.
By this time Bluff was aroused. He realized that all this tremendous
excitement could not have been caused by the near approach of the circus
parade. There was the sedate head of the Academy footing it for the
shelter of a shoeshop as if he had entered for a hundred-yard dash.
Heads were appearing at all the windows, and now shrieks began to be
added to the clamor.
Bluff wondered if he were dreaming. Had all Centerville gone crazy?
There was an asylum over at Merrick, but since when had its inmates
broken loose and taken up quarters in Centerville?
If he had not been gripping his gun and that package of shells, Bluff
might have rubbed his eyes to find out if he were really and truly
awake.
"Run! run!"
It sounded as though a dozen people were shouting that word. Why should
they want to get others to run? Had the lion broken out of his cage, and
was he coming down the street, looking for victims?
Some boys were climbing trees with mad haste. Perhaps they did not as
yet fully understand the need of such a retreat, but in time of danger
it seems natural for the ordinary boy to find refuge in a tree, as
though he were, in truth, descended from monkey ancestors.
Now for the first time they caught other words that were being shouted
by the panic-stricken people along the street, as they rushed hither and
thither, anxious to find shelter somewhere.
"Mad dog! Mad dog!"
Pet Peters gave a howl of fear. He was greatly afraid of all dogs, and
the very idea of a mad cur caused him to turn white and show his craven
blood.
He made a wild rush for the nearest tree, and clambered into the lower
branches with a speed that would have won a medal in a race.
Bluff wanted to follow after him. He felt his nerves quivering with
fright, and as he started to run his knees showed an inclination to
knock together.
There was the choirmaster, Mr. Melod, chasing across the street, and
heading for the milliner's establishment opposite. He was usually a very
dignified man, but just then, with his hat fallen off, and fear written
upon his face, he startled Bluff not a little.
"Run, Richard! Come this way, my boy!" he called, beckoning wildly; for
Bluff had come to a sudden pause in the middle of the road as a sudden
terrible thought flashed into his mind.
He had a gun in his hands, and ammunition in plenty. Pet Peters had just
called him next door to a coward, who could only show valor when
everything was on his side. Who was to stop this mad dog in his career?
There were many little children around the next bend, awaiting the
coming of the circus parade. What if some of them were bitten by the
beast, and he with a gun in his hands?
Bluff turned as white as a ghost. His hands were shaking furiously as he
broke open the package he carried. The shells fell in a heap to the
road, and eagerly the boy stooped down to pick up one and push it into
the magazine of the gun. Then he took up a second and a third.
There was no time for more. He would not need them. If he could not
finish the mad beast with three shots it was bound to be all over with
him. What that boy suffered as he crouched there, staring at the
terrible brute that came around the curve in the street, no one would
ever know.
He heard a clamor of voices. Some applauded his act, while others,
frightened lest he fall a prey to the fury of the mad dog, cried to him
to run while there was yet time. Even Pet Peters, perched securely on a
limb of the tree, nearly above Bluff, shouted to him to get behind the
trunk of the same.
Bluff heard this confusion as in a dream. He only saw that advancing
beast, and to his eyes the yellow hound looked almost as big as a lion
just then. Indeed, the brute did present a terrible aspect, with
bloodshot eyes, and foam dripping from his square jaws.
Bluff could hardly raise the gun to his shoulder, in order to glance
along the single barrel, but strange to say, just then it seemed as
though a miracle had been wrought, for his nerves became like steel, and
the gun no longer wavered.
CHAPTER II
LAYING PLANS
Like magic, it seemed, all that clamor died away.
Men and women simply stared at the terrible spectacle of that boy
crouched there in the street, and that huge dog advancing directly
toward him, with eager mien. Doubtless many a prayer was offered up for
the safety of the lad who had thrown himself into the breach between
that brute and the innocent children who thronged the square just
beyond.
"Hey, Bluff! Aim right atween his bloomin' old eyes!" called Pet from
his perch.
"Shoot!" shouted one man, almost wild because the dog was now so very
near the kneeling boy, whom he imagined must be petrified with fear.
But Bluff was waiting. He wanted to make sure. The shot in his gun was
small, and intended for birds. To render it effective against such a
beast it must go at close quarters, when it would have all the force of
a bullet.
Along that glistening barrel he could see the flaming eyes of the
vicious dog, now not more than twenty feet away. Then he pulled the
trigger!
Just as though he were shooting ducks in the slough at the foot of the
lake, Bluff instantly made a movement with his hands that Jerry always
likened to the action of a pump handle. Thank goodness! The locksmith
had done his job well, for the mechanism of the gun worked like a charm,
sending the empty shell flying, and pushing a full one into place.
He again aimed his weapon. The dog was on the ground, kicking, but even
as Bluff looked he struggled up again. This was the signal for a second
shot, and after that there was one last movement and the hideous
creature lay there, still.
Then broke out a wild shout that was taken up along the whole street.
People came thronging out of the houses to rush forward and gaze upon
the monster that had sent them into such a panic of fear. A few thought
to wring the hand of Bluff and thank him for what he had done.
The boy was no longer white. He had turned furiously red under these
praises, and hardly knew what to do or say, it was so embarrassing. Mr.
Melod, the choirmaster, wrung his hand, while tears came into his eyes.
"My dear boy, I am proud of you this day. That was a noble deed of
yours, and deserves to be handed down in the annals of Centerville, as
an incentive to the coming generations," he said with deep feeling.
"Oh, shucks! That wasn't so very much, sir. Any fellow with a gun would
have done it. What would they have thought of me running away, and with
this thing in my hands? I'm only ashamed to say I was about as badly
scared as Pet here. He didn't have a gun, so he climbed a tree,"
stammered the boy, trying to break loose from the encircling arms of
Miss Samantha Green, the old-maid milliner, who had witnessed the entire
performance from the window of her shop, and was inclined to be
sentimental at all times.
"Yes, I had a big stone up there with me, fellers, an' I was a-goin' tuh
crack the pup on the head with it w'en he kim under the tree; but Bluff
he got first say, as he allers does. It ain't fair, I tell yuh. I'd
a-give the dorg a plunk that would a made him croak," declared Pet,
shaking his head ferociously.
"Listen to him, will you, boys!" exclaimed Jerry Wallington, as with a
quick movement he snatched from the hand of the other the rock which he
had intended should demolish the big brute, and held it up. "This pebble
is what Pet meant to throw at that yellow beast. Like as not it would
have hurt him as much as a peashooter might. Talk to me about that for
bravery, will you? Only for my chum, somebody might have been hurt. He's
all to the good!"
Bluff had been watching his chance, and as soon as the excited old maid
freed her arms he darted away, followed by two other boys. These were
Jerry, and Will Milton, the latter of whom was smiling all over his
face.
"That was the time luck followed me, fellows. The photographer just
loaded my camera for me when I was buying a new lot of films, and if I
didn't snap off five of the dandiest pictures of that little circus you
ever saw. Wait till I get a chance to develop them, and see," he was
rattling along.
"There comes Frank, too! Stop and wait for him, boys," said Jerry just
then.
A fourth lad quickly joined the group. He was a fine-looking boy, with a
face full of determination and quiet courage. His first act was to
seize the hand of the still blushing Bluff and squeeze it fiercely.
"Great work, old man! The best ever! Lucky chap that you were to have
that gun of yours along. I happened to be in the drugstore, and the
people came pushing in so fast that it was impossible to get out. So I
glued my nose to a window, and saw it all. My heart was in my throat;
but I knew you wouldn't fail, though to tell the honest truth, I wasn't
half so certain about the gun."
"Then it's up to you to apologize to the bully old gun right away," said
Bluff. "Didn't she act great? Why, it was as easy as falling off a log.
Anybody could have done it. And don't you believe there was any hero
business about it, either. I was that badly scared my hands shook as if
I had fever and ague, like poor old Dad Atkins. Just pure luck carried
me through, fellows."
"Don't you believe it for a minute," declared Will vehemently, at this
juncture, "and when my pictures are developed I can prove it. I was only
fifty feet away, hardly that, and I give you my word that when the cur
was almost on top of Bluff all his shake left him. He aimed that gun as
if he was shooting at a set target."
"And to hear that big blower, Pet Peters, say he was ready to smash the
brute's cranium in with a rock, when he was gripping a pebble not half
as large as my hand! That is a joke to make me laugh," went on Jerry.
"What's that?" demanded Frank, who had not been present when the boast
was made.
"Pet was jealous. He says Bluff always cuts him out from hanging on to
the glory part. He was telling about snatching up a big rock, meaning to
let it drop on the head of the mad dog as he went under the limb of the
tree, when Jerry pulled it out of his hand. Here it is--I picked it up
for a memento."
Will held up a small stone as he spoke, at which Frank burst into a
laugh.
"I suppose at the time Pet really thought he was picking up a boulder.
What do you suppose that hard-headed brute would have thought if this
pebble had struck him? It would have been a flea bite. But for one, I'm
done laughing at that newfangled gun of yours, Bluff."
"Me, too. I've said some mighty mean things about it in the past, pard,
but never again. Talk to me about a handy thing to have about the house,
that same gun just seems to wallow in luck. It's Johnny-on-the-spot when
most needed. I may still believe in my double-barrel as the best thing
on earth, but this contraption has its uses, and many of 'em."
Which was saying pretty much for Jerry.
"But I saw you talking to Pet before all that row broke out," remarked
Will.
"Yes; he stopped me to jeer at the gun, like a good many other fellows,
who don't know a good thing when they see it," answered Bluff, grinning
amiably.
"Well, perhaps he's also changed his mind about it, like Jerry here,"
laughed Frank.
"To tell the honest truth, boys, perhaps it was something Pet said that
made me determine it was my duty to stand there and knock that beast
over," admitted Bluff, as if determined to confess all his shortcomings
while about it.
"And what was that?" asked Jerry, frowning, for he detested Pet above
all other boys in town.
"He was saying that it didn't take much courage to hold up fellows when
one had a gun and they didn't; he also took occasion to rub it in, and
declare that I was by nature a timid sort of a chap, well named Bluff.
Do you know, what he said came to me like a flash, even while my legs
were bent on carrying me across the street to a store or a tree. That
was why I stopped so suddenly. I was ashamed to run while I held this
gun. So you see there was no bravery about it, only desperation."
"Humbug! That's what most so-called bravery is, old fellow," said Frank,
patting him on the back.
"I saw you talking to Sandy Griggs, too," remarked Will.
"Say, that reminds me! I've got a plan to propose for a short outing. We
were fortunate enough to discover the secret of the wild man of the
island, last spring--what's to hinder us from going out to Oak Ridge and
doing a little investigating there, eh?" demanded Bluff eagerly.
The others looked at him curiously.
"Oak Ridge--that's out in the Sunset Mountains," remarked Will
dubiously.
"Seems to me I've heard considerable of that place lately. Isn't there
some sort of a ghost story going the rounds about it?" asked Frank,
smiling.
"Tell me about that, will you?" burst out Jerry, bristling up. "Bluff
isn't content with the laurels he's already won, but sighs for more.
First it was the wild man we rounded up, and now he hankers after laying
a real genuine ghost by the heels. Count me in, if you decide to go. I'm
always eager to have a share in all kinds of excitement, you know."
"Sandy says Caleb, the canal lockkeeper, saw the ghost really and truly.
Caleb isn't a drinking man, either, so he must have seen something or
other. What do you say, boys? Would it be fun, or not, to camp out in
that range of hills and run down this story of a ghost?" demanded Bluff.
"Those in favor, raise a hand," said Frank.
Instantly four hands went up.
"That settles it, then," declared the leader of the four chums. "We will
go to-morrow to camp along Oak Ridge, and discover, if we can, the truth
about this talked-of ghost."
CHAPTER III
THE CAMP BY THE WAYSIDE
"Get up, there, you Peter!"
"Give the old sleepy-head another cut with the whip, Jerry."
"No use. He only flips his stub of a tail around, and shakes his head. I
tell you nothing short of a burr under his tail would make old Peter
run, fellows."
"And at this time of year there are no burrs. Oh, well, we're in no
hurry. What if we do have to make a half-way camp? It is a part of the
fun, boys," and Frank lay back on the cargo in the wagon, and laughed to
see the ears of the patient horse wag back and forth as he toiled
stolidly along the rough road.
They had decided not to use their motorcycles on this trip, for several
reasons. In the first place, two of them were in need of a good
overhauling, and of the remaining couple, that belonging to Frank was
the only one always kept in trim. Besides, neither Adolphus, the
<DW52> man working for Mr. Wallington, nor his team, were available for
use, and so they had to hire a rig that was proving very disappointing
to all but Will, who took several fetching views of the picturesque
beast.
Sometimes the boys walked, but when they grew tired they climbed up on
the load, and Peter only wheezed a bit more, as though in protest.
The afternoon was well along by now. They had started just after noon,
and had been foolish enough to believe they might reach | 2,284.38839 |
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italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
THE CHAUTAUQUAN.
_A MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE PROMOTION OF TRUE CULTURE. ORGAN OF
THE CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE._
VOL. IV. JANUARY, 1884. NO. 4.
Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.
_President_—Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio.
_Superintendent of Instruction_—Rev. J. H. Vincent, D.D., New Haven,
Conn.
_Counselors_—Rev. Lyman Abbott, D.D.; Rev. J. M. Gibson, D.D.; Bishop
H. W. Warren, D.D.; Prof. W. C. Wilkinson, D.D.
_Office Secretary_—Miss Kate F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J.
_General Secretary_—Albert M. Martin, Pittsburgh, Pa.
_Transcriber's Note: This table of contents of this periodical was
created for the HTML version to aid the reader._
Contents
REQUIRED READING
German History 189
Extracts from German Literature 193
Readings in Physical Science
IV.—The Sea 196
SUNDAY READINGS
[January 6]—On Spiritual Christianity 198
[January 13] 199
[January 20] 200
[January 27] 200
Political Economy
IV. Distribution 202
Readings in Art
I.—Architecture.—Introduction 204
Selections from American Literature
Fitz Greene Halleck 207
Richard Henry Dana 208
William Cullen Bryant 208
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 210
Night 211
Eccentric Americans 211
The Stork 214
Gardening Among the Chinese 215
Eight Centuries With Walter Scott 216
Astronomy of the Heavens For January 218
Work For Women 219
Ostrich Hunting 220
Christian Missions 221
California 222
Table-Talk of Napoleon Bonaparte 224
Early Flowers 225
Botanical Notes 227
C. L. S. C. Work 228
Outline of C. L. S. C. Readings 228
Sunbeams from the Circle 229
Local Circles 230
C. L. S. C. Round-Table 233
Questions and Answers 234
Chautauqua Normal Class 236
Editor’s Outlook
The Headquarters of the C. L. S. C. 238
Evangelists 239
The New Time Standards 240
Père Hyacinthe 241
Editor’s Note-Book 241
C. L. S. C. Notes on Required Readings for January 243
Notes on Required Readings in “The Chatauquan” 245
Talk About Books 248
REQUIRED READING
FOR THE
_Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle for 1883-4_.
JANUARY.
GERMAN HISTORY.
By REV. W. G. WILLIAMS, A.M.
IV.
The C. L. S. C. student is already aware that it is not pretended
here to write the history of Germany, but properly these are entitled
“Readings in German History.” To write with any degree of fulness or
detail the history of a people which has played so large and important
a part in the modern world, would require more volumes than are the
pages allotted to us. It has been, and still remains the design to
select those events and characters of greatest interest, and which have
had the largest influence upon the current of subsequent history. The
purpose, also constantly in view, has been to stimulate the reader to
further study of the subject, by perusal of the best works accessible
to the reader of English.
In this number no choice is left us but to pass, with only a glance
or two, over the long period from the death of Charlemagne to that
day-dawn of modern history, the Reformation. It is the period in which
the historian traces, successively the beginning, vicissitudes, decay
and extinction of the Carlovingian, Saxon, Franconian and Hohenstauffen
houses. Following these is the great interregnum which precedes the
Reformation. Included in this long stretch of time are what is known as
the “dark ages.” Yet in Germany it was not all darkness, for now and
then a ray of light was visible, prophetic of the rising sun, which
heralded by Huss, appeared in the person and achievements of Martin
Luther. It is about the work and character of the latter personage that
we purpose to make the chief part of this chapter. Especially are we
disposed so to do, now that protestant christendom is celebrating the
four hundredth anniversary of the birth of the great reformer, and all
civilized mankind has its attention called to his bold doctrines and
brave career.
But, before we are prepared for Luther, we must note the change which
has come in the claims and pretensions of the church. The different
attitude which made possible a few centuries later, such a mission
as Luther’s can not better be exhibited than during the reign of the
Franconian Emperor, Henry the Fourth.
HENRY THE FOURTH—HIS SUPPLIANT VISIT TO CANOSSA.
The student of the history of the Romish church is aware that during
the first five centuries after Christ the pope was vested with little,
if any, other powers or dignities than those which pertained to him
as Bishop of Rome. His subsequent claim to unlimited spiritual and
political sway was then unthought of, much less anywhere advanced.
Even for another five centuries he is only the nominal head of the
church, who is subordinate to the political potentates and dependent
upon them for protection and support in his office. But in the year
1073 succeeded one Gregory VII., to the tiara, who proposed to erect
a spiritual empire which should be wholly absolved from dependency
on kings and princes. His pontificate was one continuous struggle
for the success of his undertaking. Of powerful will, great energy
and shrewdness and with set purpose his administration wrought great
change in the papal office and the relations of the church to European
society. His chief measures by which he sought to compass his design
were the celibacy of the priesthood and the suppression of the then
prevalent custom of simony. The latter bore especially hard on the
German Emperor, much of whose strength lay in the power to appoint the
bishops and to levy assessments upon them when the royal exchequer
was in need. In the year 1075 Gregory proclaimed his law against the
custom, forbidding the sale of all offices of the church, and declaring
that none but the pope might appoint bishops or confer the symbols
of their authority. With an audacity unheard of, and a determination
little anticipated, he sent word to Henry IV., of Germany, demanding
the enforcement of the rule throughout his dominion under penalty of
excommunication. The issue was a joint one, and a crisis inevitable.
No pope had ever assumed such an attitude or used such language to a
German Emperor. Henry was not disposed and resolved not to submit.
So far as a formal disposition of the difficulty was concerned the
case was an easy one. He called the bishops together in a synod
which met at Worms. They proceeded with unanimity to declare Gregory
deposed from his papal office and sent word of their action to Rome.
The pope, who had used every artifice to gain popularity with the
people, was prepared for the contest and answered back with the ban
of excommunication. The emperor might have been able to carry on the
struggle with some hope of success had he been in favor with his own
subjects. But he had alienated the Saxons by his harsh treatment of
them and the indignities heaped upon them; and others of his states
looked upon him with suspicion. Pitted against the ablest foe in
Europe, he found himself without the sympathy and aid of those to whom
alone he could look for help. Meanwhile Gregory was sending his agents
to all the courts of Europe and employing every intrigue to effect the
emperor’s dethronement. In 1076 a convention of princes was called to
meet near Mayence, Henry not being permitted to be present. So heavy
had the papal excommunication fallen by this time that the emperor
sent messengers to this convention offering to submit to their demands
if they would only spare his crown. Gregory was inexorable, and they
adjourned without any reconciliations being effected, to meet in a few
months at Augsburg. Henry now realized the might of the hand that for
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[Illustration: (Front Cover)]
Glacier NATIONAL PARK [MONTANA]
_American Section_ WATERTON-GLACIER
INTERNATIONAL PEACE PARK
United States Department of the Interior
_Harold L. Ickes, Secretary_
NATIONAL PARK SERVICE
_Arno B. Cammerer, Director_
[Illustration]
UNITED STATES
GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE
WASHINGTON: 1937
RULES AND REGULATIONS
Briefed
The Park Regulations are designed for the protection of the natural
beauties as well as for the comfort and convenience of visitors. The
complete regulations may be seen at the office of the superintendent
and at ranger stations. The following synopsis of the rules and
regulations is for the general guidance of visitors, who are requested
to assist in the administration of the park by observing them.
=_Fires._=--Fires are the greatest menace to the forests of Glacier
National Park. Build camp fires only when necessary and at designated
places. Know that they are out before you leave them. Be sure your
cigarette, cigar, pipe ashes, and matches are out before you throw them
away. During periods of high fire hazard, camp fires are not permitted
at nondesignated camp grounds.
=_Camps._=--Camping is restricted to designated campgrounds. Burn all
combustible garbage in your camp fire; place tin cans and unburnable
residue in garbage cans. There is plenty of pure water; be sure to get
it. Visitors must not contaminate water-sheds or water supplies.
=_Natural features._=--The destruction, injury, or disturbance in any
way of the trees, flowers, birds, or animals is prohibited. Dead and
fallen wood may be used for firewood. Picking wild flowers and removing
plants are prohibited.
=_Bears._=--It is prohibited and dangerous to feed the bears. Do not
leave foodstuffs in an unattended car or camp, for the bear will break
into and damage your car or camp equipment to secure food. Suspend
foodstuffs in a box, well out of their reach, or place in the care of
the camp tender.
=_Dogs and cats._=--When in the park, dogs and cats must be kept under
leash, crated, or under restrictive control of the owner at all times.
=_Fishing._=--No license for fishing in the park is required. Use of
live bait is prohibited. Ten fish (none under 6 inches) per day, per
person fishing is the usual limit; however, in some lakes the limit is
5 fish per day and in others it is 20. Visitors should contact the
nearest district ranger to ascertain the fish limits in the lakes. The
possession of more than 2 days' catch by any person at any one time
shall be construed as a violation of the regulations.
=_Traffic._=--Speed regulations: 15 miles per hour on sharp curves and
through residential districts; 35 miles per hour on the straightaway.
Keep gears enmeshed and out of free wheeling on long grades. Keep
cutout closed. Drive carefully at all times. Secure automobile permit,
fee $1.
=_Rangers._=--The rangers are here to assist and advise you as well as
to enforce the regulations. When in doubt consult a ranger.
FOREST FIRES
Forest Fires are a terrible and ever-present menace. There are
thousands of acres of burned forests in Glacier National Park. Most of
these "ghosts of forests" are hideous proofs of some person's criminal
carelessness or ignorance.
Build camp fires only at designated camp sites. At times of high
winds or exceptionally dry spell, build no fires outside, except in
stoves provided at the free auto camps. At times of extreme hazard,
it is necessary to restrict smoking to hotel and camp areas. Guests
entering the park are so informed, and prohibitory notices are posted
everywhere. Smoking on the highway, on trails, and elsewhere in the
park is forbidden at such times. During the dry period, permits to
build fires at any camp sites other than in auto camps must be procured
in advance from the district ranger.
Be absolutely sure that your camp fire is extinguished before you leave
it, even for a few minutes.
Do not rely upon dirt thrown on it for complete extinction.
_Drown_ it completely with water.
Drop that lighted cigar or cigarette on the trail and step on it.
Do the same with every match that is lighted.
_Extreme caution is demanded at all times._
Anyone responsible for a forest fire will be prosecuted to the full
extent of the law.
_If you discover a forest fire, report it to the nearest ranger
station or hotel._
Events OF HISTORICAL IMPORTANCE
The heart of a territory so vast it was measured not in miles but
degrees, the site of Glacier National Park was indicated as terra
incognita or unexplored on most maps even as late as the dawn of the
present century. To its mountain fastness had come first the solitary
fur trader, the trapper, and the missionary; after them followed the
hunter, the pioneer, and the explorer; in the nineties were drawn the
prospector, the miner, and the picturesque trader of our last frontier;
today, the region beckons the scientist, the lover of the out-of-doors,
and the searcher for beauty. Throughout its days, beginning with the
Lewis and Clark Expedition, the Glacier country has been a lodestone
for the scientist, attracted from every corner of the earth by
the combination of natural wonder and beauty to be found here.
A chronological list of important events in the park's history
follows:
--------+-----------------------------------------------------------------
1804-5 | Lewis and Clark Expedition. Meriwether Lewis reached a
| point 40 miles east of the present park. Chief Mountain
| was indicated as King Mountain on the expedition map.
|
1810 | First definitely known crossing of Marias Pass by white man.
|
1846 | Hugh Monroe, known to the Indians as Rising Wolf,
| visited and named St. Mary Lake.
|
1853 | Cutbank Pass over the Continental Divide was crossed by
| A. W. Tinkham, engineer of exploration party with Isaac
| I. Stevens, Governor of Washington Territory. Tinkham
| was in search of the present Marias Pass, described to
| Governor Stevens by Little Dog, the Blackfeet chieftain.
|
1854 | James Doty explored the eastern base of the range and
| camped on lower St. Mary Lake from May 28 to June 6.
|
1855 | Area now in park east of Continental Divide allotted as
| hunting grounds to the Blackfeet by treaty.
|
1872 | International boundary survey authorized which fixed the
| location of the present north boundary of the park.
|
1882-83 | Prof. Raphael Pumpelly made explorations in the region.
|
1885 | George Bird Grinnell made the first of many trips to the region.
|
1889 | J. F. Stevens explored Marias Pass as location of railroad line.
|
1891 | Great Northern Railroad built through Marias Pass.
|
1895 | Purchase of territory east of Continental Divide from the
| Blackfeet Indians for $1,500,000, to be thrown open to
| prospectors and miners.
|
1901 | George Bird Grinnell published an article in Century Magazine
| which first called attention to the exceptional grandeur
| and beauty of the region and need for its conservation.
|
1910 | Bill creating Glacier National Park was signed by President
| Taft on May 11. Maj. W. R. Logan became first superintendent.
|
1932 | Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park dedicated.
|
1933 | Going-to-the-Sun Highway opened to travel throughout its
| length.
|
1934 | Franklin D. Roosevelt first President to visit Glacier National
| Park.
--------+-----------------------------------------------------------------
Contents
_Page_
International Peace Park 1
How to Reach Glacier Park 3
By Rail 3
By Automobile 3
By Airplane 3
Centers of Interest 3
Glacier Park Station 3
Two Medicine 4
Cutbank 6
Red Eagle 6
St. Mary and Sun Camp 6
Many Glacier Region 8
Belly River Valley, Waterton Lake, and Goathaunt 11
Flattop Mountain and Granite Park 13
Logan Pass 14
Avalanche Camp 14
Lake McDonald 15
Sperry Chalets 16
Belton 16
What to Do and See 17
Fishing 17
Hiking and Mountain Climbing 18
Popular trails 21
Swimming 22
Camping out 22
Photography 22
Park Highway System 22
How to Dress 23
Accommodations 24
Saddle-Horse Trips 25
All-Expense Tours by Bus 26
Transportation 27
Launches and Rowboats 28
Administration 28
Naturalist Service 29
Automobile Campgrounds 29
Post Offices 29
Miscellaneous 29
The Park's Geologic Story 30
Flora and Fauna 34
Ideal Place to See American Indians 34
References 37
Government Publications 40
[Illustration: _Photo by Hileman._ KINNERLY PEAK FROM KINTLA LAKE]
GLACIER _National Park_
SEASON JUNE 15 TO SEPTEMBER 15
Glacier National Park, in the Rocky Mountains of northwestern Montana,
established by act of Congress May 11, 1910, contains 981,681 acres, or
1,534 square miles, of the finest mountain country in America. Nestled
among the higher peaks are more than 60 glaciers and 200 beautiful
lakes. During the summer months it is possible to visit most of the
glaciers and many of the lakes with relatively little difficulty.
Horseback and foot trails penetrate almost all sections of the park.
Conveniently located trail camps, operated at a reasonable cost, make
it possible for visitors to enjoy the mountain scenery without having
to carry food and camping equipment. Many travelers hike or ride
through the mountains for days at a time, resting each evening at one
of these high mountain camps. The glaciers found in the park are among
the few in the United States which are easily accessible.
INTERNATIONAL PEACE PARK
The Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park was established in 1932
by Presidential proclamation, as authorized by the Congress of the
United States and the Canadian Parliament.
At the dedication exercises in June of that year, the following message
from the President of the United States was read:
The dedication of the Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park
is a further gesture of the good will that has so long blessed
our relations with our Canadian neighbors, and I am gratified by
the hope and the faith that it will forever be an appropriate
symbol of permanent peace and friendship.
In the administration of these areas each component part of the Peace
Park retains its nationality and individuality and functions as it did
before the union.
[Illustration: _Copyright, Hileman._ WATERTON LAKE--THE INTERNATIONAL
PEACE LAKE]
HOW TO REACH GLACIER PARK
BY RAIL
The park entrances are on the main transcontinental line of the Great
Northern Railway. Glacier Park Station, Mont., the eastern entrance, is
1,081 miles west of St. Paul, a ride of 30 hours. Belton, Mont., the
western entrance, is 637 miles east of Seattle, a ride of 20 hours.
For information regarding railroad fares, service, etc., apply to
railroad ticket agents or address A. J. Dickinson, passenger-traffic
manager, Great Northern Railway, St. Paul, Minn.
A regular bus schedule is maintained by the Glacier Park Transport Co.
to accommodate persons arriving by rail.
BY AUTOMOBILE
Glacier National Park may be reached by motorists over a number of
well-marked automobile roads. The park approach roads connect with
several transcontinental highways. From both the east and west sides
automobile roads run north and connect with the road system in Canada,
and motorists may continue over these roads to the Canadian national
parks. Glacier National Park is the western terminus of the Custer
Battlefield Highway.
A fee of $1 is charged for a permit to operate an automobile in Glacier
Park. This permit allows reentry into the park at any time during the
current season. Maximum speed limit in the park is 30 miles per hour.
On mountain climbs and winding roads, utmost care in driving is
demanded. All cautionary signs must be observed.
BY AIRPLANE
Fast de luxe airplane service is available by Northwest Airlines to
Missoula, Mont., and Spokane, Wash., as is transportation via United
Air Lines, from the east and west coasts to Spokane. National Park
Airlines has a service from Salt Lake City, Utah, to Great Falls, Mont.
CENTERS OF INTEREST
GLACIER PARK STATION
Glacier Park on the Great Northern Railway is the eastern entrance to
the park. It is located on the Great Plains, near the base of Glacier's
Rockies. It is on U S 2, which traverses from the east through northern
Montana along the southern boundary of the park to Belton, the western
entrance, and on to the Pacific coast. Glacier Park is also the southern
terminus of the Blackfeet Highway which parallels the eastern boundary
of the park and connects with the Alberta highway system. It is the
southern end of the Inside Trail to Two Medicine, Cutbank, Red Eagle,
and Sun Camp.
The commodious Glacier Park Hotel, several lesser hotels, auto camps,
stores, an auxiliary park office, a Government fish hatchery, a post
office and other structures are located here. The village gives a
fine touch of western life, with Indians, cowboys, and picturesque
characters contributing to its color. An encampment of Blackfeet is
on Midvale Creek; these Indians sing, dance, and tell stories every
evening at the hotel.
TWO MEDICINE
Two Medicine presents a turquoise mountain lake surrounded by majestic
forest-covered peaks separated by deep glaciated valleys. A road leads
into it from the Blackfeet Highway and ends at the chalets near the
foot of Two Medicine Lake. Across the water rises Sinopah Mountain,
while to the north sweep upward the gray-green <DW72>s of Rising Wolf
to terminate in purple-red argillites and snow banks. One of the most
inviting camp sites of the park is immediately below the outlet of the
lake, not far from the chalets. From it, one looks across a smaller
lake, banked with gnarled and twisted limber pines, to the superb
mountain scenery in every direction.
The cirques and broad mountain valleys above timberline are studded
with cobalt blue lakes, and carpeted with multicolored beds of flowers.
Mountain goats and sheep are frequently seen in these higher regions.
Beaver colonies are located at the outlet of Two Medicine Lake and
elsewhere around it, making this one of the best regions in the park
to study these interesting mammals. An abundance of brook and rainbow
trout in Two Medicine waters makes it a favorite spot for fishermen.
[Illustration: _Photo by Hileman._ TRICK FALLS IN TWO MEDICINE CREEK]
A campfire entertainment with a short popular talk is conducted every
evening in the campfire circle of the auto camp by a resident ranger
naturalist. Both chalet and campground guests avail themselves of the
opportunity to meet for pleasure and instruction under the stars.
Trails for hikers and saddle-horse parties radiate to adjacent points
of interest: to Glacier Park via Scenic Point and Mount Henry, to Upper
Two Medicine Lake and Dawson Pass, to Two Medicine Pass and Paradise
Park, and up the Dry Fork to Cutbank Pass and Valley. A daily afternoon
launch trip across Two Medicine Lake brings the visitor to the foot of
Sinopah, from which there is a short, delightful path through dense
evergreen forest to the foot of Twin Falls. Trick Falls, near the
highway bridge across Two Medicine River, 2 miles below the lake, is
more readily accessible and should be visited by everyone entering the
valley. A great portion of its water issues from a cave beneath its
brink. In the early season it appears a very proper waterfall, paneled
by lofty spruce with the purple, snow-crowned Rising Wolf Mountain in
the background. In late season water issues from the cave alone, with
the dry fall over its yawning opening.
CUTBANK
Cutbank is a primitive, densely wooded valley with a singing mountain
stream. Six miles above the Blackfeet Highway are a quiet chalet,
a ranger station, and a small grove for auto campers. A spur lane,
leaving the highway at Cutbank Bridge, 4 miles north of the Browning
Wye, brings the autoist to this terminus. A more popular means of
approach is on horseback, over Cutbank Pass from Two Medicine or over
Triple Divide Pass from Red Eagle. Cutbank is a favorite site for
stream fishermen. At the head of the valley above Triple Divide Pass is
the Triple Divide Peak (8,001 feet) which parts its waters between the
three oceans surrounding North America, i. e., its drainage is through
the Missouri-Mississippi system to the Gulf of Mexico (Atlantic),
through the Saskatchewan system to Hudson Bay (Arctic), and through the
Columbia system to the Pacific.
RED EAGLE
Red Eagle Lake in Red Eagle Valley is reached by trail only from
Cutbank over Triple Divide Pass or from St. Mary Chalets or Sun
Camp via the Many Falls Trail. From the lake rise imposing Split,
Almost-a-Dog, and Red Eagle Mountains. On its sloping forested sides
reposes Red Eagle Camp, which furnishes rest and shelter. It is a
stopping place for travelers on the Inside Trail from Sun Camp or St.
Mary to Glacier Park, and is a favorite spot for fishermen, as large,
gamey, cutthroat trout abound in the waters of the lake. Reached by a
secondary, picturesque trail that winds through magnificent forests,
the head of Red Eagle Creek originates in a broad, grassy area almost
as high as the Continental Divide. This bears Red Eagle Glacier and a
number of small unnamed lakes, and is hemmed in by imposing rock walls
and serrate peaks.
ST. MARY AND SUN CAMP
To many people Upper St. Mary Lake is the most sublime of all mountain
lakes of the world. From its foot roll the plains northeastward to
Hudson Bay and the Arctic. Its long and slender surface is deep emerald
green, nestled in a salient in the Front Range, with peaks rising
majestically a mile sheer over three of its sides. These for the most
part possess names of Indian origin: Going-to-the-Sun, Piegan, Little
Chief, Mahtotopa Red Eagle, and Curley Bear.
[Illustration: _Hileman photo._ GOING-TO-THE-SUN CHALETS]
St. Mary Chalet at the lower end of the lake, Going-to-the-Sun Chalets
(Sun Camp) near the upper end, Roes Creek Camp Grounds on the north
shore, and a hikers' camp at the outlet of Baring Creek furnish ample
accommodations for all classes of visitors.
The celebrated Going-to-the-Sun Highway from St. Mary Junction over
Logan Pass to Lake McDonald runs along the north shore of St. Mary Lake
past Roes Creek Camp. Spurs connect the chalets. Trails centering at
Sun Camp lead everywhere: Along the south shore (the Many Falls Trail)
to Red Eagle and St. Mary Chalets; up St. Mary Valley to Blackfeet
Glacier, Gunsight Lake, and over Gunsight Pass to Lake Ellen Wilson,
Sperry Chalets, and Lake McDonald; up Reynolds Creek over Logan Pass
and along the Garden Wall to Granite Park; a spur from the trail up
the same creek turns right and joins at Preston Meadows, high on
Going-to-the-Sun Mountain, with another trail from Sun Camp which leads
up Baring Creek past Sexton Glacier and over Siyeh Pass; from Preston
Meadows over Piegan Pass and down Cataract Canyon to Many Glacier; up
Roes Creek to Roes Basin; up Mount Reynolds to a fire look-out.
A ranger naturalist is stationed at Sun Camp who conducts field trips
daily, lectures each evening in the chalet lobby, and maintains a
cut-flower exhibit there. Small stores are maintained at both chalets;
gasoline is obtainable at each. Scenic twilight launch rides on the
lake are featured when the waters are calm. The ranger-naturalist
generally accompanies these trips to impart interesting information
about the lake and mountains.
Walks and hikes are popular at Sun Camp--to Baring, St. Mary, Florence,
and Virginia Falls; to Roes and Baring Basins; to Sexton and Blackfeet
Glaciers; to the summit of Goat Mountain. Sunrift Gorge, 100 feet north
of the highway at Baring Creek Bridge, should be seen by everyone. It
can be reached by trail from Sun Camp.
MANY GLACIER REGION
For many Swiftcurrent Lake is the hub of points of interest, to be
surpassed by no other spot in the park. From it branch many deep and
interesting glacial valleys. Fishing, boating, swimming, hiking,
photographing, mountain climbing, horseback riding, and nature study
are to be enjoyed at their best here. It is reached by an excellent
spur road from the Blackfeet Highway at Babb, or by trail from Sun
Camp, Granite Park, and Waterton Lakes.
Many Glacier Hotel, the largest hotel in the park, is located on
Swiftcurrent Lake. Just beyond the hotel is an excellent auto camp and
a group of auto housekeeping cabins. The hotel has telegraph and
telephone services, an information desk, curio shop, a grill room and
soda fountain, swimming pool, barber and shoe-shining shop, photograph
shop, a first-aid medical establishment, and other services. A garage
is situated near the hotel. A store with an ample line of campers'
needs, including fresh meat, bread, butter, and eggs, is located in
the auto campground.
Ranger-naturalist service is available at Many Glacier. This includes
daily field walks; a nightly lecture augmented by motion pictures and
slides in the Convention Hall in the basement of the hotel; an evening
campfire entertainment in the auto camp; a cut-flower and geological
exhibit in the hotel lobby and in the auto camp; a small museum on the
opposite shore of the lake from the hotel, on the road leading to the
campground; a self-guiding trail around Swiftcurrent Lake; information
service in the museum; a naturalist-accompanied launch trip on
Swiftcurrent and Josephine Lakes in the afternoon. In addition to this
last-named, several other launch trips are taken daily on these lakes.
This service may be used to shorten hikers' distance to Grinnell Lake
and Glacier.
[Illustration: _Grant photo._ PICTURESQUE GLACIER PARK HOTEL]
Many Glacier is a center for fishermen, as there are a dozen good
fishing lakes in the vicinity. Rainbow, brook, and cutthroat trout
abound in Swiftcurrent, Josephine, and Grinnell Lakes, and the lakes
of the Upper Swiftcurrent Valley. Wall-eyed pike are plentiful in Lake
Sherburne, the only body of water in the park in which these fish are
found.
There are many excellent trails in the Swiftcurrent region. Cracker
Lake, Morning Eagle Falls, Cataract Falls, Grinnell Lake, Grinnell
Glacier, Iceberg Lake, and Ptarmigan Lake are all reached by oiled
horseback trails. Good footpaths lead around Swiftcurrent and Josephine
Lakes to the summit of Mount Altyn and to Appekunny Falls and Cirque.
[Illustration: _Hileman photo._ BIGHORN RAMS ARE AMONG THE MANY
INTERESTING ANIMALS TO BE SEEN IN GLACIER]
The possibility of seeing and studying wildlife is best in the Many
Glacier region. Except during midsummer, mountain sheep are commonly
seen at close range around the chalets or in the flats above Lake
Sherburne. Throughout summer they are high on the <DW72>s of Mount Altyn
or Henkel. Mountain goats are often seen clinging to the precipitous
Pinnacle Wall on the way to Iceberg Lake, or on Grinnell Mountain while
en route to Grinnell Glacier, or on the trail to Cracker Lake. Black
bears and grizzlies occasionally visit the grounds near the hotel.
Conies are to be heard bleating among the rock slides back of the
ranger station along the trail to Iceberg Lake, or near the footpath
across the lake from the hotel. Early in the morning, or at twilight,
beavers are frequently seen swimming in the lake. Marmots are common in
many valleys near the hotel and auto camp. Deer infrequently visit the
region. Hikers, horseback riders, and rangers have reported seeing such
rare animals as foxes, wolves, and lynxes. Without moving from one's
comfortable chair on the veranda of the hotel one may watch the ospreys
soaring back and forth over the lake in quest of fish. These graceful
and interesting birds have their huge nest on top of a dead tree across
the lake from the hotel. The pair of birds return annually to the same
nest. Beside Swiftcurrent Falls, two families of nesting water ouzels
may be studied at close range.
BELLY RIVER VALLEY, WATERTON LAKE, AND GOATHAUNT
Though much like Swiftcurrent Valley in topographical make-up, the
Belly River district is much wilder and more heavily forested. It is
accessible by trail only from Many Glacier over Ptarmigan Wall or from
Waterton Lake over Indian Pass. These, with spur trails to Helen and
Margaret Lakes, make up the principal trail system. The Glacier Park
Saddle Horse Co. maintains a comfortable mountain camp on Crossley
Lake, where food and lodging are available at reasonable rates. Fishing
is good in the lakes of the Belly River country. The 33-mile trip from
Many Glacier to Waterton is one of the finest to be taken in the park.
Crossley Lake Camp is approximately midway.
The International Waterton Lake and the northern boundary line of
Glacier National Park mutually bisect each other at right angles. Mount
Cleveland rises 6,300 feet sheer above the head of the lake. Waterton
Lake townsite, Alberta, is located at the foot. It is reached by
highway from Glacier Park, Babb, Cardston, Lethbridge, Calgary, and
points in the Canadian Rockies. The modern Prince of Wales Hotel,
several other hostelries, cabin camps, garages, stores, and other
conveniences are in the settlement. A 12-mile spur highway leads to
Cameron Lake, another international body of water on whose northern
(Canadian) shore is a fine example of a sphagnum bog. Another winding
road leads to a colorful canyon known as "Red Rock."
A picturesque cut-off highway over aspen-covered foothills around the
very base of majestic Chief Mountain, and beginning at a point 4 miles
north of Babb, leads to Waterton Lakes Park in Canada.
Trails lead from the village to principal points of interest in the
Canadian Park as well as up the west shore to the head of the lake at
which are situated the Government ranger station and Goathaunt Camp.
The head of the lake is more readily reached by the daily launch
service from Waterton Village, or over trail from Many Glacier by
Crossley Lake Camp, or by Granite Park and Flattop Mountain. A scenic
trail leads to Rainbow Falls and up Olson Valley to Browns Pass, Bowman
Lake, Hole-in-the-Wall Falls, Boulder Pass, and Kintla Lake in the
northwest corner of the park. There are no hotel or camp accommodations
at Bowman or Kintla Lakes.
[Illustration: _Grant photo._ HORSEBACK PARTY ON BOULDER PASS]
Game is varied and abundant at Waterton Lake. Moose are sometimes seen
in the swampy lakes along Upper Waterton River. Later in the season,
bull elk are heard bugling their challenge through the night. Deer are
seen both at Waterton Lake Village and Goathaunt Camp. Sheep and goats
live on neighboring <DW72>s. One does not have to leave the trail to see
evidence of the work of the beaver. The trail down Waterton Valley has
had to be relocated from time to time, as these industrious workers
flooded the right-of-way. A colony lives at the mouth of the creek
opposite Goathaunt Camp. Otters have been seen in the lakes in the
evening. Marten have bobbed up irregularly at the ranger station.
Bird life is abundant in this district, because of the variety of
cover. Waterfowl are frequently seen on the lake. A pair of ospreys
nest near the mouth of Olson Creek. Pine grosbeaks, warblers, vireos,
kinglets, and smaller birds abound in the hawthorne and cottonwood
trees, and in the alder thickets.
FLATTOP MOUNTAIN AND GRANITE PARK
Glacier Park has within its boundary two parallel mountain ranges.
The eastern, or front range, extends from the Canadian boundary almost
without a break to New Mexico. The western, or Livingston Range, rises
at the head of Lake McDonald, becomes the front range beyond the
international line, and runs northwestward to Alaska. Between these two
ranges in the center of the park is a broad swell which carries the
Continental Divide from one to the other. This is Flattop Mountain,
whose groves of trees are open and parklike, wholly unlike the dense
forests of the lowlands with which every park visitor is well
acquainted.
A trail leads south from Waterton over Flattop to the tent camp called
"Fifty Mountain" and to Granite Park, where a comfortable high-mountain
chalet is located. Here is exposed a great mass of lava, which once
welled up from the interior of the earth and spread over the region
which was then the bottom of a sea. The chalets command a fine view of
the majestic grouping of mountains around Logan Pass, of the noble
summits of the Livingston Range, and of systems far to the south and
west of the park. Extending in the near foreground are gentle <DW72>s
covered with sparse clumps of stunted vegetation. In early July open
spaces are gold-carpeted with glacier lillies and bizarrely streaked
with lingering snow patches. Beyond are the deep, heavy forests of
Upper McDonald Valley.
The chalets may also be reached from Sun Camp and Logan Pass over a
trail along the Garden Wall, from the highway 2 miles above the western
switchback by a 4-mile trail, from Avalanche Camp and Lake McDonald
over the McDonald Valley trail, and from Many Glacier by the beautiful
trail over Swiftcurrent Pass. A short distance from the chalets a spur
from the trail to the Waterton Lake leads to Ahern Pass, from which
there is an unexcelled view of Ahern Glacier, Mount Merritt, Helen and
Elizabeth Lakes, and the South Fork of the Belly River. This spur is
only a mile from the chalets. At Fifty Mountain Camp, half-way between
Granite Park and Waterton, a second spur, a quarter of a mile long,
takes one above Flattop Mountain to the summit of the knife-edge. From
here there is a fine panorama of Mount Cleveland, Sue Lake, and Middle
Fork of Belly River.
A foot trail 1 mile long leads from the Granite Park chalet to the
summit of Swiftcurrent Mountain upon which a fire lookout is located.
For the small amount of effort required to make this ascent of 1,000
feet, no more liberal reward of mountain scenery could be possible.
Another foot trail leads from the chalets to the rim of the Garden
Wall, from which there are splendid views of Grinnell Glacier and the
Swiftcurrent region.
Animal life is varied and easily studied at Granite Park. Bear and deer
are common in this section. Mountain goats are frequently seen above
Flattop Mountain or near Ahern Pass. Mountain sheep graze on the <DW72>s
of the Garden Wall. Ptarmigan should be looked for, especially above
Swiftcurrent Pass.
Granite Park is a paradise for lovers of alpine flowers. On the Garden
Wall, the connoisseur should seek for the rare, heavenly blue alpine
columbine. Here are expanses of dryads, globe flowers, alpine firewood,
and a wealth of others. Early July is the best time for floral beauty.
LOGAN PASS
Logan Pass lies between the headwaters of Logan and Reynolds Creeks. It
crosses the Continental Divide and carries the Going-to-the-Sun Highway
from Lake McDonald to Upper St. Mary Lake and the trail from Sun Camp
to Granite Park.
Though there are no overnight stopping places on the pass, its
accessibility by automobile makes it a starting place for several
delightful walks, chiefly to Hidden Lake, which occupies a basin only
recent | 2,284.584356 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Through South Africa, by Henry M. Stanley, MP, DCL.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
THROUGH SOUTH AFRICA, BY HENRY M. STANLEY, MP, DCL.
PREFACE.
This little volume consists of the letters I wrote from Bulawayo,
Johannesburg and Pretoria for the journal _South Africa_, which is
exclusively devoted to matters relating to the region whence it derives
its title. Each letter contains the researches of a week. As the
public had already a sufficiency of books dealing with the history,
geography, politics, raids and revolts, I confined myself to such
impressions as one, who since 1867 had been closely connected with
equatorial, northern and western Africa, might derive from a first view
of the interior of South Africa. Being in no way associated with any
political or pecuniary concern relating to the country, it struck me
that my open-minded, disinterested and fresh impressions might be of
some interest to others, who like myself had only a general sympathy
with its civilisation and commercial development. And as I had
necessarily to qualify myself for appearing in a journal which had for
years treated of South African subjects, it involved much personal
inquiry and careful consideration of facts communicated to roe, and an
impartial weighing of their merits. To this motive, whatever may be the
value of what I have written, I am greatly indebted personally; for
henceforth I must carry with me for a long time a valuable kind of
knowledge concerning the colonies and states I traversed, which no
number of books could have given to me.
If, from my point of judgment, I differ in any way from other writers,
all I care to urge is, that I have had some experience of my own in
several new lands like the South African interior, and I have lived long
enough to have seen the effects of what was good and what was bad policy
in them. I prefer peaceful relations between England and the Boers of
South Africa, if possible; I love what is just, fair, and best to and
for both Britons and Boers. I naturally admire large-minded enterprise.
I pity narrow-mindedness, and dislike to see a people refusing to
advance, when all the world is so sympathetic and helpfully inclined
towards them. These explanations, I think, will enable anyone to
understand the spirit of these letters.
A curious thing occurred in connection with my sudden departure for
South Africa. In the latter part of September, 1897, I was debating
with my family, at a seaside hotel near Dieppe, as to the place we
should visit after the adjournment of Parliament in 1898. | 2,284.586953 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
BLACK TALES FOR WHITE CHILDREN
_These_ BLACK TALES _for_ WHITE CHILDREN, _being a collection of Swahili
Stories, have been translated and arranged by Capt._ C. H. STIGAND,
_interpreter in Swahili and author of "The Land of Zinj," and Mrs._ C.
H. STIGAND, _and have been illustrated by_ JOHN HARGRAVE, _author of_
"LONECRAFT."
[Illustration: Lion hunters]
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Produced by Brian Coe, Wayne Hammond and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
WHAT I SAW IN KAFFIR-LAND
WHAT I SAW IN KAFFIR-LAND
BY
SIR STEPHEN LAKEMAN
MAZHAR PACHA
“MILITIA EST POTIOR. QUID ENIM?”
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MDCCCLXXX
_All Rights reserved_
PREFACE.
This book contains extracts from the daily record of impressions made
on my mind, by men and events, as we performed together our allotted
parts, in one short tragical episode at the Cape. Very little has been
omitted; nothing has been added. It is a simple narrative, taken from
the Book of my Life, of which, if it is not the opening chapter, it is
at least one of the first.
If by my observations I have hurt any one’s feelings, this | 2,284.68375 |
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Produced by David Reed
TREATISES ON FRIENDSHIP AND OLD AGE
By Marcus Tullius Cicero
Translated by E. S. Shuckburgh
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO, the greatest of Roman orators and the chief
master of Latin prose style, was born at Arpinum, Jan. 3, 106 B.C.
His father, who was a man of property and belonged to the class of
the "Knights," moved to Rome when Cicero was a child; and the future
statesman received an elaborate education in rhetoric, law, and
philosophy, studying and practising under some of the most noted
teachers of the time. He began his career as an advocate at the age of
twenty-five, and almost immediately came to be recognized not only as a
man of brilliant talents but also as a courageous upholder of justice in
the face of grave political danger. After two years of practice he left
Rome to travel in Greece and Asia, taking all the opportunities that
offered to study his art under distinguished masters. He returned to
Rome greatly improved in health and in professional skill, and in 76
B. C. was elected to the office of quaestor. He was assigned to the
province of Lilybaeum in Sicily, and the vigor and justice of his
administration earned him the gratitude of the inhabitants. It was at
their request that he undertook in 70 B. C. the Prosecution of Verres,
who as Praetor had subjected the Sicilians to incredible extortion and
oppression; and his successful conduct of this case, which ended in the
conviction and banishment of Verres, may be said to have launched him
on his political career. He became aedile in the same year, in 67 B.C.
praetor, and in 64 B. C. was elected consul by a large majority. The
most important event of the year of his consulship was the conspiracy of
Catiline. This notorious criminal of patrician rank had conspired with
a number of others, many of them young men of high birth but dissipated
character, to seize the chief offices of the state, and to extricate
themselves from the pecuniary and other difficulties that had resulted
from their excesses, by the wholesale plunder of the city. The plot was
unmasked by the vigilance of Cicero, five of the traitors were summarily
executed, and in the overthrow of the army that had been gathered in
their support Catiline himself perished. Cicero regarded himself as the
savior of his country, and his country for the moment seemed to give
grateful assent.
But reverses were at hand. During the existence of the political
combination of Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus, known as the first
triumvirate, P. Clodius, an enemy of Cicero's, proposed a law banishing
"any one who had put Roman citizens to death without trial." This was
aimed at Cicero on account of his share in the Catiline affair, and in
March, 58 B. C., he left Rome. The same day a law was passed by which
he was banished by name, and his property was plundered and destroyed,
a temple to Liberty being erected on the site of his house in the city.
During his exile Cicero's manliness to some extent deserted him. He
drifted from place to place, seeking the protection of officials against
assassination, writing letters urging his supporters to agitate for
his recall, sometimes accusing them of lukewarmness and even treachery,
bemoaning the ingratitude of his country or regretting the course
of action that had led to his outlawry, and suffering from extreme
depression over his separation from his wife and children and the wreck
of his political ambitions. Finally in August, 57 B. C., the decree
for his restoration was passed, and he returned to Rome the next month,
being received with immense popular enthusiasm. During the next few
years the renewal of the understanding among the triumvirs shut Cicero
out from any leading part in politics, and he resumed his activity in
the law-courts, his most important case being, perhaps, the defence of
Milo for the murder of Clodius, Cicero's most troublesome enemy. This
oration, in the revised form in which it has come down to us, is ranked
as among the finest specimens of the art of the orator, though in its
original form it failed to secure Milo's acquittal. Meantime, Cicero was
also devoting much time to literary composition, and his letters show
great dejection over the political situation, and a somewhat wavering
attitude towards the various parties in the state. In 55 B. C. he went
to Cilicia in Asia Minor as proconsul, an office which he administered
with efficiency and integrity in civil affairs and with success in
military. He returned to Italy in the end of the following year, and he
was publicly thanked by the senate for his services, but disappointed in
his hopes for a triumph. The war for supremacy between Caesar and Pompey
which had for some time been gradually growing more certain, broke out
in 49 B.C., when Caesar led his army across the Rubicon, and Cicero
after much irresolution threw in his lot with Pompey, who was overthrown
the next year in the battle of Pharsalus and later murdered in Egypt.
Cicero returned to Italy, where Caesar treated him magnanimously,
and for some time he devoted himself to philosophical and rhetorical
writing. In 46 B.C. he divorced his wife Terentia, to whom he had been
married for thirty years and married the young and wealthy Publilia in
order to relieve himself from financial difficulties; but her also
he shortly divorced. Caesar, who had now become supreme in Rome, was
assassinated in 44 B.C., and though Cicero was not a sharer in the
conspiracy, he seems to have approved the deed. In the confusion which
followed he supported the cause of the conspirators against Antony;
and when finally the triumvirate of Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus was
established, Cicero was included among the proscribed, and on December
7, 43 B.C., he was killed by agents of Antony. His head and hand were
cut off and exhibited at Rome.
The most important orations of the last months of his life were the
fourteen "Philippics" delivered against Antony, and the price of this
enmity he paid with his life.
To his contemporaries Cicero was primarily the great forensic and
political orator of his time, and the fifty-eight speeches which have
come down to us bear testimony to the skill, wit, eloquence, and passion
which gave him his pre-eminence. But these speeches of necessity deal
with the minute details of the occasions which called them forth, and
so require for their appreciation a full knowledge of the history,
political and personal, of the time. The letters, on the other hand,
are less elaborate both in style and in the handling of current events,
while they serve to reveal his personality, and to throw light upon
Roman life in the last days of the Republic in an extremely vivid
fashion. Cicero as a man, in spite of his self-importance, the
vacillation of his political conduct in desperate crises, and the
whining despondency of his times of adversity, stands out as at bottom
a patriotic Roman of substantial honesty, who gave his life to check the
inevitable fall of the commonwealth to which he was devoted. The evils
which were undermining the Republic bear so many striking resemblances
to those which threaten the civic and national life of America to-day
that the interest of the period is by no means merely historical.
As a philosopher, Cicero's most important function was to make his
countrymen familiar with the main schools of Greek thought. Much of
this writing is thus of secondary interest to us in comparison with his
originals, but in the fields of religious theory and of the application
of philosophy to life he made important first-hand contributions. From
these works have been selected the two treatises, on Old Age and on
Friendship, which have proved of most permanent and widespread interest
to posterity, and which give a clear impression of the way in which
a high-minded Roman thought about some of the main problems of human
life.
ON FRIENDSHIP
THE augur Quintus Mucius Scaevola used to recount a number of stories
about his father-in-law Galus Laelius, accurately remembered and
charmingly told; and whenever he talked about him always gave him the
title of "the wise" without any hesitation. I had been introduced by my
father to Scaevola as soon as I had assumed the _toga virilis_, and I
took advantage of the introduction never to quit the venerable man's
side as long as I was able to stay and he was spared to us. The
consequence was that I committed to memory many disquisitions of his,
as well as many short pointed apophthegms, and, in short, took as much
advantage of his wisdom as I could. When he died, I attached myself
to Scaevola the Pontifex, whom I may venture to call quite the most
distinguished of our countrymen for ability and uprightness. But of this
latter I shall take other occasions to speak. To return to Scaevola the
augur. Among many other occasions I particularly remember one. He was
sitting on a semicircular garden-bench, as was his custom, when I and
a very few intimate friends were there, and he chanced to turn the
conversation upon a subject which about that time was in many people's
mouths. You must remember, Atticus, for you were very intimate
with Publius Sulpicius, what expressions of astonishment, or even
indignation, were called forth by his mortal quarrel, as tribune, with
the consul Quintus Pompeius, with whom he had formerly lived on terms of
the closest intimacy and affection. Well, on this occasion, happening
to mention this particular circumstance, Scaevola detailed to us a
discourse of Laelius on friendship delivered to himself and Laelius's
other son-in-law Galus Fannius, son of Marcus Fannius, a few days after
the death of Africanus. The points of that discussion I committed to
memory, and have arranged them in this book at my own discretion. For
I have brought the speakers, as it were, personally on to my stage to
prevent the constant "said I" and "said he" of a narrative, and to give
the discourse the air of being orally delivered in our hearing.
You have often urged me to write something on Friendship, and I
quite acknowledged that the subject seemed one worth everybody's
investigation, and specially suited to the close intimacy that has
existed between you and me. Accordingly I was quite ready to benefit the
public at your request.
As to the _dramatis personae_. In the treatise on Old Age, which I
dedicated to you, I introduced Cato as chief speaker. No one, I thought,
could with greater propriety speak on old age than one who had been an
old man longer than any one else, and had been exceptionally vigorous
in his old age. Similarly, having learnt from tradition that of all
friendships that between Gaius Laelius and Publius Scipio was the most
remarkable, I thought Laelius was just the person to support the chief
part in a discussion on friendship which Scaevola remembered him to have
actually taken. Moreover, a discussion of this sort gains somehow in
weight from the authority of men of ancient days, especially if they
happen to have been distinguished. So it comes about that in reading
over what I have myself written I have a feeling at times that it is
actually Cato that is speaking, not I.
Finally, as I sent the former essay to you as a gift from one old man to
another, so I have dedicated this _On Friendship_ as a most affectionate
friend to his friend. In the former Cato spoke, who was the oldest and
wisest man of his day; in this Laelius speaks on friendship--Laelius,
who was at once a wise man (that was the title given him) and eminent
for his famous friendship. Please forget me for a while; imagine Laelius
to be speaking.
Gaius Fannius and Quintus Mucius come to call on their father-in-law
after the death of Africanus. They start the subject; Laelius answers
them. And the whole essay on friendship is his. In reading it you will
recognise a picture of yourself.
2. _Fannius_. You are quite right, Laelius! there never was a better or
more illustrious character than Africanus. But you should consider that
at the present moment all eyes are on you. Everybody calls you "the
wise" _par excellence_, and thinks you so. The same mark of respect was
lately paid Cato, and we know that in the last generation Lucius Atilius
was called "the wise." But in both cases the word was applied with
a certain difference. Atilius was so called from his reputation as a
jurist; Cato got the name as a kind of honorary title and in extreme old
age because of his varied experience of affairs, and his reputation
for foresight and firmness, and the sagacity of the opinions which he
delivered in senate and forum. You, however, are regarded as wise in
a somewhat different sense not alone on account of natural ability and
character, but also from your industry and learning; and not in the
sense in which the vulgar, but that in which scholars, give that title.
In this sense we do not read of any one being called wise in Greece
except one man at Athens; and he, to be sure, had been declared by the
oracle of Apollo also to be "the supremely wise man." For those who
commonly go by the name of the Seven Sages are not admitted into the
category of the wise by fastidious critics. Your wisdom people believe
to consist in this, that you look upon yourself as self-sufficing and
regard the changes and chances of mortal life as powerless to affect
your virtue. Accordingly they are always asking me, and doubtless also
our Scaevola here, how you bear the death of Africanus. This curiosity
has been the more excited from the fact that on the Nones of this month,
| 2,284.687942 |
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Produced by Sandra Laythorpe
MAGNUM BONUM
or, Mother Carey's Brood
By Charlotte M. Yonge
LIST OF CONTENTS.
I. JOE BROWNLOW'S FANCY
II. THE CHICKENS
III. THE WHITE SLATE
IV. THE STRAY CHICKENS
V. BRAINS AND NO BRAINS
VI. ENCHANTED GROUND
VII. THE COLONEL'S CHICKENS
VIII. THE FOLLY
IX. FLIGHTS
X. ELLEN'S MAGNUM BONUMS
XI. UNDINE
XII. KING MIDAS
XIII. THE RIVAL HEIRESSES
XIV. PUMPING AWAY
XV. THE BELFOREST MAGNUM BONUM
XVI. POSSESSION
XVII. POPINJAY PARLOUR
XVIII. AN OFFER FOR MAGNUM BONUM
XIX. THE SNOWY WINDING-SHEET
XX. A RACE
XXI. AN ACT OF INDEPENDENCE
XXII. SHUTTING THE STABLE DOOR
XXIII. THE LOST TREASURE
XXIV. THE ANGEL MOUNTAIN
XXV. THE LAND OF AFTERNOON
XXVI. MOONSHINE
XXVII. BLUEBEARD'S CLOSET
XXVIII. THE TURN OF THE WHEEL
XXIX. FRIENDS AND UNFRIENDS
XXX. AS WEEL OFF AS AYE WAGGING
XXXI. SLACK TIDE
XXXII. THE COST
XXXIII. BITTER FAREWELLS
XXXIV. BLIGHTED BEINGS
XXXV. THE PHANTOM BLACKCOCK OF KILNAUGHT
XXXVI. OF NO CONSEQUENCE
XXXVII. THE TRAVELLER'S JOY
XXXVIII. THE TRUST FULFILLED
XXXIX. THE TRUANT
XL. EVIL OUT OF GOOD
XLI. GOOD OUT OF EVIL
XLII. DISENCHANTED
MAGNUM BONUM
OR, MOTHER CAREY'S BROOD
CHAPTER I.--JOE BROWNLOW'S FANCY.
The lady said, "An orphan's fate
Is sad and hard to bear."--Scott.
"Mother, you could do a great kindness."
"Well, Joe?"
"If you would have the little teacher at the Miss Heath's here for the
holidays. After all the rest, she has had the measles last and worst,
and they don't know what to do with her, for she came from the asylum
for officers' daughters, and has no home at all, and they must go away
to have the house purified. They can't take her with them, for their
sister has children, and she will have to roam from room to room before
the whitewashers, which is not what I should wish in the critical state
of chest left by measles."
"What is her name?"
"Allen. The cry was always for Miss Allen when the sick girls wanted to
be amused."
"Allen! I wonder if it can be the same child as the one Robert was
interested about. You don't remember, my dear. It was the year you were
at Vienna, when one of Robert's brother-officers died on the voyage out
to China, and he sent home urgent letters for me to canvass right and
left for the orphan's election. You know Robert writes much better than
he speaks, and I copied over and over again his account of the poor
young man to go with the cards. 'Caroline Otway Allen, aged seven years,
whole orphan, daughter of Captain Allen, l07th Regiment;' yes, that's
the way it ran."
"The year I was at Vienna, and Robert went out to China. That was eleven
years ago. She must be the very child, for she is only eighteen. They
sent her to Miss Heath's to grow a little older, for though she was at
the head of everything at the asylum, she looks so childish that they
can't send her out as a governess. Did you see her, mother?"
"Oh, no! I never had anything to do with her; but if she is daughter to
a friend of Robert's--"
Mother and son looked at each other in congratulation. Robert was the
stepson, older by several years, and was viewed as the representative of
sober common sense in the family. Joe and his mother did like to feel
a plan quite free from Robert's condemnation for enthusiasm or
impracticability, and it was not the worse for his influence, that he
had been generally with his regiment, and when visiting them was a good
deal at the United Service Club. He had lately married an heiress in a
small way, retired from the army, and settled in a house of hers in a
country town, and thus he could give his dicta with added weight.
Only a parent or elder brother would, however, have looked on "Joe" as
a youth, for he was some years over thirty, with a mingled air of
keenness, refinement, and alacrity about his slight but active form,
altogether with the air of some implement, not meant for ornament but
for use, and yet absolutely beautiful, through perfection of polish,
finish, applicability, and a sharpness never meant to wound, but
deserving to be cherished in a velvet case.
This case might be the pretty drawing-room, full of the choice artistic
curiosities of a man of cultivation, and presided over by his mother,
a woman of much the same bright, keen, alert sweetness of air and
countenance: still under sixty, and in perfect health and spirits--as
well she might be, having preserved, as well as deserved, the exclusive
devotion of her only child during all the years in which her early
widowhood had made them all in all to each other. Ten years ago, on his
election to a lectureship at one of the London hospitals, the son had
set up his name on the brass plate of the door of a comfortable house in
a once fashionable quarter of London; she had joined him there, and
they had been as happy as affection and fair success could make them.
He became lecturer at a hospital, did much for the poor, both within
and without its walls, and had besides a fair practice, both among the
tradespeople, and also among the literary, scientific, and artistic
world, where their society was valued as much as his skill. Mrs.
Brownlow was well used to being called on to do the many services
suggested by a kind heart in the course of a medical man's practice, and
there was very little within, or beyond, reason that she would not have
done at her Joe's bidding. So she made the arrangement, exciting much
gratitude in the heads of the Pomfret House Establishment for Young
Ladies; though without seeing little Miss Allen, till, from the Doctor's
own brougham, but escorted only by an elderly maid-servant, there came
climbing up the stairs a little heap of shawls and cloaks, surmounted by
a big brown mushroom hat.
"Very proper of Joe. He can't be too particular,--but such a child!"
thought Mrs. Brownlow as the mufflings disclosed a tiny creature,
angular in girlish sort, with an odd little narrow wedge of a face,
sallow and wan, rather too much of teeth and mouth, large greenish-hazel
eyes, and a forehead with a look of expansion, partly due to the crisp
waves of dark hair being as short as a boy's. The nose was well cut,
and each delicate nostril was quivering involuntarily with emotion--or
fright, or both.
Mrs. Brownlow kissed her, made her rest on the sofa, and talked to her,
the shy monosyllabic replies lengthening every time as the motherliness
drew forth a response, until, when conducted to the cheerful little room
which Mrs. Brownlow had carefully decked with little comforts for the
convalescent, and with the ornaments likely to please a girl's eye, she
suddenly broke into a little irrepressible cry of joy and delight. "Oh!
oh! how lovely! Am I to sleep here? Oh! it is just like the girls' rooms
I always _did_ long to see! Now I shall always be able to think about
it."
"My poor child, did you never even see such a room?"
"No; I slept in the attic with the maid at old Aunt Mary's, and always
in a cubicle after I went to the asylum. Some of the girls who went home
in the holidays used to describe such rooms to us, but they could never
have been so nice as this! Oh! oh! Mrs. Brownlow, real lilies of the
valley! Put there for me! Oh! you dear, delicious, pearly things! I
never saw one so close before!"
"Never before." That was the burthen of the song of the little bird with
wounded wing who had been received into this nest. She had the dimmest
remembrance of home or mother, something a little clearer of her sojourn
at her aunt's, though there the aunt had been an invalid who kept her in
restraint in her presence, and her pleasures had been in the kitchen and
in a few books, probably 'Don Quixote' and 'Evelina,' so far as could
be gathered from her recollection of them. The week her father had spent
with her, before his last voyage, had been the one vivid memory of her
life, and had taught her at least how to love. Poor child, that happy
week had had to serve her ever since, through eleven years of unbroken
school! Not that she pitied herself. Everybody had been kind to
her--governesses, masters, girls, and all. She had been happy and
successful, and had made numerous friends, about whom, as she grew more
at home, she freely chatted to Mrs. Brownlow, who was always ready to
hear of Mary Ogilvie and Clara Cartwright, and liked to draw out the
stories of the girl-world, in which it was plain that Caroline Allen had
been a bright, good, clever girl, getting on well, trusted and liked.
She had been half sorry to leave her dear old school, half glad to go
on to something new. She was evidently not so comfortable, while Miss
Heath's lowest teacher, as she had been while she was the asylum's
senior pupil. Yet when on Sunday evening the Doctor was summoned and the
ladies were left tete-a-tete, she laughed rather than complained. But
still she owned, with her black head on Mrs. Brownlow's lap, that she
had always craved for something--something, and she had found it now!
Everything was a fresh joy to her, every print on the walls, every
ornament on the brackets, seemed to speak to her eye and to her soul
both at once, and the sense of comfort and beauty and home, after the
bareness of school, seemed to charm her above all. "I always did want to
know what was inside people's windows," she said.
And in the same way it was a feast to her to get hold of "a real | 2,284.688054 |
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(This file made from scans of public domain material at
Austrian Literature Online.)
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: The original publication has been replicated
faithfully except as shown in the List Of Corrections at the end of the
text. Words in italics are indicated like _this_. Superscripts are
indicated like this: S^ta Maria. Footnotes are located near the end of
the chapters. [oe] represents the oe ligature. [)u] is a 'u' marked with a
breve.
* * * * *
NARRATIVE
OF THE
Circumnavigation of the Globe
BY THE AUSTRIAN FRIGATE
NOVARA,
(COMMODORE B. VON WULLERSTORF-URBAIR,)
_Undertaken by Order of the Imperial Government_,
IN THE YEARS 1857, 1858, & 1859,
UNDER THE IMMEDIATE AUSPICES OF HIS I. AND R. HIGHNESS
THE ARCHDUKE FERDINAND MAXIMILIAN,
COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE AUSTRIAN NAVY.
BY
DR. KARL SCHERZER,
MEMBER OF THE EXPEDITION, AUTHOR OF "TRAVELS IN CENTRAL AMERICA," ETC.
VOL. III.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
SAUNDERS, OTLEY, AND CO.,
66, BROOK STREET, HANOVER SQUARE.
1863.
[THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RESERVED.]
JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER XVIII.
SYDNEY.
The politico-economical importance to England of her colonies.--
Extraordinary growth of Sydney.--Public buildings.--Expeditions
of discovery into the interior of Australia.--Scientific
endeavours in Sydney.--Macleay's Seat at Elizabeth Bay.--Sir
Daniel Cooper.--Rickety Dick.--Monument to La Perouse at Botany
Bay.--The Botanical Garden.--Journey by rail to Campbelton.--
Camden Park.--German emigrants.--Wine cultivation in Australia.
Odd Fellows' Lodge at Campbelton.--Appin.--Wulongong.--Mr.
Hill.--The Aborigines.--Kangaroo hunting.--Coal mines in the
Keira range.--An adventure in the woods.--Return to Sydney.--The
Australian club.--Excursion up Hunter River as far as Ash
Island.--"Nuggets."--The _Novara_ in the dry dock at Cockatoo
Island.--Reformation among the prisoners in the colony.--
Serenade by the Germans in Sydney, in honour of the expedition.--
Ball on board the frigate.--Political life in Sydney.--Excursion
for craniological | 2,284.689206 |
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Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,
Nigel Blower and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 93.
October 29th, 1887.
QUITE A LITTLE HOLIDAY.
EXTRACT FROM A GRAND OLD DIARY. MONDAY, OCT. 17.
Self, wife, and HERBERT started early to escape our kind-hearted,
clear-headed admirers; so early, that I scarcely had time before
leaving to write thirty post-cards, seventy-six pages of notes for
my next magazine article, and to cut down half-a-dozen trees. Train
announced to leave Chester at 10:30, but got off at the hour.
This little joke (WATKIN'S notion) caused much amusement. Through
opera-glasses we could see bands of music, deputations, &c.,
constantly coming to the railway-stations to meet our train after
it had passed. Too bad! However, to prevent disappointment, and as
CHAMBERLAIN has been imitating me and vulgarised my original idea, I
knocked off some speeches, in pencil, and HERBERT threw them out of
the window as fast as I could write them. So far as we could make out
with a telescope, some of them reached their destination, and seemed
to be well received.
[Illustration: Master Willie Gladstone "really enjoying, and in some
measure appreciating and understanding," our Mr. Agnew's lectures on
Art.
_Vide Times Report, Oct. 18._]
Awfully pleased to meet Mr. WILLIAM AGNEW at Manchester. Odd
coincidence of Christian names. I shall speak of him and allude to him
as "The Other WILLIAM." He promised to keep by me, and show me all the
pictures worth seeing.
"T'Other WILLIAM," said I, "you are very good. As you know, I take a
great and sincere interest in pictures and works of Art, although I
know very little about them." T'Other WILLIAM protested. "No, T'Other
WILLIAM, I am right. You have been the means of providing me with
a commodity most difficult of all others to procure if you do not
possess it yourself--that is to say, you have provided me with
brains." Further protests from T'Other One. "No, T'Other WILLIAM,
hear me out; for you know in all cases where a judgment has had to be
passed upon works of Art, I have been accustomed to refer a great deal
to you, and lean upon you, because you have been constantly the means
of enabling me really to see, and really to enjoy, and in some measure
to appreciate and understand, all that you have shown to me."
I was so pleased with this little speech that I made HERBERT take it
down as I repeated it to him privately when T'Other was looking in
another direction. When I brought it out afterwards, at luncheon in
the Palm-house, it went wonderfully. So it should, because I felt
every word of it. T'Other WILLIAM is one of the kindest and most
courteous of my friends.
I was very pleased with the Exhibition, although perhaps (I am not
certain of this) I might have seen it better had not about four
thousand visitors followed our little party everywhere, cheering
vociferously | 2,284.780739 |
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THE IDOL OF THE BLIND
BOOKS BY T. GALLON.
Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents.
The Idol of the Blind.
"No person well posted in current fiction lets a story by Mr. Gallon
pass unnoticed."--_Buffalo Commercial._
The Kingdom of Hate.
"The whole story is told with an appearance of honest, straightforward
sincerity that is very clever and well sustained, and the suspicion of
satire will only dawn on the reader when the story is well advanced,
and he is thoroughly interested in the tumultuous swing."--_Chicago
Chronicle._
Dicky Monteith. A Love Story.
"A good story, told in an engaging style."--_Philadelphia Press._
"A refreshing example of everything that a love story ought to
be."--_San Francisco Call._
A Prince of Mischance.
"The story is a powerful one, and holds the reader from the
start."--_ | 2,284.881284 |
2023-11-16 18:55:08.8660240 | 3,192 | 6 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines.
Brazilian Sketches
By
Rev. T. B. Ray, D.D.
Educational Secretary of the Foreign Mission Board of the Southern
Baptist Convention.
TO MY WIFE WHO SHARED THE JOURNEY WITH ME
CONTENTS
I. THE COUNTRY
II. THE CAPITAL, RIO DE JANEIRO
III. A VISIT TO A COUNTRY CHURCH
IV. TWO PRESIDENTS
V. THE GOSPEL WITHHELD
VI. SAINT WORSHIP
VII. PENANCE AND PRIEST
VIII. THE GOSPEL TRIUMPHANT
IX. JOSE BARRETTO
X. CAPTAIN EGYDIO
XI. FELICIDADE (Felicity)
XII. PERSECUTION
XIII. THE BIBLE AS A MISSIONARY FACTOR
XIV. THE METTLE OF THE NATIVE CHRISTIAN
XV. THE TESTING OF THE MISSIONARY
XVI. THE URGENT CALL
XVII. THE LAST STAND OF THE LATIN RACE
APPENDIX
FOREWORD.
I was dining one day with a very successful business man who, although
his business had extensive relations in many lands, was meagerly
informed about the work of missions. I thought I might interest him by
telling him something of the effects of missions upon commerce. So I
told him about how the civilizing presence of missionary effort creates
new demands which in turn increases trade. He listened comprehendingly
for a while and then remarked: "What you say is interesting, but what I
wish to know is not whether missions increase business--we have
business enough and have methods of increasing the volume--What I want
to know is whether the missionary is making good and whether
Christianity is making good in meeting the spiritual needs of the
heathen. If ever I should become greatly interested in missions it
would be because I should feel that Christianity could solve the
spiritual problem for the heathen better than anything else. What are
the facts about that phase of missions?"
These words made a profound impression on me, and since then I have
spent little time in setting forth the by-products of missions,
tremendously important and interesting though they are. I place the
main emphasis on how gloriously Christianity, through the efforts of
the missionary, meets the aching spiritual hunger of the heathen heart
and transforms his life into spiritual efficiency.
Since this is my conception of what the burden of the message
concerning missions should be, it should not surprise anyone to find
the following pages filled with concrete statements of actual gospel
triumphs. I have endeavored to draw a picture of the religious
situation in Brazil by reciting facts. I have described some of the
work of others done in former years and I have recorded some wonderful
manifestations of the triumphant power of the gospel which I was
privileged to see with my own eyes. These pages record testimony which
thing, I take it, most people desire concerning the missionary
enterprise. More arguments might have been stated and more conclusions
might have been expressed, but I have left the reader to make his own
deductions from the facts I have tried faithfully to record.
No attempt has been made to follow in detail the itinerary taken by my
wife and myself which carried us into Brazil, Argentina and Chili in
South America, and Portugal and Spain in Europe. It is sufficient to
know that we reached the places mentioned and can vouch for the truth
of the facts stated.
I have confined myself to sketches about Brazil because I did not
desire to write a book of travel, but to show how the gospel succeeds
in a Catholic field as being an example of the manner in which it is
succeeding in other similar lands where it is being preached vigorously.
I wish to say also that I have drawn the materials from the experiences
of my own denomination more largely because I know it better and
therefore could bear more reliable testimony. It should be borne in
mind that the successes of this one denomination are typical of the
work of several other Protestant bodies now laboring in Brazil.
The missionaries and other friends made it possible wherever we went to
observe conditions at close range and under favorable auspices. To
these dear friends who received us so cordially and labored so
untiringly for our comfort and to make our visit most helpful we would
express here our heartfelt gratitude. We record their experiences and
ours in the hope that the knowledge of them may bring to the reader a
better appreciation of the missionary and the great cause for which the
missionary labors so self-sacrificingly.
Richmond, Va.
CHAPTER I.
THE COUNTRY.
We had sailed in a southeasternly direction from New York twelve days
when we rounded Cape St. Roque, the easternmost point of South America.
A line drawn due north from this point would pass through the Atlantic
midway between Europe and America. If we had sailed directly south we
should have touched the western instead of the eastern coast, for the
reason that practically the entire continent of South America lies east
of the parallel of longitude which passes through New York.
After sighting land we sailed along the coast three days before we cast
anchor at Bahia, our first landing place. Two days more were required
to reach Rio de Janeiro. When we afterwards sailed from Rio to Buenos
Aires, Argentina, we spent three and one-half days skirting along the
shore of Brazil. For eight and one-half days we sailed in sight of
Brazilian territory, and had we been close enough to shore north of
Cape St. Roque, we should have added three days more to our survey of
these far-stretching shores. Brazil lies broadside to the Atlantic
Ocean with a coast line almost as long as the Pacific and Atlantic
seaboards of the United States combined. Its ocean frontage is about
4,000 miles in length.
This coast line, however, is not all the water front of Brazil. She
boasts of the Amazon, the mightiest river in the world. This stream is
navigable by ships of large draught for 2,700 miles from its mouth. It
has eight tributaries from 700 to 1,200 miles and four from 1,500 to
2,000 miles in length. One of these, the Madeira, empties as much water
into the larger stream as does the Mississippi into the Gulf. No other
river system drains vaster or richer territory. It drains one million
square miles more than does the Mississippi, and in all it has 27,000
miles of navigable waters.
The land connections of Brazil are also extensive. All the other
countries on the continent, save Chili and Ecuador, border on Brazil.
The Guianas and Venezuela, on the north; Colombia and Peru on the west;
Bolivia, Argentina, Paraguay and Uruguay on the south--eight countries
in all.
It is indeed a vast territory. The United States could be placed within
its borders and still there would be left enough Brazilian territory to
make a State as large as Texas.
Almost from the time we sighted land until we rounded the cape near
Montevideo, we could see the mountains along the shore. The mountains
extend far interior and up and down the length of the country. The
climate of the tropical Amazon Valley is, of course, very hot, but as
soon as the mountains are reached on the way south the climate even in
the tropical section is modified. The section south of Rio, on account
of the mountains and other forces of nature, has a temperate climate,
delightful for the habitation of man. Each of these great zones, the
tropical, the subtropical and the temperate, is marked more by its
distinctive leading products than by climate. Each of these sections
yields a product in which Brazil leads the world. The largest and most
inexhaustible rubber supply in the world is found in the Amazon Valley
region. The central section raises so much cocoa that it gives Brazil
first rank in the production of this commodity. The great temperate
region produces three-fourths of all the coffee used in the world. Of
course, there is much overlapping in the distribution of these
products. Other products, such as cotton, farinha, beans, peas,
tobacco, sugar, bananas, are raised in large quantities and could be
far more extensively produced if the people would utilize the best
methods and implements of modern agriculture. The mountains are full of
ores and the forests of the finest timber, and the great interior has
riches unknown to man. It has the most extensive unexplored region on
earth. What the future holds for this marvelously endowed country, when
her resources are revealed and brought to market, no one would dare
predict. Few countries in the world would venture a claim to such
immense riches.
CHAPTER II.
THE CAPITAL, RIO DE JANEIRO.
The city of Rio is the center of life in Brazil. We entered the Bay of
Rio after nightfall on the sixth of June. The miles and miles of lights
in the city of Rio on the one side, and of Nietheroy on the other, gave
us the impression that we were in some gigantic fair grounds.
Missionaries Entzminger, Shepard, Maddox and Mrs. Entzminger came
aboard to welcome us and bring us ashore. We were taken to the Rio
Baptist College and Seminary, where we were entertained in good old
Tennessee style by the Shepards. This school building was built in 1849
by Dom Pedro II. for a school which was known as the "Boarding School
of Dom Pedro II." It accommodated two hundred students. The Emperor
supported the school. In 1887 the school was moved to larger quarters.
Dr. Shepard is renting the property for our college, but our school
like Dom Pedro's has outgrown these quarters and we are compelled to
rent additional buildings some distance away to accommodate the
increasing number of students. There are about three hundred students
in all departments.
As we studied the situation at close range, we had it driven in upon us
that one of the greatest needs in Brazil is the one Dr. Shepard and his
co-laborers are trying to meet in this school. Three-fourths of the
population of Brazil cannot read. We need, above all things now,
educated leaders. What a call is there for trained native pastors and
evangelists! Some of the Seminary students have been preaching as many
as twenty-one times a month in addition to carrying their studies in
the school. Dr. Shepard has been forced to stop them from some of this
preaching because it was preventing successful work in the class room.
The need is so great that it is very difficult to keep the students
from such work.
I must not go too far afield from the subject of this chapter, but I
must take the time to say that nothing breaks down prejudice against
the gospel more effectively than do the schools conducted by the
various mission boards. One day a Methodist colporter entered a town in
the interior of the State of Minas Geraes and began to preach and offer
his Bibles for sale in the public square. Soon a fanatical mob was
howling around him and his life was in imminent peril. Just as the
excitement was at the highest two young men belonging to one of the
best families in the place pressed through the crowd and, ascertaining
that the man was a minister of the gospel, took charge of him and drove
off the mob. They led the colporter to their home, which was the best
in the town, and showed him generous hospitality. They invited the
people in to hear him preach, and thus through their kindness the man
and his message received a favorable hearing. It should be remembered,
too, that these young men belonged to a very devout Roman Catholic
family.
What was the secret of their actions? They had rescued, entertained and
enabled to preach a man who was endeavoring to propagate a faith that
was very much opposed to their own. The explanation is that they had
attended Granberry College, that great Methodist school at Juiz de
Fora. They had not accepted Protestant Christianity, but the school had
given them such a vision and appreciation of the gospel that they could
never again be the intolerant bigots their fellow townsmen were. The
college had made them friends and that was a tremendous service. First
we must have friends, then followers. Nothing more surely and more
extensively makes friends for our cause than the schools, and it must
be said also that they are wonderfully effective in the work of direct
evangelization.
The First Baptist Church commissioned Deacon Theodore Teixeira and Dr.
Shepard to pilot us over the city. The church provided us with an
automobile and our splendid guides magnified their office. It is a
MAGNIFICENT city, indeed. The strip of land between the mountains and
the seashore is not wide. In some places, in fact, the mountains come
quite down to the water. The city, in the most beautiful and
picturesque way, avails itself of all possible space, even in many
places climbing high on the mountain sides and pressing itself deep
into the coves. Perhaps no city in the world has a more picturesque
combination of mountain and water with which to make a beautiful
location. It has about a million inhabitants, and being the federal
capital, is the greatest and most influential city in Brazil.
Most of its streets are narrow and tortuous and until recently were
considered unhealthy. A few years ago the magnificent Avenida Central
was cut through the heart of the city and one of the most beautiful
avenues in the world was built. Twelve million dollars' worth of
property was condemned to make way for this splendid street. It cuts
across a peninsula through the heart of the city from shore to shore,
and is magnificent, indeed, with its sidewalks wrought in beautiful
geometrical designs, with its ornate street lamps, with its generous
width appearing broader by contrast with other narrow streets, with its
modern buildings.
There is another street, however, which is dearer to the Brazilian than
the Avenida. He takes great pride in the Avenida, but he has peculiar
affection for the Rua d'Ouvidor. Down the Ouvidor flows a human tide
such as is found nowhere else in Brazil. No one attempts to keep on the
pavement. The street is given over entirely to pedestrians. No vehicle
ever passes down it until after midnight. In this narrow street, with
its attractive shops filled with the highest-priced goods in the world,
you can soon find anyone you wish to meet | 2,284.886064 |
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THE HOUSE OF
FULFILMENT
By GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN
AUTHOR OF EMMY LOU
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
MCMIV
_Copyright, 1904, by_
McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
Published, September, 1904
Second Impression
Copyright, 1904, by The S. S. McClure Co.
[Illustration: "WHAT IS YOUR NAME, DEAR?"]
To A. R. M.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PART ONE 1
CHAPTER ONE 3
CHAPTER TWO 18
CHAPTER THREE 27
CHAPTER FOUR 35
CHAPTER FIVE 53
CHAPTER SIX 65
CHAPTER SEVEN 78
PART TWO 85
CHAPTER ONE 87
CHAPTER TWO 106
CHAPTER THREE 115
CHAPTER FOUR 147
CHAPTER FIVE 163
CHAPTER SIX 173
CHAPTER SEVEN 187
CHAPTER EIGHT 207
PART THREE 227
CHAPTER ONE 229
CHAPTER TWO 244
CHAPTER THREE 261
CHAPTER FOUR 278
CHAPTER FIVE 286
CHAPTER SIX 297
CHAPTER SEVEN 304
CHAPTER EIGHT 321
CHAPTER NINE 328
CHAPTER TEN 337
CHAPTER ELEVEN 341
CHAPTER TWELVE 350
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 354
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 368
PART ONE
"Love is enough: ho ye who seek saving,
Go no further: come hither: there have been who have found it,
And these know the House of Fulfilment of craving;
These know the Cup with the roses around it;
These know the World's Wound and the balm that hath bound it."
WILLIAM MORRIS.
--"Elements, breeds, adjustments...
A new race dominating previous ones."
WALT WHITMAN.
CHAPTER ONE
Harriet Blair was seventeen when she went with her father and mother
and her brother Austen to New Orleans, to the marriage of an older
brother, Alexander, the father's business representative at that
place. It was characteristic of the Blairs that they declined the
hospitality of the bride's family, and from the hotel attended,
punctiliously and formally, the occasions for which they had come. It
takes ease to accept hospitality.
Alexander Blair, the father, banker and capitalist, of Vermont stock,
now the richest man in Louisville, was of a stern ruggedness
unsoftened by a long and successful career in the South, while his
wife, the daughter of a Scotch schoolmaster settled in Pennsylvania,
was the possessor of a thrifty closeness and strong, practical sense.
Alexander, their oldest son, a man of thirty, to whose wedding they
had come, was what was natural to expect, a literal, shrewd man, with
a strong sense of duty as he saw it. His long, clean-shaven upper lip,
above a beard, looked slightly grim, and his straight-gazing,
blue-grey eyes were stern.
The second son, | 2,284.889085 |
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HUCKLEBERRY FINN
By Mark Twain
Part 4.
CHAPTER XVI.
WE slept most all day, and started out at night, a little ways behind a
monstrous long raft that was as long going by as a procession. She had
four long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as thirty
men, likely. She had five big wigwams aboard, wide apart, and an open
camp fire in the middle, and a tall flag-pole at each end. There was a
power of style about her. It AMOUNTED to something being a raftsman on
such a craft as that.
We went drifting down into a big bend, and the night clouded up and got
hot. The river was very wide, and was walled with solid timber on both
sides; you couldn't see a break in it hardly ever, or a light. We talked
about Cairo, and wondered whether we would know it when we got to it. I
said likely we wouldn't, because I had heard say there warn't but about a
dozen houses there, and if they didn't happen to have them lit up, how
was we going to know we was passing a town? Jim said if the two big
rivers joined together there, that would show. But I said maybe we might
think we was passing the foot of an island and coming into the same old
river again. That disturbed Jim--and me too. So the question was, what
to do? I said, paddle ashore the first time a light showed, and tell
them pap was behind, coming along with a trading-scow, and was a green
hand at the business, and wanted to know how far it was to Cairo. Jim
thought it was a good idea, so we took a smoke on it and waited.
There warn't nothing to do now but to look out sharp for the town, and
not pass it without seeing it. He said he'd be mighty sure to see it,
because he'd be a free man the minute he seen it, but if he missed it
he'd be in a slave country again and no more show for freedom. Every
little while he jumps up and says:
"Dah she is?"
But it warn't. It was Jack-o'-lanterns, or lightning bugs; so he set
down again, and went to watching, same as before. Jim said it made him
all over trembly and feverish to be so close to freedom. Well, I can
tell you it made me all over trembly and feverish, too, to hear him,
because I begun to get it through my head that he WAS most free--and who
was to blame for it? Why, ME. I couldn't get that out of my conscience,
no how nor no way. It got to troubling me so I couldn't rest; I couldn't
stay still in one place. It hadn't ever come home to me before, what
this thing was that I was doing | 2,284.984325 |
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Produced by Melissa McDaniel, Diane Monico, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced | 2,284.984492 |
2023-11-16 18:55:09.0657260 | 1,400 | 16 |
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: A mad whirl of sound and colour. "Do you mind?" he said.
"Can you face it?"
Drawn by William J. Shettsline. (See page 266.)]
*The Hermit Doctor of Gaya*
A Love Story of Modern India
By
I. A. R. Wylie
Author of "The Native Born," etc.
"This kiss to the whole world"
_Beethoven's Ninth Symphony_
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1916
COPYRIGHT, 1916
BY
I. A. R. WYLIE
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
*CONTENTS*
_BOOK I_
CHAPTER
I.--The Story of Kurnavati
II.--Tristram the Hermit
III.--Tristram Becomes Father-Confessor
IV.--The Interlopers
V.--A Vision of the Backwater
VI.--Broken Sanctuary
VII.--Anne Boucicault Explains
VIII.--The Two Listeners
IX.--Lalloo, the Money-Lender
X.--An Encounter
XI.--Inferno
XII.--In which Fortune Pleases to Jest
XIII.--Crossed Swords
XIV.--Tristram Chooses his Road
XV.--The Weavers
XVI.--A Meredith to the Rescue
XVII.--Mrs. Smithers Does Accounts
XVIII.--The Feast of Siva
_BOOK II_
I.--Mrs. Compton Stands Firm
II.--A Home-Coming
III.--Mrs. Boucicault Calls the Tune
IV.--Anne Makes a Discovery
V.--Crisis
VI.--"Of your Blood"
VII.--The Price Paid
VIII.--Return
IX.--For the Last Time
X.--Anne Chooses
XI.--Freedom
XII.--The Meeting of the Ways
XIII.--To Gaya!
XIV.--Resurrection
XV.--The Snake-God
XVI.--Towards Morning
*The Hermit Doctor of Gaya*
_*BOOK I*_
*CHAPTER I*
*THE STORY OF KURNAVATI*
"Thus it came about that, for her child's sake, the Rani Kurnavati saved
herself from the burning pyre and called together the flower of the
Rajputs to defend Chitore and their king from the sword of Bahadur
Shah."
The speaker's voice had not lifted from its brooding quiet. But now the
quiet had become a living thing repressed, a passion disciplined, an
echo dimmed with its passage from the by-gone years, but vibrant and
splendid still with the clash of chivalrous steel.
The village story-teller gazed into the firelight and was silent.
Swift, soft-footed shadows veiled the lower half of his face, but his
eyes smouldered and burnt up as they followed their visions among the
flames. He was young. His lithe, scantily-clad body was bent forward
and his slender arms were clasped loosely about his knees. Compared
with him, the broken circle of listeners seemed half living. They sat
quite still, their skins shining darkly like polished bronze, their eyes
blinking at the firelight. Only the headman of the village moved,
stroking his fierce grey beard with a shrivelled hand.
"Those were the great days!" he muttered. "The great days!"
The silence lingered. The Englishman, whose long, white-clad body
linked the circle, shifted his position. He lay stretched out with a
lazy, unconscious grace, his head supported on his arm, his eyes lifted
to the overhanging branches of the peepul tree, whose long, pointed
leaves fretted the outskirts of the light and sheltered the solemn,
battered effigy of the village god like the dome of a temple. A suddenly
awakened night-breeze stirred them to a mysterious murmur. They rustled
tremulously and secretly together, and the clear cold fire of a star
burnt amidst their shifting shadows. Beyond and beneath their
whispering there were other sounds. A night-owl hooted, a herd of
excited, lithe-limbed monkeys scrambled noisily in the darkness
overhead, chattered a moment, and were mischievously still. From the
distance came the long, hungry wail of a pariah dog, hunting amidst the
village garbage. These discords dropped into the night's silence,
breaking its placid surface into widening circles and died away. The
peepul leaves shivered and sank for an instant into grave meditation on
their late communings, and through the deepened quiet there poured the
distant, monotonous song of running water. It was a song based on one
deep organ note, the primaeval note of creation, and never changed. It
rose up out of the earth and filled the darkness and mingled with the
silence, so that they became one. The listeners heard it and did not
know they heard it. It was the background on which the night sounds of
living things painted themselves in vivid colours.
The Englishman turned his face to the firelight.
"Go on, Ayeshi," he said, with drowsy content. "You can't leave the
beautiful Rani in mid-air like that, you know. Go on."
"Yes, Sahib." The young man pushed back the short black curls from his
neck and resumed his old attitude of watchfulness on the flames. But
his voice sounded louder, clearer:
"Thereafter, Sahib, the need of Chitore grew desperate. In vain, the
bravest of her nobles sallied forth--the armies of Bahadur Shah swept
over them as the tempest sweeps over the ripe corn, and hour by hour the
ring about the city tightened till the very gates shivered beneath the
enemy's blows. It was then the Rani bethought her of a custom of her
people. With her own hands she made a bracelet of silver thread bound
with tinsel and gay with seven tassels, and, choosing a trusty
servant, sent him forth out of Chitore to seek Humayun, | 2,285.085766 |
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[Transcriber's note]
This is derived from a copy on the Internet Archive:
http://www.archive.org/details/educationhowold00walsgoog
Page numbers in this book are indicated by numbers enclosed in curly
braces, e.g. {99}. They have been located where page breaks occurred
in the original book.
Obvious spelling errors have been corrected but "inventive" and
inconsistent spelling is left unchanged. Unusual use of quotation
marks is also unchanged.
Extended quotations and citations are indented.
Footnotes have been renumbered to avoid ambiguity, and relocated
to the end of the enclosing paragraph.
[End Transcriber's note]
EDUCATION
HOW OLD THE NEW
BY
JAMES J. WALSH, M.D., Ph.D., Litt. D.
Dean and Professor of the History of Medicine and of Nervous Diseases
at Fordham University School of Medicine; Professor of Physiological
Psychology at the Cathedral College, New York.
SECOND IMPRESSION
NEW YORK
FORDHAM UNIVERSITY PRESS
1911
COPYRIGHT. 1910 | 2,285.178662 |
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Produced by Katherine Ward, 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/American Libraries.)
IN MY NURSERY.
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS,
AUTHOR OF
"THE JOYOUS STORY OF TOTO," "TOTO'S MERRY WINTER," ETC.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_Copyright, 1890,_
BY ROBERTS BROTHERS
_All rights reserved._
Printers
S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U.S.A.
To my Mother,
JULIA WARD HOWE.
_Sweet! when first my baby ear
Curled itself and learned to hear,
'Twas your silver-singing voice
Made my baby heart rejoice._
_Hushed upon your tender breast,
Soft you sang me to my rest;
Waking, when I sought my play,
Still your singing led the way._
_Cradle songs, more soft and low
Than the bird croons on the bough;
Olden ballads, grave and gay,
Warrior's chant, and lover's lay._
_So my baby hours went
In a cadence of content,
To the music and the rhyme
Keeping tune and keeping time._
_So you taught me, too, ere long,
All our life should be a song,--
Should a faltering prelude be
To the heavenly harmony;_
_And with gracious words and high,
Bade me look beyond the sky,
To the Glory throned above,
To th' eternal Light and Love._
_Many years have blossomed by:
Far and far from childhood I;
Yet its sunrays on me fall,
Here among my children all._
_So among my babes I go,
Singing high and singing low;
Striving for the silver tone
Which my memory holds alone._
_If I chant my little lays
Tunefully, be yours the praise;
If I fail, 'tis I must rue
Not t' have closelier followed you._
CONTENTS.
Dedication
In my Nursery
The Baby's Future
Baby's Hand
The First Tooth
Johnny's By-low Song
Baby's Valentine
The Rain
The Ballad of the Fairy Spoon
Song of the Little Winds
Good-night Song
Another "Good-night"
"A Bee came tumbling"
Jingle
Little Old Baby
Baby's Journey
The Bumble-bee
The Owl and the Eel and the Warming-pan
Young (one)'s Night Thoughts
Little Sunbeam
Baby's Belongings
Infantry Tactics
Baby Bo
The Difference
Little John Bottlejohn
Jemima Brown
Alice's Supper
Toddlekins
Bobbily Boo and Wollypotump
Sleepyland
Little Brown Bobby
Phil's Secret
A Song for Hal
The Fairies
The Queen of the Orkney Islands
Baby's Ways
Pot and Kettle
Punkydoodle and Jollapin
Mrs. Snipkin and Mrs. Wobblechin
My Sunbeams
In the Closet
Bed-time
Bird-song
Geographi
Higgledy-piggledy
Belinda Blonde
Tommy's Dream; or, The Geography Demon
Polly's Year
What the Robins sing in the Morning
The Eve of the Glorious Fourth
The Dandy Cat
A Party
Jumbo Jee
An Indian Ballad
The Egg
Wouldn't
Will-o'-the-wisp
Nonsense Verses
An Old Rat's Tale
To the Little Girl who wriggles
The Forty little Ducklings
The Mouse
A Valentine
Jamie in the Garden
Somebody's Boy (not mine)
Bogy
The Mermaidens
The Phrisky Phrog
The Ambitious Chicken
The Boy and the Brook
The Shark
The Easter Hen
Pump and Planet
The Postman
Hopsy Upsy
Little Black Monkey
Jippy and Jimmy
Master Jack's Song
Mother Rosebush
The Five Little Princesses
The Hornet and the Bee
The Three Little Chickens who went out to Tea
A Legend of Lake Okeefinokee
Grandpapa's Valentine
Alibazan
The Three Fishers
Peepsy
May Song
Two Little Valentines
A Howl about an Owl
Our Celebration
The Song of the Corn-popper
What Bobby said
Master Jack's Views
Emily Jane
Song of the Mother whose Children are Fond of Drawing
The Seven Little Tigers and the Aged Cook
Agamemnon
The Wedding
Swing Song
The Little Cossack
What a Very Rude Little Bird said to Johnny this Morning
The Monkeys and the Crocodile
Painted Ladies
Some Fishy Nonsense
Lady's Slipper
A Little Song to sing to a Little Maid in a Swing
Betty in Blossom-time
Betty's Song
A Nonsense Tragedy
From New York to Boston
Sandy Godolphin
My Clock
My Uncle Jehoshaphat
Rosy Posy
Sick-room Fancies.
I. My Wall Paper
II. My Japanese Fan
Marjorie's Knitting
He and His Family
Easter-time
Easter
Jacky Frost
Subtraction
Grandfather Dear
Gathering Apples
The Ballad of the Beach
The Boots of a Household
The Palace
Bunker Hill Monument
May
Gregory Griggs
A Nursery Tragedy
The Umbrella Brigade
The Princess in Saturn and the Red Man in Mars
Wiggle and Waggle
Gret Gran'f'ther
Day Dreams
The Battle
The Strange Beast
A Garden Jingle
The Baby goes to Boston
The Flag in the Schoolroom
Johnny Jump-up
The Outlandishman
A Sleigh-ride
The Little Gnome
The Little Dutchess
IN MY NURSERY.
In my nursery as I sit,
To and fro the children flit:
Rosy Alice, eldest born,
Rosalind like summer morn,
Sturdy Hal, as brown as berry,
Little Julia, shy and merry,
John the King, who rules us all,
And the Baby sweet and small.
Flitting, flitting to and fro,
Light they come and light they go:
And their presence fair and young
Still I weave into my song.
Here rings out their merry laughter,
Here their speech comes tripping after:
Here their pranks, their sportive ways,
Flash along the lyric maze,
Till I hardly know, in fine,
What is theirs and what is mine:
Can but say, through wind and weather,
They and I have wrought together.
THE BABY'S FUTURE.
What will the baby be, Mamma,
(With a kick and a crow, and a hushaby-low).
What will the baby be, Mamma,
When he grows up into a man?
Will he always kick, and always crow,
And flourish his arms and his legs about so,
And make up such horrible faces, you know,
As ugly as ever he can?
The baby he may be a soldier, my dear,
With a fife and a drum, and a rum-tiddy-tum!
The baby he may be a soldier, my dear,
When he grows up into a man.
He will draw up his regiment all in a row,
And flourish his sword in the face of the foe,
Who will hie them away on a tremulous toe,
As quickly as ever they can.
The baby he may be a sailor, my dear,
With a fore and an aft, and a tight little craft
The baby he may be a sailor, my dear,
When he grows up into a man.
He will hoist his sails with a "Yo! heave, ho!"
And take in his reefs when it comes on to blow,
And shiver his timbers and so forth, you know,
On a genuine nautical plan.
The baby he may be a doctor, my dear,
With a powder and pill, and a nice little bill.
The baby he may be a doctor, my dear,
When he grows up into a man.
He will dose you with rhubarb, and calomel too,
With draughts that are black and with pills that are blue;
And the chances will be, when he's finished with you,
You'll be worse off than when he began.
The baby he may be a lawyer, my dear,
With a bag and a fee, and a legal decree.
The baby he may be a lawyer, my dear,
When he grows up into a man.
But, oh! dear me, should I tell to you
The terrible things that a lawyer can do,
You would take to your heels when he came into view,
And run from Beersheba to Dan.
BABY'S HAND.
Like a little crumpled roseleaf
It lies on my bosom now,
Like a tiny sunset cloudlet,
Like a flake of rose-tinted snow;
And the pretty, helpless fingers
Are never a moment at rest,
But ever are moving and straying
About on the mother's breast:
Trying to grasp the sunbeam
That streams through the window high;
Trying to catch the white garments
Of the angels hovering by.
And as she pats and caresses
The dear little lovely hand,
The mother's thoughts go forward
Toward the future's shadowy land.
And ever her anxious vision
Strives to pierce each coming year,
With a mother's height of rapture,
With a mother's depth of fear,
As she thinks, "In the years that are coming,
Be they many or be they few,
What work is the good God sending
For this little hand to do?
Will it always be open in giving,
And always strong for the right?
Will it always be ready for labor,
Yet always gentle and light?
Will it wield the brush or the chisel
In the magical realms of Art?
Will it waken the loveliest music
To gladden the weary heart?
Will it smooth the sufferer's pillow,
Bring rest to his aching head?
Will it proffer the cup of cold water?
By it shall the hungry be fed?
Oh! in the years that are coming,
Be they many or be they few,
What now is the good God sending
For this little hand to do?"
Thus the mother's anxious vision
Strives to pierce each coming year,
With a mother's height of rapture,
With a mother's depth of fear.
Ah! whatever may be its fortunes,
Whatever in life its part,
This little wee hand will never loose
Its hold on the mother's heart.
THE FIRST TOOTH.
My own little beautiful Baby,
You're weeping most bitterly, dear!
There'd soon be a lake, if we treasured
Each sweet little silvery tear.
A lake? Nay! an ocean of sorrow
Would murmur and sigh at your feet,
And you would be drowned in your tear-drops,
My own little Baby sweet.
But, darling, as in the wide ocean
The divers plunge boldly down,
And bring up the radiant pearl-drops
To set in some royal crown,
E'en so from the sea of your sorrow,
This dolorous "fountain of youth,"
Will come, ere a week be over,
A little wee pearly tooth.
And then the tears will all vanish,
Dried up by the sunshine of smiles;
And we'll have back our own little Alice,
With her merriest frolics and wiles.
And whenever you laugh, my Baby,
Through all your life's happy years,
You'll show us the radiant pearl-drop
That you brought from the ocean of tears.
JOHNNY'S BY-LOW SONG.
Here on our rock-away horse we go,
Johnny and I, to a land we know,--
Far away in the sunset gold,
A lovelier land than can be told.
_Chorus._ Where all the flowers go niddlety nod,
Nod, nod, niddlety nod!
Where all the flowers go niddlety nod,
And all the birds sing by-low!
Lullaby, lullaby, by-low.
The gates are ivory set with pearls,
One for the boys, and one for the girls:
So shut your bonny two eyes of blue,
Or else they never will let you through.
_Chorus._ Where all the flowers go niddlety nod,
Nod, nod, niddlety nod!
Where all the flowers go niddlety nod,
And all the birds sing by-low!
Lullaby, lullaby, by-low.
But what are the children all about?
There's never a laugh and never a shout.
Why, they all fell asleep, dear, long ago;
For how could they keep awake, you know?
_Chorus._ When all the flowers went niddlety nod,
Nod, nod, niddlety nod!
When all the flowers went niddlety nod,
And all the birds sang by-low!
Lullaby, lullaby, by-low.
And each little brown or golden head
Is pillowed soft in a satin bed,--
A satin bed with sheets of silk,
As soft as down and as white as milk.
_Chorus_. And all the flowers go niddlety nod,
Nod, nod, niddlety nod!
And all the flowers go niddlety nod,
And all the birds sing by-low!
Lullaby, lullaby, by-low.
The brook in its sleep goes babbling by,
And the fat little clouds are asleep in the sky;
And now little Johnny is sleeping too,
So open the gates and pass him through.
_Chorus_. Where all the flowers go niddlety nod,
Nod, nod, niddlety nod!
Where all the flowers go niddlety nod,
And all the birds sing by-low!
Lullaby, lullaby, by-low.
BABY'S VALENTINE.
Valentine, O Valentine,
Pretty little Love of mine;
Little Love whose yellow hair
Makes the daffodils despair;
Little Love whose shining eyes
Fill the stars with sad surprise:
Hither turn your ten wee toes,
Each a tiny shut-up rose,
End most fitting and complete
For the rosy-pinky feet;
Toddle, toddle here to me,
For I'm waiting, do you see?--
Waiting for to call you mine,
Valentine, O Valentine!
Valentine, O Valentine,
I will dress you up so fine!
Here's a frock of tulip-leaves,
Trimmed with lace the spider weaves;
Here's a cap of larkspur blue,
Just precisely made for you;
Here's a mantle scarlet-dyed,
Once the tiger-lily's pride,
Spotted all with velvet black
Like the fire-beetle's back;
Lady-slippers on your feet,
Now behold you all complete!
| 2,285.179941 |
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
(Images generously made available by the Google Books
Project.)
THE VALKYRIES
BY
E. F. BENSON
Author of "Limitations," "Dodo," etc.
T. FISHER UNWIN
LONDON LEIPZIG PARIS
1903
[Illustration: The Flight of the Valkyries]
[Illustration: Brunnhilde]
[Illustration: Siegmund The Wolsung]
[Illustration: Waltraute]
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION: THE HOUSE OF HUNDING
CHAPTER II
THE COMING OF THE STRANGER
CHAPTER III
THE STORY OF THE STRANGER
CHAPTER IV
THE RECOGNITION
CHAPTER V
THE STRIFE OF WOTAN AND FRICKA
CHAPTER VI
SIEGMUND'S LOT IS CAST
CHAPTER VII
THE FIGHT OF SIEGMUND
CHAPTER VIII
THE FLIGHT OF BRUNNHILDE
CHAPTER IX
THE SENTENCE OF BRUNNHILDE
CHAPTER X
THE SLEEP OF BRUNNHILDE.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE FLIGHT OF THE VALKYRIES Frontispiece
OFTEN HAD SHE SAT THERE
"LADY, I THANK THEE"
"TO-NIGHT WE ARE HOST AND GUEST"
AT THAT HE WRENCHED AT THE SWORD-HILT
"I GIVE THEE MINE OATH!" SAID HE
VERY SLOWLY SHE ARMED HERSELF
"WOTAN'S SPEAR IS STRETCHED AGAINST THEE, SIEGMUND"
BRUNNHILDE BRINGS SIEGLINDE TO THE VALKYRIES' MEETING-PLACE
CROUCHING AMONG HER SISTERS
THEN TENDERLY HE RAISED HER FROM WHERE SHE KNELT
PREFACE
In the following pages an attempt has been made to render as closely
as possible into English narrative prose the libretto of Wagner's
"Valkyrie". The story is one little known to English readers, and even
those who are familiar with the gigantic music may find in the story
something which, even when rendered into homely prose, will reveal to
them some new greatness of the master-mind of its author. It is in this
hope that I have attempted this version.
Whether I have attempted a task either absolutely impossible, or
impossible to my capacity, I cannot tell, for so huge is the scale of
the original, so big with passion, so set in the riot of storm-clouds
and elemental forces, that perhaps it can only be conveyed to the mind
as Wagner conveyed it, through such sonorous musical interpretations
as he alone was capable of giving to it. Yet even because the theme is
so great, rather than in spite of it, any interpretation, even that
of halting prose, may be unable to miss certain of the force of the
original.
The drama itself comes second in the tetralogy of the Ring, being
preceded by the Rheingold. But this latter is more properly to be
considered as the overture to a trilogy than as the first drama of
a tetralogy. In it the stage is set, and Heaven above, rainbow-girt
Walhalla, and the dark stir of the forces beneath the earth, Alberich
and the Niebelungs, enter the arena waiting for the puny and momentous
sons of men to assert their rightful lordship over the earth, at the
arising of whom the gods grow grey and the everlasting foundations of
Walhalla crumble. From the strange loves of Siegmund and Sieglinde,
love not of mortal passion, but of primeval and elemental need, the
drama starts; this is the first casting of the shuttle across the
woof of destiny. From that point, through the present drama, through
Siegfried, through the dusk of the gods the eternal grinding of the
mills continues. Once set going the gods themselves are powerless
to stop them, for the stream that turns them is stronger than the
thunderings of Wotan, for the stream is "That which shall be."
In storm the drama begins, in storm of thunder and all the range of
passion and of death it works its inevitable way, till for a moment
there is calm, when on the mountain-top Brunnhilde sleeps, waiting for
the coming of him whose she is, for the awakening to the joy of human
life. And there till Siegfried leaps the barrier of flame we leave her.
E. F. BENSON.
THE VALKYRIES
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
THE HOUSE OF HUNDING
Never before in the memory of man had spring been so late in
coming, and into mid-May had lasted the hurricanes and tempests of
winter. Not even yet was the armoury of its storms and squalls wholly
spent, and men, as they huddled by the fire and heard night by night,
and day by day the bugling of the wind, and the hiss of rain and the
patter of the hailstones, wondered what this subversion and stay of the
wholesome seasons should portend. For now for many years had strange
omens and forebodings shadowed and oppressed the earth. Some said that
the earth itself and Erda the spirit of earth were growing old; some
even had seen the great mother, not as of old she had appeared from
time to time, vigorous and young, clad in the fresh green of growing
things, but old and heavy-eyed, and her mantle was frosted over with
rime, for the chill of the unremitting years had fallen on her. Others
again said that in Walhalla, which Wotan the father of gods and men had
builded by the might of giants, all was not well; that shadows crowded
in places where no shadows should be, and that their companies grew
ever greater, and that dim voices of wailing and of warning sounded
in the ears and in the high places of the gods | 2,285.186554 |
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[Illustration: "'The Cardinal Moth,' Frobisher said, hoarsely." (Chapter
I.)]
THE CARDINAL
MOTH
BY
FRED M. WHITE
Author of "The Crimson Blind," "The Weight of the Crown,"
"The Corner House," etc., etc.
WARD, LOCK, & CO., LIMITED
LONDON AND MELBOURNE
1905
Made and Printed in Great Britain by
WARD, LOCK & Co., LIMITED, LONDON.
*CONTENTS.*
CHAPTER
I.--FLOWERS OF BLOOD
II.--ANGELA
III.--CROSSED SWORDS
IV.--A DUSKY POTENTATE
V.--AN INTERRUPTED FEAST
VI.--BIT OF THE ROPE
VII.--A GRIP OF STEEL
VIII.--THE WEAKER VESSEL
IX.--A WORD TO THE WISE
X.--A WORD TO THE WISE.
XI.--BORROWED PLUMES
XII.--A MODEL HUSBAND
XIII.--THE QUEEN OF THE RUBIES
XIV.--"UNEASY LIES THE HEAD----"
XV.--HUNT THE SLIPPER
XVI.--DIPLOMACY
XVII.--A FRIEND IN NEED
XVIII.--A DEFENSIVE ALLIANCE
XIX.--WHAT DID SHE MEAN?
XX.--CHECK TO FROBISHER
XXI.--DENVERS LEARNS SOMETHING
XXII.--STRANDS OF THE ROPE
XXIII.--A LUNCH AT THE BELGRAVE
XXIV.--A WOMAN'S WAY
XXV.--A STRIKING LIKENESS
XXVI.--A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR
XXVII.--MRS. BENSTEIN INTERVENES
XXVIII.--NEMESIS
XXIX.--THE TIGHTENED CORD
*THE CARDINAL MOTH*
*CHAPTER I.*
*FLOWERS OF BLOOD.*
The purple darkness seemed to be filled with a nebulous suggestion of
things beautiful; long trails and ropes of blossoms hung like stars
reflected in a lake of blue. As the eye grew accustomed to the gloom
these blooms seemed to expand and beautify. There was a great orange
globe floating on a violet mist, a patch of pink swam against an opaque
window-pane like a flight of butterflies. Outside the throaty roar of
Piccadilly could be distinctly heard; inside was misty silence and the
coaxed and pampered atmosphere of the Orient. Then a long, slim hand--a
hand with jewels on it--was extended, and the whole vast dome was bathed
in brilliant light.
For once the electric globes had lost their garish pertinacity. There
were scores of lamps there, but every one of them was laced with
dripping flowers and foliage till their softness was like that of a
misty moon behind the tree-tops. And the blossoms hung
everywhere--thousands upon thousands of them, red, blue, orange, creamy
white, fantastic in shape and variegated in hue, with a diabolical
suggestiveness about them that orchids alone possess. Up in the roof,
out of a faint cloud of steam, other blossoms of purple and azure
peeped.
Complimented upon the amazing beauty of his orchid-house, Sir Clement
Frobisher cynically remarked that the folly had cost him from first to
last over a hundred thousand pounds. He passed for a man with no single
generous impulse or feeling of emotion; a love of flowers was the only
weakness that Providence had vouchsafed to him, and he held it cheap at
the money. You could rob Sir Clement Frobisher or cheat him or lie to
him, and he would continue to ask you to dinner, if you were a
sufficiently amusing or particularly rascally fellow, but if you
casually picked one of his priceless Cypripediums----!
He sat there in his bath of brilliant blossoms, smoking a clay pipe and
sipping some peculiarly thin and aggressive Rhine wine from a long,
thin-stemmed Bohemian glass. He had a fancy for that atrocious grape
juice and common ship's tobacco from a reeking clay. Otherwise he was
immaculate, and his velvet dinner-jacket was probably the best-cut
garment of its kind in London.
A small man, just over fifty, with a dome-like head absolutely devoid of
hair, and shiny like a billiard-ball, a ridiculously small nose
suggestive of the bill of a love-bird, a clean-shaven, humorous mouth
with a certain hard cruelty about it, a figure slight, but enormously
powerful. For the rest, Sir Clement was that rare bird amongst
high-born species--a man, poor originally, who had become rich. He was
popularly supposed to have been kicked out of the diplomatic service
after a brilliant operation connected with certain Turkish Bonds. The
scandal was an old one, and might have had no basis in fact, but the
same _Times_ that conveyed to an interested public the fact of Sir
Clement Frobisher's retirement from the _corps diplomatique_, announced
that the baronet in question had purchased the lease of 947, Piccadilly,
for the sum of ninety-five thousand pounds. And for seven years Society
refused to admit the existence of anybody called Sir Clement Frobisher.
But the man had his title, his family, and his million or so well
invested. Also he had an amazing audacity, and a moral courage beyond
belief. Also he married a lady whose social claims could not be
contested. Clement Frobisher went back to the fold again at a great
dinner given at Yorkshire House. There it was that Earl Beaure | 2,285.188915 |
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THE
CORSICAN BROTHERS
A NOVEL
BY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS
TRANSLATED BY HENRY FRITH
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET
1880
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WOODFALL AND KINDER,
MILFORD LANE, STRAND, W.C.
TO
HENRY IRVING
THE LATEST REPRESENTATIVE OF THE TWIN BROTHERS
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BY
THE TRANSLATOR
THE
CORSICAN BROTHERS.
CHAPTER I.
IN the beginning of March, 1841, I was travelling in Corsica.
Nothing is more picturesque and more easy to accomplish than a journey
in Corsica. You can embark at Toulon, in twenty hours you will be in
Ajaccio, and then in twenty-four hours more you are at Bastia.
Once there you can hire or purchase a horse. If you wish to hire a
horse you can do so for five francs a-day; if you purchase one you can
have a good animal for one hundred and fifty francs. And don't sneer
at the moderate price, for the horse hired or purchased will perform
as great feats as the famous Gascon horse which leaped over the Pont
Neuf, which neither Prospero nor Nautilus, the heroes of Chantilly and
the Champ de Mars could do. He will traverse roads which Balmat
himself could not cross without _crampons,_ and will go over bridges
upon which Auriol would need a balancing pole.
As for the traveller, all he has to do is to give the horse his head
and let him go as he pleases; he does not mind the danger. We may add
that with this horse, which can go anywhere, the traveller can
accomplish his fifteen leagues a day without stopping to bait.
From time to time, while the tourist may be halting to examine some
ancient castle, built by some old baron or legendary hero, or to
sketch a tower built ages ago by the Genoese, the horse will be
contented to graze by the road side, or to pluck the mosses from the
rocks in the vicinity.
As to lodging for the night, it is still more simple in Corsica. The
traveller having arrived at a village, passes down through the
principal street, and making his own choice of the house wherein he
will rest, he knocks at the door. An instant after, the master or
mistress will appear upon the threshold, invite the traveller to
dismount; offer him a share of the family supper and the whole of his
own bed, and next morning, when seeing him safely resume his journey,
will thank him for the preference he has accorded to his house.
As for remuneration, such a thing is never hinted at. The master would
regard it as an insult if the subject were broached. If, however, the
servant happen to be a young girl, one may fitly offer her a
handkerchief, with which she can make up a picturesque coiffure for a
fete day. If the domestic be a male he will gladly accept a poignard,
with which he can kill his enemy, should he meet him.
There is one thing more to remark, and that is, as sometimes happens,
the servants of the house are relatives of the owner, and the former
being in reduced circumstances, offer their services to the latter in
consideration of board and lodging and a few piastres per month.
And it must not be supposed that the masters are not well served by
their cousins to the fifteenth and sixteenth degree, because the
contrary is the case, and the custom is not thought anything of.
Corsica is a French Department certainly, but Corsica is very far from
being France.
As for robbers, one never hears of them, yet there are bandits in
abundance; but these gentlemen must in no wise be confounded one with
another.
So go without fear to Ajaccio, to Bastia, with a purse full of money
hanging to your saddle-bow, and you may traverse the whole island
without a shadow of danger, but do not go from Oceana to Levaco, if
you happen to have an enemy who has declared the Vendetta against you,
for I would not answer for your safety during that short journey of
six miles.
Well, then, I was in Corsica, as I have said, at the beginning of the
month of March, and I was alone; Jadin having remained at Rome.
I had come across from Elba, had disembarked at Bastia, and there had
purchased a horse at the above-mentioned price.
I had visited Corte and Ajaccio, and just then I was traversing the
province of Sartene.
On the particular day of which I am about to speak I was riding from
Sartene to Sullacaro.
The day's journey was short, perhaps a dozen leagues, in consequence
of detours, and on account of my being obliged to climb the <DW72>s of
the mountain chain, which, like a backbone, runs through the island. I
had a guide with me, for fear I should lose my way in the maquis.
It was about five o'clock in the afternoon when we arrived at the
summit of the hill, which at the same time overlooks Olmeto and
Sullacaro. There we stopped a moment to look about us.
"Where would your Excellency wish to stay the night?" asked the guide.
I looked down upon the village, the streets of which appeared almost
deserted. Only a few women were visible, and they walked quickly
along, and frequently looked cautiously around them.
As in virtue of the rules of Corsican hospitality, to which I have
already referred, it was open to me to choose for my resting place any
one of the hundred or hundred and twenty houses of which the village
was composed, I therefore carried my eyes from house to house till
they lighted upon one which promised comfortable quarters. It was a
square mansion, built in a fortified sort of style and machicolated in
front of the windows and above the door.
This was the first time I had seen these domestic fortifications; but
I may mention that the province of Sartene is the classic ground of
the Vendetta.
"Ah, good!" said my guide, as he followed the direction of my
hand--"that is the house of Madame Savilia de Franchi. Go on, go on,
Signor, you have not made a bad choice, and I can see you do not want
for experience in these matters."
I should note here that in this 86th department of France Italian is
universally spoken.
"But," I said, "may it not be inconvenient if I demand hospitality
from a lady, for if I understand you rightly, this house belongs to a
lady."
"No doubt," he replied, with an air of astonishment; "but what
inconvenience does your lordship think you will cause?"
"If the lady be young," I replied, moved by a feeling of
propriety--or, perhaps, let us say, of Parisian self-respect--"a night
passed under her roof might compromise her."
"Compromise her!" repeated the guide, endeavouring to probe the
meaning of the word I had rendered in Italian with all the emphasis
which one would hazard a word in a strange tongue.
"Yes, of course," I replied, beginning to feel impatient; "the lady is
a widow, I suppose?"
"Yes, Excellency."
"Well, then, will she receive a young man into her house?"
In 1841 I was thirty-six years old, or thereabouts, and was entitled
to call myself young.
"Will she receive a young man!" exclaimed the guide; "why, what
difference can it make whether you are young or old?"
I saw that I should get no information out of him by this mode of
interrogation, so I resumed--
"How old is Madame Savilia?"
"Forty, or nearly so."
"Ah," I said, replying more to my thoughts than to my guide, "all the
better. She has children, no doubt?"
"Yes, two sons--fine young men both."
"Shall I see them?"
"You will see one of them--he lives at home."
"Where is the other, then?"
"He lives in Paris."
"How old are these sons?"
"Twenty-one."
"What, both?"
"Yes, they are twins."
"What professions do they follow?"
"The one in Paris is studying law."
"And the other?"
"The other is a Corsican."
"Indeed!" was my reply to this characteristic answer, made in the most
matter-of-fact tone. "Well, now, let us push on for the house of
Madame Savilia de Franchi."
We accordingly resumed our journey, and entered the village about ten
minutes afterwards.
I now remarked what I had not noticed from the hill, namely, that
every house was fortified similarly to Madame Savilia's. Not so
completely, perhaps, for that the poverty of the inhabitants could not
attain to, but purely and simply with oaken planks, by which the
windows were protected, loop-holes only being left for rifle barrels;
some apertures were simply bricked up.
I asked my guide what he called these loop-holes, and he said they
were known as _archeres_--a reply which convinced me that they were
used anterior to the invention of firearms.
As we advanced through the streets we were able the more fully to
comprehend the profound character of the solitude and sadness of the
place.
Many houses appeared to have sustained a siege, and the marks of the
bullets dotted the walls.
From time to time as we proceeded we caught sight of a curious eye
flashing upon us from an embrasure; but it was impossible to
distinguish whether the spectator were a man or a woman.
We at length reached the house which I had indicated to my guide, and
which was evidently the most considerable in the village.
As we approached it more nearly, one thing struck me, and that was,
fortified to all outward appearance as it was, it was not so in
reality, for there were neither oaken planks, bricks, nor loop-holes,
but simple squares of glass, protected at night by wooden shutters.
It is true that the shutters showed holes which could only have been
made by the passage of a bullet; but they were of old date, and could
not have been made within the previous ten years.
Scarcely had my guide knocked, when the door was opened, not
hesitatingly, nor in a timid manner, but widely, and a valet, or
rather I should say a man appeared.
It is the livery that makes the valet, and the individual who then
opened the door to us wore a velvet waistcoat, trowsers of the same
material, and leather gaiters. The breeches were fastened at the waist
by a parti- silk sash, from the folds of which protruded the
handle of a Spanish knife.
"My friend," I said, "is it indiscreet of me, who knows nobody in
Sullacaro, to ask hospitality of your mistress?"
"Certainly not, your Excellency," he replied; "the stranger does
honour to the house before which he stops." "Maria," he continued,
turning to a servant, who was standing behind him, "will you inform
Madame Savilia that a French traveller seeks hospitality?"
As he finished speaking he came down the eight rough ladder-like steps
which led to the entrance door, and took the bridle of my horse.
I dismounted.
"Your Excellency need have no further concern," he said; "all your
luggage will be taken to your room."
I profited by this gracious invitation to idleness--one of the most
agreeable which can be extended to a traveller.
CHAPTER II.
I SLOWLY ascended the steps and entered the house, and at a corner of
the corridor I found myself face to face with a tall lady dressed in
black.
I understood at once that this lady of thirty-eight or forty years of
age, and still beautiful, was the mistress of the house.
"Madame," said I, bowing deeply, "I am afraid you will think me
intrusive, but the custom of the country may be my excuse, and your
servant's invitation my authority to enter."
"You are welcome to the mother," replied Madame de Franchi, "and you
will almost immediately be welcomed by the son. From this moment, sir,
the house belongs to you; use it as if it were your own."
"I come but to beg hospitality for one night, madame," I answered;
"to-morrow morning, at daybreak, I will take my departure."
"You are free to do as you please, sir; but I hope that you will
change your mind, and that we shall have the honour of your company
for a longer period."
I bowed again, and Madame continued--
"Maria, show this gentleman to my son Louis' chamber; light the fire
at once, and carry up some hot water. You will excuse me," she said,
turning again to me as the servant departed, "but I always fancy that
the first wants of a tired traveller are warm water and a fire. Will
you please to follow my maid, sir; and you need have no hesitation in
asking her for anything you may require. We shall sup in an hour, and
my son, who will be home by that time, will have the honour to wait
upon you."
"I trust you will excuse my travelling dress, madame."
"Yes, sir," she replied smiling; "but on condition that you, on your
part, will excuse the rusticity of your reception."
I bowed my thanks, and followed the servant upstairs.
The room was situated on the first floor, and looked out towards the
rear of the house, upon a pretty and extensive garden, well planted
with various trees, and watered by a charming little stream, which
fell into the Tavaro.
At the further end the prospect was bounded by a hedge, so thick as to
appear like a wall. As is the case in almost all Italian houses, the
walls of the rooms were white-washed and frescoed.
I understood immediately that Madame de Franchi had given me this, her
absent son's chamber, because it was the most comfortable one in the
house.
While Maria was lighting the fire and fetching the hot water, I took
it into my head to make an inventory of the room, and try to arrive at
an estimation of the character of its usual occupant by those means.
I immediately put this idea into execution, and beginning with the
left hand, I took mental notes of the various objects by which I was
surrounded.
The furniture all appeared to be modern, a circumstance which in that
part of the island, where civilization had not then taken deep root,
appeared to indicate no | 2,285.189003 |
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images of public domain material from the Google Print
project.)
THE
WONDERS OF LIFE
A POPULAR STUDY
OF BIOLOGICAL PHILOSOPHY
BY
ERNST HAECKEL
(Ph.D., M.D., LL.D., Sc.D., and Professor at the
University of Jena)
AUTHOR OF
"THE RIDDLE OP THE UNIVERSE"
"THE HISTORY OF CREATION"
"THE EVOLUTION OF MAN"
ETC.
TRANSLATED BY
JOSEPH McCABE
SUPPLEMENTARY VOLUME TO
"THE RIDDLE OF THE UNIVERSE"
[Illustration: LOGO]
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
1905
Copyright, 1904, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
Published January, 1905.
CONTENTS
PART I.--METHODOLOGICAL SECTION:
KNOWLEDGE OF LIFE
PAGE
PREFACE v
CHAPTER I
TRUTH 1
CHAPTER II
LIFE 27
CHAPTER III
MIRACLES 54
CHAPTER IV
THE SCIENCE OF LIFE 77
CHAPTER V
DEATH 97
PART II.--MORPHOLOGICAL SECTION:
NATURE OF LIFE
CHAPTER VI
PLASM 121
CHAPTER VII
UNITIES OF LIFE 147
CHAPTER VIII
FORMS OF LIFE 170
CHAPTER IX
MONERA 190
PART III.--PHYSIOLOGICAL SECTION:
FUNCTIONS OF LIFE
CHAPTER X
NUTRITION 210
CHAPTER XI
REPRODUCTION 239
CHAPTER XII
MOVEMENT 258
CHAPTER XIII
SENSATION 287
CHAPTER XIV
MENTAL LIFE 315
PART IV.--GENEALOGICAL SECTION:
HISTORY OF LIFE
CHAPTER XV
THE ORIGIN OF LIFE 336
CHAPTER XVI
THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE 359
CHAPTER XVII
THE VALUE OF LIFE 386
CHAPTER XVIII
MORALITY 411
CHAPTER XIX
DUALISM 433
CHAPTER XX
MONISM 452
INDEX 475
PREFACE
The publication of the present work on _The Wonders of Life_ has been
occasioned by the success of _The Riddle of the Universe_, which I
wrote five years ago. Within a few months of the issue of this study
of the monistic philosophy, in the autumn of 1899, ten thousand copies
were sold. Moreover, the publisher having been solicited on many sides
to issue a popular edition of the work, more than a hundred thousand
copies of this were sold within a year.[1] This extraordinary and--as
far as I was concerned--unexpected success of a philosophical work
which was by no means light reading, and which had no particular charm
of presentation, affords ample proof of the intense interest taken by
even the | 2,285.280483 |
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YOU KNOW ME AL
RING W. LARDNER
YOU KNOW ME
AL
_A Busher's Letters_
BY
RING W. LARDNER
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
Copyright, 1916,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A BUSHER'S LETTERS HOME 9
II THE BUSHER COMES BACK 45
III THE BUSHER'S HONEYMOON 83
IV A NEW BUSHER BREAKS IN 122
V THE BUSHER'S KID 166
VI THE BUSHER BEATS IT HENCE 208
YOU KNOW ME AL
YOU KNOW ME AL
CHAPTER I
A BUSHER'S LETTERS HOME
_Terre Haute, Indiana, September 6._
FRIEND AL: Well, Al old pal I suppose you seen in the paper where I
been sold to the White Sox. Believe me Al it comes as a surprise to
me and I bet it did to all you good old pals down home. You could of
knocked me over with a feather when the old man come up to me and says
Jack I've sold you to the Chicago Americans.
I didn't have no idea that anything like that was coming off. For five
minutes I was just dum and couldn't say a word.
He says We aren't getting what you are worth but I want you to go up to
that big league and show those birds that there is a Central League
on the map. He says Go and pitch the ball you been pitching down here
and there won't be nothing to it. He says All you need is the nerve and
Walsh or no one else won't have nothing on you.
So I says I would do the best I could and I thanked him for the
treatment I got in Terre Haute. They always was good to me here
and though I did more than my share I always felt that my work was
appresiated. We are finishing second and I done most of it. I can't
help but be proud of my first year's record in professional baseball
and you know I am not boasting when I say that Al.
Well Al it will seem funny to be up there in the big show when I never
was really in a big city before. But I guess I seen enough of life not
to be scared of the high buildings eh Al?
I will just give them what I got and if they don't like it they can
send me back to the old Central and I will be perfectly satisfied.
I didn't know anybody was looking me over, but one of the boys told me
that Jack Doyle the White Sox scout was down here looking at me when
Grand Rapids was here. I beat them twice in that serious. You know
Grand Rapids never had a chance with me when I was right. I shut them
out in the first game and they got one run in the second on account of
Flynn misjuging that fly ball. Anyway Doyle liked my work and he wired
Comiskey to buy me. Comiskey come back with an offer and they excepted
it. I don't know how much they got but anyway I am sold to the big
league and believe me Al I will make good.
Well Al I will be home in a few days and we will have some of the good
old times. Regards to all the boys and tell them I am still their pal
and not all swelled up over this big league business.
Your pal, JACK.
_Chicago, Illinois, December 14._
Old Pal: Well Al I have not got much to tell you. As you know Comiskey
wrote me that if I was up in Chi this month to drop in and see him. So
I got here Thursday morning and went to his office in the afternoon.
His office is out to the ball park and believe me its some park and
some office.
I went in and asked for Comiskey and a young fellow says He is not here
now but can I do anything for you? I told him who I am and says I had
an engagement to see Comiskey. He says The boss is out of town hunting
and did I have to see him personally?
I says I wanted to see about signing a contract. He told me I could
sign as well with him as Comiskey and he took me into another office.
He says What salary did you think you ought to get? and I says I
wouldn't think of playing ball in the big league for less than three
thousand dollars per annum. He laughed and says You don't want much.
You better stick round town till the boss comes back. So here I am and
it is costing me a dollar a day to stay at the hotel on Cottage Grove
Avenue and that don't include my meals.
I generally eat at some of the cafes round the hotel but I had supper
downtown last night and it cost me fifty-five cents. If Comiskey don't
come back soon I won't have no more money left.
Speaking of money I won't sign no contract unless I get the salary you
and I talked of, three thousand dollars. You know what I was getting in
Terre Haute, a hundred and fifty a month, and I know it's going to cost
me a lot more to live here. I made inquiries round here and find I can
get board and room for eight dollars a week but I will be out of town
half the time and will have to pay for my room when I am away or look
up a new one when I come back. Then I will have to buy cloths to wear
on the road in places like New York. When Comiskey comes back I will
name him three thousand dollars as my lowest figure and I guess he
will come through when he sees I am in ernest. I heard that Walsh was
getting twice as much as that.
The papers says Comiskey will be back here sometime to-morrow. He
has been hunting with the president of the league so he ought to
feel pretty good. But I don't care how he feels. I am going to get a
contract for three thousand and if he don't want to give it to me he
can do the other thing. You know me Al.
Yours truly, JACK.
_Chicago, Illinois, December 16._
DEAR FRIEND AL: Well I will be home in a couple of days now but I
wanted to write you and let you know how I come out with Comiskey. I
signed my contract yesterday afternoon. He is a great old fellow Al
and no wonder everybody likes him. He says Young man will you have
a drink? But I was to smart and wouldn't take nothing. He says You
was with Terre Haute? I says Yes I was. He says Doyle tells me you
were pretty wild. I says Oh no I got good control. He says Well do
you want to sign? I says Yes if I get my figure. He asks What is my
figure and I says three thousand dollars per annum. He says Don't you
want the office furniture too? Then he says I thought you was a young
ball-player and I didn't know you wanted to buy my park.
We kidded each other back and forth like that a while and then he says
You better go out and get the air and come back when you feel better.
I says I feel O.K. now and I want to sign a contract because I have
got to get back to Bedford. Then he calls the secretary and tells him
to make out my contract. He give it to me and it calls for two hundred
and fifty a month. He says You know we always have a city serious here
in the fall where a fellow picks up a good bunch of money. I hadn't
thought of that so I signed up. My yearly salary will be fifteen
hundred dollars besides what the city serious brings me. And that is
only for the first year. I will demand three thousand or four thousand
dollars next year.
I would of started home on the evening train but I ordered a suit of
cloths from a tailor over on Cottage Grove and it won't be done till
to-morrow. It's going to cost me twenty bucks but it ought to last a
long time. Regards to Frank and the bunch.
Your Pal, JACK.
_Paso Robles, California, March 2._
OLD PAL AL: Well Al we been in this little berg now a couple of days
and its bright and warm all the time just like June. Seems funny to
have it so warm this early in March but I guess this California climate
is all they said about it and then some.
It would take me a week to tell you about our trip out here. We came on
a Special Train De Lukes and it was some train. Every place we stopped
there was crowds down to the station to see us go through and all the
people looked me over like I was a actor or something. I guess my hight
and shoulders attracted their attention. Well Al we finally got to
Oakland which is across part of the ocean from Frisco. We will be back
there later on for practice games.
We stayed in Oakland a few hours and then took a train for here. It
was another night in a sleeper and believe me I was tired of sleepers
before we got here. I have | 2,285.287811 |
2023-11-16 18:55:09.3644880 | 249 | 11 |
Produced by David Edwards, Greg Bergquist and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note
The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully
preserved. Only obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
CHRISTMAS
EVE
at
SWAMP'S
END
NORMAN DUNCAN
[Illustration: "Make of this child, a Man"]
CHRISTMAS EVE
at SWAMP'S END
NORMAN DUNCAN
author of
THE MEASURE OF A MAN
DOCTOR LUKE OF THE
LABRADOR ETC
[Illustration]
FLEMING H REVELL COMPANY
Copyright, 1911-1915
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
[Illustration]
_A Selection from
THE MEASURE OF A MAN
A Tale of the Big Woods_
[Illustration]
_THE WISTFUL HEART_
It was long after noon in the far, | 2,285.384528 |
2023-11-16 18:55:09.5621110 | 2,031 | 7 |
Produced by D Alexander 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 Golden Woman
A Story of the Montana Hills
By RIDGWELL CULLUM
AUTHOR OF
"The Way of the Strong," "The Law Breakers,"
"The Trail of the Axe," Etc.
With Frontispiece in Colors
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by Arrangement with GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
Copyright, 1913, by
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
Published February, 1916
_All rights reserved_
Printed in U. S. A.
[Illustration: "It's the same book, dear, only a different chapter."]
Contents
I. AUNT MERCY 9
II. OVER THE TELEPHONE 20
III. THE PARIAH 26
IV. TWO MEN OF THE WILDERNESS 39
V. THE STEEPS OF LIFE 54
VI. OUT OF THE STORM 73
VII. A SIMPLE MANHOOD 85
VIII. THE SECRET OF THE HILL 96
IX. GATHERING FOR THE FEAST 106
X. SOLVING THE RIDDLE 110
XI. THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 121
XII. THE GOLDEN WOMAN 133
XIII. THE CALL OF YOUTH 149
XIV. A WHIRLWIND VISIT 158
XV. THE CLAIMS OF DUTY 165
XVI. GOLD AND ALLOY 177
XVII. TWO POINTS OF VIEW 187
XVIII. WHEN LIFE HOLDS NO SHADOWS 204
XIX. A STUDY IN MISCHIEF 217
XX. THE ABILITIES OF MRS. RANSFORD 229
XXI. THE MEETING ON THE TRAIL 240
XXII. A MAN'S SUPPORT 246
XXIII. THE BRIDGING OF YEARS 258
XXIV. BEASLEY PLAYS THE GAME 273
XXV. BUCK LAUGHS AT FATE 286
XXVI. IRONY 301
XXVII. THE WEB OF FATE 313
XXVIII. A BLACK NIGHT 325
XXIX. BEASLEY IN HIS ELEMENT 334
XXX. THE MOVING FINGER 356
XXXI. THE JOY OF BEASLEY 364
XXXII. STRONGER THAN DEATH 374
XXXIII. THE TEMPEST BREAKS 389
XXXIV. THE EYES OF THE HILLS 402
XXXV. FROM OUT OF THE ABYSS 407
XXXVI. THE CATACLYSM 420
XXXVII. ALONE-- 427
XXXVIII. --IN THE WILDERNESS 432
XXXIX. LOVE'S VICTORY 439
The Golden Woman
CHAPTER I
AUNT MERCY
An elderly woman looked up from the crystal globe before her. The
sound of horse's hoofs, clattering up to the veranda, had caught her
attention. But the hard, gray eyes had not yet recovered their normal
frigidity of expression. There were still traces in them of the
groping mind, searching on, amidst the chaos of a world unseen. Nor
was Mercy Lascelles posing at the trade which yielded her something
more than her daily bread. She had no reason for pose. She was an
ardent and proficient student of that remote science which has for its
field of research the border-land between earthly life and the
ultimate.
For some moments she gazed half-vacantly through the window. Then
alertness and interest came back to her eyes, and her look resumed its
normal hardness. It was an unlovely face, but its unloveliness lay in
its expression. There was something so unyielding in the keen,
aquiline nose and pointed chin. The gray eyes were so cold. The
pronounced brows were almost threatening in their marking and
depression. There was not a feature in her face that was not handsome,
and yet, collectively, they gave her a look at once forbidding, and
even cruel.
There was no softening, there never was any softening in Mercy
Lascelles' attitude toward the world now. Years ago she may have given
signs of the gentler emotions of her woman's heart. It is only
reasonable to suppose that at some time or other she possessed them.
But now no one was ever permitted beyond the harsh exterior. Perhaps
she owed the world a grudge. Perhaps she hoped, by closing the doors
of her soul, her attitude would be accepted as the rebuff she intended
to convey.
"Is that you, Joan?" she demanded in a sharp, masterful tone.
"It certainly is, auntie," came the gentle, girlish response from the
veranda.
The next moment the door of the little morning-room opened, and a tall
girl stood framed in its white setting.
Joan Stanmore possessed nothing whatever in common with her aunt. She
was of that healthy type of American girl that treats athletics as a
large part of her education. She was tall and fair, with a mass of
red-gold hair tucked away under the mannish hat which was part of her
dark green, tightly-fitting riding habit. Her brow was broad, and her
face, a perfect oval, was open and starred with a pair of fearless
blue eyes of so deep a hue as to be almost violet. Her nose and mouth
were delicately moulded, but her greatest beauty lay in the exquisite
peach-bloom of her soft, fair skin.
Joan Stanmore was probably the handsomest girl in St. Ellis City, in a
suburb of which she and her aunt lived. She was certainly one of the
most popular girls, in spite of the overshadowing threat of an aunt
whom everybody disliked and whom most people feared. Her disposition
was one of serene gentleness, yet as fearless and open as her
beautiful eyes suggested. She was of a strongly independent spirit
too, but, even so, the woman in her was never for a moment jeopardized
by it; she was never anything but a delightful femininity, rejoicing
wholesomely in the companionship of the opposite sex.
She and her aunt had lived for five years in this suburb of St. Ellis.
They had left New York for the southwest because the profession of
the elder woman had gained unpleasant notoriety in that city of
contradictions. The calling of the seer had appealed well enough to
the citizens individually, but a wave of moral rectitude, hurling its
municipal government spluttering upon a broken shore of repentance,
had decided it to expurgate such wickedness from its midst, lest the
local canker become a pestilence which might jeopardize the immortal
soul of the citizen, and, incidentally, hand the civic control over to
the opposition party.
So aunt and orphaned niece had moved westward, seeking immunity in a
region where such obscure professions were regarded with a more
lenient eye. Joan had little enough sympathy with her relative's
studies. She neither believed in them, nor did she disbelieve. She was
so young, and so full of that vitality which makes for the wholesome
enjoyment of life, as viewed through eyes as yet undimmed by the
bitterness of experience, that she had neither time, place, nor
serious thought for such matters. Her only interest, if interest it
could be called, was an occasional wonderment at the extent of the
harvest Aunt Mercy reaped out of the credulity of the merchant and
finance-princes of the city. This, and the state of her aunt's health,
as pronounced by Dr. Valmer, were the only things which ever brought
such matters as "crystal gazing" and scientific astrology into her
mind. Otherwise horoscopes, prognostications, warnings, omens, passed
her by as mere words to raise a smile of youthful derision at the
expense of those who heaped money for such readings into the seer's
lap.
Joan was in no way dependent upon her aunt. Living with her was a
matter of personal choice. Mercy Lascelles was her only relative for
one thing, and the elder woman being a lonely spinster, it seemed only
right that Joan should make her home under her scarcely hospitable
roof. Then, too, there was another reason which influenced the girl.
It was a purely sentimental reason, such as at her age might well
appeal to her. A whisper had reached her to the effect that, hard and
unsympathetic as her Aunt Mercy was, romance at one time had place in
her life--a romance which left her the only sufferer, a romance that
had spelt a life's disaster for her. To the adamantine fortune-teller
was attributed a devotion so strong, so passionate in the days of her
youth | 2,285.582151 |
2023-11-16 18:55:09.5680630 | 1,981 | 22 |
Produced by Alan R. Light
OVER THE SLIPRAILS
By Henry Lawson
Author of "While the Billy Boils", "When the World was Wide and Other
Verses", "On the Track", "Verses: Popular and Humorous", &c.
[Note on text: Italicized words or phrases are capitalised. Some obvious
errors have been corrected.]
Preface
Of the stories in this volume many have already appeared
in the columns of [various periodicals], while several
now appear in print for the first time.
H. L.
Sydney, June 9th, 1900.
Contents
The Shanty-Keeper's Wife
A Gentleman Sharper and Steelman Sharper
An Incident at Stiffner's
The Hero of Redclay
The Darling River
A Case for the Oracle
A Daughter of Maoriland
New Year's Night
Black Joe
They Wait on the Wharf in Black
Seeing the Last of You
Two Boys at Grinder Brothers'
The Selector's Daughter
Mitchell on the "Sex" and Other "Problems"
The Master's Mistake
The Story of the Oracle
OVER THE SLIPRAILS
The Shanty-Keeper's Wife
There were about a dozen of us jammed into the coach, on the box seat
and hanging on to the roof and tailboard as best we could. We were
shearers, bagmen, agents, a squatter, a cockatoo, the usual joker--and
one or two professional spielers, perhaps. We were tired and stiff and
nearly frozen--too cold to talk and too irritable to risk the inevitable
argument which an interchange of ideas would have led up to. We had been
looking forward for hours, it seemed, to the pub where we were to change
horses. For the last hour or two all that our united efforts had been
able to get out of the driver was a grunt to the effect that it was
"'bout a couple o' miles." Then he said, or grunted, "'Tain't fur now,"
a couple of times, and refused to commit himself any further; he seemed
grumpy about having committed himself that far.
He was one of those men who take everything in dead earnest; who regard
any expression of ideas outside their own sphere of life as trivial, or,
indeed, if addressed directly to them, as offensive; who, in fact, are
darkly suspicious of anything in the shape of a joke or laugh on the
part of an outsider in their own particular dust-hole. He seemed to
be always thinking, and thinking a lot; when his hands were not both
engaged, he would tilt his hat forward and scratch the base of his
skull with his little finger, and let his jaw hang. But his intellectual
powers were mostly concentrated on a doubtful swingle-tree, a misfitting
collar, or that there bay or piebald (on the off or near side) with the
sore shoulder.
Casual letters or papers, to be delivered on the road, were matters
which troubled him vaguely, but constantly--like the abstract ideas of
his passengers.
The joker of our party was a humourist of the dry order, and had been
slyly taking rises out of the driver for the last two or three stages.
But the driver only brooded. He wasn't the one to tell you straight if
you offended him, or if he fancied you offended him, and thus gain your
respect, or prevent a misunderstanding which would result in life-long
enmity. He might meet you in after years when you had forgotten all
about your trespass--if indeed you had ever been conscious of it--and
"stoush" you unexpectedly on the ear.
Also you might regard him as your friend, on occasion, and yet he would
stand by and hear a perfect stranger tell you the most outrageous lies,
to your hurt, and know that the stranger was telling lies, and never put
you up to it. It would never enter his head to do so. It wouldn't be any
affair of his--only an abstract question.
It grew darker and colder. The rain came as if the frozen south were
spitting at your face and neck and hands, and our feet grew as big as
camel's, and went dead, and we might as well have stamped the footboards
with wooden legs for all the feeling we got into ours. But they were
more comfortable that way, for the toes didn't curl up and pain so much,
nor did our corns stick out so hard against the leather, and shoot.
We looked out eagerly for some clearing, or fence, or light--some sign
of the shanty where we were to change horses--but there was nothing
save blackness all round. The long, straight, cleared road was no longer
relieved by the ghostly patch of light, far ahead, where the bordering
tree-walls came together in perspective and framed the ether. We were
down in the bed of the bush.
We pictured a haven of rest with a suspended lamp burning in the frosty
air outside and a big log fire in a cosy parlour off the bar, and a
long table set for supper. But this is a land of contradictions; wayside
shanties turn up unexpectedly and in the most unreasonable places, and
are, as likely as not, prepared for a banquet when you are not hungry
and can't wait, and as cold and dark as a bushman's grave when you are
and can.
Suddenly the driver said: "We're there now." He said this as if he had
driven us to the scaffold to be hanged, and was fiercely glad that he'd
got us there safely at last. We looked but saw nothing; then a light
appeared ahead and seemed to come towards us; and presently we saw that
it was a lantern held up by a man in a slouch hat, with a dark bushy
beard, and a three-bushel bag around his shoulders. He held up his other
hand, and said something to the driver in a tone that might have been
used by the leader of a search party who had just found the body. The
driver stopped and then went on slowly.
"What's up?" we asked. "What's the trouble?"
"Oh, it's all right," said the driver.
"The publican's wife is sick," somebody said, "and he wants us to come
quietly."
The usual little slab and bark shanty was suggested in the gloom, with a
big bark stable looming in the background. We climbed down like so many
<DW36>s. As soon as we began to feel our legs and be sure we had the
right ones and the proper allowance of feet, we helped, as quietly as
possible, to take the horses out and round to the stable.
"Is she very bad?" we asked the publican, showing as much concern as we
could.
"Yes," he said, in a subdued voice of a rough man who had spent several
anxious, sleepless nights by the sick bed of a dear one. "But, God
willing, I think we'll pull her through."
Thus encouraged we said, sympathetically: "We're very sorry to trouble
you, but I suppose we could manage to get a drink and a bit to eat?"
"Well," he said, "there's nothing to eat in the house, and I've only got
rum and milk. You can have that if you like."
One of the pilgrims broke out here.
"Well of all the pubs," he began, "that I've ever--"
"Hush-sh-sh!" said the publican.
The pilgrim scowled and retired to the rear. You can't express your
feelings freely when there's a woman dying close handy.
"Well, who says rum and milk?" asked the joker, in a low voice.
"Wait here," said the publican, and disappeared into the little front
passage.
Presently a light showed through a window, with a scratched and
fly-bitten B and A on two panes, and a mutilated R on the third, which
was broken. A door opened, and we sneaked into the bar. It was like
having drinks after hours where the police are strict and independent.
When we came out the driver was scratching his head and looking at the
harness on the verandah floor.
"You fellows 'll have ter put in the time for an hour or so. The horses
is out back somewheres," and he indicated the interior of Australia with
a side jerk of his head, "and the boy ain't back with 'em yet."
"But dash it all," said the Pilgrim, "me and my mate----"
"Hush!" said the publican.
"How long are the horses likely to be?" we asked the driver.
"Dunno," he grunted. "Might be three or four hours. It's all accordin'."
"Now, look here," said the Pilgrim, "me and my mate wanter catch the
train."
"Hush-sh-sh!" from the publican in a fierce whisper.
"Well, boss," said the joker, "can you let us | 2,285.588103 |
2023-11-16 18:55:09.5680800 | 782 | 14 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE HEART OF ROME
A Tale of the "Lost water"
BY FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD Author of "Cecilia," "Saracinesca," "In the
Palace of the King," Etc.
THE HEART OF ROME
CHAPTER I
The Baroness Volterra drove to the Palazzo Conti in the heart of Rome
at nine o'clock in the morning, to be sure of finding Donna Clementina
at home. She had tried twice to telephone, on the previous afternoon,
but the central office had answered that "the communication was
interrupted." She was very anxious to see Clementina at once, in order
to get her support for a new and complicated charity. She only wanted
the name, and expected nothing else, for the Conti had very little
ready money, though they still lived as if they were rich. This did not
matter to their friends, but was a source of constant anxiety to their
creditors, and to the good Pompeo Sassi, the steward of the ruined
estate. He alone knew what the Conti owed, for none of them knew much
about it themselves, though he had done his best to make the state of
things clear to them.
The big porter of the palace was sweeping the pavement of the great
entrance, as the cab drove in. He wore his working clothes of grey
linen with silver buttons bearing the ancient arms of his masters, and
his third best gold-laced cap. There was nothing surprising in this, at
such an early hour, and as he was a grave man with a long grey beard
that made him look very important, the lady who drove up in the open
cab did not notice that he was even more solemn than usual. When she
appeared, he gave one more glance at the spot he had been sweeping, and
then grounded his broom like a musket, folded his hands on the end of
the broomstick and looked at her as if he wondered what on earth had
brought her to the palace at that moment, and wished that she would
take herself off again as soon as possible.
He did not even lift his cap to her, yet there was nothing rude in his
manner. He behaved like a man upon whom some one intrudes when he is in
great trouble.
The Baroness was rather more exigent in requiring respect from servants
than most princesses of the Holy Roman Empire, for her position in the
aristocratic scale was not very well defined.
She was not pleased, and spoke with excessive coldness when she asked
if Donna Clementina was at home. The porter stood motionless beside the
cab, leaning on his broom. After a pause he said in a rather strange
voice that Donna Clementina was certainly in, but that he could not
tell whether she were awake or not.
"Please find out," answered the Baroness, with impatience. "I am
waiting," she added with an indescribable accent of annoyance and
surprise, as if she had never been kept waiting before, in all the
fifty years of her more or less fashionable life.
There were speaking-tubes in the porter's lodge, communicating with
each floor of the great Conti palace, but the porter did not move.
"I cannot go upstairs and leave the door," he said.
"You can speak to the servant through the tube, I suppose!"
The porter slowly shook his massive head, and his long grey beard
wagged from side to side.
"There are no servants upstairs," he said. "There is only the family."
"No servants? Are | 2,285.58812 |
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