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~like this~.
THE PRINCESS TARAKANOVA
[Illustration: THE PRINCESS TARAKANOVA.
_“The only art her guilt to cover,_
_To hide her shame from every eye,_
_To give repentance to her lover,_
_And wring his bosom--is to die.”_]
THE
PRINCESS TARAKANOVA
A Dark Chapter of Russian History
TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSS | 2,342.182868 |
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by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes:
Underscores “_” before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_
in the original text.
A single underscore after a symbol indicates a subscript.
Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals.
Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved.
Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations
in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.
The Table of Contents was added by the transcriber, it is not part of
the original text.
THE BOSTON
SCHOOL ATLAS,
EMBRACING A COMPENDIUM OF GEOGRAPHY.
BY B. FRANKLIN EDMANDS.
Table of Contents.
PREFACE.
ELEMENTAL GEOGRAPHY. 3
EXPLANATION OF MAPS. 5
GRAND DIVISIONS OF THE EARTH. 17
CIVIL AND POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY. 17
STATE OF SOCIETY. 18
NORTH AMERICA. 21
UNITED STATES. 25
MAINE. 26
NEW HAMPSHIRE.... and... VERMONT. 31
MASSACHUSETTS, CONNECTICUT, AND RHODE ISLAND. 32
NEW YORK. 37
PENNSYLVANIA, MARYLAND, NEW JERSEY, AND DELAWARE. 38
WESTERN STATES. 43
UNITED STATES. 44
SOUTH AMERICA. 57
EUROPE. 61
BRITISH ISLES. 65
ASIA. 69
AFRICA. 73
GENERAL QUESTIONS. 74
WEST INDIA ISLANDS. 75
OCEANICA. 75
ELEMENTAL ASTRONOMY. 76
TIDES. 77
QUESTIONS IN REVIEW OF THE COMPENDIUM. 78
[Illustration]
TWELFTH EDITION; STEREOTYPED,
CONTAINING THE FOLLOWING MAPS AND CHARTS.
1. MAP OF THE WORLD.
2. CHART... MOUNTAINS.
3. CHART... RIVERS.
4. NORTH AMERICA.
5. UNITED STATES.
6. PART OF MAINE.
7. VERMONT & N. HAMPSHIRE.
8. MASSACHUSETTS, CONNECTICUT, AND R. ISLAND.
9. NEW YORK.
10. PENN. MD., N. JER. AND DEL.
11. WESTERN STATES.
12. CHART... CANALS, RAIL ROADS.
13. CHART... POLITICAL AND STATISTICAL.
14. SOUTH AMERICA.
15. EUROPE.
16. BRITISH ISLES.
17. ASIA.
18. AFRICA.
_Embellished with Instructive Engravings._
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY ROBERT S. DAVIS,
SUCCESSOR TO LINCOLN, EDMANDS, & CO.,
No. 77, Washington Street.
1840.
PREFACE.
A careful examination of Maps is a sure and at the same time the most
convenient method of acquiring a knowledge of Geography. With a view
of furnishing to young classes an _economical means_ of commencing a
course of geographical study, this work has been prepared; and it is
believed that a thorough acquaintance with its contents will impart
such general ideas, as will prepare them to enter upon a more _minute
investigation_ of the subject, when they shall have arrived at a proper
age.
The use of this work will also obviate the necessity which has
heretofore existed, of furnishing such classes with larger volumes, the
greater part of which is useless to them, till the book is literally
worn out; and although it is adapted to young students, it will be
found that the Atlas exercises are equally proper for more advanced
pupils.
The study of this work should commence with recitations of short
lessons previously explained by the instructer; and after the pupils
are well versed in the elements, the study of the maps should be
commenced. Embodied with the questions on the maps will be occasionally
found questions in _italic_, referring to the elements. These are
intended as a review, and the pupils should be made to understand, that
through the whole of the maps, the instructer will require a similar
review of the Geography. This course cannot fail to be interesting and
advantageous.
The elements of Astronomy are annexed to the work; and it is left
to the discretion of the instructer to determine the proper time to
introduce this pleasing study to his pupils.
BOSTON, AUGUST, 1830.
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SIXTH (STEREOTYPE) EDITION.
The universal approbation and liberal patronage bestowed upon the
former editions of the Boston School Atlas, have induced the publishers
to make in this edition numerous improvements. The maps have all
been re-engraved on steel, and in pursuance of hints from several
instructers, a concise compendium of descriptive Geography has been
added, while at the same time the text of the preceding edition has
not been so altered as to cause confusion in the use of the two
editions in the same class. Many engravings calculated to instruct,
rather than merely to amuse, have been interspersed, to render the
book more attractive and useful to pupils. The work, in addition to
being stereotyped, has been kept as much as possible free from subjects
liable to changes, in order that it may be a _permanent Geography_,
which may hereafter be used without the inconvenience of variations in
different reprints.
THE INDUCTIVE SYSTEM has deservedly become the most popular method
of imparting instruction to the youthful mind, and may be used with
as much advantage in the study of Geography as of any other science.
To compile treatises of Geography on this plan, with the necessary
arrangement of the maps adapted to every place, would multiply them
indefinitely. The Inductive System, however, can be used with advantage
in the study of this book by pursuing the following course. Let the
Instructer describe to the pupils the town in which they reside, and
require them to become familiar with its boundaries, rivers, ponds,
hills, &c. After this is accomplished, the map of the State should be
laid before them, and the situation of the town should be pointed out,
and they should be told what a State is, and what towns are nearest
them, &c. This plan can be carried to any extent the instructer may
think necessary to enable his pupils to acquire a correct knowledge of
their own State; and, if necessary, he should write for them additional
questions of a local nature, beside those contained in the work. If the
town be not on the map, it should be inserted with a pen on all the
maps used in the class. After the pupils shall have acquired a correct
idea of their own State, they may be taught respecting the adjoining
States, countries, &c. and the plan may be pursued as successfully as
if they possessed an Atlas with maps arranged in particular reference
to their own place of residence.
BOSTON, JUNE 17, 1833.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1832, by LINCOLN AND
EDMANDS, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
RECOMMENDATIONS TO THE
BOSTON SCHOOL ATLAS.
_From R. G. Parker, Author of “Progressive Exercises in English
Composition,” and other popular works._
I have examined a copy of the Boston School Atlas, and have no
hesitation in recommending it as the best introduction to the study of
Geography that I have seen. The compiler has displayed much judgment
in what he has _omitted_, as well as what he has selected; and has
thereby presented to the public a neat manual of the elements of the
science, unencumbered with useless matter and uninteresting detail. The
mechanical execution of the work is neat and creditable, and I doubt
not that its merits will shortly introduce it to general use.
Respectfully yours,
R. G. PARKER.
_From E. Bailey, Principal of the Young Ladies’ High School, Boston._
I was so well pleased with the plan and execution of the Boston School
Atlas, that I introduced it into my school, soon after the first
edition was published. I regard it as the best work for beginners in
the study of Geography which has yet fallen under my observation; as
such I would recommend it to the notice of parents and teachers.
Very respectfully,
E. BAILEY.
_From the Preceptors of Leicester Academy._
Among the great variety of school-books which have recently been
published, few are in our opinion more valuable than the Boston School
Atlas. As an introduction to the study of Geography, it is preferable
to any work of the kind with which we are acquainted.
JOHN RICHARDSON,
ALBERT SPOONER.
_From the Principal of New Ipswich (N. H.) Academy._
I have with much pleasure examined the copy of the Boston School Atlas,
which you politely sent to me. I think it admirably well calculated
to excite in the young mind a love of the study of Geography, and to
convey correct ideas of the rudiments of that science. I shall be happy
to recommend it wherever I have opportunity. It is, in my opinion, the
very thing that is needed in our primary schools.
Respectfully yours,
ROBERT A. COFFIN.
_From Mr. Emerson, formerly a Teacher in Boston._
I have examined the Boston School Atlas, and I assure you, I am highly
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[Illustration]
[Illustration: GOING TO THE MIDSUMMER BALL.]
THE
FAIRY NIGHTCAPS.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
THE FIVE NIGHTCAP BOOKS, "AUNT FANNY'S STORIES,"
ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON & COMPANY,
443 & 445 BROADWAY.
LONDON: 16 LITTLE BRITAIN.
1861.
ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
FANNY BARROW,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
TO MASSA CHARLES,
WHOSE MOST LOVABLE QUALITIES WERE BUT FAINTLY
PORTRAYED IN THE
FIRST NIGHTCAP BOOK,
THIS
THE SIXTH AND LAST OF THE SERIES,
IS AFFECTIONATELY
Dedicated.
PREFACE TO THE CHILDREN.
DEAR CHILDREN,
Here is the last Nightcap book, making six in all. The story of "The
Three Little Fishes" was taken (but very much altered) from a clever
book for grown folks, written, I believe, nearly two hundred years
ago; but all the rest is true, "real true."
I have written them out with my heart full of love and good wishes
for you, and _you_, and YOU; and my only desire in return is,
that down in a cosy corner of your dear little hearts, you will keep warm,
one kind thought of your loving
AUNT FANNY.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE FAIRIES' LIFE; WITH AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT THEY DID IN THE
BEAUTIFUL HOLLOW, 9
THE CHILDREN'S LIFE; WITH THEIR JOURNEY TO WEST POINT, 37
THE FAIRIES' LIFE; WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE MIDSUMMER BALL, 77
THE CHILDREN'S LIFE; WITH AN ACCOUNT OF IDLEWILD, THE STAG DANCE,
THE BATTLE OF THE FAIRIES, &c., 145
THE DEATH OF CHARLEY, 209
FAIRY NIGHTCAPS.
THE FAIRIES' LIFE.
In the deep shadow of the Highlands, at the foot of the old Crow Nest
Mountain, is a wild and beautiful hollow, closed around on every side
by tall trees, interlaced together by the clasping tendrils of the
honeysuckle, and the giant arms of luxuriant wild grape-vines.
The mossy edge of this magic circle is thickly embroidered with
violets, harebells, perfumed clover-blossoms, and delicate, feathery
ferns. A little brook, overhung with grasses and whispering leaves,
dances and dimples in the bright sunlight and soft moonbeams, and then
trips away, to offer the wild-rose leaves that have fallen upon his
bosom to his beloved tributary lord, the great Hudson River.
Not a bat dare spread his unclean leathern wings across this charmed
place, and the very owls that wink and blink in the hollow trees near
by keep their unmusical "hoot toot" to themselves.
In the short young velvety grass, a starry daisy, or a sly little
cowslip, peeps up here and there, but nothing else disturbs the
lawn-like smoothness, save a tiny mound of green moss near the centre
of the hollow, shaped marvellously like a throne.
It was the night of the eighteenth of June; and evidently there was
something of importance about to happen in the beautiful hollow, for
presently a train of glow-worms came marching gravely in, and arranged
themselves in a circle around the mossy throne; while thousands of
fire-flies flashed and twinkled through the trees. The soft,
coquetting wind wandered caressingly among the flowers, and the
moonbeams rested with a sweeter, tenderer light, upon the little brook
which murmured and rippled, and gave back many a glancing, loving
beam.
Suddenly a silvery tinkling bell was heard, like music at a distance.
Twelve times it sounded; and immediately after an invisible chorus of
sweet tiny voices were heard singing:
"Hasten, Elfin! hasten, Fay!
From old Crow Nest wing your way;
Through the bush and dewy brake,
Fairies, hasten, for the sake
Of a mortal, whose pure breath
Soon will fade, and sink in death:
We for him sweet dreams will find,
We will fill with balm the wind;
Watch his young life glide away,
Deck with beauty its decay--
Till the closing earthly strife,
Opens into heavenly life."
Instantly the air seemed filled with streams of light like falling
stars; the booming sound of humble-bees was heard, as fairy knights
and ladies came hastening to the call through the moon-lit air; the
knights pricking their chargers with their wasp-sting spurs, and the
ladies urging theirs quite as fast with their sweet, coaxing voices.
The grave, elderly fairies, came more soberly. They crept out from
under the velvet mullen leaves, and gravely mounted their palfreys,
which were small field mice, and held them well in, with corn-silk
bridles; for elderly fairies are inclined to be gouty, and don't like
to do any thing in a hurry; like other people, they are apt to go too
fast when they are young--and to balance the matter, are very slow
coaches when they are old.
Several ancient ladies, who had been napping in a secluded nook at the
root of an old tree, waited for their nutshells and four to be brought
up; and as the coach-horses were represented by hairy, white
caterpillars--who were so short-legged, that they took the longest
possible time to get over the ground--and as the ancient fairies had
much ado to fold their wings, and arrange their crinoline in their
carriages, you may be sure they were very fashionably late.
And now a strain of delicious music filled the air, the glow-worms
lighted up brilliantly, and the dew grew heavy with fragrance, as the
Fairy Queen, with a bright train of attendants, floated past in dark
green phaetons, made of the leaves of the camelia, and drawn by
magnificently painted butterflies, harnessed and caparisoned with
gold.
The dignity and queenly presence of her Majesty would have rendered
her conspicuous above the rest, even if her tiny golden crown and
sceptre, tipped with a diamond that blazed like a meteor, had not
indicated that she was a monarch; and the acclamations that rose on
all sides attested the attachment her subjects felt for her person.
She was indeed most lovely; and kind and generous beyond words to
describe; and she had called her court together this very night to do
that which makes both fairies and mortals lovelier and better, with
every new effort. Do you know what it is? It is, _trying to add to the
happiness of another_.
And now the Queen and her maids of honor gracefully alighted with the
eagerly proffered assistance of the fashionable young fairy dandies;
and the court gathered respectfully around, as the beautiful Queen
seated herself on her throne, and gently waved her sceptre to command
attention.
"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen," said her Majesty, in a voice of
perfect music, "I have called you together three nights before our
opening midsummer festival, because I know by my fairy power, that a
mortal--a gentle, lovely boy--will arrive here to-morrow, across
whose young life the harsh wings of pain and affliction have passed.
For a month or more he has so drooped and faded, that I fear, before
long, his pure life will be ended. His mother watches over him with
the undying, untiring love, which only a mother knows. We can help
her, my beloved subjects, and we will; we can steal the venom from his
painful sleep, by giving him fairy dreams; and on our gala nights we
will gently lift him from his couch, and bring him here. His sweet
presence will cast no shadow on our festivities, so pure and lovely
have been all the thoughts, words, and actions of his short life."
A murmur of pleasure rose from the assembled court, and the good and
beautiful Queen saw with delight, that her proposal had given pleasure
to all her subjects, with one exception; and he was her very honest,
but still more disagreeable prime minister, who, being a sour,
meddlesome old bachelor, hated children. His temper was not
particularly sweet just then, because he was making wry faces over an
attack of the gout in his great toe, from indulging too freely in
May-dew wine, and eating too often of roasted tiger-lily, which is a
very highly seasoned dish, and difficult to digest, unless you take
immediately after eating, half a dozen lady-slipper pills, which my
lord the prime minister never would take, on account of the name--for
of course, if he hated children he hated the ladies also--and as I
was saying, he felt very cross, and inclined to find fault with any
thing anybody else proposed; so making as low a bow as his stiff back
would permit, he began, with an abominable nasal twang: "May it please
your Majesty, who is this child you deign to favor so highly?"
"He is called Lame Charley!" graciously answered the Queen. "He is the
darling of all who know him."
"Are there any other children in the family, my liege?" snarled the
prime minister.
"About three dozen, more or less," answered the Queen, f | 2,342.507779 |
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Transcriber's Note:
Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.
The upside-down asterisms are denoted by *.*
The list of the corrected items is at the end of this e-book.
=Edgar Fawcett's Novels.=
_Mr. Fawcett is a novelist who does a service that greatly needs to be
done,--a novelist who writes of the life with which he is closely
acquainted, and who manfully emphasizes his respect for his native land,
and his contempt for the weakness and affectation of those who are
ashamed of their country._--New York Evening Post.
_A | 2,342.798695 |
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UP IN MAINE
Stories of Yankee Life Told in Verse
By Holman F. Day
With an Introduction by C. E. Littlefield
Boston: Small, Maynard & Company
1900
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0010]
[Illustration: 0013]
TO MY FRIEND
AND FELLOW IN THE CRAFT OF LETTERS
WINFIELD M. THOMPSON
TO WHOM I AM INDEBTED
FOR MORE THAN ONE OF THE STORIES
TOLD HEREIN
THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED
PREFACE
I don’t know how to weave a roundelay,
I couldn’t voice a sighing song of love;
No mellow lyre that on which I play;
I plunk a strident lute without a glove.
The rhythm that is running through my stuff
Is not the whisp of maiden’s trailing gown;
The metre, maybe, gallops rather rough,
Like river-drivers storming down to town.
--It’s more than likely something from the
wood,
Where chocking axes scare the deer and
moose;
A homely rhyme, and easy understood
--An echo from the weird domain of Spruce.
Or else it’s just some Yankee notion, dressed
In rough-and-ready “Uncle Dudley” phrase;
Some honest thought we common folks suggest,
--Some tricksy mem’ry-flash from boyhood’s
days.
I cannot polish off this stilted rhyme
With all these homely notions in my brain.
A sonnet, sir, would stick me every time;
Let’s have a chat ’bout common things in
Maine.
Holman F. Day.
|A_BOUT three thousand years ago the “Preacher” declared that “of
making many books there is no end.” This sublimely pessimistic truism
deserves to be considered in connection with the time when it was
written; otherwise it might accomplish results not intended by its
author.
It must be remembered that in the “Preacher’s” time books were
altogether in writing. It should also be borne in mind that if the
handwriting which we have in these days, speaking of the period prior to
the advent of the female typewriter, is to be accepted as any criterion,
--and inasmuch as all concede that history repeats itself, that may
well be assumed,--is easy to understand how, by reason of its
illegibility, he was also led to declare that “much study is a weariness
of the flesh.” It is quite obvious that this was the moving cause of his
delightfully doleful utterance as to books. Had he lived in this year
nineteen hundred, at either the closing of the nineteenth or the dawning
of the twentieth century,--as to whether it is closing or dawning I
make no assertion,--he might well have made same criticism, but from an
optimistic standpoint.
A competent litterateur informs me that there are now extant
3,725,423,201 books; that in America and England alone during the last
year 12,888 books entered upon a precarious existence, with the faint
though unexpressed hope of surviving “life’s fitful fever!” If the
conditions of the “Preacher’s” time obtained to-day, the vocabulary of
pessimism would be inadequate for the expression of similar views.
A careful examination by the writer, of all these well-nigh innumerable
monuments of learning, discloses the fact that the work now being
introduced to what I trust may be an equally innumerable army of readers
has no parallel in literature. If justification were needed, that fact
alone justifies its existence. This fact, however, is not necessary, as
the all-sufficient fact which warrants the collection of these unique
sketches in book form is that no one can read them without being
interested, entertained, and amused, as well as instructed and improved.
“The stubborn strength of Plymouth Rock” is nowhere better exemplified
than on the Maine farm, in the Maine woods, on the Maine coast, or in
the Maine workshop. From them, the author of “Up in Maine” has drawn his
inspiration. Rugged independence, singleness of purpose, unswerving
integrity, philosophy adequate for all occasions, the great realities
of life, and a cheerful disregard of conventionalities, are here found
in all their native strength and vigor. These peculiarities as
delineated may be rough, perhaps uncouth, but they are characteristic,
picturesque, engaging, and lifelike. His subjects are rough diamonds.
They have the inherent qualities from which great characters are
developed, and out of which heroes are made.
Through every chink and crevice of these rugged portrayals glitters the
sheen of pure gold, gold of standard weight and fineness, “gold tried in
the fire.” Finally it should be said that this is what is now known as a
book with a purpose, and that purpose, as the author confidentially
informs me, is to sell as many copies as possible, which he confidently
expects to do. To this most worthy end I trust I may have, in a small
degree, contributed by this introduction._
C. LITTLEFIELD.
Washington, D.C., March 17,1900.
‘ROUND HOME
AUNT SHAW’S PET JUG
Now there was Uncle Elnathan Shaw,
--Most regular man you ever saw!
Just half-past four in the afternoon
He’d start and whistle that old jig tune,
Take the big blue jug from the but’ry shelf
And trot down cellar, to draw himself
Old cider enough to last him through
The winter ev’nin’. Two quarts would do.
--Just as regular as half-past four
Come round, he’d tackle that cellar door,
As he had for thutty years or more.
And as regular, too, as he took that jug
Aunt Shaw would yap through her old
mug,
“Now, Nathan, for goodness’ sake take care
You allus trip on the second stair;
It seems as though you were just possessed
To break that jug. It’s the very best
There is in town and you know it, too,
And ’twas left to me by my great-aunt Sue.
For goodness’ sake, why don’t yer lug
A tin dish down, for ye’ll break that jug?”
Allus the same, suh, for thirty years,
Allus the same old twits and jeers
Slammed for the nineteenth thousand time
And still we wonder, my friend, at crime.
But Nathan took it meek’s a pup
And the worst he said was “Please shut up.”
You know what the Good Book says befell
The pitcher that went to the old-time well;
Wal, whether ’twas that or his time had come,
Or his stiff old limbs got weak and numb
Or whether his nerves at last giv’ in
To Aunt Shaw’s everlasting chin--
One day he slipped on that second stair,
Whirled round and grabbed at the empty air.
And clean to the foot of them stairs, ker-smack,
He bumped on the bulge of his humped old back
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A Synopsis of the American Bats
of the Genus Pipistrellus
BY
E. RAYMOND HALL and WALTER W. DALQUEST
University of Kansas Publications
Museum of Natural History
Volume 1, No. 26, pp. 591-602, 1 figure in text
January 20, 1950
University of Kansas
LAWRENCE
1950
UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS PUBLICATIONS, MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY
Editors: E. Raymond Hall, Chairman, Edward H. Taylor,
A. Byron Leonard, Robert W. Wilson
Volume 1, No. 26, pp. 591-602, 1 figure in text
January 20, 1950
UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS
Lawrence, Kansas
PRINTED BY
FERD VOILAND, JR., STATE PRINTER
TOPEKA, KANSAS
1950
[Illustration: Union Label]
23-1546
A Synopsis of the American Bats
of the Genus Pipistrellus
By
E. RAYMOND HALL AND WALTER W. DALQUEST
Four nominal species of the genus _Pipistrellus_ are currently
recognized in North America. They are _Pipistrellus subflavus_
(F. Cuvier) of eastern North America, _Pipistrellus hesperus_ (H. Allen)
of western North America, _Pipistrellus veracrucis_ (Ward) from
Veracruz, Mexico, and _Pipistrellus cinnamomeus_ Miller from Tabasco,
Mexico.
In the past three years, specimens have been obtained in Veracruz (by
Dalquest) of each of the southern species. One of these, _P.
cinnamomeus_, previously was known from a single specimen; the other,
_P. veracrucis_, was known only from six specimens which now are lost
or misplaced. The results of our study of these recently acquired
Mexican specimens constitute our principal contribution in this paper;
we have done little more with the material from the United States and
Canada than to codify the findings of other mammalogists with respect
to the systematic status and geographic distribution.
Study of the available specimens reveals that there are only two
species, _Pipistrellus hesperus_ and _Pipistrellus subflavus_;
_Pipistrellus veracrucis_ proves to be only a subspecies (geographic
race) of _P. subflavus_, and _Pipistrellus cinnamomeus_ proves to be a
species of another genus, _Myotis_ (see Hall and Dalquest, page 583 of
this volume).
Genus +Pipistrellus+ Kaup
1829. _Pipistrellus_ Kaup, Skizzirte Entw.-Gesch. u. natuerl. Syst.
europ. Thierw., Vol. 1, p. 98, Type, _Vespertilio pipistrellus_
Schreber (not seen by us, after Miller, N. Amer. Fauna, 13:87,
1897).
_Range in the New World._--In North America from southern Canada to
Honduras (47 degrees to 5 degrees North Latitude) and from the
Atlantic to the Pacific; not recorded from the West Indies or South
America.
_Characters._--Size small; tail approximately as long as outstretched
leg; ears well developed with prominent tragus; dental formula: i.2/3;
c.1/1; p.2/2; m.3/3; two upper incisors subequal and outer one lacking
a concavity on surface facing canine; dentition otherwise essentially
as in _Myotis_ Kaup except that third premolar is always, instead of
rarely, absent.
_Remarks._--There are two species in North America. Their geographic
ranges, as now known, meet, but do not overlap. Certain differences
between the two species are listed in the | 2,342.98696 |
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Produced by David Widger
RED HEAD AND WHISTLE BREECHES
By Ellis Parker Butler
It is believed that this little story by a master story teller, may,
through its human interest and homely suggestion, exert a wholesome
influence and warrant its publication in permanent form.
The Publishers.
With Illustrations By Arthur D. Puller
The Bancroft Company Publishers New York
1915
[Illustration: Frontispiece]
RED HEAD AND WHISTLE BREECHES
I.
When Tim Murphy let his enthusiasm get the better of his judgment and,
in the excitement of that disastrous night, joined the front rank of the
strikers in a general mix-up and cracked the head of a deputy
sheriff, the result was what he might have expected--two years in the
penitentiary. That was all right. The peace of the commonwealth must
be preserved, and that is why laws and penitentiaries exist, but it
sometimes goes hard with the mothers and wives. That is also to be
expected, and the boy should have thought of it before he crowded to the
front of the angry mob or struck the deputy.
It went very hard with the boy's mother and wife. It went hard with
his old man, too. It is a cruel thing to have one's only boy in the
penitentiary, even if one is only a village hod carrier.
Maggie Murphy, the boy's wife, did not suffer for food or shelter after
the boy went to wear stripes, for old Mike had a handy little roll in
the bank and a shanty of his own, and he took Maggie into his home and
made a daughter of her; but the girl grew thin and had no spirits. She
cried a good part of the time, quite as if Tim had been a law abiding
citizen, instead of a law breaking rowdy. Then the baby came, and after
that she cried more than ever.
As for the boy's mother, it was to be expected that she would weep also.
Mothers have a way of weeping over the son they love, even if he has
gone wrong. It is not logical, but it is a fact. It is one of the grand
facts of human life.
When Maggie's baby came the boy's mother could stand it no longer. It
had been urged--and there was some evidence to support it--that the boy
had acted in self-defense. He said so himself, but he admitted he had
been in the front rank. The strikers had carried things with a high hand
all along, and the jury had decided against him.
Night and day the boy's mother begged the old man to try for a pardon,
but Mike knew it was not worth a trial. The Governor was an old man and
a strong man, and not one to forgive an injury done to the State or to
himself. He had never been known to forget a wrong, or to leave a debt
unpaid.
He was a just man, as the ancient Jews were just. It was this that had
made him Governor; his righteousness and fearlessness were greater than
cliques and bosses.
Old Mrs. Murphy, however, was only a woman, and the boy was her boy,
and she pardoned him. She knew he was innocent, for he was her boy. Mike
refused a thousand times to ask the Governor for a pardon, but as
Mrs. Murphy was the boy's mother and had a valiant tongue, the old man
changed his mind. One day he put on his old silk hat, and with Father
Maurice, the good gray priest, went up to the capital.
A strange pair they were to sit in the Governor's richly furnished
reception room--Mike with his smoothly shaven face, red as the sunset,
his snowy eye brows, his white flecked red hair, and the shiny black of
his baggy Sunday suit; Father Maurice with his long gray beard that
had been his before the days of the smoothly shaven priests, his kindly
eyes, and the jolly rotundity of his well fed stomach. The father's
gentle heart was hopeful, but Mike sat sadly with his eyes on the toe
of his boot, for he knew the errand was folly; not alone because the
Governor had never pardoned a condemned man, but because it was he, Mike
Murphy, who came.
He remembered an incident of his boyhood, and he frowned as he recalled
it. Think of it! He, Mike Murphy, had bullied the Governor--had drubbed
him and chased him and worried the life out of him. That was why he had
told the old woman it was no use to try it.
Who was he to come asking pardons when, years ago, he had done his best
to make life miserable for the quaking schoolboy who was now the stern
faced Governor--the Governor who never forgot or forgave, or left a debt
unpaid?
II.
When the Governor entered the reception room he came in unexpectedly, as
Father Maurice was leaning forward with one of Mike's red hands clasped
in his two white ones. Mike was wiping his eyes with his coat sleeve.
The Governor paused in the doorway and coughed. His visitors started in
surprise, and then arose.
It was Father Maurice who stated their errand, his seamed face turned
upward to the serious eyes of the Governor; and as he proceeded,
choosing his quaint Frenchified English carefully, the Governor's face
became grave. He motioned them to their chairs.
He was a gray haired man, and his face was the face of a nobleman.
Clear, gray eyes were set deep under his brows, and his mouth was a
straight line of uncompromising honesty. He sat with one knee thrown
over the other. With one hand he fingered a pen on the desk at his side;
the other he ran again and again through the hair that stood in masses
on his head. His face was long, and the cheekbones protruded. His nose
was power, and his chin was resistance.
He listened silently until Father
Maurice had ended. Then he laid the pen carefully by the inkstand,
unfolded his gaunt limbs, and arose.
"No," he said slowly. "I cannot interfere."
"But his wife? His mother?" asked the priest.
"He should have considered them before," said the Governor sadly. "If
you prepare a petition, I will consider it, but I cannot offer you
any hope. They all come to me with the same plea--the wife and the
mother--but they do not take the wife and the mother into account when
the blow is struck. It is late to think of them when the prison door is
closed. You will pardon me, father, but I am very tired to-night."
He extended his hand, in token that the interview was at an end, and
Mike arose from his chair in the shadow. He stood awkwardly turning
his hat while the Governor shook the priest's hand, and then shuffled
forward to be dismissed.
"Good night, sir," said the Governor. "I did not hear your name--"
"Murphy," said the priest quickly--"Michael Murphy. He is the father of
the boy."
The Governor looked the old man over carefully, and the old man's eyes
fell under his keen glances.
"Mike Murphy?" asked the Governor slowly. "Are you the Mike Murphy
who used to go to old No. 3 school in Harmontown, forty--no, nearly
fifty--years ago? There was a Mike Murphy sat on my bench. Are you the
boy they called Red Head?"
The old man tried to answer. His lips formed the words, but his voice
did not come. He nodded his head.
"Be seated, gentlemen," said the Governor, and Father Maurice sat down
hopefully. Mike Murphy dropped into a chair with deeper dejection.
[Illustration: 23]
"Well, well!" The Governor nodded his head slowly, his gray eyes
searching the ruddy face before him. "So you are the Mike Murphy who
used to drub me?"
He smiled grimly. His eyes strayed from the old man's face, and their
glance was lost in the air above his head. He smiled again, as he sat
with the fingers of his left hand pressing the thin skin into a roll
above his cheek bone, for he recalled an incident of his boyhood.
The Governor had once been an arrant little coward. His mother lived in
the big white house two blocks above the schoolhouse, on the opposite
side of the street. Red Head Mike lived across the alley in a shanty.
The Governor's mother bought milk of Mrs. Murphy, and Red Head brought
it every evening.
Red Head was a wonderful boy. He was the first to go barefoot in the
spring, picking his way with painful carefulness over the clods in
the street. He was the only boy who chewed tobacco. The others chewed
licorice or purple thistle tops, but Red Head had the real thing. He
even smoked a real pipe without dire consequences, and laughed at the
other boys' mild substitutes of corn silk and "lady cigars"; and the
way he swore was a liberal education. All the boys swore more or less,
especially when they were behind the barn smoking com silk, but they
knew it was not natural It was a puny imitation, but the Red Head
article sounded right.
But it was when it came to fighting that Red Head had proved his right
to the worship of the world. He could lick any two boys in the school.
The Governor, who was plain Willie Gary then, could not fight at all.
His early youth was one great fear of being whipped. The smallest boys
in the school were accustomed to practice on him until they gained
sufficient dexterity or courage to attack one another. He had a hundred
opprobrious nicknames, which he accepted meekly. "Cry-baby" was the
favorite. When he was attacked he hid his face in his arm and bawled,
leaning his arm against any convenient fence or tree, while his
tormentor drubbed his back at pleasure. He was happy when he could sneak
home unmolested. The chiefest of his tormentors was Red Head, but there
was no partiality. All the boys drubbed him.
One day Mrs. Gary made him a pair of breeches. They were good, stout
breeches of dove colored corduroy, and his mother was proud of them.
So was Willie. As he walked to school he felt that every one saw and
admired them He felt as conspicuous as when, in a dream, he went to
school in his night dress, but he felt more comfortable.
[Illustration: 26]
He took his seat in the school room proudly, and when he was called to
the blackboard to do a sum he walked with a strut. He felt that even
the big boys--the wonderful youths who had money to jingle in their
pockets--observed him, and he blushed as he imagined the eyes of the
little women on the girls' side of the room following him.
As he crossed the floor, the legs of his breeches rubbed against each
other, giving forth the crisp corduroy sound of "Whist--whist--whist."
It could be heard in the farthest corner. All the scholars looked up from
their slates or books. He caught Bessie Clayton's eye upon him, and his
cheek flamed. She had blue eyes and yellow curls, and snubbed him daily.
Even the teacher glanced at his new breeches. Willie paused in his sum
and looked at them with satisfaction himself. Then he walked back to his
bench, and the corduroy spoke again--"Whist--whist--whist." It was as
musical as the clumping of a new pair of red topped boots.
As he slid into his place on his bench, Red Head turned his face and
made a mouth.
"Don't you think you're smart, Whistle Breeches?" he whispered.
"Whist--whist," said the breeches in reply, as Willie moved, and every
eye in the school seemed to gaze on him, not enviously as before, but
sneeringly. Who'd want whistle breeches?
[Illustration: 31]
When the recess bell rang, Willie walked to the playground with short
steps, but still the corduroy whistled. Two boys behind him laughed,
and Willie burned with shame. They must be laughing at his new breeches.
Bessie Clayton passed him, and he stood motionless, crowded against the
wall, until she was out of hearing.
He paused in the doorway timidly. Red Head was standing just outside,
one shoulder turned toward Freckles Redmond. It was the signal for a
fight, and the small boys were crowded about them.
"Aw, you're one yourself," Red Head was saying, "an' you dassan't say
it agin. I dare you to say it," he cried, but he caught sight of Willie.
"Huh!" he shouted. "Look here, fellers! Here's Whistle Breeches. Let's
spit on 'em!"
The boys crowded into the entry and spat on them. Red Head pulled
Willie's hair twice, drawing his head forward as he would pull a bell
rope.
"Don't he think he's smart?" "Wouldn't have 'em!" "Whistle Breeches!
Whistle Breeches!" they shouted in derision, and Willie whimpered and
edged into a corner.
"Don't you do that," he said in a choking voice. "I'll tell teacher, I
will!"
Red Head stuck his freckled face close and shoved him with a warlike
shoulder. His fists were doubled, and he jabbed Willie with his elbow.
"Aw, you tell him, then, why don't you, Whistle Breeches?" he inquired.
"Jist you tell him, an' I'll punch your face off."
He drew his arm back and feinted, Willie crooked his elbow to hide his
face.
"Aw, come on, fellers," said Red Head with deep disgust. "What's the
use of foolin' with him? He ain't nothin' but a cry-baby in whistle
breeches. He ain't no fun."
III.
That noon Willie remained in the schoolroom until the boys had gone.
Some went home for dinner, and the rest ate their lunches under the oak
tree at the side of the school. When the room was clear, Willie stole
out by the back way and ran rapidly up the alley. He knew he was branded
for life; The shame of the name of Whistle Breeches bore him down. He
meditated wild plans for getting rid of the offending garment. He would
burn it, lose it in the river.
He even considered running away from home | 2,342.988879 |
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Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, AUGUST 20, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVI.--NO. 825. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
BRADDY'S BROTHER.
BY JULIANA CONOVER.
[Illustration: Decorative I]
t was the ending of the ninth inning; the score stood 8 to 7 in
Princeton's favor, but Harvard had only one man out, and the bases were
full.
Was it any wonder that the Freshmen couldn't keep | 2,343.084413 |
2023-11-16 18:56:07.0644630 | 765 | 9 |
Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
THE LEAGUE OF THE LEOPARD
HAROLD BINDLOSS
[Illustration: "AT DAWN THEY WERE STILL RIDING"--_Page 230_]
THE LEAGUE OF THE LEOPARD
BY HAROLD BINDLOSS
AUTHOR OF "PRESCOTT OF SASKATCHEWAN," "THE LONG
PORTAGE," "RANCHING FOR SYLVIA," ETC.
WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR
BY CARLTON GLIDDEN
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_June, 1914_
CONTENTS
Chap. Page
I. A DANGEROUS BEQUEST 1
II. AN UNDERSTANDING 15
III. AT THE ELBOW POOL 30
IV. THE POACHER 43
V. THE TRYST AT HALLOWS BRIG 56
VI. DANE'S SILENCE 71
VII. A WARNING 85
VIII. TREACHERY 96
IX. TEMPTATION 110
X. RIDEAU'S BARGAIN 125
XI. THE TRAIL OF THE LEOPARD 137
XII. WEALTH IN SIGHT 149
XIII. PESTILENCE 163
XIV. AN EVENTFUL DECISION 177
XV. THE BOARDING OF THE KABUNDA 189
XVI. ILLUMINATION 202
XVII. IN NEED OF HELP 214
XVIII. MAXWELL'S CONFIDENCE 227
XIX. THE DANGEROUS SENORITA 240
XX. MAXWELL'S LAST MARCH 251
XXI. RELIEF 262
XXII. ON TO THE COAST 274
XXIII. AN EYE FOR AN EYE 285
XXIV. THE ESCAPE 297
XXV. THE HEART OF BONITA CASTRO 311
XXVI. REWARDED 320
THE LEAGUE OF THE LEOPARD
CHAPTER I
A DANGEROUS BEQUEST
It was very hot in the little West African factory where trader Niven
lay dying. The sea breeze had died away, and though sunset drew near, it
was not yet time for the spicy airs from the inland forest to mitigate
the temperature. The dust lay still in the sun-scorched compound, about
which the palm fronds hung motionless, and only the roar of breakers on
the beach broke through the drowsy silence.
Two white men lounged in cane chairs upon the veranda which encircled
the building. Both were limp, gaunt of frame, and pallid in face,
because the climate they lived in is particularly unhealthy. Neither had
enjoyed much education, or felt the lack of it in the trade they
followed, while the cocktail jug on the little table betokened their
favorite relaxation. Redmond and Gilby were West Coast traders who lived
far remote from intercourse | 2,343.084503 |
2023-11-16 18:56:07.0665550 | 2,890 | 38 |
Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Sue Fleming and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
MARGARET CAPEL.
A NOVEL.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE."
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1846.
LONDON:
Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
MARGARET CAPEL.
CHAPTER I.
For not to think of what I need's must feel,
But to be still and patient all I can,
And haply, by abstruse research, to steal
From my own nature all the natural man:
This was my sole resource, my only plan.
COLERIDGE.
And time, that mirrors on its stream aye flowing
Hope's starry beam, despondency's dark shade;
Green early leaves, flowers in warm sunshine blowing,
Boughs by sharp winter's breath all leafless made.
ANON.
Margaret remained for more than a year in the most perfect retirement.
The solitude of Ashdale was nothing to that of Mrs. Fitzpatrick's
cottage. This tranquillity was well adapted to her state of feeling:
she never experienced a wish to interrupt it. She was sincerely attached
to her hostess. Although reserved, Mrs. Fitzpatrick was even-tempered;
and she became very fond of Margaret, whose society filled up such a
painful blank in her home. Both had suffered much, though neither ever
alluded to her sufferings: and sorrow is always a bond of union. When
first she came to Mrs. Fitzpatrick's, her health was so delicate, that
the poor lady feared she was to go through a second ordeal, similar to
the one she had lately submitted to with her own child. Margaret had a
terrible cough and frequent pain in the side, and whenever Mrs.
Fitzpatrick saw her pause on her way down stairs with her hand pressed
on her heart, or heard the well-known and distressing sound of the
cough, the memory of her daughter was almost too painfully renewed. But
Mr. Lindsay pronounced the cough to be nervous, and the pain in the side
nothing of any consequence; and though winter was stealing on, his
opinion was borne out by Margaret's rapid amendment.
Circumstances had long taught Margaret to suffer in silence: she found
then no difficulty in assuming a composure of manner that she did not
always feel; and soon the healing effects of repose and time were
visible in her demeanour. The loss of her uncle was become a softened
grief--for her other sorrow, she never named it even to herself. Yet
still if any accident suggested to her heart the name of Mr. Haveloc, it
would be followed by a sudden shock, as though a dagger had been plunged
into it. She could not bear to think of him, and it was a comfort to be
in a place where she was never likely to hear him named.
And in the beautiful country, among those fading woods, on that
irregular and romantic shore, was to be found the surest antidote for
all that she had endured--for all she might still suffer. In the soft,
yet boisterous autumn wind--in the swell of the mighty waves--in the
fresh breath, ever wafted over their foam, there was health for the
body, there was peace to the mind. The scenery was so delightful that
she was never tired of rambling--and so secluded, that there was no harm
in rambling alone. And though a beauty, and by no means a portionless
one, she found means to pass her time without an adventure, unless the
vague admiration entertained for her by a young coxcomb who was reading
for college with the clergyman, might deserve that name.
This youth, not being very skilful in shooting the sea-gulls, had
nothing on earth to do except to make love to the first pretty woman he
might encounter. He had literally no choice; for Margaret was the only
young lady in the parish. She was waylaid, stared at--was molested in
church by nosegays laid on the desk of her pew, and annoyed at home by
verses that came in with the breakfast things. She was reduced to walk
out only with Mrs. Fitzpatrick; she was debarred from sitting on the
beach--gathering nuts in the woods--even from wandering in the garden,
unless she could submit to be stared at from the other side of the
hedge. Trained, as she was, in the school of adversity, (a capital
school, by the way, to make people indifferent to minor evils), she
could not help crying with vexation when the butler coolly brought her
up the fiftieth copy of wretched verses, setting forth her charms and
her cruelty in no measured terms.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick had smiled to see the contempt with which Margaret
brushed down the first bouquet among the hassocks, and left the second
unnoticed upon the desk; even the sweet scent of the Russian violets had
not softened her resolution, and the verses wrapped round their stems
became the property of the beadle. But Mrs. Fitzpatrick, really sorry
for the annoyance of her young charge, spoke confidently to the good Mr.
Fletcher; and she had the pleasure to assure Margaret that the Hon. Mr.
Florestan was going away at Christmas. Still she had felt some surprise
and more curiosity at the conduct of so very young a girl, under such
circumstances--there had appeared no vanity, no agitation, none of the
natural emotion resulting from the novelty of inspiring a passion.
Mr. Florestan was a boy of good family; some people would have called
him a man, for he was seventeen and a half; he wrote rhymes and bought
hot-house flowers; so many girls would have been delighted at his
homage. Margaret seemed merely bored: she cried, as she said, from
absolute weariness of him and his scented paper; from the perpetual
chafing of a small annoyance. His love was too contemptible to cause a
stronger feeling; for herself she had never looked at him, and did not
know whether he was tall or short. Once or twice when Mrs. Fitzpatrick
had called to her, 'Look, Margaret, there goes your devoted swain!' she
had been so long in putting down her work, and coming to the window,
that he had turned the rocks, or the corner of the road, and the
opportunity was lost. And he actually left the place, without her ever
having seen more of him than a green coat and brass buttons, with which
he was wont to enliven their parish church every Sunday, and which being
on an exact level with her eye, she could not without affectation avoid.
Such entire indifference to a conquest, Mrs. Fitzpatrick could not
understand, and she told Margaret with a smile, that some day she would
be more indulgent to the feelings of a lover than she seemed at present.
The well-known sharp pain went through Margaret's heart as she spoke;
but she smiled too, and said she had a great respect for lovers, but she
saw no cause to enrol the Hon. Mr. Florestan in their ranks. And so the
subject dropped.
After this, many months passed in such stillness, that Margaret hardly
knew how they flew. Her only regular correspondent was Lady d'Eyncourt.
Her letters formed the one excitement of her life. It was so delightful
to trace her from place to place; to hear the little anecdotes of her
travels--even the name of Captain Gage, mentioned casually, brought back
vividly to her remembrance, the many happy days she had passed at Chirke
Weston. And in the few allusions to her husband that her letters
contained, it was evident that the devotion she felt for him before
marriage, had increased, and was still gathering strength in a degree
that it was perilous to indulge. She said, herself, that the unclouded
sunshine of her life could hardly last. To say that she adored Sir
Philip, was no figure of speech in her case. The more intimately she
became acquainted with his character, the more she found to love and to
respect. He had no _little_ faults. The reserve which repelled others,
vanished entirely with her; and the most exacting of an exacting sex,
must have been content with the measure of his fondness. She was not so
much his first, as his only object. Captain Gage often said that they
were made for each other, and neither party seemed inclined to dispute
the opinion. At last, the storm came. After an unusual silence on the
part of Elizabeth, Margaret received a letter--a few lines from Captain
Gage, announcing the terrible news of Sir Philip's death. He had been
carried off in a few weeks by a fever, at Marseilles. Elizabeth was
expecting to become a mother; and the next hurried intelligence from her
father announced the disappointment of her hopes,--and spoke of his
intention of taking her on to Italy as soon as her health would permit.
These few lines had been sent to her at the desire of Elizabeth, and she
could not but feel them a proof of her unaltered friendship.
Margaret felt, after this shock, as young people cumbered with much
feeling are apt to do, when they see and hear around them so much of
sorrow and alarm. Every thing seemed insecure; she could picture no
happiness sufficiently stable to be worth desiring; she looked round to
see what new misfortune threatened herself; she was possessed with a
feeling of vague apprehension. But her religious impressions, always
sincere, and now deepened by the experience of sorrow, enabled her in
time to combat this feeling of undue depression.
Always gentle, she became more grave than was common at her years; more
than would have been graceful in so young a person, had it not been
tempered by the remarkable sweetness of her disposition. She found too
the benefit of constant occupation. She learned that nothing so
effectually dispels regret.
Her improvement in every branch of knowledge was great enough to content
even herself; and in music, her favourite recreation, Mrs. Fitzpatrick
often told her that she could at any time have gained her living by her
proficiency.
The next event of her tranquil life was the receipt of a box of
bride-cake, and a letter from Harriet Conway. This was in the month of
November; just three months after the death of Sir Philip.
The letter, which was written in a good bold hand, ran as follows:----
"Ma mie,
"Do not take it into your head that this is a piece of my
bride-cake. Somewhere in the box you will find the cards--Lord and
Lady Raymond. I wonder if you recollect who I am. Also, I wonder if
you are as pretty as you were two years ago? To be sure you think I
might have asked the question a little earlier. But we returned from
Germany only a short time before Lucy's marriage.
"I am now at Singleton Manor, and desire you, on the receipt of
this, to set off directly, and join me there. I have your promise,
and, therefore, you cannot very well be off paying the visit. So
come instantly; I cannot endure to wait for anything; and stay as
long as ever I please.
So say Uncle and Aunt Singleton, besides the veritable mistress of
the mansion,"
"HARRIET CONWAY."
Margaret at last found the cards Harriet mentioned under a quantity of
bon-bons. She rather wondered that her friend was still Harriet Conway;
but she was glad that this singular young lady still bore her in mind.
She showed the letter to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and obtained her ready
consent to the visit. There was no objection to Margaret travelling with
Mason; a steady creature, who had been so long with her, and who could
pay the post-boys as well as a manservant.
Mason was in ecstacies. Of course she understood paying the post-boys.
She would have undertaken to pay the National Debt, if that could have
delivered her from the hated seclusion of the cottage. She confessed to
Miss Capel, in confidence, that it had really fretted her to see Miss
Capel growing handsomer every day, and not a soul coming, or likely to
come, to this wilderness of a place, since poor Mr. Florestan. She
confessed she should like to see Miss Capel have her due; and now that
she had her health again, she thought it was high time to get out of
this dungeon and mix in the world; and for that purpose, she supposed
Miss Capel would choose to have a new bonnet, and a new silk walking
dress, and a few evening dresses, and more things than she could
recollect at once; but she could sit down and make a list of them.
Marg | 2,343.086595 |
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Julia Kavanagh (1824-1877), _Daisy Burns_ (1853), volume 1, Tauchnitz
edition
Produced by Daniel FROMONT
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS.
VOL. CCLXIII.
DAISY BURNS BY JULIA KAVANAGH.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
TAUCHNITZ EDITION
By the same Author,
NATHALIE 2 vols.
GRACE LEE 2 vols.
RACHEL GRAY 1 vol.
ADELE 2 vols.
A SUMMER AND WINTER IN THE TWO SICILES 2 vols.
SEVEN YEARS AND OTHER TALES 2 vols.
FRENCH WOMEN OF LETTERS 1 vol.
ENGLISH WOMEN OF LETTERS 1 vol.
QUEEN MAB 2 vols.
BEATRICE 2 vols.
SYBIL'S SECOND LOVE
DORA 2 vols.
SILVIA 2 vols.
BESSIE 2 vols.
JOHN DORRIEN 2 vols.
DAISY BURNS;
A TALE
BY
JULIA KAVANAGH,
AUTHOR OF "NATHALIE."
_COPYRIGHT EDITION_.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARDT TAUCHNITZ
1853.
JULIA KAVANAGH
DAISY BURNS.
CHAPTER I.
As I sat alone this evening beneath the porch, the autumn wind rose and
passed amongst the garden trees, then died away in the distance with a
low murmuring. A strange thrill ran through me; the present with its
aspects vanished; I saw no more the narrow though dearly loved limits
which bound my home; the little garden, so calm and grey in the dewy
twilight, was a wide and heaving sea; the low rustling of the leaves
seemed the sound of the receding tide; the dim horizon became a circular
line of light dividing wastes of waters from the solemn depths of vast
skies, and I, no longer a woman sitting in my home within reach of a
great city, but an idle, dreaming child, lay in the grassy nook at the
end of our garden, whence I watched the ships on their distant path, or
sent a wandering glance along the winding beach of sand and rock below.
A moment effaced years, and my childhood, with its home, its joys, and
its sorrows, passed before me like a thing of yesterday.
Rock Cottage, as my father had called it, rose on a lonely cliff that
looked forth to the sea. It was but a plain abode, with whitewashed
walls, green shutters, and low roof, standing in the centre of a wild and
neglected garden, overlooked by no other dwelling, and apparently far
removed from every habitation. In front, a road, coming down from the low
hills of Ryde, wound away to Leigh; behind, at the foot of a cliff,
stretched the sea. The people of Leigh wondered "how Doctor Burns could
live in a place so bleak and so lonely," and they knew not that to him
its charms lay in that very solitude with its boundless horizon; in the
murmurs of the wind that ever swept around his dwelling; in the aspect of
that sublime sea which daily spread beneath his view, serene or terrible,
but ever beautiful.
This was not however the sole recommendation of Rock Cottage; it stood
conveniently between the two villages of Ryde and Leigh, of which my
father was the only physician. There was indeed a surgeon at Ryde, but he
never passed the threshold of the aristocratic mansions to which Doctor
Burns was frequently summoned, and whence he derived the larger portion
of his income. That income, never very considerable, proved however
sufficient to the few wants of the lonely home where my father, a
widower, lived with me, his only child.
Of my mother I had no remembrance; my father seldom mentioned her name;
but there was a small miniature of her over our parlour mantle-piece, and
often in the evening, sitting by our quiet fireside, he would look long
and earnestly on the mild and somewhat mournful face before him, then
give me a silent caress, as I sat on my stool at his knee, watching him
with the ever-attentive look of childhood.
I was sickly and delicate, and he indulged me to excess. "Study," he
said, "would only injure me, for I was a great deal too clever and
precocious for a child;" so he taught me himself the little I knew, and
put off from month to month his long contemplated and still cherished
project of sending me to some first-rate school. I believe that in his
heart he felt loath to part from me, and was secretly glad to find some
excuse that should keep me at home. He never left me in the morning
without a caress, and often, when he returned late from visiting some
distant patient, his first impulse, as well as his first act, was to
enter my room and kiss me softly as I slept. I loved him passionately and
exclusively, and years have not effaced either his memory or his aspect
from my heart. I remember him still, a man of thirty-five or so, tall,
pale, and gentlemanly, with wavy hair of a deep golden brown, and dark
grey eyes of singular light and beauty. How he seemed to others I know
not: to me he was all that was good and great.
I felt happy to live thus alone with him; I never wished for the
companionship of other children; I asked not to move beyond the limits of
our home. Silence, repose, and solitude, things so antipathetic to
childhood, were the chief pleasures of mine; partly on account of my bad
health, and partly, too, because I had inherited from my father a jealous
sort of exclusiveness and reserve, by no means held to be the general
characteristic of his countrymen.
My happiest moments were those spent in that grassy nook at the end of
our garden, to which I have already alluded. A group of dark pine-trees,
growing on the very edge of the cliff, sheltered it from the strength of
the breeze; close by began a steep path, winding away to the shore, and
to which a wooden gate, never locked, gave access. But more blest than
ever was Eve in her garden,--for in mine grew no forbidden fruit,--I
could spend there an entire day, and forget that only this easy barrier
stood between me and liberty. My father, seeing how much I liked this
spot, had caused a low wooden bench to be placed for me beneath the pine-
trees. In the fine weather my delight was to lie there, and to read and
dream away whole hours, or to gaze on the clear prospect of the beach
below, and, beyond it, on that solemn vastness of sea and sky which, in
its sublimity and infinitude, so far surpasses the sights of earth.
It was thus, I remember, that I spent one mild and hazy autumn afternoon,
reading, for the twentieth time, the touching story of Pracovia
Loupouloff--not the Elizabeth of Madame C | 2,343.088888 |
2023-11-16 18:56:07.1635160 | 952 | 14 |
Produced by Keith G. Richardson - from file kindly hosted
at www.archive.org
SOWING AND REAPING
BY
D. L. MOODY.
_'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.'_
Gal. vi: 7.
Chicago: New York: Toronto
Fleming H. Revell Company
Publishers of Evangelical Literature
_Copyright 1896 by_
_Fleming H. Revell Company._
CONTENTS
Chap.
I. Sowing and Reaping
II. Be Not Deceived: God Is Not Mocked
III. When a Man Sows, He Expects to Reap
IV. A Man Reaps the Same Kind as He Sows
V. A Man Reaps More than He Sows
VI. Ignorance of the Seed Makes No Difference
VII. Forgiveness and Retribution
VIII. Warning
SOWING AND REAPING
SOWING AND REAPING.
CHAPTER I.
"Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth,
that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of
the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of
the Spirit reap life everlasting." Galatians vi: 7, 8.
I think this passage contains truths that no infidel or sceptic will
dare to deny. There are some passages in the Word of God that need
no other proof than that which we can easily find in our daily
experience. This is one of them. If the Bible were to be blotted out
of existence, the words I have quoted would be abundantly verified
by what is constantly happening around us. We have only to take up
the daily papers to see them being fulfilled before our eyes.
I remember giving out this text once when a man stood right up in
the audience and said:
"I don't believe it."
I said, "My friend, that doesn't change the fact. Truth is truth
whether you believe it or not, and a lie is a lie whether you
believe it or not."
He didn't want to believe it. When the meeting broke up, an officer
was at the door to arrest him. He was tried and sent to the
penitentiary for twelve months for stealing. I really believe that
when he got into his cell, he believed that he had to reap what he
sowed.
We might as well try to blot the sun out of the heavens as to blot
this truth out of the Word of God. It is heaven's eternal decree.
The law has been enforced for six thousand years. Did not God make
Adam reap even before he left Eden? Had not Cain to reap outside of
Eden? A king on the throne, like David, or a priest behind the
altar, like Eli; priest and prophet, preacher and hearer, every man
must reap what he sows. I believed it ten years ago, but I believe
it a hundred times more to-day.
My text applies to the individual, whether he be saint or sinner or
hypocrite who thinks he is a saint; it applies to the family; it
applies to society; it applies to nations. I say the law that the
result of actions must be reaped is _as true for nations as for
individuals;_ indeed, some one has said that as nations have no
future existence, the present world is the only place to punish them
as nations. See how God has dealt with them. See if they have not
reaped what they sowed. Take Amalek: "Remember what Amalek did unto
thee by the way, when ye were come forth out of Egypt; how he met
thee, by the way, and smote the hindmost of thee, even all that were
feeble behind thee, when thou wast faint and weary; and he feared
not God." What was to be the result of this attack? Was it to go
unpunished? God ordained that Amalek should reap as they sowed, and
the nation was all but wiped out of existence under King Saul.
What has become of the monarchies and empires of the world? What
brought ruin on Babylon? Her king and people would not obey God, and
ruin came upon them. What has become of Greece and all her power?
She once ruled the world. What has become of Rome and all her
greatness? | 2,343.183556 |
2023-11-16 18:56:07.1679260 | 162 | 14 |
Produced by Paul Haxo from page images graciously made
available by the Internet Archive and the University of
California.
SINGLE LIFE;
A COMEDY,
In Three Acts,
BY
JOHN BALDWIN BUCKSTONE, ESQ.,
(MEMBER OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS' SOCIETY,)
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, HAY-MARKET.
CORRECTLY PRINTED FROM THE PROMPTER'S COPY, WITH THE
CAST OF CHARACTERS, COSTUME, SCENIC ARRANGEMENT,
SIDES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE
POSITIONS OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED WITH AN ETCHING,
BY | 2,343.187966 |
2023-11-16 18:56:07.2605770 | 3,230 | 10 |
Produced by Larry B. Harrison, MFR 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 typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and
punctuation remains unchanged.
Marsena
and Other Stories of the Wartime
Marsena
and Other Stories of the Wartime
BY
HAROLD FREDERIC
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1894
Copyright, 1894, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK
TO MY FRIEND
EDMUND JUDSON MOFFAT
CONTENTS
PAGE
_Marsena_, 1
_The War Widow_, 97
_The Eve of the Fourth_, 149
_My Aunt Susan_, 185
Marsena
MARSENA
I.
Marsena Pulford, what time the village of Octavius knew him, was a
slender and tall man, apparently skirting upon the thirties, with
sloping shoulders and a romantic aspect.
It was not alone his flowing black hair, and his broad shirt-collars
turned down after the ascertained manner of the British poets, which
stamped him in our humble minds as a living brother to "The Corsair,"
"The Last of the Suliotes," and other heroic personages engraved in the
albums and keepsakes of the period. His face, with its darkling eyes
and distinguished features, conveyed wherever it went an impression
of proudly silent melancholy. In those days—that is, just before the
war—one could not look so convincingly and uniformly sad as Marsena
did without raising the general presumption of having been crossed in
love. We had a respectful feeling, in his case, that the lady ought to
have been named Iñez, or at the very least Oriana.
Although he went to the Presbyterian Church with entire regularity,
was never seen in public save in a long-tailed black coat, and in the
winter wore gloves instead of mittens, the local conscience had always,
I think, sundry reservations about the moral character of his past. It
would not have been reckoned against him, then, that he was obviously
poor. We had not learned in those primitive times to measure people by
dollar-mark standards. Under ordinary conditions, too, the fact that he
came from New England—had indeed lived in Boston—must have counted
rather in his favor than otherwise. But it was known that he had been
an artist, a professional painter of pictures and portraits, and we
understood in Octavius that this involved acquaintanceship, if not even
familiarity, with all sorts of occult and deleterious phases of city
life.
Our village held all vice, and especially the vice of other and larger
places, in stern reprobation. Yet, though it turned this matter of the
newcomer's previous occupation over a good deal in its mind, Marsena
carried himself with such a gentle picturesqueness of subdued sorrow
that these suspicions were disarmed, or, at the worst, only added
to the fascinated interest with which Octavius watched his spare and
solitary figure upon its streets, and noted the progress of his efforts
to find a footing for himself in its social economy.
It was taken for granted among us that he possessed a fine and
well-cultivated mind, to match that thoughtful countenance and that
dignified deportment. This assumption continued to hold its own in
the face of a long series of failures in the attempt to draw him out.
Almost everybody who was anybody at one time or another tried to
tap Marsena's mental reservoirs—and all in vain. Beyond the barest
commonplaces of civil conversation he could never be tempted. Once,
indeed, he had volunteered to the Rev. Mr. Bunce the statement that
he regarded Washington Allston as in several respects superior to
Copley; but as no one in Octavius knew who these men were, the remark
did not help us much. It was quoted frequently, however, as indicating
the lofty and recondite nature of the thoughts with which Mr. Pulford
occupied his intellect. As it became more apparent, too, that his
reserve must be the outgrowth of some crushing and incurable heart
grief, people grew to defer to it and to avoid vexing his silent moods
with talk.
Thus, when he had been a resident and neighbor for over two years,
though no one knew him at all well, the whole community regarded him
with kindly and even respectful emotions, and the girls in particular
felt that he was a distinct acquisition to the place.
I have said that Marsena Pulford was poor. Hardly anybody in Octavius
ever knew to what pathetic depths his poverty during the second winter
descended. There was a period of several months, in sober truth, during
which he fed himself upon six or seven cents a day. As he was too proud
to dream of asking credit at the grocer's and butcher's, and walked
about more primly erect than ever, meantime, in his frock-coat and
gloves, no idea of these privations got abroad. And at the end of this
long evil winter there came a remarkable spring, which altered in a
violent way the fortunes of millions of people—among them Marsena. We
have to do with events somewhat subsequent to that even, and with the
period of Mr. Pulford's prosperity.
The last discredited strips of snow up in the ravines on the hill-sides
were melting away; the robins had come again, and were bustling busily
across between the willows, already in the leaf, and the budded elms;
men were going about the village streets without their overcoats, and
boys were telling exciting tales about the suckers in the creek; our
old friend Homer Sage had returned from his winter's sojourn in the
county poorhouse at Thessaly, and could be seen daily sitting in the
sunshine on the broad stoop of the Excelsior Hotel. It was April of
1862.
A whole year had gone by since that sudden and memorable turn in
Marsena Pulford's luck. So far from there being signs now of a possible
adverse change, this new springtide brought such an increase of good
fortune, with its attendant responsibilities, that Marsena was unable
to bear the halcyon burden alone. He took in a partner to help him, and
then the firm jointly hired a boy. The partner painted a signboard to
mark this double event, in bold red letters of independent form upon a
yellow ground:
PULFORD & SHULL.
EMPIRE STATE PORTRAIT ATHENÆUM AND
STUDIO.
War Likenesses at Peace Prices.
Marsena discouraged the idea of hanging this out on the street; and, as
a compromise, it was finally placed at the end of the operating-room,
where for years thereafter it served for the sitters to stare at when
their skulls had been clasped in the iron head-rest and they had been
adjured to look pleasant. A more modest and conventional announcement
of the new firm's existence was put outside, and Octavius accepted it
as proof that the liberal arts were at last established within its
borders on a firm and lucrative basis.
The head of the firm was not much altered by this great wave of
prosperity. He had been drilled by adversity into such careful ways
with his wardrobe that he did not need to get any new clothes. Although
the villagers, always kindly, sought now with cordial effusiveness to
make him feel one of themselves, and although he accepted all their
invitations and showed himself at every public meeting in his capacity
as a representative and even prominent citizen, yet the heart of his
mystery remained unplucked. Marsena was too busy in these days to be
much upon the streets. When he did appear he still walked alone, slowly
and with an air of settled gloom. He saluted such passers-by as he knew
in stately silence. If they stopped him or joined him in his progress,
at the most he would talk sparingly of the weather and the roads.
Neither at the fortnightly sociables of the Ladies' Church Mite
Society, given in turn at the more important members' homes, nor in the
more casual social assemblages of the place, did Marsena ever unbend.
It was not that he held himself aloof, as some others did, from the
simple amusements of the evening. He never shrank from bearing his part
in "pillow," "clap in and clap out," "post-office," or in whatever
other game was to be played, and he went through the kissing penalties
and rewards involved without apparent aversion. It was also to be
noted, in fairness, that, if any one smiled at him full in the face,
he instantly smiled in response. But neither smile nor chaste salute
served to lift for even the fleeting instant that veil of reserve which
hung over him.
Those who thought that by having Marsena Pulford take their pictures
they would get on more intimate terms with him fell into grievous
error. He was more sententious and unapproachable in his studio, as he
called it, than anywhere else. In the old days, before the partnership,
when he did everything himself, his manner in the reception-room
downstairs, where he showed samples, gave the prices of frames, and
took orders, had no equal for formal frigidity—except his subsequent
demeanor in the operating-room upstairs. The girls used to declare
that they always emerged from the gallery with "cold shivers all over
them." This, however, did not deter them from going again, repeatedly,
after the outbreak of the war had started up the universal notion of
being photographed.
When the new partner came in, in this April of 1862, Marsena was able
to devote himself exclusively to the technical business of the camera
and the dark-room, on the second floor. He signalled this change by
wearing now every day an old russet- velveteen jacket, which
we had never seen before. This made him look even more romantically
melancholy and picturesque than ever, and revived something of the
fascinating curiosity as to his hidden past; but it did nothing toward
thawing the ice-bound shell which somehow came at every point between
him and the good-fellowship of the community.
The partnership was scarcely a week old when something happened.
The new partner, standing behind the little show-case in the
reception-room, transacted some preliminary business with two customers
who had come in. Then, while the sound of their ascending footsteps was
still to be heard on the stairs, he hastily left his post and entered
the little work-room at the back of the counter.
"You couldn't guess in a baker's dozen of tries who's gone upstairs,"
he said to the boy. Without waiting for even one effort, he added:
"It's the Parmalee girl, and Dwight Ransom's with her, and he's got a
Lootenant's uniform on, and they're goin' to be took together!"
"What of it?" asked the unimaginative boy. He was bending over a crock
of nitric acid, transferring from it one by one to a tub of water a
lot of spoiled glass plates. The sickening fumes from the jar, and the
sting of the acid on his cracked skin, still further diminished his
interest in contemporary sociology. "Well, what of it?" he repeated,
sulkily.
"Oh, I don't know," said the new partner, in a listless, disappointed
way. "It seemed kind o' curious, that's all. Holdin' her head up as
high in the air as she does, you wouldn't think she'd so much as look
at an ordinary fellow like Dwight Ransom."
"I suppose this is a free country," remarked the boy, rising to rest
his back.
"Oh, my, yes," returned the other; "if she's pleased, I'm quite
agreeable. And—I don't know, too—I dare say she's gettin' pretty well
along. May be she thinks they ain't any too much time to lose, and is
making a grab at what comes handiest. Still, I should 'a' thought she
could 'a' done better than Dwight. I worked with him for a spell once,
you know."
There seemed to be very few people with whom Newton Shull had not at
one time or another worked. Apparently there was no craft or calling
which he did not know something about. The old phrase, "Jack of all
trades," must surely have been coined in prophecy for him. He had
turned up in Octavius originally, some years before, as the general
manager of a "Whaler's Life on the Rolling Deep" show, which was
specially adapted for moral exhibitions in connection with church
fairs. Calamity, however, had long marked this enterprise for its
own, and at our village its career culminated under the auspices of
a sheriff's officer. The boat, the harpoons, the panorama sheet and
rollers, the whale's jaw, the music-box with its nautical tunes—these
were sold and dispersed. Newton Shull remained, and began work as a
mender of clocks. Incidentally, he cut out stencil-plates for farmers
to label their cheese-boxes with, and painted or gilded ornamental
designs on chair-backs through perforated paper patterns. For a time
he was a maker of children's sleds. In slack seasons he got jobs to
help the druggist, the tinsmith, the dentist, or the Town Clerk, and
was equally at home with each. He was one of the founders of the
Octavius Philharmonics, and offered to play any instrument they liked,
though his preference was for what he called the bull fiddle. He spoke
often of having travelled as a bandsman with a circus. We boys believed
that he was quite capable of riding a horse bareback as well.
When Marsena Pulford, then, decided that he must have some help, Newton
Shull was obviously the man. How the arrangement came to take the
form of a partnership was never explained, save on the conservative
village theory that Marsena must have reasoned that a partner would
be safer with the cash-box downstairs, while he was taking pictures
upstairs, than a mere hired man. More likely it grew out of their
temperamental affinity. Shull was also a man of grave and depressed
moods | 2,343.280617 |
2023-11-16 18:56:07.2656110 | 511 | 129 |
Produced by Rachael Schultz, Thierry Alberto, Melissa
McDaniel and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
The following inconsistencies were noted and retained:
fly-catcher and flycatcher
bottom lands and bottom-lands
Kestrel and Kestril
Chicasaw and Chickasaw
Redwings and Red-wings
Black-and-yellow Warbler and Black and Yellow Warbler
Chuckwill's Widow and Chuck-Will's Widow
Columbian Jay and Columbia Jay
Shawaney and Shawanee
Falco Haliaetos, Haliäetos, Haliaetus and Haliaëtus
Pont Chartrain and Pontchartrain
Genessee and Gennessee
Musquito and moschetto
Skuylkill and Schuylkil
The following are possible errors, but retained:
Massachusets
napsack
pease
pannel
scissars
"flat and juicy" should possibly be "fat and juicy"
"wet cloths" should possibly be "wet clothes"
Gelseminum should possibly be Gelsemium
Psittaccus should possibly be Psittacus
Gadwal Duck should possibly be Gadwall Duck
Anona should possibly be Annona
The plate number of the Adult Female Great Horned Owl should
possibly be LXI.
Several of the words in the sections in French are unaccented where
modern French uses accents. They have been left as printed.
ORNITHOLOGICAL BIOGRAPHY.
ORNITHOLOGICAL BIOGRAPHY,
OR AN ACCOUNT OF THE HABITS OF THE
BIRDS OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA;
ACCOMPANIED BY DESCRIPTIONS OF THE OBJECTS REPRESENTED
IN THE WORK ENTITLED
THE BIRDS OF AMERICA,
AND INTERSPERSED WITH DELINEATIONS OF AMERICAN
SCENERY AND MANNERS | 2,343.285651 |
2023-11-16 18:56:07.3632460 | 2,267 | 195 |
Produced by Stan Goodman, Turgut Dincer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's note: The source text contained inconsistencies in
spelling, punctuation, capitalization, and italicization; these
inconsistencies have been retained in this etext.]
Franco-Gallia:
OR, AN
ACCOUNT
OF THE
Ancient Free State
OF
_FRANCE_,
AND
Most other Parts of EUROPE,
before the Loss of their Liberties.
* * * * *
_Written Originally in Latin by the Famous Civilian_
FRANCIS HOTOMAN,
In the Year 1574.
_And Translated into_ English _by the Author of the_
Account of DENMARK.
* * * * *
The SECOND EDITION, with Additions, and
a _New Preface_ by the Translator.
* * * * *
LONDON:
Printed for Edward Valentine, at the Queen's Head
against St. Dunstan's Church, Fleetstreet, 1721.
Translated by
The Author of the _Account
of_ DENMARK.
The BOOKSELLER
TO THE
READER.
_The following Translation of the Famous_ Hotoman's Franco-Gallia _was
written in the Year 1705, and first publish'd in the Year 1711. The
Author was then at a great Distance from_ London, _and the Publisher of
his Work, for Reasons needless to repeat, did not think fit to print the
Prefatory Discourse sent along with the Original. But this Piece being
seasonable at all Times for the Perusal of_ Englishmen _and more
particularly at this Time, I wou'd no longer keep back from the Publick,
what I more than conjecture will be acceptable to all true Lovers of
their Country._
THE
TRANSLATOR's
PREFACE.
Many Books and Papers have been publish'd since the late _Revolution_,
tending to justify the Proceedings of the People of _England_ at that
happy juncture; by setting in a true Light our just Rights and
Liberties, together with the solid Foundations of our _Constitution:_
Which, in truth, is not ours only, but that of almost all _Europe_
besides; so wisely restor'd and establish'd (if not introduced) by the
_Goths_ and _Franks_, whose Descendants we are.
These Books have as constantly had some things, called _Answers_,
written to them, by Persons of different Sentiments; who certainly
either never seriously consider'd, that the were thereby endeavouring to
destroy their own Happiness, and overthrow her Majesty's Title to the
Crown: or (if they knew what they did) presumed upon the _Lenity_ of
that Government they decry'd; which (were there no better Reason) ought
to have recommended it to their Approbation, since it could patiently
bear with such, as were doing all they could to undermine it.
Not to mention the Railing, Virulency, or personal false Reflections in
many of those Answers, (which were always the Signs of a weak Cause, or
a feeble Champion) some of them asserted the _Divine Right_ of an
_Hereditary Monarch_, and the Impiety of _Resistance_ upon any Terms
whatever, notwithstanding any _Authorities_ to the contrary.
Others (and those the more judicious) deny'd positively, that sufficient
_Authorities_ could be produced to prove, that a _free People_ have a
_just Power_ to defend themselves, by opposing their _Prince_, who
endeavours to oppress and enslave them: And alledged, that whatever was
said or done tending that way, proceeded from a Spirit of _Rebellion_,
and _Antimonarchical Principles_.
To confute, or convince this last Sort of Arguers (the first not being
worthy to have Notice taken of them) I set about translating the
_Franco-Gallia_ of that most Learned and Judicious _Civilian_, _Francis
Hotoman_; a Grave, Sincere and Unexceptionable Author, even in the
Opinion of his Adversaries. This Book gives an Account of the Ancient
Free State of above Three Parts in Four of _Europe_; and has of a long
time appeared to me so convincing and instructive in those important
Points he handles, that I could not be idle whilst it remain'd unknown,
in a manner, to _Englishmen_: who, of all People living, have the
greatest Reason and Need to be thoroughly instructed in what it
contains; as having, on the one hand, the most to lose, and on the
other, the least Sense of their Right, to that, which hitherto they seem
(at least in a great measure) to have preserv'd.
It will be obvious to every Reader, that I have taken no great Pains to
write elegantly. What I endeavour at, is as plain a Stile as possible,
which on this Occasion I take to be the best: For since the Instruction
of Mankind ought to be the principal Drift of all Writers (of History
especially); whoever writes to the Capacity of most Readers, in my
Opinion most fully answers the End.
I am not ignorant, how tiresome and difficult a Piece of Work it is to
translate, nor how little valued in the World. My Experience has
convinced me, that 'tis more troublesome and teazing than to write and
invent at once. The Idiom of the Language out of which one translates,
runs so in the Head, that 'tis next to impossible not to fall frequently
into it. And the more bald and incorrect the Stile of the Original is,
the more shall that of the Translation be so too. Many of the Quotations
in this Book are drawn from Priests, Monks, Friars, and Civil Lawyers,
who minded more, in those barbarous Ages, the Substance than the Stile
of their Writings: And I hope those Considerations may atone for several
Faults, which might be found in my Share of this Work.
But I desire not to be misunderstood, as if (whilst I am craving Favour
for my self) I were making any Apology for such a Number of mercenary
Scribblers, Animadverters, and Translators, as pester us in this Age;
who generally spoil the good Books which fall into their Hands, and
hinder others from obliging the Publick, who otherwise would do it to
greater Advantage.
I take this Author to be one of those few, that has had the good Luck to
escape them; and I make use of this Occasion to declare, that the chief
Motive which induces me to send abroad this small Treatise, is a
sincere desire of instructing the only Possessors of true Liberty in the
World, what Right and Title that have to that Liberty; of what a great
Value it is; what Misery follows the Loss of it; how easily, if Care be
taken in time, it may be preserv'd: And if this either opens the Eyes,
or confirms the honourable Resolutions of any of my worthy Countrymen, I
have gained a glorious End; and done that in my Study, which I shou'd
have promoted any other way, had I been called to it. I hope to die with
the Comfort of believing, that _Old England_ will continue to be a free
Country, and _know_ itself to be _such_; that my Friends, Relations and
Children, with their Posterity, will inherit their Share of this
inestimable Blessing, and that I have contributed my Part to it.
But there is one very great Discouragement under which both I, and all
other Writers and Translators of Books tending to the acquiring or
preserving the publick Liberty, do lie; and that is, the heavy Calumny
thrown upon us, that we are all _Commonwealth's-Men_: Which (in the
ordinary Meaning of the Word) amounts to _Haters_ of _Kingly_
Government; now without broad, malicious Insinuations, that we are no
great Friends of the present.
Indeed were the _Laity_ of our Nation (as too many of our _Clergy_
unhappily are) to be guided by the Sense of one of our Universities,
solemnly and publickly declared by the burning of Twenty seven
Propositions (some of them deserving that Censure, but others being the
very Foundation of all our Civil Rights;) I, and many like me, would
appear to be very much in the wrong. But since the _Revolution_ in
Eighty-eight, that we stand upon another and a better Bottom, tho no
other than our own old one, 'tis time that our _Notions_ should be
suited to our _Constitution_. And truly, as Matters stand, I have often
wondred, either how so many of our Gentlemen, educated under such
Prejudices, shou'd retain any Sense at all of Liberty, for _the hardest
Lesson is to unlearn_; [Footnote: St. Chrysostom] or how an Education so
diametrically opposite to our Bill of Rights, shou'd be so long
encouraged.
Methinks a _Civil Test_ might be contrived, and prove very convenient to
distinguish those that own the _Revolution Principles_, from such as
Tooth and Nail oppose them; and at the same time do fatally propagate
Doctrines, which lay too heavy a Load upon _Christianity_ it self, and
make us prove our own Executioners.
The Names of _Whig_ and _Tory_ will, I am afraid, last as long among us,
as those of _Guelf_ and _Ghibelline_ did in _Italy_. I am sorry for it:
but to some they become necessary for Distinction Sake; not so much for
the Principles formerly adapted to each Name, as for particular and
worse Reasons. For there has been such chopping and changing both of
Names and Principles, that we scarce know who is who. I think it
therefore necessary, in order to appear in my own Colours, to make a
publick Profession of my _Political Faith_; not doubting but it may
agree in several Particulars with that of many worthy Persons, who are
as undes | 2,343.383286 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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THE LAND OF PROMISE
_By the same Author_
THE UNKNOWN
THE CIRCLE
THE EXPLORER
JACK STR | 2,343.38575 |
2023-11-16 18:56:07.5600760 | 990 | 12 | TERROR OF THE COAST***
E-text prepared by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 55374-h.htm or 55374-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55374/55374-h/55374-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55374/55374-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/FrankReadeweekl00SenaD
Transcriber’s note:
Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
Enclosed bold font in =equals=.
[Illustration: FRANK READE WEEKLY MAGAZINE Containing Stories of
Adventures on Land, Sea & in the Air]
_Issued Weekly—By Subscription $2.50 per year. Application made for
Second-Class Entry at N. Y. Post-Office._
No. 49. NEW YORK, OCTOBER 2, 1903. Price 5 Cents.
[Illustration: FRANK READE, JR FIGHTING THE TERROR OF THE COAST. By
“NONAME.”]
Over the schooner swept the Jove, and Frank got on the ladder with the
boy. Barney drove the machine over the water toward the shore. Many
bullets were shot at the inventor. They missed him, and he was carried
out of danger.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
FRANK READE
WEEKLY MAGAZINE.
CONTAINING STORIES OF ADVENTURES ON LAND, SEA AND IN THE AIR.
_Issued Weekly—By Subscription $2.50 per year. Application made for
Second Class entry at the New York, N. Y., Post Office Entered,
according to Act of Congress in the year 1903, in the office of the
Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. by Frank Tousey, 24 Union
Square, New York._
No. 49. NEW YORK, OCTOBER 2, 1903. Price 5 Cents.
Frank Reade, Jr., Fighting the Terror of the Coast.
By “NONAME.”
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. CHASING THE AIR-SHIP.
CHAPTER II. A DANGEROUS FALL.
CHAPTER III. OVERTURNED IN THE AIR.
CHAPTER IV. POMP’S ESCAPE.
CHAPTER V. THE TERROR OF THE COAST.
CHAPTER VI. SHOT BY A LAND BATTERY.
CHAPTER VII. STUCK IN THE MUD.
CHAPTER VIII. ATTACKING THE PIRATES’ LAIR.
CHAPTER IX. THE END OF ONE OF THE SHIPS.
CHAPTER X. THE PIRATES’ TREASURE.
CHAPTER XI. THE RESCUE.
CHAPTER XII. CONCLUSION.
CHAPTER I.
CHASING THE AIR-SHIP.
Toward the close of a cool, pleasant day in September, 18—, the
residents of the village of Readestown were startled by seeing a
horseman come dashing furiously into the town.
He was a middle-aged man, with dark, swarthy features, piercing black
eyes, a black mustache and dark hair. His slender figure was clad in the
costume of a native Mexican, and he rode like an expert.
The man bestrode a fine, swift bay mare, and as he went thundering
through the main street enveloped in a cloud of dust at the top of the
mare’s speed, he attracted considerable attention.
The horse finally paused before a palatial mansion, out of the gate of
which a beautiful young woman was coming, and the Mexican politely
raised his sombrero and asked in good English:
“Senora, can you direct me to the home of Frank Reade, Jr.?”
“This house is his residence,” replied the lady, curiously eyeing the
man.
“Ah! Thank you! Do you know if he is in?”
“He has gone away.”
“Gone!” gasped the man in startled tones.
“Half an hour ago.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I should know, as I am his wife.”
“But he will return soon?” eagerly asked the man.
“No; perhaps not for several weeks.”
“Dios mio! How unfortunate for me! The train I | 2,343.580116 |
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Produced by David Widger
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH
By Charles Dudley Warner
PREFACE
When I consented to prepare this volume for a series, which should
deal with the notables of American history with some familiarity and
disregard of historic gravity, I did not anticipate the seriousness of
the task. But investigation of the subject showed me that while Captain
John Smith would lend himself easily enough to the purely facetious
treatment, there were historic problems worthy of a different handling,
and that if the life of Smith was to be written, an effort should be
made to state the truth, and to disentangle the career of the adventurer
from the fables and misrepresentations that have clustered about it.
The extant biographies of Smith, and the portions of the history of
Virginia that relate to him, all follow his own narrative, and accept
his estimate of himself, and are little more than paraphrases of his
story as told by himself. But within the last twenty years some new
contemporary evidence has come to light, and special scholars have
expended much critical research upon different portions of his career.
The result of this modern investigation has been to discredit much of
the romance gathered about Smith and Pocahontas, and a good deal to
reduce his heroic proportions. A vague report of--these scholarly
studies has gone abroad, but no effort has been made to tell the real
story of Smith as a connected whole in the light of the new researches.
This volume is an effort to put in popular form the truth about Smith's
adventures, and to estimate his exploits and character. For this purpose
I have depended almost entirely upon original contemporary material,
illumined as it now is by the labors of special editors. I believe that
I have read everything that is attributed to his pen, and have compared
his own accounts with other contemporary narratives, and I think I have
omitted the perusal of little that could throw any light upon his
life or character. For the early part of his career--before he came to
Virginia--there is absolutely no authority except Smith himself; but
when he emerges from romance into history, he can be followed and
checked by contemporary evidence. If he was always and uniformly
untrustworthy it would be less perplexing to follow him, but his
liability to tell the truth when vanity or prejudice does not interfere
is annoying to the careful student.
As far as possible I have endeavored to let the actors in these pages
tell their own story, and I have quoted freely from Capt. Smith himself,
because it is as a writer that he is to be judged no less than as an
actor. His development of the Pocahontas legend has been carefully
traced, and all the known facts about that Indian--or Indese, as some
of the old chroniclers call the female North Americans--have been
consecutively set forth in separate chapters. The book is not a history
of early Virginia, nor of the times of Smith, but merely a study of his
life and writings. If my estimate of the character of Smith is not that
which his biographers have entertained, and differs from his own candid
opinion, I can only plead that contemporary evidence and a collation of
his own stories show that he was mistaken. I am not aware that there has
been before any systematic effort to collate his different accounts
of his exploits. If he had ever undertaken the task, he might have
disturbed that serene opinion of himself which marks him as a man who
realized his own ideals.
The works used in this study are, first, the writings of Smith, which
are as follows:
"A True Relation," etc., London, 1608.
"A Map of Virginia, Description and Appendix," Oxford, 1612.
"A Description of New England," etc., London, 1616.
"New England's Trials," etc., London, 1620. Second edition, enlarged,
1622.
"The Generall Historie," etc., London, 1624. Reissued, with date of
title-page altered, in 1626, 1627, and twice in 1632.
"An Accidence: or, The Pathway to Experience," etc., London, 1626.
"A Sea Grammar," etc., London, 1627. Also editions in 1653 and 1699.
"The True Travels," etc., London, 1630.
"Advertisements for the Unexperienced Planters of New England," etc.,
London, 1631.
Other authorities are:
"The Historie of Travaile into Virginia," etc., by William Strachey,
Secretary of the colony 1609 to 1612. First printed for the Hakluyt
Society, London, 1849.
"Newport's Relatyon," 1607. Am. Ant. Soc., Vol. 4.
"Wingfield's Discourse," etc., 1607. Am. Ant. Soc., Vol. 4.
"Purchas his Pilgrimage," London, 1613.
"Purchas his Pilgrimes," London, 1625-6.
"Ralph Hamor's True Discourse," etc., London, 1615.
"Relation of Virginia," by Henry Spelman, 1609. First printed by J. F.
Hunnewell, London, 1872.
"History of the Virginia Company in London," by Edward D. Neill, Albany,
1869.
"William Stith's History of Virginia," 1753, has been consulted for the
charters and letters-patent. The Pocahontas discussion has been followed
in many magazine papers. I am greatly indebted to the scholarly labors
of Charles Deane, LL.D., the accomplished editor of the "True Relation,"
and other Virginia monographs. I wish also to acknowledge the courtesy
of the librarians of the Astor, the Lenox, the New York Historical,
Yale, and Cornell libraries, and of Dr. J. Hammond Trumbull, the
custodian of the Brinley collection, and the kindness of Mr. S. L. M.
Barlow of New York, who is ever ready to give students access to his
rich "Americana."
C. D. W. HARTFORD, June, 1881
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH
I. BIRTH AND TRAINING
Fortunate is the hero who links his name romantically with that of a
woman. A tender interest in his fame is assured. Still more fortunate
is he if he is able to record his own achievements and give to them
that form and color and importance which they assume in his own gallant
consciousness. Captain John Smith, the first of an honored name, had
this double good fortune.
We are indebted to him for the glowing picture of a knight-errant of the
sixteenth century, moving with the port of a swash-buckler across the
field of vision, wherever cities were to be taken and heads cracked in
Europe, Asia, and Africa, and, in the language of one of his laureates--
"To see bright honor sparkled all in gore."
But we are specially his debtor for adventures on our own continent,
narrated with naivete and vigor by a pen as direct and clear-cutting as
the sword with which he shaved off the heads of the Turks, and for one
of the few romances that illumine our early history.
Captain John Smith understood his good fortune in being the recorder of
his own deeds, and he preceded Lord Beaconsfield (in "Endymion") in his
appreciation of the value of the influence of women upon the career of a
hero. In the dedication of his "General Historie" to Frances, Duchess of
Richmond, he says:
"I have deeply hazarded myself in doing and suffering, and why should I
sticke to hazard my reputation in recording? He that acteth two parts is
the more borne withall if he come short, or fayle in one of them. Where
shall we looke to finde a Julius Caesar whose atchievments shine as
cleare in his owne Commentaries, as they did in the field? I confesse,
my hand though able to wield a weapon among the Barbarous, yet well may
tremble in handling a Pen among so many judicious; especially when I am
so bold as to call so piercing and so glorious an Eye, as your Grace,
to view these poore ragged lines. Yet my comfort is that heretofore
honorable and vertuous Ladies, and comparable but amongst themselves,
have offered me rescue and protection in my greatest dangers: even in
forraine parts, I have felt reliefe from that sex. The beauteous Lady
Tragabigzanda, when I was a slave to the Turks, did all she could to
secure me. When I overcame the Bashaw of Nalbrits in Tartaria, the
charitable Lady Callamata supplyed my necessities. In the utmost of
my extremities, that blessed Pokahontas, the great King's daughter of
Virginia, oft saved my life. When I escaped the cruelties of Pirats
and most furious stormes, a long time alone in a small Boat at Sea, and
driven ashore in France, the good Lady Chanoyes bountiful | 2,343.580312 |
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THE FLAG
By
HOMER GREENE
Author of
"The Unhallowed Harvest,"
"Pickett's Gap," "The Blind Brother," etc.
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1917
George W. Jacobs & Company_
_All rights reserved
Printed in U. S. A._
[Illustration: He Glared Defiantly About Him]
List of Illustrations
He Glared Defiantly About Him _Frontispiece_
Aleck Turned it Upside Down and Rightside Up,
But Failed to Find the Place _Facing p. 54_
Into the Face of Death He Led the Remnant of
His Brave Platoon " 274
The French Hospital's Greeting to the
American Colonel " 316
THE FLAG
CHAPTER I
Snow everywhere; freshly fallen, white and beautiful. It lay unsullied
on the village roofs, and, trampled but not yet soiled, in the village
streets. The spruce trees on the lawn at Bannerhall were weighted with
it, and on the lawn itself it rested, like an ermine blanket, soft and
satisfying. Down the steps of the porch that stretched across the
front of the mansion, a boy ran, whistling, to the street.
He was slender and wiry, agile and sure-footed. He had barely reached
the gate when the front door of the square, stately old brick house
was opened and a woman came out on the porch and called to him.
"Pen!"
"Yes, Aunt Millicent." He turned to listen to her.
"Pen, don't forget that your grandfather's going to New York on the
five-ten train, and that you are to be at the station to see him off."
"I won't forget, auntie."
"And then come straight home."
"Straight as a string, Aunt Milly."
"All right! Good-by!"
"Good-by!"
He passed through the gate, and down the street toward the center of
the village. It was the noon recess and he was on his way back to
school where he must report at one-fifteen sharp. He had an abundance
of time, however, and he stopped in front of the post-office to talk
with another boy about the coasting on Drake's Hill. It was while he
was standing there that some one called to him from the street. | 2,343.58421 |
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Internet Archive)
The Raven
and
The Philosophy of Composition
[Illustration]
[Illustration:
_Copyright 1906 by The Harwell-Evans Co._
_Lenore_
]
[Illustration]
The Raven
and
The Philosophy of Composition
By
Edgar Allan Poe
Quarto Photogravure Edition
Illustrated from Paintings by Galen J. Perrett
The Decorations by Will Jenkins
[Illustration]
Paul Elder and Company
San Francisco and New | 2,343.856988 |
2023-11-16 18:56:07.8715910 | 3,231 | 9 |
credit
Transcribed from the 1870 G. J. Palmer edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
IN OMNIBUS GLORIFICETUR DEUS.
--_Regula_, _S. Benedicti_, _Cap. lvij_.
[Picture: Decorative graphic of cross]
THE HOLY ISLE;
A Legend of Bardsey Abbey.
By IGNATIUS, O.S.B.
_Dedicated_, _without permission_, _to Lord Newborough_, _and to the_
_Rev. Hugh Roberts_, _Vicar of Aberdaron_, _Carnarvonshire_.
* * * * *
LONDON:
G. J. PALMER, 32, LITTLE QUEEN STREET,
LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS.
1870.
[Picture: Decorative graphic of cross]
THE HOLY ISLE.
A Legend of Bardsey Abbey.
I WATCHED the sea waves ebbing,
Beneath the crimson glow,
Which sunset light was pouring,
Upon their soft, sweet flow.
The wavelets looked liked dancers,
Upon the sun-lit sea,
They sung in whispering chorus,--
I thought they sung to me
Of fair and far off landscapes
Beyond that molten tide,
Of better joys, and gladness
Beyond those waters wide.
The wavelets all seemed passing
On, to some other strands,
And following the sun's-glow,
To ever sun-lit lands.
But as I thought these fancies,
Again I raised mine eyes
And saw the sunset tinting
The glorious western skies.
Now'mid the farewell glories
"Of Sol's departing ray,"
I saw an Island resting
Upon his golden way.
There, misty mid the Sunshine,
The far off Isle appears,
Right out among the sea waves
Its rocky coast uprears.
And as I gaze, the sunset
Seems lighting up its shore,
Bathing the isle in glory
And then is seen no more.
Sweet, soothing calm fell o'er me
I watched the Islet still,
All round me heard I voices
Which seemed the air to fill.
Said one, "That Isle is holy,
For Saints are sleeping there,
Now lonely and deserted,
T'was once an Isle of prayer."
"O Man! say would'st thou tremble,
To come away and see,
In vision, strange, sweet pictures
Which I can shew to thee?"
The Angel was so lovely,
So sweet the Angel's smile,
I easily consented,--
He pointed to the Isle!
"Then will I bear thee thither,
One thousand years ago;--
I speak to aid thy weakness,
No _time_ can Angels know.
The present, past, and future,
All one they are to me,
I pass along their boundaries,
Unlimited, and free."
A strange, calm change stole o'er me,
My spirit seemed to rise
In gentle, tireless motion,
Just as the sea-bird flies.
My Angel-guide was leading
My spirit o'er the sea
One moment--and we rested,
Upon the Islet's lea.
Soft gloaming filled the air,
Deep peace lay all around,
Hushed voices seemed to whisper,
A wavelike, murmuring sound.
"Sweet Angel, say, where am I,--
Say me the Island's name,
And tell me why such glory,
Enwraps it as a flame?
Say, too, what is that chanting,
So sweet, so very near,
The strangeness of this beauty
It fills my soul with fear?"
"This Holy Place is Bardsey,
Jesus, He loves it well,
'Tis wrapped in God's own brightness,
Safe from the power of Hell.
Those voices are the Virgins,
In yonder Abbey Choir,
Praises to Jesus singing,
Of which they never tire.
Hush! mid the shades of evening,
How restfully they sing,
Their Vesper praise-wreaths bringing
To Jesus Christ their King.
'Mid lights of sunset glowing,
St. Mary's Abbey stands;
But see! t'is wrapped in glories,
From far off better Lands."
I looked again, and started,
For lo! another scene.
The Convent is surrounded
With Heaven's own brightest sheen.
And choirs of Angels hover
High in the sunset air,
While th' holy monks are chanting
Their peaceful, evening prayer.
The Monastery is glowing,
Like heaps of molten gold;
The walls seem all transparent,
With majesty untold.
T'is strange; my spirit enters
St Mary's Sacred Shrine,
I see the cowled figures,
In many a white rob'd line, {6}
Filling the stalls, but facing
The hallow'd Altar Throne,
Where Jesus makes His dwelling,
Untended and alone.
O peaceful, happy Bardsey,
Sweet Islet of the Sea!
I would for ever rest me,
All joyfully in thee!
O dear St. Marys Abbey,
On Bardsey's northern shore;
Would I could bide within thee,
And part from thee no more!
O happy Monks and Virgins,
Singing by night and day,
Your hymnals to Sweet Jesus,
In dearest, fondest lay!
How can I speak your glory,
How can I tell your worth?
Ye are the Church's safeguard;
Ye are the "Salt of earth."
Ye live the life of Angels;
Ye never cease from praise,
To Heaven your intercedings
For sinners ceaseless raise.
Ah! well may throngs of sinners
Seek this most Sacred Isle,
Well may ten thousand pilgrims
Visit St. Mary's pile.
Well may'st thou, Aberdaron, {8}
Loving to Bardsey be,
And daily turn thy glances
To the Islet out at sea.
For Bardsey is the lighthouse
Of many a shipwrecked soul;
To many a way-worn wanderer
Is Bardsey's Isle the goal.
The glow of Bardsey's brightness,
Illumes wild Cambria's shores,
Across the Irish Channel,
Her Heavenly light she pours.
And blessed saints in thousands
Have dwelt on Bardsey's hill,
Sending her countless Virgins
Celestial choirs to fill.
How Jesus must love Bardsey,
And prize her sacred soil;
Here Saints in countless numbers
Have rested from earth's toil:
Have laid aside the burden
Of poor mortality,
And entered on the Sabbath
Of glad eternity.
While thus I dream, the Organ
Is pealing forth its wave,
The Holy Monks are marching
All slowly down the Nave.
"Dear Angel! may I follow
Them, down the Cloister still,
And join their recreation,
On yonder mossy hill?"
The Angel smiled permission;
I willed myself along,
Until unseen, I joined me
To th' happy, Virgin throng.
Here, there were boys most lovely;
And there, old hoary men;
And youths, and those of mid-age;
Here joyous boys again.
I followed one young novice,
Who held an old man's hand;
I listened,--they were speaking,
Of some dear, distant Land.
The boy I saw was pointing
Away, right out to sea,
Where moonlight made a pathway,
Of silver radiancy.
The silver way seemed joining
Together sea and sky,
The stars seemed trembling o'er it,
Like lightlets from on high.
"Dear Father Cadfan, look now,"
--Said the bright and lovely boy,--
"I'm sure that silver roadway
Leads to our Home of Joy."
"No, no, my Son, t'is only
An emblem of the way,
Across time's changing storm-tide,
To regions of the day."
And then the old man turning,
Towards Cambria's rock bound shore,
Pointed the boy to Barmouth, {11}
But then called Abermawr.
"My son," said he, "'tis yonder,
Long years ago I tried
To bring poor souls to Jesus,
Who once for sinners died.
But there the Druids held them
In error's iron chain, {12a}
They would not hear of Jesus,
And drove me thence again.
Yet though at Abermawr I failed
'Mid Towyn's marshes drear, {12b}
The people bowed before the Cross,
And sought the Saviour dear.
My son, one day thou must away,
If Father Abbot wills,
And build a Shrine to Christ Divine,
'Mid Barmouth's rocky hills.
The idols which they worship
Thou boldly must destroy,
Promise old Father Cadfan this,
My brave, my darling boy!"
The boy's bright eyes were flashing,
He grasped the old man's hand,--
"Father, I will preach Jesus
Upon that darkened strand.
Only, my father, pray for me,
When thou hast past the sea,
And reignest with our Jesus,
In the 'kingdom of the free.'"
St. Cadfan smiled, and blessed the lad,
His heart's desire seemed gained,
From idol worship for the Lord
Should Abermawr be claimed.
The Compline Bell tolled solemnly
From out St. Mary's Tower,
Calling the Monks to worship
At day's last hallowed hour.
Dubritius, {14} the novice boy,
Stood meekly in his stall,
The fathers and the novices
Chanted the Office all.
But Father Cadfan was not there,
Calmly his body lay;
Upon the mound by Bardsey Sound,
His spirit passed away.
His work was done, his prize was won,
The holy Monk was gone,
To join the virgin song notes,
Before th' Eternal Throne.
* * * * *
The boy, so beautiful and pure,
Grew up to manhood's bloom,
And ofttimes visited for prayer
The Blessed Cadfan's Tomb.
One night the sun was sinking
Behind the Western wave,
Dubritius was kneeling
Beside St. Cadfan's grave.
The Compline chants were over,
The twilight almost gone,
The youth was startled by a voice
Which cried--"My son! my son!"
A gentle light shone round the grave,
He raised his eyes, and lo!
St. Cadfan stood beside him,
Amid the weird-like glow;
"My son, make haste, thy solemn vows
Thou speedily must make,
Then to the men of Abermawr
The Cross of Jesus take.
The Banner and the Gospel,
With holy Chant and Psalm,
Straight to the Druid's Temple go,
Nor fear, nor feel alarm.
For Jesus must be Cambria's God,
The night must hie away,
Thyself must be the harbinger
Of Everlasting Day."
The youth sprung forward to embrace
The friend he loved so well,
But he was gone; no sound was heard,
Save the lone ocean's swell.
* * * * *
How beautiful! how beautiful!
Is now the Convent Choir;
All deck'd for some high festival
In exquisite attire.
Most precious gems are gleaming
Upon the frontal fair,
The Mass Priests too are vested
In garments passing rare.
The sacred tapers glisten
The Altar all along;
The holy Monks are chanting
Some sweet--some wedding song!
And tall white lilies, scenting
The Incense laden air,
Are bending down their petals,
T'wards a novice bow'd in prayer.
Yes! there before the Altar,
I see Dubritius bow,
Pure as the virgin lilies,
Encircling his fair brow.
His vows are said--the Cowl is given,
His live-long promise made;
All earthly loves are buried now,
Within the Cloister's shade.
* * * * *
"Unfurl the sail! unloose the chain!
That links us to the shore--
To our own precious Island home
Which we may see no more!"
Thus spake Dubritius; and the tide
Fast wafted him away,
Out t'wards the rocky Cambrian coast
Of Cardigan's fair bay.
The sea was calmly resting,
Lit by the summer's sun;
In three short hours the Convent boat
Her little voyage had run.
Dubritius and his monkish band
At once pursued their way,
Reaching the town of Abermawr
Just at the close of day.
The evening's hush was resting
So peacefully around,
Alone was heard the shrill sea bird,
And the waves' soft murmuring sound.
When all at once through th' restful air,
Dread shrieks of anguish rung
From the idol temple near the town,
While Druid choirs sung
Fierce hymns to their false savage gods,
Around the kindling flame,
Prepared for sacrificial rites,
Too terrible to name.
A fair young mother brings her babe,
A warrior brings his boy,
The Druids bind their victims
With fierce, fanatic joy!
The weeping mother hears the wail
Well from her darling's breast;
The father sees the Druids bind
His boy with savage zest.
The lad was fair to look upon,
Ah! must he really die,
Oh! shall such sacrifice pollute
That calm blue evening sky?
The boy, though brave, is trembling now,
He nears the dreadful fire,
He feels its scorch, yet gives his life,
To still the idol's ire.
The father's cheek grows blanched and pale,
The poor young mother stands,
Yearning to snatch her precious one
From the stern Druid's hands.
High leaps the flame, loud swells the song,
From the Druids' choirs around;
But suddenly the evening wind
Fills with another sound!
| 2,343.891631 |
2023-11-16 18:56:08.4603310 | 2,230 | 6 |
Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by the Library of Congress)
[Illustration]
HOCVS
POCVS
IVNIOR.
_The Anatomie of_
LEGERDEMAIN.
_OR_,
The Art of Iugling set forth in his proper colours, fully,
plainly, and exactly, so that an ignorant person may thereby
learn the full perfection of the same, after a little practise.
Vnto each Tricke is added the figure, where it is needfull for
instruction.
_The second Edition, with many additions._
Prestat nihili quam nihil facere.
[Illustration]
_LONDON_,
Printed by _T. H._ for _R. M._ 1635.
[Illustration]
To the Reader.
_COurteous Reader, doe you not wonder? if you doe not, well you may, to
see so slight a Pamphlet so quickly spent; but lightly come, and lightly
goe; it's a Iuglers terme, and it well befits the subiect. Would you
know whence it first came? why, from =Bartholomew= Fayre: would you know
whither it's bent? for the Fayre againe; it's a stragler, a wanderer,
and as I said, as it lightly comes, so it lightly goes; for it meanes to
see not onely =Bartholomew= Fayre, but all the Fayres in the Kingdome
also, and therefore in the front, =Hiccius Doccius= is the Post-master,
and what he wants there, I'le give him here, a word or two of command, a
terme of art, not so much substantiall as circumstantiall, =Celeriter,
vade=, over hedges and ditches, thorow thicke and thin, to come to your
Fayres. Rome for a Iugler: all in post, yet with a desire to give you
full satisfaction. If you like it, then buy it and reade it, if
otherwise, leave it for them that list._
Farewell.
[Illustration]
_The Art of_
LEGERDEMAINE
Discovered.
_The originall of =Legerdemaine=, and how it came first into this
Kingdome._
IT came first into the Kingdome by certain AEgyptians, that were
transported hither, who growing to numerous multitudes, dispersed
themselues thorow most parts of the Kingdome: who being most expert in
this art, and in Palmestrie, cousened the people in all parts
wheresoeuer they came. Now diuers vagrant English joyning with them in
time learnt both their language and cousening delusions, whereby at
length they were discovered, and thereupon the next ensuing Parliament,
there was a statute enacted: that whosoeuer should transport an
Egyptian, should have a Fine imposed upon him; Moreouer, that whosoever
should assume unto themselves the names of AEgyptians, it should be
imputed unto them as fellonie, in so high a degree, that they might not
haue their Booke granted unto them, which statute was put in execution,
and since that time our Kingdome hath beene well disburdened of those
AEgyptian Iuglers.
_The Definition of the Art of =Legerdemain=, with its principall parts._
_LEgerdemaine_ is an operation, whereby one may seeme to worke
wonderfull, impossible, and incredible things by agility, nimblenesse,
and slightnesse of hand. The parts of this Art are principally two. The
first is in the conveyance of Balls, Cards, Dice, Money, &c. The second
is in Confederacie.
_The end of the Art of =Legerdemaine=._
THe end of this Art is either good or bad, accordingly as it is used:
Good, and lawfull when it is used at Festivals, and merry meetings to
procure mirth: especially if it be done without desire of estimation
above what we are. Bad, and altogether unlawfull when it is used on
purpose, to cozen, deceive, or for vaine glory to esteemed above what is
meet and honest.
_The Definition, or description of the Operator._
FIrst, hee must be one of an impudent and audacious spirit, so that hee
may set a good face upon the matter.
Secondly, he must have a nimble and cleanly conveance.
Thirdly, he must have strange termes, and emphaticall words, to grace
and adorne his actions, and the more to astonish the beholders.
Fourthly, and lastly, such gesture of body as may leade away the
spectators eyes from a strict and diligent beholding his manner of
conveyance.
_Of the Play of the Balls._
THe Operator thus qualified must have his Implements of purpose to play
withall: and first he must have three Cups, made of brasse, or Crooked
lane plate:
[Illustration]
These Cups must be all of one sise, and the bottome of each
of them must bee set a little within the cup; marke the following
figure, for thereby they are truely represented, both in forme and
bignesse: it is noted with the letter B. Also he must have foure Bals,
made of Corke about the bignesse of small Nutmegs. First, he must
practise to hold these Cork balls, two or three of them at once in one
hand. The best place, and the readiest to hold one ball is betweene the
ball of the thumbe, and the palme of the hand; but if you hold more than
one at one time, betweene your fingers towards the bottoms. The place to
hold a great ball is betweene your two middle fingers. Remember in your
play alwaies to keep the palme of your hand downeward: After you have
once learned to hold these balls handsomely, you may worke divers
strange, and delightfull feats.
[Sidenote: Some I have seene sit with their Codpiece open, others play
standing with a budget hanging before them, but all comes to one end.
Some feats may with more grace be performed stading then sitting. The
manner of holding the cups will conceale the ball that you retein in
your hand.]
But whether you seeme to cast your ball in the ayre, or into your mouth,
or into your other hand, yet still retaine it in the same hand, still
remembring to keepe the palme of your hand downeward, and out of sight.
Now to begin:
He that is to play must sit on the farther side of a Table, which must
be covered with a carpet: partly to keepe the balls from rolling away,
and partly to keepe them from ratling: likewise hee must set his hat in
his lap, or sit in such manner as that hee may receive any thing into
his lap, and let him cause all his spectators to sit downe: Then let him
draw his foure balls, and lay three of them upon the table, (and retain
the fourth in his right hand) and say, Gentlemen, here are three bals
you see, 1. _Meredin_, 2. _Benedic_, and 3. _Presto Iohn_, then let him
draw his cups and hold them all three in his right hand also, saying,
Here are also three Cups, saying, See there's nothing in them, neither
have they any false bottoms:
[Illustration]
Then say, See I will set them all on a row, and clap them all on a row,
& in clapping them downe, convey the ball that you reteined under the
middlemost cup, saying as you set them downe, Nothing there, there, nor
there. Then shew your hands, and say, Gentlemen, you see here is nothing
in my hands, and say, Now to begin, and take up with your right hand one
of the three bals that you layed downe, and say this is the first, and
with that seeme to put it into your left hand, and presently shut your
left hand, and being shut, clap it unto your eare, saying, This is for
the purging of the braine, _Presto_ bee gone, then move both the utmost
cups (noted with A, and B.) with both your hands, saying, And there is
nothing there nor there, and in the clapping them downe, conveigh the
ball in your right hand under the Cup noted B.
[Illustration]
Then with your right hand take up the second ball, and seeme to put it
into the left hand (but reteine it) shutting your left hand in due time:
then clap your left hand unto your mouth, seeme to suppe the ball out of
your hand, and make a face as if you swallowed it, then say, _Presto_,
and that's gone you see, and with your right hand move the cup noted A,
saying, And there is nothing, and in clapping it downe convey the ball
you reteined, under it, so have you conveyed into each cup a ball.
[Illustration]
Then with your right hand take up the third Ball, and seeme to put it
into your left hand, shutting it in due time, and then reach it out from
you saying, _vade_, _couragious_, and open your hand, and blow a blast,
looking up as if you saw it flying away, and say _passa couragious_, and
that's gone: then take up the cups one after another, and say,
neverthelesse Gentlemen, there is one, there is two, and there is all
three againe: Then cover them and say, see you Gentlemen, I will cover
them all againe. | 2,344.480371 |
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Produced by Olaf Voss, Don Kretz, Juliet Sutherland, Charles
Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration]
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 286
NEW YORK, JUNE 25, 1881
Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XI, No. 286.
Scientific American established 1845
Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.
Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. ENGINEERING AND MECHANICS.--One Thousand Horse Power Corliss Engine.
5 figures, to scale, illustrating the construction of the new one
thousand horse power Corliss engine, by Hitch, Hargreaves & Co.
Opening of the New Workshop of the Stevens Institute of Technology.
Speech of Prof. R.W. Raymond, speech of Mr. Horatio Allen.
Light Steam Engine for Aeronautical Purposes. Constructed for Capt.
Mojoisky, of the Russian Navy.
Complete Prevention of Incrustation in Boilers. Arrangement for
purifying boiler water with lime and carbonate of soda.--The
purification of the water.--Examination of the purified
water.--Results of water purification.
Eddystone Lighthouse. Progress of the work.
Rolling Mill for Making Corrugated Iron. 1 figure. The new mill of
Schultz, Knaudt & Co., of Essen, Germany.
Railway Turntable in the Time of Louis XIV. 1 figure. Pleasure car.
Railway and turntable at Mary-le-Roy Chateau, France, in 1714.
New Signal Wire Compensator. Communication from A. Lyle, describing
compensators in use on the Nizam State Railway, East India.
Tangye's Hydraulic Hoist. 2 figures.
Power Loom for Delicate Fabrics. 1 figure.
How Veneering is Made.
II. TECHNOLOGY AND CHEMISTRY.--The Constituent Parts of Leather. The
composition of different leathers exhibited at the Paris
Exhibition.--Amount of leather produced by different tonnages of 100
pounds of hides.--Percentage of tannin absorbed under different
methods of tanning.--Amounts of gelatine and tannin in leather of
different tonnages, etc.
Progress in American Pottery.
Photographic Notes.--Mr. Waruerke's New Discovery.--Method of
converting negatives directly into positives.--Experiments of Capt.
Bing on the sensitiveness of coal oil--Bitumen plates.--Method of
topographic engraving. By Commandant DE LA NOE.--Succ | 2,344.7815 |
2023-11-16 18:56:08.8607820 | 2,542 | 97 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
The Story of a Baby
[Decoration: NAVTILVS SERIES]
[Illustration: "'He is exactly twenty-one pounds,' she said."]
THE STORY OF A BABY
BY ETHEL TURNER
[Decoration: The Navtilvs Series]
WARD LOCK & BOWDEN: LIMITED
LONDON · NEW YORK & MELBOURNE
1896
TO THE BEST WOMAN IN THE WORLD
E. T., _Sydney_.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE BURDEN OF IT 1
II. THE RED ROAD COUNTRY 11
III. DOT AND LARRIE FALL OUT 21
IV. THE 'LITTLE MOTHER' 33
V. MORE RIFTS IN THE LUTE 45
VI. LARRIE THE LOAFER 58
VII. A POCKET MADAME MELBA 73
VIII. PICTURES IN THE FIRE 83
IX. A CONFLICT OF WILLS 97
X. A DARN ON A DRESS 111
XI. A QUESTION OF OWNERSHIP 124
XII. A LITTLE DIPLOMAT 131
XIII. DOT GOES BABY LIFTING 140
XIV. THE WHEEL IN THE BRAIN 147
XV. SULLIVAN WOOSTER, GENTLEMAN 154
THE STORY OF A BABY
CHAPTER I
THE BURDEN OF IT
Larrie had been carrying it for a long way and said it was quite time
Dot took her turn.
Dot was arguing the point.
She reminded him of all athletic sports he had taken part in, and of
all the prizes he had won; she asked him what was the use of being
six-foot-two and an impossible number of inches round the chest if he
could not carry a baby.
Larrie gave her an unexpected glance and moved the baby to his other
arm; he was heated and unhappy, there seemed absolutely no end to the
red, red road they were traversing, and Dot, as well as refusing to
help to carry the burden, laughed aggravatingly at him when he said it
was heavy.
'He is exactly twenty-one pounds,' she said, 'I weighed him on the
kitchen scales yesterday, I should think a man of your size ought to
be able to carry twenty-one pounds without grumbling so.'
'But he's on springs, Dot,' he said, 'just look at him, he's never
still for a minute, you carry him to the beginning of Lee's orchard,
and then I'll take him again.'
Dot shook her head.
'I'm very sorry, Larrie,' she said, 'but I really can't. You know I
didn't want to bring the child, and when you insisted, I said to myself,
you should carry him every inch of the way, just for your obstinacy.'
'But you're his mother,' objected Larrie.
He was getting seriously angry, his arms ached unutterably, his clothes
were sticking to his back, and twice the baby had poked a little fat
thumb in his eye and made it water.
'But you're its father,' Dot said sweetly.
'It's easier for a woman to carry a child than a man'--poor Larrie was
mopping his hot brow with his disengaged hand--'everyone says so; don't
be a little sneak, Dot, my arm's getting awfully cramped; here, for
pity's sake take him.'
Dot shook her head again.
'Would you have me break my vow, St Lawrence?' she said.
She looked provokingly cool and unruffled as she walked along by his
side; her gown was white, with transparent puffy sleeves, her hat was
white and very large, she had little white canvas shoes, long white
Suéde gloves, and she carried a white parasol.
'I'm hanged,' said Larrie, and he stopped short in the middle of the
road, 'look here, my good woman, are you going to take your baby, or
are you not?'
Dot revolved her sunshade round her little sweet face.
'No, my good man,' she said, 'I don't propose to carry your baby one
step.'
'Then I shall drop it,' said Larrie. He held it up in a threatening
position by the back of its crumpled coat, but Dot had gone sailing on.
'Find a soft place,' she called, looking back over her shoulder once
and seeing him still standing in the road.
'Little minx,' he said under his breath.
Then his mouth squared itself; ordinarily it was a pleasant mouth, much
given to laughter and merry words; but when it took that obstinate look,
one could see capabilities for all manner of things.
He looked carefully around. By the roadside there was a patch of soft,
green grass, and a wattle bush, yellow-crowned, beautiful. He laid the
child down in the shade of it, he looked to see there were no ants or
other insects near; he put on the bootee that was hanging by a string
from the little rosy foot and he stuck the india-rubber comforter in
its mouth. Then he walked quietly away and caught up to Dot.
'Well?' she said, but she looked a little startled at his empty arms;
she drooped the sunshade over the shoulder nearest to him, and gave a
hasty, surreptitious glance backward. Larrie strode along.
'You look fearfully ugly when you screw up your mouth like that,' she
said, looking up at his set side face.
'You're an unnatural mother, Dot, that's what you are,' he returned
hotly. 'By Jove, if I was a woman, I'd be ashamed to act as you do. You
get worse every day you live. I've kept excusing you to myself, and
saying you would get wiser as you grew older, and instead, you seem
more childish every day.'
She looked childish. She was very, very small in stature, very slightly
and delicately built. Her hair was in soft gold-brown curls, as short
as a boy's; her eyes were soft, and wide, and tender, and beautiful as
a child's. When she was happy they were the colour of that blue, deep
violet we call the Czar, and when she grew thoughtful, or sorrowful,
they were like the heart of a great, dark purple <DW29>. She was not
particularly beautiful, only very fresh, and sweet, and lovable. Larrie
once said she always looked like a baby that has been freshly bathed
and dressed, and puffed with sweet violet powder, and sent out into the
world to refresh tired eyes.
That was one of his courtship sayings, more than a year ago when she was
barely seventeen. She was eighteen now, and he was telling her she was
an unnatural mother.
'Why, the child wouldn't have had its bib on, only I saw to it,' he
said, in a voice that increased in excitement as he dwelt on the
enormity.
'Dear me,' said Dot, 'that was very careless of Peggie, I must really
speak to her about it.'
'I shall shake you some day, Dot,' Larrie said,'shake you till your
teeth rattle. Sometimes I can hardly keep my hands off you.'
His brow was gloomy, his boyish face troubled, vexed.
And Dot laughed. Leaned against the fence skirting the road that seemed
to run to eternity, and laughed outrageously.
Larrie stopped too. His face was very white and square-looking, his dark
eyes held fire. He put his hands on the white, exaggerated shoulders of
her muslin dress and turned her round.
'Go back to the bottom of the hill this instant, and pick up the child
and carry it up here,' he said.
'Go and insert your foolish old head in a receptacle for
_pommes-de-terre_,' was Dot's flippant retort.
Larrie's hands pressed harder, his chin grew squarer.
'I'm in earnest, Dot, deadly earnest. I order you to fetch the child,
and I intend you to obey me,' he gave her a little shake to enforce the
command. 'I am your master, and I intend you to know it from this day.'
Dot experienced a vague feeling of surprise at the fire in the eyes that
were nearly always clear, and smiling, and loving, then she twisted
herself away.
'Pooh,' she said, 'you're only a stupid overgrown, passionate boy,
Larrie. You my master! You're nothing in the world but my husband.'
'Are you going?' he said in a tone he had never used before to her. 'Say
Yes or No, Dot, instantly.'
'No,' said Dot, stormily.
Then they both gave a sob of terror, their faces blanched, and they
began to run madly down the hill.
Oh the long, long way they had come, the endless stretch of red, red
road that wound back to the gold-tipped wattles, the velvet grass, and
their baby!
Larrie was a fleet, wonderful runner. In the little cottage where they
lived, manifold silver cups and mugs bore witness to it, and he was
running for life now, but Dot nearly outstripped him.
She flew over the ground, hardly touching it, her arms were
outstretched, her lips moving. They fell down together on their knees by
their baby, just as three furious, hard-driven bullocks thundered by,
filling the air with dust and bellowing.
The baby was blinking happily up at a great fat golden beetle that was
making a lazy way up the wattle. It had lost its 'comforter' and was
sucking its thumb thoughtfully. It had kicked off its white knitted
boots, and was curling its pink toes up in the sunshine with great
enjoyment.
'Baby!' Larrie said. The big fellow was trembling in every limb.
'_Baby!_' said Dot. She gathered it up in her little shaking arms, she
put her poor white face down upon it, and broke into such pitiful tears
and sobs that it wept too. Larrie took them both into his arms, and sat
down on a fallen tree. He soothed them, he called them a thousand
tender, beautiful names; he took off Dot's hat and stroked her little
curls, he kissed his baby again and again; he kissed his wife. When they
were all quite calm and the bullocks ten miles away, they started again.
'I'll carry him,' said Larrie.
'Ah no, let me,' Dot said.
'Darling, you're too tired--see, you can hold his hand across my
shoulder.'
'No, no, give him to me--my arms ache without him.'
'But the hill--my big baby!'
'Oh, I _must_ have him--Larrie, _let_ me--see, he is so light--why, he
is nothing to carry.'
CHAPTER II
THE RED ROAD COUNTRY
In cool weather the Red Road was very pleasant walking. It wound up hill
and down dale for many a mile till it reached Hornsby, and branched away
into different country.
All the way there were gum trees--gum trees and fences; | 2,344.880822 |
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THE HAUNTED HOTEL
A Mystery of Modern Venice
by
Wilkie Collins (1824-1889)
(after the edition of Chatto & Windus, London, 1879)
THE FIRST PART
CHAPTER I
In the year 1860, the reputation of Doctor Wybrow as a London physician
reached its highest point. It was reported on good authority that he
was in receipt of one of the largest incomes derived from the practice
of medicine in modern times.
One afternoon, towards the close of the London season, the Doctor had
just taken his luncheon after a specially hard morning's work in his
consulting-room, and with a formidable list of visits to patients at
their own houses to fill up the rest of his day--when the servant
announced that a lady wished to speak to him.
'Who is she?' the Doctor asked. 'A stranger?'
'Yes, sir.'
'I see no strangers out of consulting-hours. Tell her what the hours
are, and send her away.'
'I have told her, sir.'
'Well?'
'And she won't go.'
'Won't go?' The Doctor smiled as he repeated the words. He was a
humourist in his way; and there was an absurd side to the situation
which rather amused him. 'Has this obstinate lady given you her name?'
he inquired.
'No, sir. She refused to give any name--she said she wouldn't keep you
five minutes, and the matter was too important to wait till to-morrow.
There she is in the consulting-room; and how to get her out again is
more than I know.'
Doctor Wybrow considered for a moment. His knowledge of women
(professionally speaking) rested on the ripe experience of more than
thirty years; he had met with them in all their varieties--especially
the variety which knows nothing of the value of time, and never
hesitates at sheltering itself behind the privileges of its sex. A
glance at his watch informed him that he must soon begin his rounds
among the patients who were waiting for him at their own houses. He
decided forthwith on taking the only wise course that was open under
the circumstances. In other words, he decided on taking to flight.
'Is the carriage at the door?' he asked.
'Yes, sir.'
'Very well. Open the house-door for me without making any noise, and
leave the lady in undisturbed possession of the consulting-room. When
she gets tired of waiting, you know what to tell her. If she asks when
I am expected to return, say that I dine at my club, and spend the
evening at the theatre. Now then, softly, Thomas! If your shoes
creak, I am a lost man | 2,344.987179 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
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[Illustration: FEODOR IVANOVICH SHALIAPIN]
THE
RUSSIAN OPERA
BY
ROSA
NEWMARCH
[Illustration: colophon]
WITH SIXTEEN
ILLUSTRATIONS
HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED
ARUNDEL PLACE HAYMARKET
LONDON S.W. MCMXIV
THE ANCHOR PRESS, LTD., TIPTREE, ESSEX.
TO
FEODOR IVANOVICH SHALIAPIN
IN MEMORY OF OUR OLD FRIEND
VLADIMIR VASSILIEVICH STASSOV
PREFACE
Between January 19th, 1900, and April 4th, 1905, I read before the
Musical Association of London five papers dealing with the Development
of National Opera in Russia, covering a period from the first
performance of Glinka's _A Life for the Tsar_ in 1836, to the production
of Rimsky-Korsakov's opera _The Tsar's Bride_, in 1899. These lectures
were illustrated by the following artists: the late Mrs. Henry J. Wood,
Miss Grainger Kerr, Mr. Seth Hughes, Mr. Robert Maitland; Sir (Mr.)
Henry J. Wood and Mr. Richard Epstein at the piano. While using these
lectures as the scaffolding of my present book, I have added a
considerable amount of new material, amassed during ten years
unremitting research into my subject. The additions concern chiefly the
earlier phases of Russian music, and the operas that have appeared since
1900. The volume also contains some account of the foundation of the
nationalist school of composers under the leadership of Balakirev. It
has been my privilege to meet and converse with most of the members of
this circle. I give also a few details about the literary champion of
"the Invincible Band," Vladimir Stassov, under whose guidance I first
studied the history of Russian music. With all modesty I believe I may
claim to have been a pioneer worker in this field. When in 1895 I
published my translation ( | 2,345.084638 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google books
Transcriber's Note:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=IG8PAAAAYAAJ&dq
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
A
HERO OF THE PEN.
BY
E. WERNER,
AUTHOR OF "GOOD LUCK," "BROKEN CHAINS," ETC.
TRANSLATED BY
FRANCES A. SHAW.
NEW YORK:
R. WORTHINGTON, 750 Broadway.
1880.
Copyright
WILLIAM F. GILL & CO.
1875.
T | 2,345.179758 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
HOSPITAL TRANSPORTS.
A MEMOIR
_of the_
EMBARKATION OF THE SICK AND WOUNDED
FROM THE PENINSULA OF VIRGINIA
IN THE SUMMER OF
1862.
_Compiled and Published at the request of the
Sanitary Commission._
[Illustration]
_Boston_:
TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
1863.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by
TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Massachusetts.
UNIVERSITY PRESS:
WELCH, BIGELOW, AND COMPANY,
CAMBRIDGE.
_DEDICATION._
TO THE MEMORIES OF
J. M. GRYMES, M. D.,
sometime Surgeon in charge of the Hospital Transport _Daniel Webster_,
and, at the time of his death, Surgeon to the temporary _Home_ for
disabled soldiers, of the Sanitary Commission at Washington;—
WILLIAM PLATT, JUNIOR, ESQ.,
late a Relief Agent of the Sanitary Commission, who died from the effect
of prolonged exposure and excessive exertion in pushing succor to the
wounded during and after the battles of South Mountain, Crampton's Gap,
and Antietam;—
Lieut.-Col. JOSEPH BRIDGHAM CURTIS, U.S.V.,
formerly of the Engineer Corps of the Central Park of New York,
afterwards of the central staff of the Sanitary Commission, who fell
while leading his regiment to the assault of the rebel works at
Fredericksburg, December, 1862;—
RUDD C. HOPKINS, M. D.,
formerly Superintendent of the Lunatic Asylum of Ohio, lately a General
Inspector of the Sanitary Commission, and who died in its service, while
on the river passage from Memphis to Cincinnati;—
MRS. FANNY SWAN WARRINER,
who bore heroically to the end a woman's part in war, having died at
Louisville, Kentucky, on her way home from the Head-quarters Relief
Station of the Sanitary Commission with the Army of the Tennessee,—of
disease there contracted;—
DAVID BOSWELL REID, M. D.,
Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh; Fellow of the Royal College of
Physicians of London; Member of the Medico-Chirurgical Society of St.
Petersburg; formerly Director of Ventilation at the Houses of Parliament
of Great Britain; late Professor of Physiology and Hygiene at the
University of Wisconsin; at the time of his death, Special Inspector of
the Ventilation of Hospitals of the Sanitary Commission;—and
Surgeon ROBERT WARE, U. S. V.,
for several years physician in charge of the largest Dispensary District
in Boston, afterwards a General Inspector of the Sanitary Commission,
and Surgeon of its Relief Stations at Yorktown, White House, and
Berkeley, lastly Surgeon of Volunteers. He fell at his post in the works
at Washington, North Carolina, during its bombardment by the rebels,
March, 1863.
INTRODUCTION.
The Sanitary Commission, grateful for the generous confidence reposed in
it by the public, would be glad to meet and justify that confidence by a
circumstantial account of its operations in field and hospital, from the
first day of its existence to the present. It might, perhaps, without
undue boasting, show such a picture of what has been accomplished as
would stimulate, to the last degree, the interest and the liberality of
loyal hearts, if this were required. But the immense mass of details
which such an account must involve, would prove nearly as laborious in
the reading as in the performance, overwhelming rather than enlightening
all who have not been personally engaged in the work. The intense
interest which the service inspires in those devoted to it, lightens
what might, under other circumstances, seem wearisome duties; but a
minute description of the ceaseless round of consultations,
examinations, correspondence, journeys, accounts, distributions,
required of the Commission as trustee of the public bounty, could not be
expected to prove interesting to others.
The most that the Commission can at present be called upon to offer, or
the public be likely to accept, is such brief accounts of single
sections in the various departments of its labor, as may indicate the
general method and spirit extending through the whole. In accordance
with this plan, from time to time, the Commission has published reports
covering a single battle-field, or a term of one round of visits to the
hospitals, or the results of its arrangements for the care of disabled
and discharged soldiers for a stated period. There is one branch of the
service, however, which has as yet had no such public record,—that of
the Hospital Transports. In order to supply this omission in some
measure, the Commission has caused to be placed in the hands of a
manager of the "Woman's Central Army Relief Association of New York," a
quantity of letters and other papers, containing observations made at
the time, and on the spot, by those in its service who assisted in the
embarkation and care of the sick and wounded on the peninsula of
Virginia in 1862. Passages from these have been selected and arranged
with a view to give within moderate compass as many particulars as may
be necessary to show the scope of the enterprise, and the position which
it held as an aid to the government, together with the difficulties and
the success, the disappointments and satisfactions, with which it was
attended. The plan is limited to the Atlantic hospital transports, and
to the period of embarkation of the patients upon them, for the sake of
compactness and completeness in the grouping of incidents. A similar
service in the Western rivers the same year was larger in its scope, and
in some of its arrangements more satisfactory, but it was at the same
time less homogeneous in character.
For the style of the letters quoted, this only need be said: they were,
for the most part, addressed to intimate friends, with no thought that
they could ever go beyond them, or, as in the case of those addressed by
the Secretary to the President of the Commission, were in the nature of
familiar and confidential reports; nearly all were written hastily, in
some chance interruption to severe labor,—often with a pencil, while
passing in a boat from one vessel to another. Passages may be found
which are not merely descriptive of the Hospital Transport service, but
they contain thoughts springing from the occasion, and which will serve
to fasten pictures of scenes and circumstances with which that service
was associated, and which are now historical.[1]
Footnote 1:
The letters were all written by two officers of the Commission and six
ladies serving with them. As the different writers are quoted from in
succession, and the same occurrences are often described from more
than one point of view, a capital letter at the head of a paragraph
will indicate the change from one writer to another. The officers will
be known by the letters A. and B.; the ladies, by the letters M. and
N.
It should be understood that the account is not intended to be complete
in any respect, and that no attempt has been made to give public credit
to individuals for their services, whatever these may have been. It is
known that to do so in some cases where public gratitude is most
deserved would give pain; to do so in all cases would greatly swell the
bulk of the volume. In general terms only it may be said, that among the
surgeons who freely gave their aid in the enterprise were numbered some
of the leading members of the profession,—among those who served as
administrative officers, matrons, and nurses, the most honored
historical families of New England, New York, New Jersey, and
Pennsylvania were represented. The class termed Ward-masters was mainly
composed of medical students of two years, with some young men of
Philadelphia who had had previous experience in caring for sick soldiers
in the noble local charities of that city. It included, also, some
students of theology. The responsibility for the detail of care of the
patients was chiefly with this class, and the devotedness, pliability,
and practical talent with which they generally met this responsibility
was too remarkable to be passed without at least this simple reference
to it as one of a class of facts of the war.
It is a secondary object of the recital to make evident, from narrations
of actual experience, what is sometimes required for supplying the
unavoidable deficiencies of government service in emergencies. Not to
have sprung at once into a thorough practical knowledge of what the
dread contingencies of war require, is no just cause of reproach to a
peaceful people like ourselves, who, meaning peace, sought only to
"ensue it"; but not to thoroughly learn our duty under such an
experience as we are passing through, would indeed bring shame upon our
name.
It is no common nation's task that we have undertaken, and only craven
souls will lose heart in finding that it cannot be light or short in the
sacrifices which it demands of us. True and far-seeing lovers of their
country, as they regard the sufferings of those uncomplaining men who
fought for us in the Peninsula,—men who, though perhaps but green
soldiers in the field, proved, one and all, heroes upon the bed of pain
and in the hour of death, will be led to the reflection, "This is what
it costs a republic to have nursed rebellion tenderly at its breast." We
know that the barbarous spirit with which the chances of war first were
dared in this gambling scheme of reckless ambition, will prolong it,
when resistance to the law can no longer avail for anything but the
gratification of the personal vindictive hate of the disappointed
conspirators. And we know that if we do well the work the pecuniary cost
of which we are throwing so heavily upon our posterity, this will be the
last of such schemes. The more we feel its cost ourselves, the more
resolute shall we be that, when done, this work shall have been done
once for all. The more ready shall we be to meet whatever sacrifice it
may yet require of us; the more ready to truly say, "Our loyalty is
without conditions; success at this point or that, this year or next, we
do not ask; we have elected our leaders, and we accept what they have
the ability to give us. It is enough that in this nation, standing
firmly upon its declaration of equal rights to all, no gleam of peace
can ever be seen to fall upon a rebel in arms."
The deepest solicitude that all unnecessary suffering should be avoided
in carrying on the war, is not in the least degree inconsistent with
this sentiment, provided only it be guided and constrained by a true
appreciation of the duties and the necessities of war. On the contrary,
patriotism and humanity have one origin, and each strengthens the other
in every heart. Whatever, then, leads the public to truly comprehend
what the rebellion costs, and at the same time inculcates a right spirit
of humane provision against the unnecessary suffering of war, must
foster a sound and healthy public sentiment.
Such, it is hoped, may be the influence of this little volume, to the
introduction of which only this further explanation will be required by
the reader.
A sudden transfer of the scene of active war from the high banks of the
Potomac to a low and swampy region, intersected with a net-work of
rivers and creeks, early in the summer of 1862, required appliances for
the proper care of the sick and wounded which did not appear to have
been contemplated in the government arrangements. Seeing this, with the
approval of the Medical Bureau, a proposal was made to the
Quartermaster-General to allow the Sanitary Commission to take in hand
some of the transport steamboats of his department, of which a large
number were at that time lying idle, to fit them up and furnish them in
all respects suitably for the reception and care of sick and wounded
men, providing surgeons and other necessary attendance, without cost to
government. After tedious delays and disappointments of various
kinds,—one fine large boat having been assigned, partially furnished by
the Commission, and then withdrawn,—an order was at length received,
authorizing the Commission to take possession of any of the government
transports, not in actual use, which might be at that time lying at
Alexandria.
The only vessel then lying at Alexandria stanch enough for the ocean
passage from Virginia to New York or Boston, proved to be the _Daniel
Webster_, an old Pacific Coast steamer of small capacity. She had been
recently used for transporting troops, and had been "stripped of
everything movable but dirt,"—so that the labor of adapting her to the
purpose in view was not a light one.
This vessel was assigned | 2,345.179813 |
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Produced by Sue Asscher
THE WONDER-WORKING MAGICIAN
By Pedro Calderon de la Barca
CALDERON'S DRAMAS.
Now First Translated Fully From The Spanish In The Metre
Of The Original. By Denis Florence Mac-Carthy.
London: Henry S. King & Co.,
65 Cornhill, And | 2,345.280179 |
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
(From images generously made available by the Internet
Archive.)
FAIR HAVEN
AND
FOUL STRAND
BY
AUGUST STRINDBERG
NEW YORK
MCBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY
MCMXIV
CONTENTS
FAIR HAVEN AND FOUL STRAND
THE DOCTOR'S FIRST STORY
THE DOCTOR'S SECOND STORY
HERR BENGT'S WIFE
FAIR HAVEN AND FOUL STRAND
The quarantine doctor was a man of five-and-sixty, well-preserved,
short, slim and elastic, with a military bearing which recalled the
fact that he had served in the Army Medical Corps. From birth he
belonged to the eccentrics who feel uncomfortable in life and are never
at home in it. Born in a mining district, of well-to-do but stern
parents, he had no pleasant recollections of his childhood. His father
and mother never spoke kindly, even when there was occasion to do so,
but always harshly, with or without cause. His mother was one of those
strange characters who get angry about nothing. Her anger arose without
visible cause, so that her son sometimes thought she was not right in
her head, and sometimes that she was deaf and could not hear properly,
for occasionally her response to an act of kindness was a box on the
ears. Therefore the boy became mistrustful towards people in general,
for the only natural bond which should have united him to humanity
with tenderness, was broken, and everything in life assumed a hostile
appearance. Accordingly, though he did not show it, he was always in a
posture of defence.
At school he had friends, but since he did not know how sincerely
he wished them well, he became submissive, and made all kinds of
concessions in order to preserve his faith in real friendship. By so
doing he let his friends encroach so much that they oppressed him and
began to tyrannise over him. When matters came to this point, he went
his own way without giving any explanations. But he soon found a new
friend with whom the same story was repeated from beginning to end. The
result was that later in life he only sought for acquaintances, and
grew accustomed to rely only upon himself. When he was confirmed, and
felt mature and responsible through being declared ecclesiastically of
age, an event happened which proved a turning-point in his life. He
came home too late for a meal and his mother received him with a shower
of blows from a stick. Without thinking, the young man raised his hand,
and gave her a box on the ear. For a moment mother and son confronted
each other, he expecting the roof to fall in or that he would be struck
dead in some miraculous way. But nothing happened. His mother went
out as though nothing had occurred, and behaved afterwards as though
nothing unusual had taken place between them.
Later on in life when this affair recurred to his memory, he wondered
what must have passed through her mind. She had cast one look to the
ceiling as though she sought there for something--an invisible hand
perhaps, or had she resigned herself to it, because she had at last
seen that it was a well-deserved retribution, and therefore not called
him to account? It was strange, that in spite of desperate efforts to
produce pangs of conscience, he never felt any self-reproach on the
subject. It seemed to have happened without his will, and as though it
must happen.
Nevertheless, it marked a boundary-line in his life. The cord was cut
and he fell out in life alone, away from his mother and domesticity. He
felt as though he had been born without father and mother. Both seemed
to him strangers whom he would have found it most natural to call Mr
and Mrs So-and-so. At the University he at once noticed the difference
between his lot and that of his companions. They had parents, brothers,
and sisters; there was an order and succession in their life. They had
relations to their fellow-men and obeyed secret social laws. They felt
instinctively that he did not belong to their fold.
When as a young doctor he acted on behalf of an army medical officer
for some time, he felt at once that he was not in his proper place, and
so did the officers. The silent resistance which he offered from the
first to their imperiousness and arbitrary ways marked him out as a
dissatisfied critic, and he was left to himself.
In the hospital it was the same. Here he perceived at once the fateful
predestination of social election, those who were called and those who
were not called. It seemed as though the authorities could discern
by scent those who were congenial to them. And so it was everywhere.
He started a practice as a ladies' doctor, but had no luck, for he
demanded straightforward answers to his questions, and those he never
received. Then he became impatient, and was considered brutal. He
became a Government sanitary officer in a remote part of the country,
and since he was now independent of his patients' favour, he troubled
himself still less about pleasing them. Presently he was transferred to
the quarantine service, and was finally stationed at Skamsund.
When he had come here, now seventeen years ago, he at once began to
be at variance with the pilots, who, as the only authorities on the
island, indulged themselves in many acts of arbitrariness towards the
inhabitants. The quarantine doctor loved peace and quietness like other
men, but he had early learnt that warfare is necessary; and that it
is no use simply to be passive as regards one's rights, but that one
must defend them every day and every hour of the day. Since he was a
new-comer they tried to curtail his authority and deprive him of his
small privileges. The chief pilot had a prescriptive right to half
the land, but the quarantine doctor had in his bay a small promontory
where the pilots used to moor their private boats and store their
fishing implements. The doctor first ascertained his legal rights in
the matter, and when he found out that he had the sole right of using
the promontory and that the pilots could store their fishing-tackle
elsewhere, he went to the chief pilot and gave them a friendly
notice to quit. When he saw that mere politeness was of no avail, he
took stronger measures, had the place cleared and fenced off by his
servants, turned it into a garden, and erected a simple pavilion in
it. The pilots hailed petitions on the Government, but the matter was
decided in his favour. The result was a lifelong enmity between him and
the pilots. The quarantine doctor was shut in on his promontory and
himself placed in quarantine. There he had now remained for seventeen
years, but not in peace, for there was always strife. Either his dog
fought with the pilots' dog, or their fowls came into his garden, or
they ran their boats ashore on each other's ground. Thus he was kept in
a continual state of anger and excitement, and even if there ever was
quiet for a moment outside the house, inside there was the housekeeper.
They had quarrelled for seventeen years, and once every week she had
packed her things in order to go. She was a tyrant and insisted that
her master should have sugar in all his sauces, even with fresh cod.
During all the seventeen years she had not learnt how to boil an egg
but wished the doctor to learn to eat half-raw eggs, which he hated.
Sometimes he got tired of quarrelling, and then everything went on in
Kristin's old way. He would eat raw potatoes, stale bread, sour cream
and such-like for a whole week and admire himself as a Socrates; then
his self-respect awoke and he began to storm again. He had to storm
in order to get the salt-cellar placed on the table, to get the doors
shut, to get the lamps filled with oil. The lamp-chimneys and wicks he
had to clean himself, for that she could not learn.
"You are a cow, Kristin! You are a wretch who cannot value kindness.
Do you like me to storm? Do you know that I abominate myself when I
am obliged to get so excited. You make me bad, and you are a poisonous
worm. I wish you had never been born, and lay in the depths of the
earth. You are not a human being for you cannot learn; you are a cow,
that you are! You will go? Yes, go to the deuce, where you came from!"
But Kristin never went. Once indeed she got as far as the steamer
bridge, but turned round and entered the wood, whence the doctor had to
fetch her home.
The doctor's only acquaintance was the postmaster at Fagervik, an old
comrade of his student days, who came over every Saturday evening.
Then the two drank and gossiped till past midnight and the postmaster
remained till Sunday morning. They certainly did not look at life and
their fellow-men from the same point of view, for the postmaster was
a decided member of the Left Party, and the doctor was a sceptic, but
their talk suited each other so well, that their conversation was like
a part-song, or piece of music, for two voices, in which the voices,
although varying, yet formed a harmony. The doctor, with his wider,
mental outlook, sometimes expressed disapproval of his companion's
sentiments somewhat as follows:
"You party-men are like one-eyed cats. Some see only with the
left eye, others with the right, and therefore you can never see
stereoscopically, but always flat and one-sidedly."
They were both great newspaper readers and followed the course of all
questions with eagerness. The most burning question, however, was the
religious one, for the political ones were settled by votes in the
Reichstag and came to an end, but the religious questions never ended.
The postmaster hated pietists and temperance advocates.
"Why the deuce do you hate the pietists?" the doctor would say. "What
harm have they done you? Let them enjoy themselves; it doesn't affect
me."
"They are all hypocrites," said the postmaster dogmatically.
"No," answered the doctor, "you cannot judge, for you have never been
a pietist, but I have, and I was--deuce take me--no hypocrite. But I
don't do it again. That is to say--one never knows, for it comes over
one, or does not--it all depends on----"
"On what?"
"Hard to say. Pietism, for the rest, is a kind of European Buddhism.
Both regard the world as an unclean place of punishment for the soul.
Therefore they seek to counteract material influences, and in that
they are not so wrong. That they do not succeed is obvious, but the
struggle itself deserves respect. Their apparent hypocrisy results from
the fact that they do not reach the goal they aim at, and their life
always halts behind their teaching. That the priests of the church hate
them is clear, for our married dairy farmers, card players and good
diners do not love these apostles who show their unnecessariness and
their defects. You know our clergy out there on the islands; I need
not gossip about them, for you know. There you have the hypocrites,
especially among the unfortunates, who after going through their
examination have lost faith in all doctrines."
"Yes, but the pietists are enemies to culture."
"No, I don't find that. When I came to this island it was inhabited by
three hundred besotted beasts who led the life of devils. And now--you
see for yourself. They are not lovable nor lively, but they are, at
any rate, quiet, so that one can sleep at night; and they don't fight,
so that one can walk about the island without fear for one's life and
limbs. In a word, the simplest blessings of civilisation were the
distinct result of the erection of the prayer-house."
"The prayer-house which you never enter!"
"No, I don't belong to that fold. But have you ever been there?"
"I? No!"
"You should hear them once at any rate."
"Why?"
"You daren't!"
"Daren't! Is it dangerous?"
"So they say!"
"Not for me."
"Shall we wager a barrel of punch?"
The postmaster reflected an instant, not so much on the punch as on the
doctor's suspecting him of cowardice.
"Done! I will go there on Friday. And you can carry the punch home in a
boat, if you see anything go wrong with me."
The day came and the postmaster ate his dinner with the doctor, before
he took his way, as agreed, to the prayer-house. He had told no one of
his intention, partly because he feared that the preacher might aim at
him, partly because he did not wish to get the reputation of being a
pietist. After dinner he borrowed a box of snuff to keep himself awake,
in spite of the doctor's assurance that he would not have any chance of
sleeping. And so he went.
The doctor walked about his garden waiting for the result of the
experiment to which many a stronger man than the postmaster had
succumbed. He waited for an hour and a half; he waited two hours; he
waited three. Then at last he saw the congregation coming out--a sign
that it was over. But the postmaster did not appear. The doctor became
uneasy. Another hour passed, and at last he saw his friend coming out
of the wood. He came with a somewhat artificial liveliness and there
was something forced in the springiness of his gait. When he saw the
doctor, he made a slight wriggling movement with his legs, and shrugged
his shoulders as though his clothes were too tight for him.
"Well?" asked the doctor. "It was tedious, wasn't it?"
"Yes," was the only answer.
They went down to the pavilion and took their seats opposite each
other, although the postmaster was shy of showing his face, into which
a new expression had come.
"Give me a pinch of snuff," said the doctor slyly.
The postmaster drew out the snuff-box, which had been untouched.
"You did not sleep?" resumed the doctor.
The postmaster felt embarrassed.
"Well, old fellow, you are not cheerful! What is the matter? Stop a
minute!" The doctor indicated with his forefinger the space between
his friend's eyes and nose as though he wished to show him something,
"I believe... you have been crying!"
"Nonsense!" answered the postmaster, and straightened himself up. "But,
at any rate, you know I am not easily befooled, but as I said that
fellow is a wizard."
"Tell us, tell us! Fancy your believing in wizards!"
"Yes, it was so strange." He paused for a while and continued:
"Can you imagine it? He preached, as was to be expected, especially
to me. And in the middle of his preaching he told me all the secrets
which, like everyone else, I have kept most jealously hidden from my
childhood's days and earlier. I felt that I reddened, and that the
whole congregation looked at me as though they knew it also, which is
quite impossible. They nodded, keeping time with his words and looking
at me simultaneously. Yes, they turned round on their seats. Even
regarded as witchcraft it was----"
"Yes, yes, I know it, and therefore I take care. What it is I don't
know, but it is something which I keep at arm's length. And it is
the same with Swedenborg. I sat once in an ante-room waiting for
admission. Behind me stood a book-case from which a book projected and
prevented me from leaning my head back. I took the book down and it was
part of Swedenborg's 'Arcana Coelestia.' I opened it at random and--can
you imagine it? in two minutes a subject which just then occupied my
thoughts was explained to me in such detail and with an almost alarming
amount of expert knowledge, that it was quite uncanny. In two minutes I
was quite clear regarding myself and my concerns."
"Well, tell us about it."
"No, I won't. You know yourself that the life we live in thought is
secret, and what we experience in secret.... Yes, we are not what we
seem."
"No." His friend broke in hastily. "No; our actions are very easy to
control, but our thoughts... ugh!"
"And thoughts are the deeds of the mind, as I have read somewhere. With
our silent, evil thoughts we can infect others; we can transfer our
evil purposes to others who execute them. Do you remember the case of
the child murderess here ten years ago?"
"No, I was away then."
"She was a young children's nurse, innocent, fond of children, and had
always been kind, as was elicited in examination. During the summer
she was in the service of an actress up there in Fagervik. In August
she was arrested for child murder. I was present in court when she was
examined. She could not assign any reason for her action. But the judge
wished to find out the reason, since she had no personal motive for it.
The witnesses declared that she had loved the child, and she admitted
it. At her second examination she was beside herself with remorse and
horror at the terrible deed, but still behaved as though she were
not really guilty, although she assumed the responsibility for the
crime. At the third examination the judge tried to help her, and put
the question, 'How did the idea come to you of murdering an innocent
child whom you loved? Think carefully!' The girl cast a look of despair
round the court, but when her eyes rested on the mother of the child,
the actress, who was present for the first time, she answered the
judge simply and naturally. 'I believe that my mistress wished it.'
You should have seen the woman's face as these words were uttered. It
seemed to me that her clothes dropped from her and she stood there
exposed, and for the first time I thought of the abysmal depths of the
human soul, over which a judge must walk with bandaged eyes, for he has
no right to punish us in our interior life of thought; there we punish
ourselves and that is what the pietists do."
"What you say is true enough, but I know also that my inner life is
sometimes higher and purer than my outward life."
"I grant it. I have also an idea of my better ego, which is the best I
know.... But tell me, what have you been doing for a whole hour in the
wood?"
"I was thinking."
"You are not going to be a pietist, I suppose," broke in the doctor as
he filled his glass.
"No, not I."
"But you no longer think the pietists are humbugs?"
To this the postmaster made no reply. But the drinking did not go
briskly that evening, and the conversation was on higher topics than
usual. Towards ten o'clock a terrible howling like that of wild beasts
came over the Sound. It was from the garden of the hotel in Fagervik.
Both the philosophers glanced in that direction.
"They are the crews of the cutters, of course," said the postmaster.
"They are certainly fighting too. Yes, Fagervik is going down because
of the rows at night. The holiday visitors run away for they cannot
sleep, and they have thought of closing the beer-shops." "And of
opening a prayer-house, perhaps?"
This question also remained unanswered, and they parted without knowing
exactly how they stood with each other.
Meanwhile the report spread in Fagervik that the postmaster had been to
the prayer-house, and when the next afternoon he found himself in his
little circle at the hotel with the custom-house officer and the chief
pilot, they greeted him with the important news:
"So! you have become a pietist!"
The postmaster parried the thrust with a jest, swore emphatically that
it was untrue, and as a proof emptied his glass more thoroughly than
usual.
"But you have been there."
"I was curious."
"Well, what did they say?"
The postmaster's face darkened, and as they continued to jest it
occurred to him that it was cowardly and contemptible to mock at what
in his opinion did not deserve mockery. Therefore he said seriously and
decidedly: "Leave me in peace! I am not a pietist, but I think highly
of them."
That was tantamount to a confession, and like an iron curtain something
fell between him and his friends. The expression of their faces
changed, and they seemed all at once strange to him. It was the most
curious experience he had had, and it was painful at the same time.
He kept away for a few days and seemed to be in an introspective mood.
After that, by degrees, he resumed his old relations to them, came
again to the hotel, and was gradually the same as before, but not
quite. For he had "pricked up his ears" as the phrase goes.
The Saturday evening _tete-a-tete_ were resumed as before. Now that the
postmaster had become more serious, and showed interest in the deeper
things of life, the doctor considered the time had come to communicate
to him some of the stock of observations which he had made on human
life, without any reference to his own particular experience. It was
reported that he had been married and had children but no one knew
exactly the facts of the case.
After he had satisfied himself that the postmaster liked being read
to aloud, he ventured to suggest to him that they should spend the
Saturday evenings in this higher form of recreation, after they had
first exchanged opinions on the questions of the day, as suggested by
the events of the week. The subject-matter read would then provide
occasion for further explanations and expressions of thought.
Accordingly, on Saturday evening after supper, while the weather
outside was cold and wet, they sat in the best room of the doctor's
house. After searching for some time in a cupboard the doctor fished
out a manuscript; at the last moment he hesitated--perhaps because it
was autobiographical. In order to give himself courage he began with
some preliminary remarks.
"I don't think that, in your recollection, I have expressed my views
on a certain question--the most important one of our time. This
question, which touches the deepest things in life, and is treated most
superficially because it is taken up in a spirit of partisanship.... I
mean----"
"Nevermind! I know!"
"You are afraid of it, but I am not, for it is no question for me, but
a riddle or an insoluble problem. You know that there are insoluble
problems whose insolubility can be proved, but still men continue to
investigate the unsearchable."
"Come to the point! Let us argue afterwards."
"And they have tried to make laws to regulate the behaviour of married
people to each other; that is as though one should lay down rules for
forming a friendship or falling in love. Well and good! I will tell you
a story or two, and then we shall see whether the matter comes under
the head of consideration at all, or whether the usual laws of thought
apply in this case."
"Very well."
"One thing more. Don't think because quarantine is mentioned in the
story that it is my story. That is buried deeper. Now we will begin."
THE DOCTOR'S FIRST STORY
I
They had gone off, taken the almost matter-of-course flight. An outcry
rang through their social circle; people pressed their hands to the
region of their heart, shuddered, lamented, condemned, according as
each had figured to him or herself the terrible tragedy which had been
played; two hearts had been torn asunder, two families raged against
each other; there was a lonely husband and a deserted child; a desolate
home, a career destroyed, entangled affairs which could not be put
straight, and broken friendships. Two men were sitting in a restaurant
and discussing the affair.
"But why did they run away? I think it disgusting!"
"On the contrary! I consider that ordinary decency requires that they
should leave the field to the irreproachable husband; then at any rate
they need not meet in the streets. Besides, it is more honest to be
divorced than to form an illicit tie."
"But why could they not keep their faith and vows? We for our part
hold out for life through grief and joy."
"Yes, and how does it look afterwards? Like an old bird's-nest in
autumn! Other times, other manners."
"But it is terrible in any case."
"Not least for the runaways. Now it will be the turn of the man who
took all the consequences on himself. He will be paid out."
"And so will she."
* * * * *
The story was as follows. The now divorced married pair had met three
years before in a watering-place, and passed through all the stages
of being in love in the normal way. They discovered, as usual, that
they had been born for the special purpose of meeting each other
and wandering through life hand in hand. In order to be worthy of
her he gave up all doubtful habits and refined his language and his
morals. She seemed to him an angel sent by God to open his eyes and to
point him upwards. He overcame the usual difficulties regarding the
publishing of the banns, convinced that those very difficulties were
placed in his way in order to give him an opportunity of showing his
courage and energy.
They read the scandalous anonymous letters which generally follow
engagements together, and put them in the fire. She wept, it is true,
over the wickedness of men, but he said the purpose of it was to test
their faith in each other.
The period of their betrothal was one long intoxication. He declared
that he did not need to drink any more, for her presence made him
literally drunk. Once in a way they felt the weirdness of the solitude
which surrounded them, for their friends had given them up, considering
themselves superfluous.
"Why do people avoid us?" she asked one evening as they walked outside
the town.
"Because," he answered, "men run away when they see happiness."
They did not notice that they themselves avoided intercourse with
others, as they actually did. He, especially, showed a real dread of
meeting his old bachelor friends, for they seemed to him like enemies,
and he saw their sceptical grimaces, which were only too easy to
interpret.
"See! there he is caught! To think of the old rascal letting himself be
hoodwinked!" etc. For the young bachelors were of the opinion then, as
now, that love was a piece of trickery which sooner or later must be
unmasked.
But the conversation of the betrothed pair kept them above the
banalities of everyday life, and they lived, as people say rightly,
above the earth. But they began to feel afraid of the solitude which
surrounded them and drove them together. They tried to go among other
people, partly from the need of showing their happiness, and partly to
quiet themselves. But when after the theatre they entered a restaurant,
and she arranged her hair at the glass in the hall, he felt as though
she was adorning herself for strangers. And when they sat down at the
table, he became instantaneously silent, for her face assumed a new
expression which was strange to him. Her glances seemed to parry the
looks of strangers. They both became silent, and his face wore an
anxious expression. It was a dismal supper, and they soon left.
When they came out she asked, somewhat out of humour at being
disappointed of a pleasure, "Are you vexed with me?"
"No, my dear, I cannot be vexed with you. But I bleed inwardly when I
see young fellows desecrate you with their looks." So their visits to
the restaurant ceased.
The weeks before the marriage were spent in arranging their future
dwelling. They had discussed carpets and curtains, had interviewed
workmen and shopmen, and in so doing had descended from their ideal
heights. Now they wanted to go out to get rid of these prosaic
impressions. So they went, but with that ominous silence when the heads
of a pair feel empty and someone seems to walk between them. He tried
to rally himself and put her in good spirits but unsuccessfully.
"I hang too heavily upon you," she said, and let go of his arm. He did
not answer, for he really felt some relief. That annoyed her and she
drew nearer the wall. The conversation was at an end, and they soon
found themselves before her door.
"Good night," she said curtly.
"Good night," he replied with equal curtness, and they parted obviously
to their mutual relief. This time there was no kiss in the passage and
he did not wait outside the glass door to watch her slender figure move
gracefully up the first flight of stairs.
He went down the street with an elastic gait and drawing a deep
breath of relief. He felt released from something oppressive, which
nevertheless had been charming for three months. Pulling himself
together, he mentally picked up the dropped threads of a past which now
seemed strong and sincere. He hurried on, his ego exulted, and both his
arms, as they swung, felt like wings.
That the affair was over he felt no doubt, but he saw no reason for
it, and with wide-awake consciousness confronted a fact which he
unhesitatingly accepted. When he came near his door he met an old
friend whom, without further ado, he took by the arm, and invited to
share his simple supper and to talk. His friend looked astonished, but
followed him up the stairs.
They ate and drank, smoked and chatted till midnight, discussing every
variety of topic, old reminiscences and affairs of State, the Reichstag
and political economy. There was not a word regarding his betrothal and
marriage, or even an allusion to them. It was a very enjoyable evening
and he seemed to have gone back three months in his life. He noticed
that his voice assumed a more manly tone, that he spoke his thoughts
straight out as they came, without having to take the trouble to round
off the corners of strong words to emphasise some expressions, and
soften down others in order not to give offence. He felt as though he
had found himself again, thrown off a strait-jacket, and laid aside a
mask. He accompanied his friend downstairs to open the house-door.
"Well, you will be married in eight days," said the latter with the
usual sceptical grimace. It was as though he had pressed a button and
the door slammed to in answer.
When he came to his room, he felt seized with disgust; he took the
things off the table, cleared up, swept the room, and then became
conscious of what he had lost, and how low he had sunk.
He felt he had been unfaithful to his betrothed, because he had given
his soul to another, even though that other was a man. He had lost
something better than that which he thought he had gained. What he had
found again was merely his old selfish, inconsiderate, comfortable,
everyday ego, with its coarseness and uncleanness, which his friend
liked because it suited his own.
And now it was all over, and the link broken for ever! The great
solitude would resume its sway, the ugly bachelor life begin again.
It did not occur to him to sit down and write a letter, for he felt
it would be useless. Therefore he tried to weary himself in order to
obtain sleep, soaked his whole head in cold water, and so went to
bed. The little ceremony of winding up his watch made, to-night, a
peculiar impression on him. Everything had to be renewed at night, even
time itself. Perhaps her love only needed a night's rest in order to
recommence.
When he awoke the following morning, the sun shone into the room. An
indescribable feeling of quietness had taken possession of him, and he
felt that life was good as it was, yes, better to-day than usual, for
his soul felt at home again after a long excursion. He dressed himself
and went to his office, opened his letters, read the newspaper, and
felt quite calm all the time. But this unnatural calm began at last to
make him uneasy. He felt an increasing nervousness and a feverishness
over his whole body. The vacuum began to be filled again with her soul;
the electric band had been stretched, and the stream cut off, but it
was still there; there had only been a break in the current, and now
all the recollections rushed upon him, all their beautiful and great
experiences, all the elevated feelings and great thoughts which they
had amassed together, all the dream-world in which they had lived, so
unlike the present world of prose where they now found themselves.
With a feeling of despair he betook himself to his correspondence
in order to conceal his emotions, and began to answer letters with
calmness, order, and clearness. Offers were accepted on certain
conditions, and declined on definite grounds. He went into questions of
coffee and sugar, exchange prices and accounts with unusual clearness
and decision.
A clerk brought him a letter, which he saw at once was from her.
"The messenger waits for an answer," he said.
Without looking up from his desk, the merchant had at once decided and
replied: "He needn't wait."
In that moment he had said to himself: "Explanations, reproaches,
accusations--how can I answer such things?"
And the | 2,345.379577 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing, Chris Curnow, Bryan Ness and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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GUIDE TO THE STUDY OF FISHES
[Illustration:
VARIATIONS IN THE COLOR OF FISHES
The Oniokose or Demon Stinger, _Inimicus japonicus_ (Cuv. and Val.),
from Wakanoura, Japan. From nature by Kako Morita.
Surface coloration about lava rocks.
Coloration of specimens living among red algæ.
Coloration in deep | 2,345.480318 |
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E-text prepared by Nicole Apostola, Charles Franks, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
HARRY HEATHCOTE OF GANGOIL
A Tale of Australian Bush-Life.
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE,
Author of
"The Warden", "Barchester Towers," "Orley Farm," "The Small House at
Arlington", "The Eustace Diamonds," &c., &c.
Illustrated.
HARRY HEATHCOTE
CHAPTER I.
GANGOIL.
Just a fortnight before Christmas, 1871, a young man, twenty-four
years of age, returned home to his dinner about eight o'clock in the
evening. He was married, and with him and his wife lived his wife's
sister. At that somewhat late hour he walked in among the two young
women, and another much older woman who was preparing the table for
dinner. The wife and the wife's sister each had a child in her lap,
the elder having seen some fifteen months of its existence, and the
younger three months. "He has been out since seven, and I don't think
he's had a mouthful," the wife had just said. "Oh, Harry, you must be
half starved," she exclaimed, jumping up to greet him, and throwing
her arm round his bare neck.
"I'm about whole melted," he said, as he kissed her. "In the name of
charity give me a nobbler. I did get a bit of damper and a pannikin
of tea up at the German's hut; but I never was so hot or so thirsty
in my life. We're going to have it in earnest this time. Old Bates
says that when the gum leaves crackle, as they do now, before
Christmas, there won't be a blade of grass by the end of February."
"I hate Old Bates," said the wife. "He always prophesies evil, and
complains about his rations."
"He knows more about sheep than any man this side of the Mary," said
her husband. From all this I trust the reader will understand that
the Christmas to which he is introduced is not the Christmas with
which he is intimate on this side of the equator--a Christmas of
blazing fires in-doors, and of sleet arid snow and frost outside--but
the Christmas of Australia, in which happy land the Christmas fires
are apt to be lighted--or to light themselves--when they are by no
means needed.
The young man who had just returned home had on a flannel shirt, a
pair of mole-skin trowsers, and an old straw hat, battered nearly out
of all shape. He had no coat, no waistcoat, no braces, and nothing
round his neck. Round his waist there was a strap or belt, from the
front of which hung a small pouch, and, behind, a knife in a case.
And stuck into a loop in the belt, made for the purpose, there was a
small brier-wood pipe. As he dashed his hat off, wiped his brow, and
threw himself into a rocking-chair, he certainly was rough to look
at, but by all who understood Australian life he would have been
taken to be a gentleman. He was a young squatter, well known west of
the Mary River, in Queensland. Harry Heathcote of Gangoil, who owned
30,000 sheep of his own, was a magistrate in those parts, and able to
hold his own among his neighbors, whether rough or gentle; and some
neighbors he had, very rough, who made it almost necessary that a man
should be able to be rough also, on occasions, if he desired to live
among them without injury. Heathcote of Gangoil could do all that.
Men said of him that he was too imperious, too masterful, too much
inclined to think that all things should be made to go as he would
have them. Young as he was, he had been altogether his own master
since he was of age--and not only his own master, but the master also
of all with whom he was brought into contact from day to day. In his
life he conversed but seldom with any but those who were dependent on
him, nor had he done so for the last three years. At an age at which
young men at home are still subject to pastors and masters, he had
sprung at once into patriarchal power, and, being a man determined to
thrive, had become laborious and thoughtful beyond his years.
Harry Heathcote had been left an orphan, with a small fortune in
money, when he was fourteen. For two years after that he had
consented to remain quietly at school, but at sixteen he declared his
purpose of emigrating. Boys less than himself in stature got above
him at school, and he had not liked it. For a twelvemonth he was
opposed by his guardian; but at the end of the year he was fitted
forth for the colony. The guardian was not sorry to be quit of him,
but prophesied that he would be home again before a year was over.
The lad had not returned, and it was now a settled conviction among
all who knew him that he would make or mar his fortune in the new
land that he had chosen.
He was a tall, well-made young fellow, with fair hair and a
good-humored smile, but ever carrying in his countenance marks of what
his enemies called pig-headedness, his acquaintances obstinacy, and
those who loved him firmness. His acquaintances were, perhaps, right,
for he certainly was obstinate. He would take no man's advice, he
would submit himself to no man, and in the conduct of his own business
preferred to trust to his own insight than to the experience of
others. It would sometimes occur that he had to pay heavily for his
obstinacy. But, on the other hand, the lessons which he learned he
learned thoroughly. And he was kept right in his trade by his own
indefatigable industry. That trade was the growth of wool. He was a
breeder of sheep on a Queensland sheep-run, and his flocks ran far
afield over a vast territory of which he was the only lord. His house
was near the river Mary, and beyond the river his domain did not
extend; but around him on his own side of the river he could ride for
ten miles in each direction without getting off his own pastures. He
was master, as far as his mastership went, of 120,000 acres--almost
an English county--and it was the pride of his heart to put his foot
off his own territory as seldom as possible. He sent his wool
annually down to Brisbane, and received his stores, tea and sugar,
flour and brandy, boots, clothes, tobacco, etc., once or twice a year
from thence. But the traffic did not require his own presence at the
city. So self-contained was the working of the establishment that he
was never called away by his business, unless he went to see some lot
of highly bred sheep which he might feel disposed to buy; and as for
pleasure, it had come to be altogether beyond the purpose of his life
to go in quest of that. When the work of the day was over, he would
lie at his length upon rugs in the veranda, with a pipe in his mouth,
while his wife sat over him reading a play of Shakspeare or the last
novel that had come to them from England | 2,345.579793 |
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(This book was produced from scanned images of public
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ON THE
SUPPLY OF PRINTED BOOKS FROM
THE LIBRARY TO THE
READING ROOM OF THE BRITISH
MUSEUM
"The requisition to insert the Titles and Press-marks on the
tickets is not merely reasonable but it is indispensible, if
the Library is to be conducted with satisfaction to the Public
and to the Librarians. If people will not take the trouble to
comply with Rules, which, so far from being vexatious, are
absolutely necessary for their own comfort, they have no right
to complain. The fault is _theirs_, if mistakes and delay arise;
and it is as absurd as unjust to impute the effect of their own
ignorance or carelessness to the Officers of the Museum."
SIR NICHOLAS HARRIS NICOLAS.
MDCCCXLVI.
The publication of the annexed correspondence has been determined upon
not for the pleasure of exposing the mistakes and inconsistencies of Sir
Nicholas Harris Nicolas, but for the purpose of drawing the attention of
those who take an interest in the collection of Printed Books in the
British Museum to a most important part of its management, _viz._ the
supply of books to readers. In order to make the correspondence
intelligible, it will be necessary to explain not only the circumstances
which gave rise to it, but also the system of arrangement adopted to
secure a regular attendance upon the readers from the Library, as well
as the reasons why this system has been suggested; and it is hoped that,
when the whole system is carefully examined, it will not be found
undeserving of that support, without which it is impossible that any
scheme can be carried out.
At the risk of entering into minute and very uninteresting particulars,
well known to those who are conversant with the arrangements of a large
Library, it is requisite to state that the books in that of the British
Museum are found by certain references, Press-marks, or symbols, by
which each work is identified with the corresponding entry of its Title
in the Catalogue. The Title of a work marked in the Catalogue with, for
instance, 500 _a_, means that the work itself is in the press which is
numbered 500, and on the shelf of that press which is distinguished by
letter _a_; if the mark be 500 _a_ 2, the meaning is that the work
occupies the second place on that shelf; and if marked 500 a/6 2, that
it is the sixth article in the 2nd vol. on shelf _a_ of press 500. A
book being wanted, the shortest way by far is generally found to be
(and in the greatest number of cases it is the only one) to search the
Catalogue, find the Press-mark, and look for the book accordingly. In
1836, at my suggestion, an alteration in the then prevailing system was
adopted, which the Committee of the House of Commons on the British
Museum, then sitting, considered an improvement, and so it was
universally pronounced to be. The question put to me on the subject by
Lord Stanley, as well as my answer, are here inserted.
"Will you state what improvement has been recently adopted in the
New Transcript [of the Catalogue] | 2,345.69896 |
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Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Chris Curnow and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: Ruffed Grouse.]
BIRD GUIDE
Water Birds, Game Birds and Birds of Prey
BY
CHESTER A. REED
Author of
North American Birds' Eggs, and, with Frank M. Chapman, of Color Key to
North American Birds. Curator in Ornithology, Worcester Natural History
Society
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1921
Copyrighted 1906.
Copyrighted, 1910, CHAS. K. REED,
Worcester, Mass.
PREFACE
While strolling through a piece of woodland, or perhaps along the marsh
or seashore, we see a bird, a strange bird--one we never saw before.
Instantly, our curiosity is aroused, and the question arises, "What is
it?" There is the bird! How can we find out what kind it is? The
Ornithologist of a few years ago had but one course open to him, that is
to shoot the bird, take it home, then pore through pages of
descriptions, until one was found to correspond with the specimen.
Obviously, such methods cannot be pursued today, both humane and
economical reasons prohibiting. We have but one alternative left us: We
must make copious notes of all the peculiarities and markings of the
bird that is before us. On our return home, we get down our bird books,
and there are many excellent ones. After carefully looking through the
whole library, we find that, although many of our books are well
illustrated, none of them has the picture of what we seek, so we adopt
the tactics of the "Old-time" Ornithologist, before mentioned, and pore
over pages of text, until finally we know what our bird was. It is for
just such emergencies as this--to identify a bird when you see it, and
where you see it, that this little pocket "Bird Guide" is prepared. May
it be the medium for saving many of today's seekers for "bird truths"
from the many trials and tribulations willingly encountered, and hard
and thorny roads gladly traveled by the author in his quest for
knowledge of bird ways.
CHESTER A. REED.
Worcester, Mass.
1906.
INTRODUCTION
The study of the birds included in this book is much more difficult than
that of the small land birds. Many of the birds are large; some are very
rare; all are usually shy and have keen eyesight, trained to see at a
distance; in fact, many of them have to depend upon their vigilance for
their very existence. Therefore, you will find that the majority of
these birds will have to be studied at long range. Sometimes, by
exercising care and forethought, you may be able to approach within a
few feet of the bird you seek, or induce him to come to you. It is this
pitting your wits against the cunning of the birds that furnishes
one-half of the interest in their study. Remember that a quick motion
will always cause a bird to fly. If you seek a flock of plover on the
shore, or a heron in the marsh, try to sneak up behind cover if
possible; if not, walk very slowly, and with as little motion as
possible, directly towards them; by so doing you often will get near,
for a bird is a poor judge of distance, while a single step sideways
would cause him to fly. Shore birds can usually be best observed from a
small "blind," near the water's edge, where they feed. Your powers of
observation will be increased about tenfold if you are equipped with a
good pair of field glasses; they are practically indispensable to the
serious student and add greatly to the pleasures of anyone. Any good
glass, that has a wide field of vision and magnifies three or four
diameters, is suitable; we can recommend the ones described in the back
of this book.
WHAT TO MAKE NOTE OF.--What is the nature of the locality where seen;
marsh, shore, woods, etc? If in trees does it sit upright or horizontal?
If on the ground, does it run or walk, easily or with difficulty? If in
the water, can it swim well, can it dive, does it swim under water, can
it fly from the water easily, or does it have to patter over the surface
before flying? What does it seem to be eating? Does it have any notes?
Does it fly rapidly; with rapid wing beats or not; in a straight line or
otherwise? Does it sail, or soar? In flocks or singly? These and
hundreds of other questions that may suggest themselves, are of great
interest and importance.
A PLEA TO SPORTSMEN.--Many of the birds shown in this book are Game
Birds, that is, birds that the law allows you to shoot at certain
seasons of the year. Some of these are still abundant and will be for
numbers of years; others are very scarce and if they are further hunted,
will become entirely exterminated in two or three years. Bob-whites are
very scarce in New England; Prairie Hens are becoming scarce in parts of
the west; the small Curlew is practically extinct, while the larger ones
are rapidly going. In behalf of all bird lovers, we ask that you refrain
from killing those species that you know are rare, and use moderation in
the taking of all others. We also ask that you use any influence that
may be yours to further laws prohibiting all traffic in birds. The man
who makes his living shooting birds will make more, live longer and die
happier tilling the soil than by killing God's creatures. We do not,
now, ask you to refrain from hunting entirely, but get your sport at
your traps. It takes more skill to break a clay pigeon than to kill a
quail.
[Illustration: TOPOGRAPHY OF A BIRD]
THINGS TO REMEMBER
Characteristics of Form or Habit That Will Determine to What Order or
Family Birds Belong.
ORDER 1. DIVING BIRDS--Pygopodes.
[Illustration: ORDER 1. DIVING BIRDS--Pygopodes.]
GREBES; Colymbidae:--Form, duck-like; bill pointed and never flattened;
no tail; legs at extreme end of body; each flattened toe with an
individual web; wings small. Flies rapidly, but patters along the water
before taking wing. Expert divers, using wings as well as feet, to
propel them, under water.
LOONS. Family Gaviidae:--Larger than Grebes; bill long, heavy, and
pointed; tail very short; feet webbed like a duck's, but legs thin and
deep; form and habits, grebe-like.
AUKS, MURRES, PUFFINS. Family Alcidae:--Bills very variable; tail short;
usually takes flight when alarmed, instead of diving as do grebes and
loons. With the exception of puffins, which stand on their feet, all
birds of this order sit upon their whole leg and tail. They are awkward
on land; some can hardly walk.
ORDER 2. LONG-WINGED SWIMMERS.--Longipennes.
[Illustration: ORDER 2. LONG-WINGED SWIMMERS.--Longipennes.]
SKUAS, JAEGERS. Family Stercorariidae:--Marine birds of prey; bill
strongly hooked, with long scaly shield, or cere, at the base; claws
strong and curved, hawk-like; flight hawk-like; plumage often entirely
sooty-black, and always so on the back.
GULLS, TERNS. Family Laridae:--Gulls have hooked bills, usually
yellowish, yellow eyes and pale, webbed feet. Heap, underparts and
square tail are white in adults; back, pearl-grey; exceptions are the
four small black-headed gulls, which also have reddish legs. Gulls fly
with the bill straight in front, and often rest on the water. Terns have
forked tails, black caps, and their slender, pointed bills and small
webbed feet are usually red. They fly with bill pointed down, and dive
upon their prey.
ORDER 3. TUBE-NOSED SWIMMERS.--Tubinares.
[Illustration: ORDER 3. TUBE-NOSED SWIMMERS.--Tubinares.]
FULMARS, SHEARWATERS, PETRELS. Family Procellariidae:--Nostrils opening
in a tube on top of the hooked bill. Plumage of fulmars, gull-like;
shearwaters entirely sooty black, or white below; petrels blackish, with
white rumps,--very small birds. All seabirds.
ORDER 4. TOTIPALMATE SWIMMERS.--Steganopodes.
[Illustration: ORDER 4. TOTIPALMATE SWIMMERS.--Steganopodes.]
All four toes joined by webs.
TROPIC BIRDS. Family Phaethontidae:--Bill and form tern-like; middle tail
feathers very long.
GANNETS. Family Sulidae:--Bill heavy and pointed; face and small throat
pouch, bare.
SKAKE-BIRDS. Family Anhingidae:--Bill slender and pointed; neck and tail
very long, the latter rounded; habits like those of the following.
CORMORANTS. Family Phalacrocoracidae:--Bill slender, but hooked at the
tip; plumage glossy black and brown; eyes green. They use their wings as
well as feet when pursuing fish under water.
PELICANS. Family Pelecanidae:--Bill very long and with a large pouch
suspended below.
MAN-O'-WAR BIRDS. Family Fregatidae:--very long and strongly hooked; tail
long and forked; wholly maritime, as are all but the preceding three.
ORDER 5. DUCKS, GEESE AND SWANS. Anseres.
[Illustration: ORDER 5. DUCKS, GEESE AND SWANS. Anseres.]
Mergansers, with slender, toothed bills with which to catch the fish
they pursue under water.
Other ducks have rather broad bills, more or less resembling those of
the domestic duck. Their flight is rapid and direct. River ducks have no
web, or flap, on the hind toe; they get their food without going
entirely under water, by tipping up. Sea ducks have a broad flap on the
hind toe.
ORDER 6. FLAMINGOES. Odontoglossae.
[Illustration: ORDER 6. FLAMINGOES. Odontoglossae.]
Family Phoenicopteridae:--Large, long-necked, pink birds with a crooked
box-like bill, long legs and webbed feet.
ORDER 7. HERONS, IBISES, ETC. Herodiones.
[Illustration: ORDER 7. HERONS, IBISES, ETC. Herodiones.]
Long-legged, wading birds, with all four toes long, slender and without
webs. Usually found about the muddy edges of ponds, lakes or creeks, and
less often on the sea shore. Wings large and rounded.
SPOONBILL. Family Plataleidae:--Bill long, thin and much broadened at the
end; head bare.
IBISES. Family Ibididae:--Bill long, slender and curved down. Ibises and
Spoonbills fly with the neck fully extended.
STORKS. Family Ciconiidae:--Bill long, heavy, and curved near the end;
head and upper neck bare.
HERONS, BITTERNS, EGRETS. Family Ardeidae:--Bill long, straight and
pointed; head usually crested, and back often with plumes. Herons fly
with a fold in the neck, and the back of the head resting against the
shoulders.
ORDER 8. MARSH BIRDS. Paludicolae.
[Illustration: ORDER 8. MARSH BIRDS. Paludicolae.]
Birds of this order, vary greatly in size and appearance, but all agree
in having the hind toe elevated, whereas that of the members of the last
order leaves the foot on a level with the front toes; neck extended in
flight.
CRANES. Family Grudidae:--Very large and heron-like, but with plumage
close feathered; top of head bare; bill long, slender and obtusely
pointed.
COURLANS. Family Aramidae:--Size mid-way between the cranes and rails;
bill long and slender.
RAILS, ETC. Family Rallidae:--Bills are variable, but toes and legs long;
wings short; flight slow and wavering; marsh skulkers, hiding in rushes.
Gallinules have a frontal shield on the forehead, Coots have
lobate-webbed feet, short, whitish bills.
ORDER 9. SHORE BIRDS. Limicolae.
[Illustration: ORDER 9. SHORE BIRDS. Limicolae.]
Comparatively small, long legged, slender-billed birds seen running
along edges of ponds or beaches.
PHALAROPES. Phalaropodidae.--Toes with lobed webs.
AVOCETS, STILTS. Recurvirostridae:--Avocet, with slender recurved bill,
and webbed feet; stilt, with straight bill, very long legs, toes not
webbed.
SNIPES, SANDPIPERS, ETC. Family Scolopacidae:--Bills very variable but
slender, and all, except the Woodcock, with long pointed wings; flight
usually swift and erratic.
PLOVERS. Family Charadriidae:--Bill short and stout; three toes.
TURNSTONES. Family Aphrizidae:--Bill short, stout and slightly up-turned;
four toes.
OYSTER-CATCHERS. Family Haematopodidae:--Bill long, heavy and compressed;
legs and toes stout; three toes slightly webbed at base.
JACANAS. Family Jacanidae:--Bill with leaf-like shield at the base; legs
and toes extremely long and slender; sharp spur on wing.
ORDER 10. FOWLS. Gallinae.
[Illustration: ORDER 10. FOWLS. Gallinae.]
Ground birds of robust form; bill hen-like; wings short and rounded;
feet large and strong.
PARTRIDGES, GROUSE. Family Tetraonidae:--Legs bare in the partridges,
feathered in grouse.
TURKEYS, PHEASANTS. Family Phasianidae:--Legs often spurred, or head with
wattles, etc.
GUANS. Family Cracidae:--Represented by the Chachalaca of Texas.
ORDER 11. PIGEONS AND DOVES. Columbae.
[Illustration: ORDER 11. PIGEONS AND DOVES. Columbae.]
Family Columbidae:--Bill slender, hard at the tip, and with the nostrils
opening in a fleshy membrane at the base. Plumage soft grays and browns.
ORDER 12. BIRDS OF PREY. Raptores.
[Illustration: ORDER 12. BIRDS OF PREY. Raptores.]
VULTURES. Cathartidae:--Head bare; feet hen-like.
HAWKS, EAGLES. Falconidae:--Bill and claws strongly hooked; nostrils in a
cere at base of bill.
BARN OWLS. Aluconidae:--Black eyes in triangular facial disc; middle
toe-nail serrated.
HORNED OWLS, ETC. Bubonidae:--Facial disc round; some species with ears,
others without.
BIRD GUIDE
PART 1
Water Birds, Game Birds and Birds of Prey
[Illustration: ]
DIVING BIRDS--Order Pygopodes
GREBES--Family Colymbidae
WESTERN GREBE
1. AEchmophorus occidentalis. 25 to 29 inches.
All grebes have lobate-webbed feet, that is each toe has its individual
web, being joined to its fellow only for a short distance at the base.
This, the largest of our grebes, is frequently known as the "Swan Grebe"
because of its extremely long, thin neck. In summer the back of the neck
is black, but in winter it is gray like the back.
Notes.--Loud, quavering and cackling.
Nest.--A floating mass of decayed rushes, sometimes attached to upright
stalks. The 2 to 5 eggs are pale, bluish white, usually stained (2.40 x
1.55). They breed in colonies.
Range.--Western North America, from the Dakotas and Manitoba to the
Pacific, and north to southern Alaska. Winters in the Pacific coast
states and Mexico.
[Illustration: ]
HOLBOELL GREBE
2. Colymbus holboelli. 19 inches.
This is next to the Western Grebe in size, both being much larger than
any of our others. In summer, they are very handsomely marked with a
reddish brown neck, silvery white cheeks and throat, and black crown and
crest, but in winter they take on the usual grebe dress of grayish above
and glossy white below. Because of their silky appearance and firm
texture, grebe breasts of all kinds have been extensively used in the
past to adorn hats of women, who were either heedless or ignorant of the
wholesale slaughter that was carried on that they might obtain them.
Nest.--Of decayed rushes like that of the last. Not in as large
colonies; more often single pairs will be found nesting with other
varieties. Their eggs average smaller than those of the last species
(2.35 x 1.25).
Range.--North America, breeding most abundantly in the interior of
Canada, and to some extent in the Dakotas. Winters in the U. S., chiefly
on the coasts.
[Illustration: ]
HORNED GREBE
3. Colymbus auritus. 14 inches.
As is usual with grebes, summer brings a remarkable change in the dress
of these birds. The black, puffy head is adorned with a pair of buffy
white ear tufts and the foreneck is a rich chestnut color. In winter,
they are plain gray and white but the secondaries are always largely
white, as they are in the two preceding and the following species. The
grebe diet consists almost wholly of small fish, which they are very
expert at pursuing and catching under water. One that I kept in
captivity in a large tank, for a few weeks, would never miss catching
the shiners, upon which he was fed, at the first lightning-like dart of
his slender neck. They also eat quantities of shell fish, and I doubt if
they will refuse any kind of flesh, for they always have a keen
appetite.
Nest.--A slovenly built pile of vegetation floating in the "sloughs" of
western prairies. The 3 to 7 eggs are usually stained brownish yellow
(1.70 x 1.15).
Range.--Breeds from Northern Illinois and So. Dakota northward; winters
from northern U. S. to the Gulf of Mexico.
[Illustration: ]
AMERICAN EARED GREBE
4. Colymbus nigricollis californicus. 13 inches.
This is a western species rarely found east of the Mississippi. In
summer, it differs from the last in having the entire neck black; in
winter it can always be distinguished from the Horned Grebe by its
slightly upcurved bill, while the upper mandible of the last is convex.
In powers of swimming and diving, grebes are not surpassed by any of our
water birds. They dive at the flash of a gun and swim long distances
before coming to the surface; on this account they are often called
"devil divers." They fly swiftly when once a-wing, but their concave
wings are so small that they have to patter over the water with their
feet in order to rise.
Nest.--They nest in colonies, often in the same sloughs with Horned and
Western Grebes, laying their eggs early in June. The 4 to 7 eggs are
dull white, usually stained brownish, and cannot be separated from those
of the last.
Range.--Western N. A., breeding from Texas to Manitoba and British
Columbia; winters in western U. S. and Mexico.
[Illustration: ]
LEAST OR ST. DOMINGO GREBE
5. Colymbus dominions brachypterus. 10 inches.
This is much smaller than any others of our grebes; in breeding plumage
it most nearly resembles the following species, but the bill is black
and sharply pointed. It has a black patch on the throat, and the crown
and back of the head are glossy blue black; in winter, the throat and
sides of the head are white.
Nest.--Not different from those of the other grebes. Only comparatively
few of them breed in the U. S. but they are common in Mexico and Central
America. Their eggs, when first laid, are a pale, chalky, greenish
white, but they soon become discolored and stained so that they are a
deep brownish, more so than any of the others; from 3 to 6 eggs is a
full complement (1.40 x.95).
Range.--Found in the United States, only in the Lower Rio Grande Valley
in Southern Texas, and southwards to northern South America.
[Illustration: ]
PIED-BILLED GREBE
6. Podilymbus podiceps. 13.5 inches.
In any plumage this species cannot be mistaken for others, because of
its stout compressed bill and brown iris; all the others have red eyes.
In summer the bill is whitish with a black band encircling it; the
throat is black; the eye encircled by a whitish ring; the breast and
sides are brownish-gray. In winter they are brownish-black above and
dull white below, with the breast and sides washed with brown. Young
birds have more or less distinct whitish stripes on the head.
Notes.--A loud, ringing "kow-kow-kow-kow (repeated many times and ending
in) kow-uh, kow-uh."
Nest.--Of decayed rushes floating in reed-grown ponds or edges of lakes.
The pile is slightly hollowed and, in this, the 5 to 8 eggs are laid;
the bottom of the nest is always wet and the eggs are often partly in
the water; they are usually covered with a wet mass when the bird is
away. Brownish-white (1.70 x 1.15).
Range.--Whole of N. A., breeding locally and usually in pairs or small
colonies.
[Illustration: ]
LOONS--Family Gavidae
LOON; GREAT NORTHERN DIVER
7. Gavia immer. 31 to 35 inches.
In form, loons resemble large grebes, but their feet are full webbed
like those of a duck; they have short, stiff tails and long, heavy,
pointed bills. They have no tufts or ruffs in breeding season, but their
plumage changes greatly. The common loon is very beautifully and
strikingly marked with black and white above, and white below; the head
is black, with a crescent across the throat and a ring around the neck.
In winter, they are plain gray above and white below.
Loons are fully as expert in diving and swimming as are the grebes. They
are usually found in larger, more open bodies of water.
Notes.--A loud, quavering, drawn-out "wah-hoo-o-o."
Nest.--Sometimes built of sticks, and sometimes simply a hollow in the
sand or bank under overhanging bushes, usually on an island. The 2 eggs
are brownish with a few black specks (3.50 x 2.25).
Range.--N. A., breeding from northern U. S. northwards; winters from
northern U. S. southwards.
[Illustration: ]
BLACK-THROATED LOON
9. Gavia arctica. 28 inches.
This loon lives in the Arctic regions and only rarely is found, in
winter, in Northern United States. In summer, it can readily be
distinguished from the common loon by the gray crown and hind-neck, as
well as by different arrangement of the black and white markings. In
winter, they are quite similar to the last species but can be recognized
by their smaller size, and can be distinguished from the winter plumaged
Red-throated Loon by the absence of any white markings on the back. Like
the grebes, loons have to run over the surface of the water in order to
take flight, and they are practically helpless when on land. Their
flight is very rapid, in a straight line, and their neck is carried at
full length in front. This species has red eyes, as do all the other
loons.
Nest.--The same as the last species, but the two eggs have more of an
olive tint and are smaller (3.10 x 2.00).
Range.--Arctic America, wintering in Canada and occasionally in Northern
United States.
[Illustration: ]
RED-THROATED LOON
11. Gavia stellata. 25 inches.
Besides being smaller than the common loon, this species has a more
slender bill, which has a slightly up-turned appearance owing to the
straight top to the upper mandible; in summer, its back and head are
gray, with no white spots, although the back of the head has a few white
streaks; there is a large patch of chestnut on the fore-neck; the under
parts are white. In winter, it is gray above and white below, but the
back is sprinkled with small white spots; at this season it can easily
be distinguished from Holboell Grebe by the absence of any white patch
in the wings as well as by the differently shaped feet.
Nest.--A depression in the sand or ground, not more than a foot or two
from the water's edge, so they can slide from their two eggs into their
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Produced by David Reed
PLUNKITT OF TAMMANY HALL
By George Washington Plunkitt
A Series of Very Plain Talks on Very Practical Politics, Delivered by
Ex-senator George Washington Plunkitt, the Tammany Philosopher, from His
Rostrum--the New York County Court House Bootblack Stand
Recorded by William L. Riordon
CONTENTS
Preface by William L. Riordon
A Tribute by Charles F. Murphy
Chapter 1. Honest Graft and Dishonest Graft
Chapter 2. How To Become a Statesman
Chapter 3. The Curse of Civil Service Reform
Chapter 4. Reformers Only Mornin' Glories
Chapter 5. New York City Is Pie for the Hayseeds
Chapter 6. To Hold Your District: Study Human Nature and Act Accordin'
Chapter 7. On The Shame of the Cities
Chapter 8. Ingratitude in Politics
Chapter 9. Reciprocity in Patronage
Chapter 10. Brooklynites Natural-Born Hayseeds
Chapter 11. Tammany Leaders Not Bookworms
Chapter 12. Dangers of the Dress Suit in Politics
Chapter 13. On Municipal Ownership
Chapter 14. Tammany the Only Lastin' Democracy
Chapter 15. Concerning Gas in Politics
Chapter 16. Plunkitt's Fondest Dream
Chapter 17. Tammany's Patriotism
Chapter 18. On the Use of Money in Politics
Chapter 19. The Successful Politician Does Not Drink
Chapter 20. Bosses Preserve the Nation
Chapter 21. Concerning Excise
Chapter 22. A Parting Word on the Future Party in America
Chapter 23. Strenuous Life of the Tammany District Leader
Preface
THIS volume discloses the mental operations of perhaps the most
thoroughly practical politician of the day--George Washington Plunkitt,
Tammany leader of the Fifteenth Assembly District, Sachem of the Tammany
Society and Chairman of the Elections Committee of Tammany Hall, who
has held the offices of State Senator, Assemblyman', Police Magistrate,
County Supervisor and Alderman, and who boasts of his record in filling
four public offices in one year and drawing salaries from three of them
at the same time.
The discourses that follow were delivered by him from his rostrum, the
bootblack stand in the County Court-house, at various times in the
last half-dozen years. Their absolute frankness and vigorous
unconventionality of thought and expression charmed me. Plunkitt said
right out what all practical politicians think but are afraid to say.
Some of the discourses I published as interviews in the New York Evening
Post, the New York Sun, the New York World, and the Boston Transcript.
They were reproduced in newspapers throughout the country and several
of them, notably the talks on "The Curse of Civil Service Reform" and
"Honest Graft and Dishonest Graft," became subjects of discussion in
the United States Senate and in college lectures. There seemed to be
a general recognition of Plunkitt as a striking type of the practical
politician, a politician, moreover, who dared to say publicly what
others in his class whisper among themselves in the City Hall corridors
and the hotel lobbies.
I thought it a pity to let Plunkitt's revelations of himself--as frank
in their way as Rousseau's Confessions--perish in the files of the
newspapers; so I collected the talks I had published, added several new
ones, and now give to the world in this volume a system of political
philosophy which is as unique as it is refreshing.
No New Yorker needs to be informed who George Washington Plunkitt is.
For the information of others, the following sketch of his career is
given. He was born, as he proudly tells, in Central Park--that is, in
the territory now included in the park. He began life as a driver of
a cart, then became a butcher's boy, and later went into the butcher
business for himself. How he entered politics he explains in one of his
discourses. His advancement was rapid. He was in the Assembly soon after
he cast his first vote and has held office most of the time for forty
years.
In 1870, through a strange combination of circumstances, he held the
places of Assemblyman, Alderman, Police Magistrate and County Supervisor
and drew three salaries at once--a record unexampled in New York
politics.
| 2,345.894175 |
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Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Music
transcribed by Veronika Redfern.
THE
NURSERY
_A Monthly Magazine_
FOR YOUNGEST READERS.
VOLUME XXX.--No. 1.
BOSTON:
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
NO. 36 BROMFIELD STREET.
1881.
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
[Illustration: JOHN WILSON & SON UNIVERSITY PRESS]
[Illustration: Contents.]
IN PROSE.
PAGE
Hide and Seek 193
Flowers for Mamma 195
Outwitted 197
Zip <DW53> 199
The Fuss in the Poultry-Yard 201
Our Charley 206
Drawing-Lesson 209
More about "Parley-voo" 210
The old Pump 214
Winter on Lake Constance 215
Swan-upping 216
The Man in the Moon 219
The Boy and the Cat 220
IN VERSE.
Hammock Song 196
Rosie and the Pigs 198
What's up 203
Minding Mother 204
Peet-Weet 207
Baby's Ride 212
Baby-Brother 222
Under Green Leaves (_with music_) 224
[Illustration]
[Illustration: HIDE AND SEEK.
VOL. XXX.--NO. 1.]
HIDE-AND-SEEK.
WHERE is Charley? Where can the boy have gone? Just now he was here by
my side. Now he is out of my sight. I will call him. 'Charley, Charley,
my boy! where are you?'
"No answer. Hark! I hear a noise up in that tree. Can that be Charley?
Oh, no! It is a bird. 'Little bird, have you seen a small boy with curly
hair? Tell me where to look for him.'
"The bird will not tell me. I must ask the squirrel. 'Squirrel, have you
seen a boy with rosy cheeks?' Away goes the squirrel into a hole without
saying a word.
"Ah! there goes a butterfly. I will ask him. 'Butterfly, have you seen a
boy, with black eyes, rosy cheeks, and curly hair?' The butterfly lights
on a bush. Now he flies again. Now he is off without making any reply.
"Dear me! what shall I do? Is my little boy lost in the woods? Must I go
home without him? Oh, how can I live without my boy!"
Out pops a laughing face from the bushes.
"Here I am, mamma!" says Charley. "Don't cry. Here I am close by you."
"Why, so you are. Come out here, you little rogue, and tell me where you
have been all this time."
"I have been right behind this tree, and I heard every word you said,"
says Charley.
"What a joke that was! Why, Charley, you must have kept still for as
much as three minutes. I never knew you to do that before."
IDA FAY.
[Illustration]
FLOWERS FOR MAMMA.
OUR readers will remember a picture of this same little girl as she was
taking her doll to ride. While Dolly was taking her nap, Grace ran into
the garden again. She flitted about among the flowers, as busy as a bee,
for a few minutes. Then she came running into the house. The picture
shows what she brought back to her mamma.
JANE OLIVER.
[Illustration]
HAMMOCK SONG.
HEIGH-HO, to and fro!
How the merry breezes blow!
Blue skies, blue eyes,
Baby, bees, and butterflies,
Daisies growing everywhere,
Breath of roses in the air!
Dollie Dimple, swing away,
Baby darling, at your play.
MARY D. BRINE.
OUTWITTED.
ONE fine summer day a very hungry fox sallied out in search of his
dinner. After a while his eye rested on a young rooster, which he
thought would make a very good meal: so he lay down under a wall and hid
himself in the high grass, intending to wait until the rooster got near
enough, and then to spring on him, and carry him off.
Suddenly, however, the rooster saw him and flew, in a great fright, to
the top of the wall.
The fox could not get him there, and he knew it: so he came out from his
hiding-place, and addressed the rooster thus: "Dear me!" he cried, "how
handsomely you are dressed! I came to invite your magnificence to a
grand christening feast. The duck and the goose have promised to come,
and the turkey, though slightly ill, will try to come also.
[Illustration]
"You see that only those of rank are bidden to this feast, and we beg
you to adorn it with your splendid talent for music. We are to have the
most delicate little cock-chafers served up on toast, a delicious salad
of earthworms, in fact all manner of good things. Will you not return
then with me to my house?"
"Oh ho!" said the rooster, "how kind you are! What fine stories you
tell! Still I think it safest to decline your kind invitation. I am
sorry not to go to that splendid feast; but I cannot leave my wife, for
she is sitting on seven new eggs. Good-by! I hope you | 2,345.924323 |
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Proofreading Team.
DR. JOHNSON'S WORKS.
REVIEWS, POLITICAL TRACTS,
AND
LIVES OF EMINENT PERSONS.
THE WORKS OF
SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.
IN NINE VOLUMES.
VOLUME THE SIXTH.
MDCCCXXV.
CONTENTS OF THE SIXTH VOLUME.
REVIEWS.
Letter on Du Halde's history of China.
Review of the account of the conduct of the dutchess of Marlborough.
Review of memoirs of the court of Augustus.
Review of four letters from sir Isaac Newton.
Review of a journal of eight days' journey.
Reply to a paper in the Gazetteer.
Review of an essay on the writings and genius of Pope.
Review of a free enquiry into the nature and origin of evil.
Review of the history of the Royal Society of London, &c.
Review of the general history of Polybius.
Review of miscellanies on moral and religious subjects.
Account of a book entitled an historical and critical enquiry into the
evidence produced by the earls of Moray and Morton against Mary queen of
Scots, &c.
Marmor Norfolciense; or, an essay on an ancient prophetical inscription
in monkish rhyme, lately discovered near Lynn, in Norfolk.
Observations on the state of affairs in 1756.
An introduction to the political state of Great Britain.
Observations on the treaty between his Britannic majesty and his
imperial majesty of all the Russias, &c.
Introduction to the proceedings of the committee appointed to manage the
contributions for clothing French prisoners of war.
On the bravery of the English common soldiers.
POLITICAL TRACTS.
Prefatory observations to political tracts.
The False Alarm. 1770.
Prefatory observations on Falkland's islands.
Thoughts on the late transactions respecting Falkland's islands.
The Patriot.
Taxation no tyranny; an answer to the resolutions and address of the
American congress. 1775.
LIVES OF EMINENT PERSONS.
Father Paul Sarpi.
Boerhaave.
Blake.
Sir Francis Drake.
Barretier.
Additional account of the life of Barretier in the Gentleman's Magazine,
1742.
Morin.
Burman.
Sydenham.
Cheynel.
Cave.
King of Prussia.
Browne.
Ascham.
REVIEWS.
LETTER ON DU HALDE'S HISTORY OF CHINA, 1738.
There are few nations in the world more talked of, or less known, than
the Chinese. The confused and imperfect account which travellers have
given of their grandeur, their sciences, and their policy, have,
hitherto, excited admiration, but have not been sufficient to satisfy
even a superficial curiosity. I, therefore, return you my thanks for
having undertaken, at so great an expense, to convey to English readers
the most copious and accurate account, yet published, of that remote and
celebrated people, whose antiquity, magnificence, power, wisdom,
peculiar customs, and excellent constitution, undoubtedly deserve the
attention of the publick.
As the satisfaction found in reading descriptions of distant countries
arises from a comparison which every reader naturally makes, between the
ideas which he receives from the relation, and those which were familiar
to him before; or, in other words, between the countries with which he
is acquainted, and that which the author displays to his imagination; so
it varies according to the likeness or dissimilitude of the manners of
the two nations. Any custom or law, unheard and unthought | 2,345.92433 |
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Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Neville Allen,
Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 147.
OCTOBER 28, 1914.
CHARIVARIA.
Reports that Germany is not best pleased with Austria-Hungary are
peculiarly persistent just now. There would indeed seem to be good
grounds for Germany's displeasure, for a gentleman just returned from
Budapest says that the Hungarian MINISTER OF THE INTERIOR has actually
issued an official circular to the mayors and prefects throughout the
land enjoining upon them the duty of treating citizens of hostile states
sojourning in their midst with humanity and sympathy.
* * *
Inquisitive people are asking, "What is the KAISER'S quarrel with the
Bavarians?" He is reported to have said, the other day, "My wish for the
English is that one day they will have to fight the Bavarians."
* * *
The King of BAVARIA, by the way, has been operated upon for a swelling
of the shoulder blade. We are glad to hear that he is progressing
favourably, and it is hoped that the swelling will not, as in the case
of another distinguished patient, spread to the head.
* * *
For the following little story we are indebted to the German
army:--"Fears are now entertained of an epidemic breaking out among the
German troops in Antwerp, as, the German artillery having destroyed the
municipal waterworks, there is no drinkable water available."
* * *
Several striking suggestions have reached the authorities in connection
with the danger from Zeppelins. One is that St. Paul's Cathedral and
Westminster Abbey should be covered over with dark cloths every night,
and that shoddy reproductions of these edifices should be run up in
another part of London, and be brilliantly illuminated so as to attract
the attention of the enemy.
* * *
Another method of confusing the airships, it is pointed out, would be to
drain the Thames, and to flood a great thoroughfare, say that from the
Bank to Shepherd's Bush, and to place barges on it so that it would be
mistaken for the river and cause the airmen to lose their bearings.
* * *
Meanwhile the authorities who are responsible for the safety of London
are said to be anxious to hear of an intrepid airman who will undertake
to paint out the moon.
* * *
There are, of course, always pessimists among us, but we would beg the
editor of _The Barmouth and County Advertiser_ to try not to be
downhearted. Impressed, no doubt, by the recent sale of two German
warships to Turkey, he gives voice to the following opinion in a
leader:--"Our Fleet to-day is supreme; but no one knows when an auction
may take place...."
* * *
It has suddenly become more imperative than ever that the War should be
finished quickly. A publishing firm has issued the first volume of a
history of the war with an announcement that it will be completed in
four volumes at a fixed price. If the war should last longer than a year
the last volume threatens to achieve such a size that the publisher
would either have to go back on his word or be ruined.
* * *
The L.C.C. has just produced a new, revised, up-to-date and fully
detailed map of London, and the German War Office is furious to think
that it has been put to the needless expense of compiling a similar
document itself.
* * *
It has been pointed out that the War has had a most satisfactory effect
on criminality. And even in civil actions witnesses would seem to be
turning over a new leaf, and even insisting on giving evidence against
themselves. For example, we learn from _The Northwood Gazette_ that a
van driver, charged the other day with damaging a motor-car, said in
cross-examination:--"I pulled up about fifteen years after the accident
happened."
* * *
In spite of the War our Law Courts pursue the even tenour of their way,
and the Divisional Court has just been asked to decide the important
question, Is ice-cream meat? Personally we should say that, where it is
made from unfiltered water, the answer is in the affirmative.
* * *
"DE WET OF THE SEA."
_Daily Mail._
We should have thought this well-known characteristic was hardly worth
mentioning.
* * *
"DISGUISED SPIES"
was the title of a paragraph in a contemporary last week. These cases
must surely be exceptional. We always think of spies as wearing a
recognised uniform, or at least a label to indicate their profession.
* * *
"CORK STEAMER SUNK BY MINE."--_Evening News._
This war is shattering many of our illusions.
* * *
Mr. FRED EMNEY, who is now appearing at the Coliseum, would like it to
be known that he is not an Alien Emney.
* * * * *
Illustration: "IT'S ALL VERY WELL, JARGE, FOR YOU T' SAY WHY DON'T
KITCHENER AN' FRENCH DO THIS AN' THAT? BUT WHAT I SAY IS, IT DON'T DO
FOR YOU AN' ME T' SAY ANYTHINK WHAT MIGHT EMBARRASS EITHER OF 'EM."
* * * * *
THE NEW CENSORSHIP.
"The country in which so much interest centres may be briefly
described. From near ---- to ---- and onwards in a south-easterly
direction there is a low range of chalky hills, closely resembling
our South Downs. There is no harm in saying definitely that not a
German is on this line."--_Daily Telegraph._
No apparent harm, but you can't be too careful. If the news gets round
to the Germans that they are not there, they might at once set about to
correct this defect.
* * * * *
THE TANDEM.
"Mr. F. Marsham-Townshend's Polygamist, 3, 6-2, E. Crickmere 0
Mr. F. Marsham-Townshend's Polygamist, 3, 6-2, O. Grant 0"
_Irish Times._
Racing, you will be glad to be reminded, still goes on, but of course
only for the sake of creating employment. By putting two jockeys upon
the same horse the desired end is attained more easily.
* * * * *
CANUTE AND THE KAISER.
[_Thoughts extracted from a sea-shell (howitzer pattern) by Our Own
Special Conchologist on the Belgian Coast._]
There was a King by name CANUTE
(In ancient jargon known as KNUT),
And I, for one, will not dispute
The kingly figure which he cut;
A god in mufti--so his courtiers said--
Whatever thing he chose to have a try at,
He did it (loosely speaking) on his head,
By just remarking, "_Fiat!_"
One day they sat him by the sea
To put his virtue to the test,
And there, without conviction, he
Threw off the following, by request:--
"Ocean," he said, "I see your waves are wet"
(Bravely he spoke, but in his heart he funked 'em),
"So to your further progress here I set
A period, or _punctum_."
He knew it wasn't any good
Talking like that; and when the foam
Made for his feet (he knew it would)
He turned at once and made for home;
And "I'm no god, but just a man," he cried,
"And you, my sycophants, are sorry rotters,
Who told your KNUT that he could dare the tide
To damp his heavenly trotters."
* * *
The scene was changed. Another strand;
Another god (alleged) was there
(In spirit, you must understand;
His actual frame occurred elsewhere);--
"O element designed for German ships,
Whose future lies," said he, "upon the water,
I strike at England! Ho!" and licked his lips
For lust of loot and slaughter.
Then by the sea was answer made,
And down the wind this word was blown:
"Thus far! but here your steps are stayed;
England is mine; I guard my own!"
And as upon his ear this challenge fell,
Out of the deep there also fell upon it, or
Close in the neighbourhood, a singing shell
From H.M. _Mersey_, Monitor.
And just as old CANUTE (or KNUT)
Stopped not to parley when he found
His line of exit nearly cut,
But moved his feet to drier ground,
So too that other Monarch, much concerned
About his safety, looked no longer foam-ward,
But said, "This sea's too much for me," and turned
Strategically home-ward.
O. S.
* * * * *
WAR AND THE HIGH HAND.
_Scene:_ A MOTHERS' MEETING.
"They do say as this old Keyser or Geyser or whatever 'e calls 'isself
be goin' to 'op it."
"Afraid of 'is life, if t'other side should win--that it?"
"Likely 'e is--an' well may be. T'other side be our side in that case,
bain't it?"
"That's it. An' it's 'im for 'isself an' the rest for theirselves, from
what I can see."
"This old Keyser, 'e's to blame for most ev'rythin' happenin' nowadays.
Reg'lar firebran' in our midst, 'e do seem."
"Daresay 'e was drove to it, if we could but see all."
"Some woman nagged 'im into it--if you ask me."
"They do say 'e craves for peace with 'is whole mind."
"Parson 'e says on Sunday as the hypocrit' cries for peace where there
is no peace."
"This war seems to take people out of their true selves, makin' of 'em
ravenin' beasts."
"Men, too, as otherwise acts quiet an' well-meanin' enough. You 'eard
what Doctor done?"
"What 'e done?"
"Not to old Sally's son, Jim?"
"'Im as 'urted 'is 'and blackberry time--a year ago this very month?"
"'Im. Ill unto death, 'e were, with blood poisonin', and Doctor 'e says
what a shockin' state 'is blood must 'ave been in for the poison to
serve 'im so."
"An' old Sally been a-keepin' of 'im ever since. 'Er needle been at it
reg'lar, but 'ardly earnin' a livin' wage owin' to the meanness of them
who 'as it to pay."
"An' a poisoned and, when the worst be over, ain't no bar to the
appetite."
"Glad she's been to do it sooner than lose 'im, as she lost 'is brother
with 'oopin'-cough."
"That must be a matter of twenty-five year ago--before ever Jim was
born."
"You ain't told us yet, dear, what Doctor done."
"I'm comin' to that. Jim, 'e's not without 'is uses an' 'e | 2,369.08594 |
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Produced by David T. Jones, Ross Cooling, Mardi Desjardins
& the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet
Archive/American Libraries.)
GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
Vol. XLI. August, 1852. No. 2.
Table of Contents
Departed Joys
Midsummer Days
Widows
Astronomy
Hymn to the Sun
Antony and Cleopatra
The Two Birds.—A Street Lyric.
Miss Harper’s Maid
“Whatever He Doeth Shall Prosper.”
The Useful Arts
To a Whip-Poor-Will Singing in a Grave-Yard
Hesperius—A Vision
The Pedant
Life’s Battle March
The Harvest of Gold
Seminole War Song
Stability
Lines
Sonnet—Virtue
The Shark and His Habits
The Fountain of Youth
Hush! Hush!
Annie Morton
Adieu
The Ranger’s Chase
Impressions of England
Sonnet.—Cydnus.
Nelly Nowlan on Bloomers
Yesterday—To-day—To-morrow!
Among the Moors
The Old Man’s Evening Thoughts
My First Inkling of a Royal Tiger
Review of New Books
The Aztec Children
Graham’s Small-Talk
Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.
[Illustration: =BELLA.=]
* * * * *
[Illustration: =FIRST AFFECTION.=]
* * * * *
[Illustration: DEPARTED JOYS.]
=DEPARTED JOYS.=
=FROM THE MELODIES OF SIR H. R. BISHOP.=
[Illustration]
Could we recal departed joys,
At price of parted pain,
Oh who that prizes happy hours,
Would live his life again?
Such
[Illustration]
burning tears as once we shed
No pleasures can repay;
Pass to oblivion, joy and grief!
We’re thankful for today.
Calm be the current of our lives,
As rivers deep and clear;
Mild be the light upon our path,
To guide us and to cheer!
For streams of joy that burst and foam
May leave their channels dry.
And deadliest lightnings ever flash
The brightest in the sky!
GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
* * * * *
Vol. XLI. PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST, 1852. No. 2.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
=MIDSUMMER DAYS.=
I scent the ancient sward!
I feel it ’neath my tread!
The moss, the wiry nard,
And the harebells bend their head!
I see the foxgloves glow,
Where plow did never go;
And the streams, the streams once more,
Hurrying brightly o’er
Their sandy beds; they roll
With the joy of a living soul.
Ye know that wood-walk sweet,
Where we are wont to meet;
On either hand the knolls and swells
Are crimson with the heather-bells;
And the eye sees,
Mid distant trees,
Where moorland beauty dwells.
* * * * *
=WIDOWS.=
=BY THOMPSON WESTCOTT.=
[Illustration]
The word widowhood, from whatever angle of observation it maybe viewed,
has about it a dull, bleak, uncomfortable aspect. Clouds encompass it.
Wo englooms it. Loneliness isolates it from social comfort, and befogs
it amidst lowering disquiet. It floats amidst tears on a dusky day, like
a solitary buoy on the salt sea.
We speak of widowhood which is really such. There are philosophers, who
are willing to wager that the solitary state is the most delightful of
existence. To them, wedlock is a fast bind fast find condition, in which
two persons are confined by a clerical jailor, who condemns them to
imprisonment for life, and then throws away the key. They transform
“wedlock” to “padlock;” and though there is no parautopticism about the
wards and chambers of affection, they consider the matrimonial lock, one
which may bid defiance to the most dexterous Hobbs. Yet we know that to
every heart there is a master-key. Lucky is he who keeps it in his own
possession without a necessity for its use; and happy is he who needs
not the services of some legal lock-picker to release him ere the coming
of the great skeleton-key carrier—Death.
But sentimental prosing is not our purpose. Widowhood has its bright
side, though many look too steadily at its darkest aspect. Widows are,
according to the venerable Weller, gifted with innumerable methods of
circumventing unsuspicious men; and the great inquiry is—How do they
manage those blandishments?
From the institution of debating societies down to the present era of
Spirit Rapping and feminine right conventions, “the influence of woman,”
has been a favorite topic with anniversary orators and declamatory
speakers. They have spent vast stores of eloquence in showing her
influence as a sister. They have proved how, in her days of pinafores,
she obligingly devoured her brother’s candies, or took more than her
share of his bread and butter. They have pleasantly adverted to the
sisterly affection which, in more mature age, was content to accept or
demand the ciceronage of brother to parties or concerts, if no other
beau was available. With a very delicate touch they have skimmed over
that important period when the love for the brother is all given up to
the husband, and have judiciously omitted any reference to sisterhood
after wifehood commenced. The influence of wives has, of course, been so
thoroughly demonstrated, that all that can be said on that subject are
axioms. The privileges of a matron to love her husband and adore her
baby, are subjects which have been rhapsodized over in glowing poetry,
and treated substantially, and with becoming dignity in unimpassioned
prose. Rhymers, dreamers, and orators, have devoted words in endless
profusion to the influence of woman, as sister, daughter, wife and
mother; but there has never been a full crop of elogiums harvested in
relation to her influence as a widow. The singular dearth of cotemporary
literature upon this subject, will be acknowledged by bibliopoles. The
reason is one which cannot be satisfactorily demonstrated. It may be
that literary people are disposed to consider that widows are like
sturgeons, who have merely leaped out of the placid current of matrimony
for a moment or two, and who will, by the gravity of their wo,
inevitably fall back into the connubial tide. Such a simile may do in
some cases, but will scarcely hold water upon trial. It is a
metaphysical sieve, and may catch many widows in its meshes, but some
will inevitably pass through its interstices. Some unfortunate “relicts”
are for a long time like fish out of the stream; but they have
sufficient determination to keep alive, until they manage to become
again immersed in matrimony. Nevertheless, the desire to return to their
“destined element” _does_ exist, in many cases, and that very desire
forms the great constituent in the influence of widows.
[Illustration]
The manner in which this authority is exercised differs according to
circumstances. Some of the unfortunate fair ones who have lost their
mates have attractions in the shape of weighty dower. Men of a certain
age have keen noses for such charms; and when the widow suspects it, she
often leads her importunate admirer by that organ, and by a dexterous
management of the mystery of courtship, which is called “getting a bean
on a string.” Once the gentleman is secured by that means, the widow
takes into her hand the whip of management, and compels the poor beau to
trot a weary round in an arena which extends its charmed circle about
her.
If the French system of espionage, which is now a constituent of society
in Louis Napoleon’s dominions, were in vogue here, we are sure that the
index of the chief of police would bear opposite to the name of each
widow the word “_dangerous_!” And what can be more threatening to the
liberty of a too susceptible man, than a young, accomplished, and
fascinating widow? What is bashful maidenhood, with its cherry lips and
monosyllabic sentences, to buxom widowhood, with its matured
development, sensible ideas, and frank manners? What other witcheries
are there about young misses than a taste for ice creams and giddy
companionship? Those fascinations fade away when the widow charms us
with the certainty that she knows how to make the pot boil, and has a
horror of boy beaus. Maidenhood is poetical and theoretical, widowhood
is sensible and practical. The young lady, before marriage, is unsteady,
indecisive, and capricious. The widow is certain, firm, and
self-possessed. The girl scarcely knows her own mind, but the widow not
only understands herself but all her male acquaintances. The young lady
is greedy of admiration, exacting in her demands, and expects from her
lover an obsequiousness of attention which cannot be too excessive. The
widow knows that men may admire without adulation, and love fondly
without abjectly suing for a return of affection. She knows, also, that
those who daring the days of courtship are compelled to excessive
complaisance, generally revenge themselves after marriage by neglect and
indifference. The fact is, the widow knows something of mankind by
actual experience, the maiden has little but romance to tutor her.
Philosophy like this, must have given force to the observations of the
venerable parent of Weller the younger—and he was justified by personal
experience, in maintaining the position that “widders,” are “werry
dangerous.” The world has long since phraseologically settled it, that
men “fall in love.” This presupposes that the tender passion is gotten
like a broken leg, altogether by accident. The language of | 2,369.206254 |
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Produced by David Widger
LITERARY FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES--Studies of Lowell
by William Dean Howells
STUDIES OF LOWELL
I have already spoken of my earliest meetings with Lowell at Cambridge
when I came to New England on a literary pilgrimage from the West in
1860. I saw him more and more after I went to live in Cambridge in 1866;
and I now wish to record what I knew of him during the years that passed
between this date and that of his death. If the portrait I shall try to
paint does not seem a faithful likeness to others who knew him, I shall
only claim that so he looked to me, at this moment and at that. If I do
not keep myself quite out of the picture, what painter ever did?
I.
It was in the summer of 1865 that I came home from my consular post at
Venice; and two weeks after I landed in Boston, I went out to see Lowell
at Elmwood, and give him an inkstand that I had brought him from Italy.
The bronze lobster whose back opened and disclosed an inkpot and a
sand-box was quite ugly; but I thought it beautiful then, and if Lowell
thought otherwise he never did anything to let me know it. He put the
thing in the middle of his writing-table (he nearly always wrote on a
pasteboard pad resting upon his knees), and there it remained as long as
I knew the place--a matter of twenty-five years; but in all that time I
suppose the inkpot continued as dry as the sand-box.
My visit was in the heat of August, which is as fervid in Cambridge as it
can well be anywhere, and I still have a sense of his study windows
lifted to the summer night, and the crickets and grasshoppers crying in
at them from the lawns and the gardens outside. Other people went away
from Cambridge in the summer to the sea and to the mountains, but Lowell
always stayed at Elmwood, in an impassioned love for his home and for his
town. I must have found him there in the afternoon, and he must have
made me sup with him (dinner was at two o'clock) and then go with him for
a long night of talk in his study. He liked to have some one help him
idle the time away, and keep him as long as possible from his work; and
no doubt I was impersonally serving his turn in this way, aside from any
pleasure he might have had in my company as some one he had always been
kind to, and as a fresh arrival from the Italy dear to us both.
He lighted his pipe, and from the depths of his easychair, invited my shy
youth to all the ease it was capable of in his presence. It was not
much; I loved him, and he gave me reason to think that he was fond of me,
but in Lowell I was always conscious of an older and closer and stricter
civilization than my own, an unbroken tradition, a more authoritative
status. His democracy was more of the head and mine more of the heart,
and his denied the equality which mine affirmed. But his nature was so
noble and his reason so tolerant that whenever in our long acquaintance I
found it well to come to open rebellion, as I more than once did, he
admitted my right of insurrection, and never resented the outbreak. I
disliked to differ with him, and perhaps he subtly felt this so much that
he would not dislike me for doing it. He even suffered being taxed with
inconsistency, and where he saw that he had not been quite just, he would
take punishment for his error, with a contrition that was sometimes
humorous and always touching.
Just then it was the dark hour before the dawn with Italy, and he was
interested but not much encouraged by what I could tell him of the
feeling in Venice against the Austrians. He seemed to reserve a like
scepticism concerning the fine things I was hoping for the Italians in
literature, and he confessed an interest in the facts treated which in
the retrospect, I am aware, was more tolerant than participant of my
enthusiasm. That was always Lowell's attitude towards the opinions of
people he liked, when he could not go their lengths with them, and
nothing was more characteristic of his affectionate nature and his just
intelligence. He was a man of the most strenuous convictions, but he
loved many sorts of people whose convictions he disagreed with, and he
suffered even prejudices counter to his own if they were not ignoble. In
the whimsicalities of others he delighted as much as in his own.
II.
Our associations with Italy held over until the next day, when after
breakfast he went with me towards Boston as far as "the village": for so
he liked to speak of Cambridge in the custom of his younger days when
wide tracts of meadow separated Harvard Square from his life-long home at
Elmwood. We stood on the platform of the horsecar together, and when I
objected to his paying my fare in the American fashion, he allowed that
the Italian usage of each paying for himself was the politer way. He
would not commit himself about my returning to Venice (for I had not
given up my place, yet, and was away on leave), but he intimated his
distrust of the flattering conditions of life abroad. He said it was
charming to be treated 'da signore', but he seemed to doubt whether it
was well; and in this as in all other things he showed his final fealty
to the American ideal.
It was that serious and great moment after the successful close of the
civil war when the republican consciousness was more robust in us than
ever before or since; but I cannot recall any reference to the historical
interest of the time in Lowell's talk. It had been all about literature
and about travel; and now with the suggestion of the word village it
began to be a little about his youth. I have said before how reluctant
he was to let his youth go from him; and perhaps the touch with my
juniority had made him realize how near he was to fifty, and set him
thinking of the past which had sorrows in it to age him beyond his years.
He would never speak of these, though he often spoke of the past. He
told once of having been on a brief journey when he was six years old,
with his father, and of driving up to the gate of Elmwood in the evening,
and his father saying, "Ah, this is a pleasant place! I wonder who lives
here--what little boy?" At another time he pointed out a certain window
in his study, and said he could see himself standing by it when he could
only get his chin on the window-sill. His memories of the house, and of
everything belonging to it, were very tender; but he could laugh over an
escapade of his youth when he helped his fellow-students pull down his
father's fences, in the pure zeal of good-comradeship.
III.
My fortunes took me to New York, and I spent most of the winter of 1865-6
writing in the office of 'The Nation'. I contributed several sketches of
Italian travel to that paper; and one of these brought me a precious
letter from Lowell. He praised my sketch, which he said he had read
without the least notion who had written it, and he wanted me to feel the
full value of such an impersonal pleasure in it. At the same time he did
not fail to tell me that he disliked some pseudo-cynical verses of mine
which he had read in another place; and I believe it was then that he
bade me "sweat the Heine out of" me, "as men sweat the mercury out of
their bones."
When I was asked to be assistant editor of the Atlantic Monthly, and came
on to Boston to talk the matter over with the publishers, I went out to
Cambridge and consulted Lowell. He strongly urged me to take the
position (I thought myself hopefully placed in New York on The Nation);
and at the same time he seemed to have it on his heart to say that he had
recommended some one else for it, never, he owned, having thought of me.
He was most cordial, but after I came to live in Cambridge (where the
magazine was printed, and I could more conveniently look over the
proofs), he did not call on me for more than a month, and seemed quite to
have forgotten me. We met one night at Mr. Norton's, for one of the
Dante readings, and he took no special notice of me till I happened to
say something that offered him a chance to give me a little humorous
snub. I was speaking of a paper in the Magazine on the "Claudian
Emissary," and I demanded (no doubt a little too airily) something like
"Who in the world ever heard of the Claudian Emissary?" "You are in
Cambridge, Mr. Howells," Lowell answered, and laughed at my confusion.
Having put me down, he seemed to soften towards me, and at parting he
said, with a light of half-mocking tenderness in his beautiful eyes,
"Goodnight, fellow-townsman." "I hardly knew we were fellow-townsmen," I
returned. He liked that, apparently, and said he had been meaning to
call upon me; and that he was coming very soon.
He was as good as his word, and after that hardly a week of any kind of
weather passed but he mounted the steps to the door of the ugly little
house in which I lived, two miles away from him, and asked me to walk.
These walks continued, I suppose, until Lowell went abroad for a winter
in the early seventies. They took us all over Cambridge, which he knew
and loved every inch of, and led us afield through the straggling,
unhandsome outskirts, bedrabbled with squalid Irish neighborhoods, and
fraying off into marshes and salt meadows. He liked to indulge an excess
of admiration for the local landscape, and though I never heard him
profess a preference for the Charles River flats to the finest Alpine
scenery, I could well believe he would do so under provocation of a fit
listener's surprise. He had always so much of the boy in him that he
liked to tease the over-serious or over-sincere. He liked to tease and
he liked to mock, especially his juniors, if any touch of affectation, or
any little exuberance of manner gave him the chance; when he once came to
fetch me, and the young mistress of the house entered with a certain
excessive elasticity, he sprang from his seat, and minced towards her,
with a burlesque of her buoyant carriage which made her laugh. When he
had given us his heart in trust of ours, he used us like a younger
brother and sister; or like his own children. He included our children
in his affection, and he enjoyed our fondness for them as if it were
something that had come back to him from his own youth. I think he had
also a sort of artistic, a sort of ethical pleasure in it, as being of
the good tradition, of the old honest, simple material, from which
pleasing effects in literature and civilization were wrought. He liked
giving the children books, and writing tricksy fancies in these, where he
masked as a fairy prince; and as long as he lived he remembered his early
kindness for them.
IV.
In those walks of ours I believe he did most of the talking, and from his
talk then and at other times there remains to me an impression of his
growing conservatism. I had in fact come into his life when it had spent
its impulse towards positive reform, and I was to be witness of its
increasing tendency towards the negative sort. He was quite past the
storm and stress of his anti-slavery age; with the close of the war which
had broken for him all his ideals of inviolable peace, he had reached the
age of misgiving. I do not mean that I ever heard him express doubt of
what he had helped to do, or regret for what he had done; but I know that
he viewed with critical anxiety what other men were doing with the
accomplished facts. His anxiety gave a cast of what one may call
reluctance from the political situation, and turned him back towards
those civic and social defences which he had once seemed willing to
abandon. I do not mean that he lost faith in democracy; this faith he
constantly then and signally afterwards affirmed; but he certainly had no
longer any faith in insubordination as a means of grace. He preached a
quite Socratic reverence for law, as law, and I remember that once when I
had got back from Canada in the usual disgust for the American
custom-house, and spoke lightly of smuggling as not an evil in itself,
and perhaps even a right under our vexatious tariff, he would not have
it, but held that the illegality of the act made it a moral of fence.
This was not the logic that would have justified the attitude of the
anti-slavery men towards the fugitive slave act; but it was in accord
with Lowell's feeling about John Brown, whom he honored while always
condemning his violation of law; and it was in the line of all his later
thinking. In this, he wished you to agree with him, or at least he
wished to make you; but he did not wish you to be more of his mind than
he was himself. In one of those squalid Irish neighborhoods I confessed
a grudge (a mean and cruel grudge, I now think it) for the increasing
presence of that race among us, but this did not please him; and I am
sure that whatever misgiving he had as to the future of America, he would
not have had it less than it had been the refuge and opportunity of the
poor of any race or color. Yet he would not have had it this alone.
There was a line in his poem on Agassiz which he left out of the printed
version, at the fervent entreaty of his friends, as saying too bitterly
his disappointment with his country. Writing at the distance of Europe,
and with America in the perspective which the alien environment clouded,
he spoke of her as "The Land of Broken Promise." It was a splendid
reproach, but perhaps too dramatic to bear the full test of analysis, and
yet it had the truth in it, and might, I think, have usefully stood, to
the end of making people think. Undoubtedly it expressed his sense of
the case, and in the same measure it would now express that of many who
love their country most among us. It is well to hold one's country to
her promises, and if there are any who think she is forgetting them it is
their duty to say so, even to the point of bitter accusation. I do not
suppose it was the "common man" of Lincoln's dream that Lowell thought
America was unfaithful to, though as I have suggested he could be tender
of the common man's hopes in her; but he was impeaching in that blotted
line her sincerity with the uncommon man: the man who had expected of her
a constancy to the ideals of her youth end to the high martyr-moods of
the war which had given an unguarded and bewildering freedom to a race of
slaves. He was thinking of the shame of our municipal corruptions, the
debased quality of our national statesmanship, the decadence of our whole
civic tone, rather than of the increasing disabilities of the
hard-working poor, though his heart when he thought of them was with
them, too, as it was in "the time when the slave would not let him
sleep."
He spoke very rarely of those times, perhaps because their political and
social associations were so knit up with the saddest and tenderest
personal memories, which it was still anguish to touch. Not only was he
"--not of the race
That hawk, their sorrows in the market place,"
but so far as my witness went he shrank from mention of them. I do not
remember hearing him speak of the young wife who influenced him so
potently at the most vital moment, and turned him from his whole
scholarly and aristocratic tradition to an impassioned championship of
the oppressed; and he never spoke of the children he had lost. I recall
but one allusion to the days when he was fighting the anti-slavery battle
along the whole line, and this was with a humorous relish of his Irish
servant's disgust in having to wait upon a <DW64> whom he had asked to his
table.
He was rather severe in his notions of the subordination his domestics
owed him. They were "to do as they were bid," and yet he had a
tenderness for such as had been any time with him, which was wounded when
once a hired man long in his employ greedily overreached him in a certain
transaction. He complained of that with a simple grief for the man's
indelicacy after so many favors from him, rather than with any
resentment. His hauteur towards his dependents was theoretic; his actual
behavior was of the gentle consideration common among Americans of good
breeding, and that recreant hired man had no doubt never been suffered to
exceed him in shows of mutual politeness. Often when the maid was about
weightier matters, he came and opened his door to me himself, welcoming
me with the smile that was like no other. Sometimes he said, "Siete il
benvenuto," or used some other Italian phrase, which put me at ease with
him in the region where we were most at home together.
Looking back I must confess that I do not see what it was he found to
make him wish for my company, which he presently insisted upon having
once a week at dinner. After the meal we turned into his study where we
sat before a wood fire in winter, and he smoked and talked. He smoked a
pipe which was always needing tobacco, or going out, so that I have the
figure of him before my eyes constantly getting out of his deep chair to
rekindle it from the fire with a paper lighter. He was often out of his
chair to get a book from the shelves that lined the walls, either for a
passage which he wished to read, or for some disputed point which he
wished to settle. If I had caused the dispute, he enjoyed putting me in
the wrong; if he could not, he sometimes whimsically persisted in his
error, in defiance of all authority; but mostly he had such reverence for
the truth that he would not question it even in jest.
If I dropped in upon him in the afternoon I was apt to find him reading
the old French poets, or the plays of Calderon, or the 'Divina Commedia',
which he magnanimously supposed me much better acquainted with than I was
because I knew some passages of it by heart. One day I came in quoting
"Io son, cantava, io son dolce Sirena,
Che i marinai in mezzo al mar dismago."
He stared at me in a rapture with the matchless music, and then uttered
all his adoration and despair in one word. "Damn!" he said, and no more.
I believe he instantly proposed a walk that day, as if his study walls
with all their vistas into the great literatures cramped his soul
liberated to a sense of ineffable beauty of the verse of the'somma
poeta'. But commonly be preferred to have me sit down with him there
among the mute witnesses of the larger part of his life. As I have
suggested in my own case, it did not matter much whether you brought
anything to the feast or not. If he liked you he liked being with you,
not for what he got, but for what he gave. He was fond of one man whom | 2,369.208285 |
2023-11-16 18:56:33.3539790 | 7,436 | 12 |
Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, KarenD and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by Cornell University Digital Collections)
Vol. XXXV. No. 12.
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
* * * * *
“To the Poor the Gospel is Preached.”
* * * * *
DECEMBER, 1881.
_CONTENTS_:
EDITORIAL.
PARAGRAPHS 353
FINANCIAL—APPEALING FACTS 354
ABSTRACT OF PROCEEDINGS AT THE ANNUAL MEETING 355
GENERAL SURVEY 357
SUMMARY OF TREASURER’S REPORT 367
ADDRESS OF SENATOR GEO. F. HOAR 369
EXTRACTS OF ADDRESSES RELATING TO GENERAL WORK 373
THE FREEDMEN.
REPORT OF COMMITTEE ON EDUCATIONAL WORK 382
ADDRESS OF REV. C. T. COLLINS 383
ADDRESS OF REV. J. R. THURSTON 386
CHRISTIAN EDUCATION: PROF. CYRUS NORTHROP 388
HIGHER EDUCATION: PRES. E. A. WARE 390
REPORT OF COMMITTEE ON CHURCH WORK 392
ADDRESS OF PRES. CYRUS HAMLIN 393
AFRICA.
REPORT ON FOREIGN WORK 395
ADDRESS OF REV. J. W. HARDING 397
ADDRESS OF REV. GEO. S. DICKERMAN 398
THE UPPER NILE BASIN: COL. H. G. PROUT 398
THE INDIANS.
REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE 403
ADDRESS OF GEN. S. C. ARMSTRONG 403
ADDRESS OF CAPT. R. H. PRATT 405
THE CHINESE.
REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE 406
THE CHINESE TO EVANGELIZE CHINA: REV. C. H. POPE 408
REPORT OF COMMITTEE ON FINANCE 408
ADDRESS OF REV. GEO. F. STANTON 409
VOTE OF THANKS AND REPLY 410
ECHOES OF THE ANNUAL MEETING 411
RECEIPTS 412
CONSTITUTION 416
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
Published by the American Missionary Association,
ROOMS, 56 READE STREET.
* * * * *
Price, 50 Cents a Year, in advance.
Entered at the Post Office at New York, N.Y., as second-class matter.
* * * * *
American Missionary Association,
56 READE STREET, N.Y.
* * * * *
PRESIDENT.
HON. WM. B. WASHBURN, Mass.
VICE-PRESIDENTS.
Hon. E. S. TOBEY, Mass.
Hon. F. D. PARISH, Ohio.
Hon. E. D. HOLTON, Wis.
Hon. WILLIAM CLAFLIN, Mass.
Rev. STEPHEN THURSTON, D.D., Me.
Rev. SAMUEL HARRIS, D.D., Ct.
WM. C. CHAPIN, Esq., R.I.
Rev. W. T. EUSTIS, D.D., Mass.
Hon. A. C. BARSTOW, R.I.
Rev. THATCHER THAYER, D.D., R.I.
Rev. RAY PALMER, D.D., N.J.
Rev. EDWARD BEECHER, D.D., N.Y.
Rev. J. M. STURTEVANT, D.D., Ill.
Rev. W. W. PATTON, D.D., D.C.
Hon. SEYMOUR STRAIGHT, La.
Rev. CYRUS W. WALLACE, D.D., N.H.
Rev. EDWARD HAWES, D.D., Ct.
DOUGLAS PUTNAM, Esq., Ohio.
Hon. THADDEUS FAIRBANKS, Vt.
Rev. M. M. G. DANA, D.D., Minn.
Rev. H. W. BEECHER, N.Y.
Gen. O. O. HOWARD, N.Y.
Rev. G. F. MAGOUN, D.D., Iowa.
Col. C. G. HAMMOND, Ill.
EDWARD SPALDING, M.D., N.H.
Rev. WM. M. BARBOUR, D.D., Ct.
Rev. W. L. GAGE, D.D., Ct.
A. S. HATCH, Esq., N.Y.
Rev. J. H. FAIRCHILD, D.D., Ohio.
Rev. H. A. STIMSON, Mass.
Rev. A. L. Stone, D.D., California.
Rev. G. H. ATKINSON, D.D., Oregon.
Rev. L. T. CHAMBERLAIN, D.D., Conn.
Rev. J. E. RANKIN, D.D., D.C.
Rev. A. L. CHAPIN, D.D., Wis.
S. D. SMITH, Esq., Mass.
Dea. JOHN C. WHITIN, Mass.
Hon. J. B. GRINNELL, Iowa.
Rev. HORACE WINSLOW, Ct.
Sir PETER COATS, Scotland.
Rev. HENRY ALLON, D.D., London, Eng.
WM. E. WHITING, Esq., N.Y.
E. A. GRAVES, Esq., N.J.
Rev. F. A. NOBLE, D.D., Ill.
DANIEL HAND, Esq., Ct.
Rev. A. F. BEARD, D.D., N.Y.
FREDERICK BILLINGS, Esq., Vt.
JOSEPH CARPENTER, Esq., R.I.
Rev. E. P. GOODWIN, D.D., Ill.
Rev. C. L. GOODELL, D.D., Mo.
J. W. SCOVILLE, Esq., Ill.
E. W. BLATCHFORD, Esq., Ill.
C. D. TALCOTT, Esq., Ct.
Rev. JOHN K. MCLEAN, D.D., Cal.
Rev. RICHARD CORDLEY, D.D., Kansas.
Rev. W. H. WILLCOX, D.D., Mass.
Rev. G. B. WILLCOX, D.D., Ill.
Rev. WM. M. TAYLOR, D.D., N.Y.
Rev. GEO. M. BOYNTON, Mass.
Rev. E. B. WEBB, D.D., Mass.
Hon. C. I. WALKER, Mich.
Rev. A. H. ROSS, Mich.
Hon. JOSHUA L. CHAMBERLAIN, Me.
Rev. ALEX. MCKENZIE, D.D., Mass.
Hon. NELSON DINGLEY, Jr., Me.
CORRESPONDING SECRETARY.
REV. M. E. STRIEBY, D.D., 56 _Reade Street, N.Y._
TREASURER.
H. W. HUBBARD, ESQ., 56 _Reade Street, N.Y._
DISTRICT SECRETARIES.
REV. C. L. WOODWORTH, _Boston_.
REV. G. D. PIKE, D.D., _New York_.
REV. JAS. POWELL, _Chicago_.
EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE.
LYMAN ABBOTT,
ALONZO S. BALL,
A. S. BARNES,
C. T. CHRISTENSEN,
FRANKLIN FAIRBANKS,
CLINTON B. FISK,
ADDISON P. FOSTER,
S. B. HALLIDAY,
A. J. HAMILTON,
SAMUEL HOLMES,
CHARLES A. HULL,
CHAS. L. MEAD,
SAMUEL S. MARPLES,
WILLIAM H. WARD,
JOHN H. WASHBURN,
A. L. WILLISTON.
AUDITORS.
M. F. READING.
W. R. NASH.
COMMUNICATIONS
relating to the work of the Association may be addressed to the
Corresponding Secretary; those relating to the collecting fields to
the District Secretaries; letters for the Editor of the “American
Missionary,” to Rev. G. D. PIKE, D.D., at the New York Office.
DONATIONS AND SUBSCRIPTIONS
may be sent to H. W. Hubbard, Treasurer 56 Reade Street, New York,
or when more convenient, to either of the Branch Offices, 21
Congregational House, Boston, Mass., or 112 West Washington Street,
Chicago, Ill. A payment of thirty dollars at one time constitutes a
Life Member.
* * * * *
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
* * * * *
VOL. XXXV. DECEMBER, 1881. No. 12.
* * * * *
_American Missionary Association._
* * * * *
We present our readers in this issue of the MISSIONARY, which
is a double number, an account of the proceedings of the 35th
Annual Meeting of this Association. For want of space we have only
given the important points of most of the papers and addresses,
endeavoring to preserve their spirit.
The paper of Pres. E. H. Fairchild will appear in the “Weekly
Witness” of Nov. 17, of which copies will be supplied gratuitously
to persons applying by postal card to the author at Berea, Ky.
Rev. Lysander Dickerman’s address may be looked for in the
“Congregationalist” at an early date.
The papers read by Miss Sawyer and Miss Emery will be reserved for
mention in the January MISSIONARY.
* * * * *
We send this number of the MISSIONARY to some persons whose names
are not among our subscribers, with the hope that they will read
it, and that their interest in the work which it represents will
be deepened. We believe that if any such will send us their
subscription for the Magazine, they will find themselves amply
rewarded for the outlay.
* * * * *
The inquiry is sometimes made as to the reasons for the steadily
increasing support given to the A. M. A. In answer we suggest:—1.
The increasing prosperity of the country. People have more to give
and they give more. 2. The careful management of the affairs of
the Association has probably given it a stronger hold upon the
confidence of the public. 3. The great reason, we believe, is
that the nation, after many fluctuating opinions in regard to the
Freedmen, has settled down to the conviction, voiced repeatedly
by Pres. Hayes and reiterated so emphatically in Pres. Garfield’s
inaugural, that the only safety for the nation and the Freedmen
is in their thorough education. The A. M. A. is now seen to have
steadily pressed forward from the beginning in this only true
method, and hence its work has come to be more fully appreciated.
The rapid growth of the <DW52> population gives emphasis to the
demand for their Christian education. 4. Another reason is the
awakened conviction in Great Britain and America that the freed
people are destined by Divine Providence to take an important part
in the redemption of Africa. Our schools and churches, so well
fitted to prepare them for this work, are felt to deserve not only
support but enlargement.
* * * * *
FINANCIAL—APPEALING FACTS.
One year ago we asked our constituents to enlarge our receipts
_twenty-five_ per cent; the generous response was nearly _thirty_
per cent. We increased the appropriations of the year, but kept
safely within the income. At our recent Annual Meeting the appeal
was made for $300,000 this year—an increase over last of $56,000,
or 23 per cent. This appeal is based on no random figures. The
appropriations for this fiscal year are carefully made on the basis
of last year’s income, but in addition we most pressingly need the
means:—1. To finish and furnish two buildings, not provided for by
the Stone fund. They are nearly ready, but will be useless unless
completed. 2. To provide additional teachers, boarding and student
aid for the increased number of students in the new buildings in
Atlanta, Talladega, Tougaloo, New Orleans, Austin, Athens. 3. To
erect a boy’s dormitory at New Orleans, and a new building at
Memphis. As to the latter, Prof. Steele writes: “All the desks in
the lower rooms were filled at the end of the first week, and we
have been refusing admission to pupils in these rooms every day
since. Early last week the last seat in the Normal room was taken.
We seat 102 there. Since then I have placed small tables and chairs
in every foot of available space in the Normal room, raising the
number enrolled to 118. I am every day receiving letters from
young men and women in the country who wish to enter the school,
but I can in no way take more than two students in addition to
those now in the room. Of the 120 in the Normal department, 50
have taught school and all the rest expect to become teachers.”
Must we refuse education to more of such students and teachers?
The unexpended portion of the Stone fund is already appropriated
and is not available here. 4. To meet the urgent demands for
enlargement in the church work. 5. To increase our expenditures for
the Indians. The nation is aroused in their behalf and Congress
is ready to help. Now is the time for us to enlarge. 6. To double
our appropriation for the Chinese work. No outlay yields better
returns. 7. To build the John Brown steamer for the Mendi, and to
complete the $50,000 fund for the Arthington Mission.
These facts are our appeal. We add no words. The day has gone by
when our friends will be content with good speeches and resolutions
at the Annual Meeting. The hour has come for steady and effective
work. We are ready for it, and the tone of the meeting at Worcester
shows that our friends are also.
* * * * *
ABSTRACT OF PROCEEDINGS AT THE ANNUAL MEETING.
The Thirty-fifth Annual Meeting of the American Missionary
Association was held in Plymouth Church, Worcester, Mass., on
Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, November 1st, 2d and 3d, 1881.
As the bells in the church-tower finished chiming the “Missionary
Hymn,” at three o’clock Tuesday afternoon, Secretary Strieby called
the meeting to order, and in the absence of the President and
Vice-Presidents, Rev. S. R. Dennen, D.D., of New Haven, was chosen
to preside. After devotional services, Rev. Marshall M. Cutter, of
Medford, was chosen Secretary, and Rev. John L. Ewell and Rev. C.
P. Osborne Assistant Secretaries.
A Nominating Committee was appointed consisting of Rev. E. H.
Byington, Rev. E. P. Marvin and C. L. Mead, Esq.; also a Business
Committee consisting of Rev. Geo. M. Boynton, Rev. G. R. M. Scott,
and Geo. P. Davis, Esq.
The Treasurer, H. W. Hubbard, Esq., read his report, which was
referred to a Committee on Finance. The Annual Report of the
Executive Committee was made through Rev. G. D. Pike, D.D.,
District Secretary, and was referred _seriatim_ to appropriate
Committees. An hour was then spent in prayer and conference, with
special reference to the work in the South.
Tuesday evening, after devotional services, led by Rev. E. G.
Porter, of Lexington, Rev. C. D. Hartranft, D.D., of Hartford,
Conn., preached for the Annual Sermon a discourse appropriate to
the Communion, which followed it, from Matthew xxvi, 27, l.c.,
“Drink ye all of it.” The Lord’s Supper was administered by Rev.
Geo. W. Phillips, pastor of Plymouth Church, and Rev. Geo. H.
Gould, D.D.
Wednesday morning, a prayer meeting, conducted by Rev. A. P.
Foster, of Jersey City, was held at eight o’clock. At nine o’clock
the regular session began, the chair being occupied in turn by
Rev. L. T. Chamberlain, D.D., of Norwich, Conn., and Gen. O. O.
Howard, of West Point, Vice-Presidents. John H. Washburn, Esq., in
behalf of the Executive Committee, to whom was referred the matter
of amending the Constitution of the Association at the last Annual
Meeting, reported certain recommendations, which were referred to
a Special Committee, to report Thursday morning. Richard Wright,
Esq., of Augusta, Ga.,, read a paper on “The <DW52> Man:
His Strength, Weakness and Needs.” President E. H. Fairchild,
of Berea College, Kentucky, read a paper on “Review of the
Anti-Slavery Contest, and estimate of its meaning and value with
reference to the Civilization of Africa and the World.” Secretary
Strieby made an address on “The duty of America in the Conversion
of the World, and especially in the Conversion of Africa.”
President E. A. Wane, of Atlanta University, Ga., read a paper on
“Higher Education.”
Wednesday afternoon. Prayer was offered by Rev. H. A. Stimson, of
Worcester. Gen. O. O. Howard made an address on “Our Social Needs
and their Remedy.” Gen. S. C. Armstrong, of Hampton, Va., reported
for the Committee on Indian work, and was followed by Capt. R.
H. Pratt, of Carlisle, Penn. A report of the Committee on Church
work was read by Rev. Cyrus Hamlin, D.D., who also made an address
upon the subject. Rev. J. E. Roy, D.D., Field Superintendent of
the Association, supported the report by interesting statements
illustrating the influence of the work among the <DW52> people.
The report of the Committee on Educational work was read by Rev.
Charles T. Collins, of Cleveland, Ohio, and supported by Rev. John
R. Thurston, of Whitinsville.
Wednesday evening. Hon. E. S. Tobey, of Boston, President of the
Association, in the chair. Rev. William M. Gage, D.D., of Hartford,
offered prayer. Addresses on “Christian Education at the South”
were made by Rev. L. O. Brastow, D.D., of Burlington, Vermont;
Prof. Cyrus Northrop, of Yale College, and Hon. Geo. F. Hoar, of
the U.S. Senate.
Thursday morning. The prayer meeting at eight o’clock was led by
Rev. O. H. White, D.D. The regular session at nine o’clock was
opened with prayer by Rev. I. P. Langworthy, D.D., of Boston. Col.
Franklin Fairbanks read the report of the Special Committee on the
Constitution.
The following amendments were adopted: In Art. vi. the words,
“Recording Secretary,” and “of which the Corresponding Secretaries
shall be advisory, and the Treasurer ex-officio members,” are
omitted; and after “Secretaries” the words, “who shall also keep
the records of the Association,” are inserted. In Art. vii. after
“dismissing,” the parenthesis is omitted. Article viii. is omitted,
and Arts. ix. and x. are respectively numbered viii. and ix. The
consideration of Arts. iii. and v. were referred to a special
committee of thirteen, Col. Franklin Fairbanks, chairman, to report
at next Annual Meeting.
A letter from Hon. E. S. Tobey, President, declining re-election on
account of the pressure of other duties, was read, and resolutions
of thanks for his faithful services were unanimously adopted by
a rising vote. The Nominating Committee recommended Hon. Wm. B.
Washburn, of Greenfield, Mass., for President, and presented a list
of other officers, who were duly elected.
On motion of Rev. C. T. Collins, it was voted to memorialize
Congress for immediate and increased appropriations for education
at the South.
The report of the Committee on Chinese Missions was read by Rev.
A. E. P. Perkins, D.D., of Ware. A paper on the subject was read
by Miss Harriette Carter, of Mt. Vernon Church, Boston, where more
than one hundred Chinamen have had Bible instruction, and addresses
were made by Rev. Lysander Dickerman, of California, and by Rev. C.
H. Pope, of Machias, Me.
Rev. G. W. Harding read the report of the Committee on African
work, and addresses were made by himself, by Col. H. G. Prout,
late in the service of the Khedive of Egypt, and by Rev. Geo. S.
Dickerman, of Lewiston, Me.
Thursday afternoon. On “Woman’s Work for Woman,” papers were read
by Miss M. L. Sawyer, of Boxford, and Miss E. B. Emery, of Gorham,
Me., and addresses delivered by Mrs. A. K. Spence, of Nashville,
Tennessee; by Rev. E. N. Packard, of Dorchester; Rev. A. H. Plumb,
of Boston, and Rev. E. S. Atwood, of Salem.
The report of the Finance Committee, in the absence of Hon. J. J.
H. Gregory, chairman, was read by Rev. E. S. Atwood, and asked for
$300,000 for the ensuing year. Addresses were made by Rev. Geo. F.
Stanton, of Weymouth, and Secretary Strieby. District Secretary
Woodworth made a statement of Mr. Gregory’s recent gifts, amounting
to $15,000. Rev. A. H. Plumb, in a happy little speech, announced
$2,000 from an unknown donor, which he passed to the Treasurer in a
sealed envelope. Of the amount, $500 was for Berea College and $500
for Hampton Institute.
Thursday evening, after prayer by Rev. Lewis Grout, Rev. O. H.
White, D.D., for six years Secretary of the Freedmen’s Missions
Aid Society in London, spoke of English co-operation and of the
miseries of the slave trade in Africa. Henry D. Hyde, Esq., of
Boston, pressed the claims of the Association to more liberal
support, and John B. Gough, Esq., in a series of incidents, told in
his inimitable style, illustrated the capacity of the <DW52> race
to be educated and elevated.
After some parting words from President Tobey, resolutions of
thanks to the churches, committees, pastors, choir and railroads,
and to the hospitable people of Worcester, and addresses in
response by pastors Lamson and Phillips, the meeting closed with
the benediction by Dr. O. H. White, to meet next year in Cleveland,
Ohio. Near the close of the session a beautiful white dove entered
the church and suggestively perched in a high niche over the pulpit
platform.
Notwithstanding the prevailing dullness of the weather during our
Annual Meeting at Worcester, there was nothing like dullness in
the meetings. Daily the capacious church was thronged with deeply
interested listeners. The high character of the addresses, the
absorbing interest of subjects discussed, the excellent music of
the ample choir, the completeness of arrangements by the local
committee, and their uniform courtesy and unremitting attentions,
and last, but not least, the generous hospitality of the Christian
people of the city, all conspired to make the occasion one to be
long and delightfully remembered.
The American Missionary Association turns with fresh hope and new
inspiration to the work of the coming year.
* * * * *
GENERAL SURVEY.
* * * * *
FREEDMEN.
The fortunes of the freed people during the current year indicate
a marked degree of progress. A healthy growth in all the branches
of our Southern work is quite discernible. It is strikingly evident
that the Freedmen are discovering the extent of the horizon
opening up before them through our educational institutions. At
one time, many of their leaders were attracted by the allurements
of political preferment, and counted nothing so good as position
in office, and many such, doubtless, there will be to the end of
time. There is, however, an increasing number among them who are
coming to realize that intelligence and character developed by
Christian education have a commanding worth and solid value that
cannot be conveyed by an appointment or imbibed during the sessions
of a legislature. This good result has been hastened by Teachers’
Institutes, conducted by Southern and Northern educators, among the
black and also the white citizens, sometimes large numbers of both
classes mingling in the same convention.
Possibly never have our missions been more richly blessed by the
outpourings of the Holy Spirit than during the past year. Whole
classes in a school have indulged the hopes of a new life, and the
rich experiences gathered during revivals have been borne forth
into the villages and the country during the summer months by our
students. Sabbath-schools have everywhere received due attention,
and temperance work has been well sustained and productive of much
good. Missionary meetings and societies have been encouraged,
and the gifts from the hard earnings of the poor to the cause of
missions abroad, indicate what may be hoped for when the <DW52>
people become educated and prosperous.
* * * * *
EDUCATIONAL WORK.
Our eight Chartered Institutions, including Berea College and
Hampton Institute, which were founded by this Association, have
experienced a year of unusual prosperity. The number pursuing
a higher grade of study has been continually on the increase,
and the quality of the work done, as testified to by many who
have witnessed it, indicates that the grade of teachers has been
improved, not only by self-culture on the part of those who have
been long in service, but also by accessions from among the best
educators in the country. Three of our teachers have received
honorary degrees from important colleges at the North, and others
have been encouraged by many tokens of appreciation and esteem.
During the year, the Tillotson Institute at Austin, Tex., took
possession of its new building, a brick structure one hundred and
four feet long, forty-two feet wide and five stories high. From the
first this school has met with the hearty approval and sympathy of
a large number of the best citizens of Austin. The new building
was opened in January, and before the close of the spring term 107
students had availed themselves of its advantages.
The college at Berea has added $50,000 to its permanent endowment
fund; the Fisk University has received $4,000 endowment for student
aid. At Hampton, two new buildings, one for Indian and one for
<DW64> girls, have been provided by the friends of the Institution,
and a new Academic Hall, in place of one that was burned, has been
dedicated. At Tougaloo, Miss., a boy’s dormitory of brick, with
accommodations for about 75 students, has been completed. This
building was made especially necessary by the ravages of fire,
which destroyed the wooden structure that had served in a very
inadequate way both for school rooms and boarding purposes.
Other buildings at Straight University, New Orleans; Fisk
University, Nashville, Tenn.; Talladega College, and Atlanta
University, provided by the gift of $150,000 by Mrs. Valeria G.
Stone, have either been completed, or are in a good state of
progress. At New Orleans, there was added to the half square of
land on Canal street, before owned by the A. M. A., the remaining
half. Upon this site has been erected a neat three-story building,
ninety-two feet on Canal street and ninety-one feet on Roche Blave
street, containing dining-room, kitchen and laundry for the whole
school, parlor, bath-room, apartments for teachers and dormitories
for about 60 girls.
At Talladega, Stone Hall, for boys, has been completed. It is
three stories high, with a basement, and contains printing office,
reading-room, bath-room and dormitories for 76 students. With a
portion of Mrs. Stone’s gift, supplemented by $1,000 from Mr.
Gregory, of Marblehead, $100 from Gen. Swayne and a few smaller
sums from others, Swayne Hall has been remodeled and thoroughly
repaired from pavement to bell-tower, including roofing, flooring,
blackboarding, etc. A house for the accommodation of the President
will soon be completed. With these improvements the college will be
ready for a great work.
At Fisk University, Nashville, Tenn., Livingstone Missionary Hall
is nearly inclosed. It is two hundred and four feet long, sixty-two
feet wide in the centre, and has four stories and a basement.
The foundation is of stone and the walls are of pressed brick. A
mansard roof with brick gables and ornamented chimneys crowns the
edifice. It will contain chapel, lecture-rooms, recitation-rooms,
teachers’ apartments and dormitories for 120 boys. Although planned
with a strict regard for economy, it will be a grand and stately
companion for Jubilee Hall. Several months will be required for its
completion.
At Atlanta, a new wing has been added to the girl’s dormitory,
and plans for a school building between the two dormitories have
been completed and some materials purchased. It is expected that
the building will be finished and ready for occupancy in a year
from this time. In planning these various buildings, it has been
the aim to provide the best facilities possible, but the claims
of architecture have not been wholly ignored. Some of the best
architects in the country have been consulted, and all the plans
have been examined carefully by your Executive Committee.
It will be seen by this review that each of our eight chartered
institutions has received permanent and substantial aid either in
funds or in buildings, and that never before were they so fully
equipped for the great work thrown upon them. The prayer of the
last half score of years for room has been wonderfully answered,
and the blessing of Heaven is crowning the labors of workers with
rich rewards.
Our other schools, 46 in all, normal and common, have met with
favor on every hand, and have experienced uninterrupted progress
throughout the year. At some of them the industrial work has been
pushed forward with gratifying success. Attention has been given to
household industries in two or three places. A class of girls at
Memphis, Tenn., has been carefully instructed with actual practice
in an experimental kitchen, on the nature, relative values, and
healthful methods, of cooking food. Classes in needle work,
knitting, and in the use of sewing machines, have had daily lessons
and practice.
We have had in all 230 teachers in the field, a gain of 30 over
last year. Of these, 14 have performed the duties of matrons and 15
have been engaged in the business departments.
The total number of students has been 9,108, a gain of 1,056 over
the previous year. They were classed as follows: theological, 104;
law, 20; collegiate, 91; collegiate preparatory, 131; normal,
2,342; grammar, 473; intermediate, 2,722; primary, 3,361; studying
in two grades, 136.
Our normal and common schools, like our chartered institutions,
are constantly sending up the call for more room. Permanent
accommodations have been provided at some points and temporary
ones at others. At Wilmington, N.C., by the gift of Hon. J.
J. H. Gregory, the school building has been remodeled for the
accommodation of a large number of students. A new mission home
has also been built by the munificence of the same gentleman. At
Athens, Ala., the <DW52> people have done nobly toward furnishing
material for the school-house now under process of construction.
They have already made two hundred thousand bricks with their
own hands, and are placing them in the walls to represent their
interest in the property. It is hoped that the work will be
completed by January 1st, and that Miss Wells, who has been
Principal of the school for fifteen years, will be rewarded for
her labor and patient waiting by ample accommodation for all the
students who may seek the advantages of her excellent normal school.
During the year we have inaugurated work at Topeka, Kan., the chief
rendezvous of the refugees, where a lot has been purchased and a
building suitable for both church and school | 2,369.374019 |
2023-11-16 18:56:33.4361360 | 7,435 | 7 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Brian Coe 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.)
THE MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE DE ST. SIMON
Newly translated and edited by FRANCIS ARKWRIGHT.
_In six volumes, demy 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth gilt, with
illustrations in photogravure, 10/6 net each volume._
NAPOLEON IN EXILE AT ELBA (1814-1815)
By NORWOOD YOUNG, Author of "The Growth of Napoleon," etc.; with a
chapter on the Iconography by A. M. Broadley.
_Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with frontispiece and 50
illustrations_ (from the collection of A. M. Broadley), _21/- net_.
NAPOLEON IN EXILE AT ST. HELENA (1815-1821)
By NORWOOD YOUNG, Author of "Napoleon in Exile at Elba," "The Story
of Rome," etc.
_In two volumes, demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with two
frontispieces and one hundred illustrations_ (from the collection
of A. M. Broadley), _32/- net_.
JULIETTE DROUET'S LOVE-LETTERS TO VICTOR HUGO
Edited with a Biography of Juliette Drouet by LOUIS GUIMBAUD;
translated by Lady THEODORA DAVIDSON.
_Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with many illustrations, 10/6 net._
THE NEW FRANCE
=Being a History from the Accession of Louis Philippe in 1830 to
the Revolution of 1848, with Appendices.=
By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. Translated into English, with an introduction
and notes, by R. S. GARNETT.
_In two volumes, demy 8vo, cloth gilt, profusely illustrated with
a rare portrait of Dumas and other pictures after famous artists,
24/- net._
[Illustration: MEDALS AWARDED TO SERGEANT-MAJOR, LATER QUARTERMASTER,
CHARLES WOODEN, 17TH LANCERS, ONE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
_Frontispiece_]
WAR MEDALS
AND THEIR HISTORY
BY
W. AUGUSTUS STEWARD
OFFICIER D'ACADÉMIE
AUTHOR OF "FROM THE BREASTS OF THE BRAVE," ETC.
_With 258 Illustrations
in Half-tone and Line_
LONDON
STANLEY PAUL & CO
31 ESSEX STREET STRAND W.C.
_First published in 1915_
FOREWORDS
If any excuse were needed for penning this, it is to be found in the
exceeding interest which was taken in my monograph "Badges of the
Brave." Indeed, many readers have requested me to deal, at greater
length, with a subject which not only opens up a great historical
vista and awakens national sentiment, but, incidentally, serves an
educational mission to those who collect and those who sell the
metallic records of many a hard-fought field, which, when collated,
form an imperishable record of our island story.
The War Medal is a comparatively modern institution, otherwise we might
have learned the names of the common folk who fought so tenaciously in
the old wars, as, for instance, the Welsh infantry and Irish soldiers
who, with the English bowmen, comprised the army of 30,000 which at
Crécy routed an army of 120,000; the followers of the Black Prince
who captured the impetuous King John at Poitiers, or the English
archers whose deadly volleys made such havoc at Agincourt, on that
fateful day in October nearly five hundred years ago; the brave seamen
who, under Lord Howard, Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher, fought the
"Invincible Armada"; and those who, under Raleigh, vigorously pursued
the Spaniards on the high seas. We might have learned something of
the men who composed the Royal Scots and the 18th Royal Irish, and
helped to vindicate the reputation of the British soldier at Namur,
and covered themselves with glory at Blenheim; the gallant Coldstream
Guards who did such excellent service under Marlborough at Oudenarde
and Malplaquet, as well as the Gloucesters and Worcesters who fought
so well at Ramillies, or the Royal Welsh Fusiliers who served under
George II at Dettingen.
When, however, war medals were designed for distribution among
successful combatants, a means of decorating surviving soldiers and
sailors was established, and at the same time a sentimental and
substantial record of a man's labours for his country upon the field
of battle. So that, if the veterans of Drake's historic fleet, or
Marlborough's dauntless soldiers, were not possessed of badges to
distinguish them from the soldiers of industry, we, at any rate, may
hold in our hands the medals which were awarded to those who served
the immortal Nelson, and be proud to possess the medals which shone
upon the breasts of our great grandparents who defied the Conqueror
of Europe on that memorable Sunday, and made his sun to set upon the
battlefield of Waterloo.
Have you listened to the smart British veteran as he explains the
disposition of the troops on that historic occasion--how the French
cavalry "foamed itself away" in the face of those steady British
squares? How he makes the Welsh blood tingle as he records the glorious
deeds and death of Sir Thomas Picton, and the Scotsman's dance through
his veins as he explains how, with the cold steel of their terrible
bayonets, the Black Watch at Quatre Bras, and its second battalion, the
Perthshires, at Waterloo, waited for the charge of the cuirassiers; and
how Sergeant Ewart of the Scots Greys captured the Eagle of the 45th,
and then, with the rest of the Union Brigade (the English Royals and
the Irish Inniskillings), crashed through the ranks of the faltering
French, and scattered the veterans of Napoleon's army! Have you
seen how the mention of the Guards holding the Château of Hougomont
brightens the eye of the Englishman? Yes! Then just think what it is
to touch and possess the solid proofs of the deeds that those men did,
and to feel that you have in your possession the only recompense those
brave and daring men received from a grateful country.
=Historical Value.=--My collection of medals enables me to cover over a
hundred years of history; takes me back to the stirring times when men
yet met face to face in the Peninsula and at Waterloo; to the men who
founded our Indian Empire. It enables me to keep in touch with sailors
who fought in the battle of the Nile, at Trafalgar, and at Navarino,
that last of all naval battles in which we British took part--our
allies were then the French and Russians--until our battleships met
those of the Germans in the great war now waging. It reminds me of the
horsemen who made the world wonder ere, with deathless glory, they
passed their little day, and of that "thin red line" of Scots, whose
cool daring at Balaklava has only been bedimmed by the gallantry of the
Light Brigade. It enables me to think more intimately of the men I know
who faced the Russians in that terrible winter, and then, like heroes,
plodded through the inferno of the Mutiny. It brings back vividly to
my mind the days of the Zulu War and the heroism of Rorke's Drift. It
reminds me of the daring march to Kandahar and the frontier wars so
necessary to hold back the turbulent human surf which beats on the
shores of our great Eastern Empire. It enables me to keep closely in
touch with those who so quickly dealt with Arabi Pasha and later faced
the fanatical hordes of the Mahdi; the young men of this generation
who fought so stubbornly at the Modder River, and who stormed the
Tugela Heights. It enables me to keep in touch with those "handymen"
and scouts on the fringe of Empire who in Somaliland, Gambia, Benin,
Matabeleland, and Bechuanaland uphold the dignity of Britain.
We sometimes read of a man or woman who has shaken hands, sixty,
seventy, or eighty years ago, with some great person, or some one whose
deeds have made him or her a name in history. The possession of war
medals and decorations, or of medals of honour gained by brave deeds
in time of peace, brings us in close touch with those who honourably
gained them. That is an aspect of medal-collecting which appeals to
me, and should to every one who admires pluck, grit, daring, and the
willingness to personal sacrifice which these badges of the brave
denote.
Finally there is an exceptional feature in the collection of war
medals which will also appeal, for, as Sir James Yoxall has pointed
out in "The A B C About Collecting," the collector of war medals "has
concentrated upon a line which can be made complete." If, however,
his inclinations or his means will not permit of the acquisition of a
complete set he may specialise in either Military or Naval Medals, or
those awarded to special regiments or ships, or to men of his own name,
or those earned by boys or nurses.
In order to facilitate the search for bars issued with the various
medals, the names inscribed thereon are printed in the text in small
capitals: these, of course, must not be taken as representing the type
used on the official bars; reference must be made to the illustrations,
which, being the same size as the original medals, will materially
assist the reader in recognising official lettering.
In conclusion I have to express my sincere thanks for the help afforded
and the deep interest taken in my book by Dr. A. A. Payne, whose
kindness in providing photographs of examples in his unique collection
has enabled me to illustrate many interesting and rare medals; to G. K.
J. and F. W. G. for clerical assistance; G. T. F. for sketches; and to
Messrs. Heywood & Co., Ltd., for the loan of several of the blocks of
medals which had been used in monographs I had written for publication
by them.
W. AUGUSTUS STEWARD.
LONDON.
CONTENTS
MILITARY SECTION
PAGE
FIRST CAMPAIGN MEDALS 1
EARLY MEDALS GRANTED BY THE HONOURABLE EAST
INDIA COMPANY 9
FIRST MEDAL FOR EGYPT, 1801 16
THE MAHRATTA WAR 20
FIRST OFFICIAL MILITARY OFFICERS' MEDAL 25
THE PENINSULAR WAR 26
CONTINENTAL PENINSULAR WAR MEDALS 66
WATERLOO AND QUATRE BRAS 70
BRITISH AND CONTINENTAL WATERLOO MEDALS 81
NEPAUL, 1814-15 86
FIRST BURMESE WAR 90
FIRST AFGHAN WAR 94
FIRST CHINESE WAR 98
SECOND AFGHAN WAR 100
THE GWALIOR CAMPAIGN 109
THE SIKH WARS 111
SECOND PUNJAB CAMPAIGN 119
FIRST NEW ZEALAND WAR 124
MILITARY GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL GRANTED 128
INDIA GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL GRANTED 133
FIRST KAFFIR WARS 134
SECOND BURMESE WAR 137
THE CRIMEAN WAR 139
PERSIAN WAR 155
INDIAN MUTINY 156
SECOND CHINESE WAR 178
SECOND NEW ZEALAND WAR 182
ABYSSINIAN WAR 189
ASHANTEE WAR 192
ZULU WAR 197
THIRD AFGHAN WAR 202
EGYPTIAN CAMPAIGNS 210
RIEL'S REBELLION 217
ANNEXATION OF BURMA 218
BLACK MOUNTAIN AND BORDER EXPEDITIONS 220
EAST AND WEST AFRICA 227
SECOND ASHANTEE WAR 229
CHITRAL 230
MATABELELAND AND RHODESIA 235
THE SUDAN 239
THIRD ASHANTEE WAR 244
THIRD CHINESE WAR 245
THE BOER WAR 248
NIGERIA 256
AFRICAN EXPEDITIONS 257
NATAL REBELLION 259
TIBET EXPEDITION 259
ABOR 261
SUDAN, 1910 262
NAVAL SECTION
ARMADA MEDALS 266
CHARLES I MEDALS 267
COMMONWEALTH MEDALS 268
THE DUTCH WARS 269
CHARLES II MEDALS 271
LA HOGUE 273
QUEEN ANNE MEDALS 274
GEORGE I AND GEORGE II MEDALS 276
"THE GLORIOUS" 1ST OF JUNE 279
NAVAL GOLD MEDAL INSTITUTED 280
ST. VINCENT 281
CAMPERDOWN 283
THE NILE 284
COPENHAGEN 287
TRAFALGAR 288
TRAFALGAR MEDALS 290
BARS ISSUED WITH NAVAL GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL 293
BARS ISSUED FOR BOAT ACTIONS 305
ALGIERS 306
AVA 307
NAVARINO 308
SYRIA 309
CHINA, 1840-2 310
SCINDE, 1843 310
PUNJAB, 1848-9 311
CHINA, 1856-60 311
PEGU 311
CRIMEA 312
NAVAL BRIGADE IN CRIMEAN WAR 315
INDIAN MUTINY 316
NEW ZEALAND, 1845-6-7 317
CREWS ENGAGED IN ABYSSINIA, ASHANTEE, PERAK,
AND SOUTH AFRICA 318
EGYPTIAN WARS 319
AFRICAN EXPEDITIONS 329
BOER WAR 333
MERITORIOUS SERVICE MEDALS 336
LONG SERVICE MEDALS 348
HOW MEDALS ARE NAMED 352
SOME CONTINENTAL AND FOREIGN WAR MEDALS 357
PISTRUCCI'S WATERLOO MEDAL 374
REGIMENTAL DESIGNATIONS 377
SALE PRICES 382
INDEX 401
ILLUSTRATIONS
V.C. AND MEDALS AWARDED TO QUARTERMASTER WOODEN _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
ROYALIST BADGES 1
DUNBAR MEDAL 4
MEDAL FOR OUDENARDE 4
H.E.I. CO.'S MEDAL FOR SERINGAPATAM, 1799 12
H.E.I. CO.'S MEDAL FOR EGYPT, 1801 12
PENINSULAR GOLD MEDAL 16
GOLD MEDAL FOR MAIDA, 1806 20
H.E.I. CO.'S MEDAL FOR AVA, 1824-6 20
PORTUGUESE GOLD CROSS (COMMANDER'S) FOR THE PENINSULAR 28
PORTUGUESE OFFICER'S CROSS FOR THE PENINSULAR 32
SPANISH CROSS FOR ALBUHERA 36
SPANISH CROSS FOR CIUDAD RODRIGO 36
SPANISH GOLD CROSS FOR VITTORIA 36
ALCANTARA MEDAL, 1809 40
MILITARY GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL 40
PENINSULAR GOLD CROSS 44
PENINSULAR GOLD MEDAL WITH BARS 44
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL BRACKENBURY'S DECORATIONS 48
PRUSSIAN MEDALS FOR NAPOLEONIC WARS 52
BRONZE MEDAL TO BRITISH GERMAN LEGION 52
SILVER MEDAL TO HANSEATIC LEGION 52
WATERLOO MEDAL 56
ARMY OF INDIA MEDAL, 1799-1826 56
NASSAU MEDAL FOR WATERLOO 60
HANOVERIAN MEDAL FOR WATERLOO 60
PRUSSIAN JUBILEE MEDALS FOR WATERLOO 64
"ST. HELENA" MEDAL 64
BRUNSWICK MEDAL FOR WATERLOO 72
SAXE-GOTHA-ALTENBURG WATERLOO MEDAL 72
PISTRUCCI'S WATERLOO MEDAL 80
GOVERNOR-GENERAL'S MEDAL FOR GHUZNEE, 1839 88
MEDAL FOR GHUZNEE, 1839 88
MEDAL FOR KELAT-I-GHILZIE, 1842 96
FIRST JELLALABAD MEDAL, 1842 96
SECOND JELLALABAD MEDAL ("FLYING VICTORY"), 1842 100
CHINA MEDAL, 1842 100
MEDAL FOR CABUL, 1842 100
MEDAL FOR CANDAHAR, ETC. 108
BRONZE STAR FOR MAHARAJPOOR 108
BRONZE STAR FOR PUNNIAR, 1843 112
MEDAL FOR SUTLEJ, 1845 112
MEDAL FOR PUNJAB, 1849 112
FIRST INDIA GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL, 1854 120
FIRST SOUTH AFRICA MEDAL, 1853 120
CRIMEA MEDALS 128
FIRST MÉDAILLE MILITAIRE 132
SARDINIAN CRIMEA MEDAL 132
SECOND CHINESE WAR MEDAL 132
VICTORIA CROSS 136
INDIAN ORDER OF MERIT 136
MERITORIOUS SERVICE MEDAL 136
DISTINGUISHED CONDUCT MEDAL 140
CONSPICUOUS GALLANTRY MEDAL 140
INDIAN MUTINY MEDAL 144
NEW ZEALAND MEDAL 144
ABYSSINIAN MEDAL 148
CANADA MEDAL 148
ASHANTEE MEDAL 148
ZULU WAR MEDAL 148
AFGHAN MEDAL, 1878-9-80 156
ROBERTS STAR FOR KANDAHAR 156
HONG-KONG PLAGUE MEDAL 160
EGYPTIAN WAR MEDAL 160
KHEDIVE'S STAR 160
INDIA MEDAL FOR FOUR CAMPAIGNS 164
EGYPTIAN MEDAL FOR THREE CAMPAIGNS 164
AFRICA MEDAL FOR FIVE EXPEDITIONS 164
JUMMOO AND KASHMIR MEDAL 168
HUNZA NAGAR BADGE 168
MEDAL FOR MATABELELAND 172
CAPE OF GOOD HOPE MEDAL 172
QUEEN'S SUDAN MEDAL (REVERSE) 172
KHEDIVE'S SUDAN MEDAL (OBVERSE) 172
QUEEN'S SUDAN MEDAL (OBVERSE) 176
KHEDIVE'S SUDAN MEDAL (REVERSE) 176
QUEEN'S SOUTH AFRICA MEDAL (OBVERSE) 176
KING'S SOUTH AFRICA MEDAL (REVERSE) 176
BOER WAR MEDALS FOR COMPARISON 180
MAJOR CROOPER'S DECORATIONS 184
MEDALS ILLUSTRATING PHASES IN THE LIFE OF QUEEN VICTORIA 188
BRONZE STAR FOR ASHANTI, 1896 192
INDIA 1895 MEDAL 192
MAYOR'S STAR FOR DEFENCE OF KIMBERLEY 192
MEDAL FOR ASHANTI, 1900 198
MEDAL FOR TIBET, 1903-4 198
MEDAL FOR NATAL REBELLION 198
INDIA GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL, 1908 204
INDIA GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL FOR ABOR, 1911-12 204
MEDAL FOR SUDAN, 1910 204
DISTINGUISHED SERVICE CROSS 208
DISTINGUISHED SERVICE ORDER 208
CONSPICUOUS SERVICE CROSS 208
ROYAL NAVAL RESERVE MEDAL 224
H.E.I. CO.'S MERITORIOUS SERVICE MEDAL 224
KING EDWARD'S ARMY LONG SERVICE MEDAL 224
VICTORIAN VOLUNTEER OFFICER'S DECORATION 240
EDWARDIAN COLONIAL AND AUXILIARY FORCES DECORATION 240
KING EDWARD'S MILITIA LONG SERVICE MEDAL 244
KING GEORGE'S TERRITORIAL EFFICIENCY MEDAL 244
VICTORIAN MILITARY LONG SERVICE MEDAL 252
KING GEORGE'S NAVAL DISTINGUISHED SERVICE MEDAL 252
EGYPTIAN MEDAL FOR BRAVERY 256
THE MILITARY CROSS 256
ELIZABETHAN NAVAL MEDAL 266
COMMONWEALTH MEDAL FOR DUTCH WARS 266
LORD UPPINGHAM'S ARMADA MEDAL 270
THE WYARD MEDAL 270
CHARLES II SILVER NAVAL MEDAL 272
QUEEN ANNE SILVER NAVAL MEDAL 276
WILLIAM III SILVER MEDAL FOR LA HOGUE 280
NAVAL GOLD MEDAL FOR THE "GLORIOUS FIRST OF JUNE" 280
REAR-ADMIRAL USSHER'S DECORATIONS 284
DAVISON'S MEDAL FOR THE NILE 288
BOULTON'S MEDAL FOR TRAFALGAR 290
NAVAL GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL 292
SULTAN'S MEDAL FOR ACRE 292
BALTIC MEDAL 296
NAVAL MEDAL FOR BEST SHOT 296
AFRICA GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL 296
EARL OF ST. VINCENT'S MEDAL, 1800 304
WILLIAM IV NAVAL LONG SERVICE MEDAL 308
VICTORIAN NAVAL LONG SERVICE MEDAL 308
EDWARD VII NAVAL LONG SERVICE MEDAL 308
CROSS OF THE LÉGION D'HONNEUR 320
PRUSSIAN ORDER OF MERIT (2ND CLASS) 324
AUSTRIAN CROSS FOR 1813-14 324
HESSIAN MEDAL FOR 1814-15 324
THE IRON CROSS 332
AUSTRIAN ORDER OF THE IRON CROWN 332
PRUSSIAN MEDAL FOR DISTINCTION IN SERVICE 332
AUSTRIAN OFFICER'S GILT CROSS 332
SILVER CROSS FOR SAN SEBASTIAN, 1846 336
IRON CROSS FOR SAN SEBASTIAN, 1836 336
SILVER MEDAL FOR SAN SEBASTIAN, 1836 340
BADEN MEDAL FOR 1849 340
BADEN MEDAL "FOR FAITHFUL SERVICE" 340
FRENCH MEDAL FOR MEXICO, 1862-3 348
FRENCH MEDAL FOR TONKIN, 1883-5 348
PAPAL MEDAL FOR 1860 352
CROSS FOR KÖNIG GRÄTZ (SADOWA) 352
GENEVA CROSS FOR 1870-1 352
FRENCH MEDAL FOR 1870-1 356
GERMAN MEDAL FOR 1870-1 356
CHILIAN WAR MEDALS 356
RUSSIAN WAR DECORATIONS 364
GOLD MEDAL FOR MANILA BAY 368
MEDAL FOR SERBO-TURKISH WAR 372
MEDAL FOR SERBO-BULGARIAN WAR 372
SERBIAN MEDAL "FOR COURAGE" 376
SERBIAN MEDAL FOR SERVICE TO WOUNDED 376
GERMAN MEDAL FOR SOUTH-WEST AFRICA 380
GREEK MEDAL FOR GRECO-TURKISH WAR 380
SECOND MÉDAILLE MILITAIRE 384
ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THE TEXT
H.E.I. Co. Honourable East India Company.
M.G.S. Military General Service.
N.G.S. Naval General Service.
I.G.S. India General Service.
V.C. Victoria Cross.
D.S.O. Distinguished Service Order.
D.C.M. Distinguished Conduct Medal.
D.S.C. Distinguished Service Cross.
D.S.M. Distinguished Service Medal.
C.G.M. Conspicuous Gallantry Medal.
G.S.M. General Service Medal.
[Illustration: MEDALLION OF EARL OF ESSEX.]
[Illustration: SIR THOMAS FAIRFAX MILITARY AWARD, 1645.]
[Illustration: BADGE OF CHARLES I AND HENRIETTA.
ROYALIST BADGES.]
WAR MEDALS AND THEIR HISTORY
Since the days when woad-clad Britons faced Cæsar's legions we have had
a military system, but it was not, so far as we have any substantial
evidence, until the days of Elizabeth that personal decorations were
awarded for military service, or distinction on the seas or in the
field.
In the Middle Ages, a warrior, knighted on the field of battle, was
permitted to use a square instead of a swallow-tailed pennon, as a
knight's banneret, and to use a war cry, from whence we may trace the
origin of the mottoes used with Coats of Arms.
Later, after Sedgemoor (July 6th, 1685), recognition of the lower ranks
is recorded in the bestowal of a gratuity of £40 to Sergeant Weems of
the 1st Royals (now the Royal Scots) for serving the great guns in an
emergency; but these types of award hardly provided that personal note
or record which the war medal, as we know it, gives to the recipient.
It is fitting that the Navy, which had existed for centuries prior
to the establishment of a standing Army, should take precedence in
the bestowal of awards for active service; the rout of the Spanish
Armada--in 1588--probably gave the incentive to Good Queen Bess to
commemorate the auspicious occasion by the issue of medals in gold and
silver, and we may reasonably assume that they were given for personal
decoration to the leading officers engaged in the defeat of the
Armada, or that the recipients thought that by wearing them they would
show respect to the Queen, and thus established the custom of wearing
medals, presented by the Sovereign for War Service. A specimen of these
medals, with rings and chain for suspension, probably from the neck, is
to be seen in the British Museum.
Just over fifty years later, Charles I established the principle for
the Army, and thus strengthened the precedent, which was gradually
extended, until now every boy and man who has acquitted himself
creditably in a campaign, and the nurses also, may rightly claim the
medallic recognition and record of their principal services by land or
by sea.
=Elizabethan Naval Medals.=--A silver medal, with an attached half-ring
loop for suspension, was apparently given by Queen Elizabeth for naval
achievements; it is oval, and bears on the obverse a bust of the
Queen, and on the reverse a bay tree on an island, with the legend
impressed thereon NON · IPSA · PERICVLA · TANGVNT. This is a splendidly
decorative medal. The "Ark-in-Flood medal," though hardly so well
designed or so delicately cut, is characteristic. It is generally
stated that it was given to the principal officers who fought against
the Armada, or to commanders who had distinguished themselves at sea.
The medal was struck in gold and silver and measured 2 in. by 1¾ in.,
and was suspended by a fancy loop. On the obverse of the medal is a
bust of the Queen facing to the left, with the inscription ELIZABETH ◆
D ◆ G ◆ ANGLIE ◆ F ◆ ET ◆ H ◆ REG.
These, like another medal given by Elizabeth, we may reasonably suppose
to have been struck to commemorate the defeat of the "Invincible
Armada." James I issued a similar medal in gold and silver, with a ring
for suspension. On the reverse is the Ark upon the waters, having above
it, like Elizabeth's medal, the symbol indicative of Divine protection,
surrounded by the motto STET · SALVUS · IN · VNDIS. There are two
kinds of obverse to this medal, one with a portrait bust of the King
in armour with a ruff, and the legend FIDEI DEFENSOR encircling the
head. This apparently was for military officers, and the one bearing an
obverse with the King's head surmounted by a broad-brimmed hat, for his
courtiers. Nothing, however, can be stated with any certainty on this
point. The motto on the obverse is JACOBUS · D · G · MAG · BRITA · FR ·
ET · HI · REX; and on the reverse an ark within an oval band containing
the motto PER VNDUS SEVAS TRANQVILLA.
=Charles I establishes Military Medals.=--Having indicated the creation
of the campaign or active-service medal for the Navy, we will leave the
consideration of naval medals for the section which will be reserved
for that purpose and deal with the listing of the military badges of
the brave, commencing with those which were struck in the days of
Charles I, who established medals for military prowess.
They were, according to the order of the Court, held at Oxford on the
18th day of May, 1643, "to be delivered to wear on the breast of every
man who shall be certified under the hands of their commander-in-chief
to have done us faithful service in the forlorn hope." These medals
were only, it will be seen, given for very distinguished conduct in
the field. One bore the Royal image on the obverse, and Prince Charles
on the reverse; and the other the bust of Charles on the obverse, with
the inscription CAROLUS · D · G · MAG · BRI · FR · ET · HIB · REX, and
on the reverse the Royal Arms with the Garter bearing the motto HONI
· SOIT · QUI · MAL · Y · PENSE. Both medals were silver and oval in
shape, the sizes being respectively 1·7 in. by 1·3 in. and 1·5 in. by
1·2 in.
=First Distinguished-conduct Medal.=--The first record we have of the
bestowal of a medal for conspicuous conduct in the field is in the
award made to an Irish commander who distinguished himself at the
Battle of Edge Hill--the first battle of the Civil War, fought on
October 23rd, 1642--by the recovery of a Royal standard, and certain
military accessories. The gallant soldier, who became Sir Robert Welch,
was subsequently presented with an oval gold medal specially cut to
the King's orders by the Royal "graver of seals and medals," Thomas
Rawlins. The King | 2,369.456176 |
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THE KNICKERBOCKER.
VOL. XXII. DECEMBER, 1843. No. 6.
MIND OR INSTINCT.
AN INQUIRY CONCERNING THE MANIFESTATION OF MIND BY THE LOWER ORDERS OF
ANIMALS.
'IN some are found
Such teachable and apprehensive parts,
That man's attainments in his own concerns,
Matched with the expertness of the brutes in their's,
Are ofttimes vanquished and thrown far behind.'
COWPER.
OF THE REASON OR JUDGMENT OF THE PRINCIPLE CALLED INSTINCT.
A SURGEON of Leeds, (Eng.,) says BUFFON, found a
little spaniel who had been lamed. He carried the poor animal home,
bandaged up his leg, and, after two or three days, turned him out.
The dog returned to the surgeon's house every morning, till the leg
was perfectly well. At the end of several months, the spaniel again
presented himself, in company with another dog, who had also been
lamed; and he intimated, as well as piteous and intelligent looks could
intimate, that he desired the same kind assistance to be rendered to
his friend as had been bestowed upon himself. A similar circumstance is
stated to have occurred to MORANT, a celebrated French surgeon.
A fox, adds the same writer, having entered a hen-house through a small
aperture, which was the only opening, succeeded without disturbing
the family in destroying all the fowls, and in satiating his appetite
with part of them; but his voracity so enlarged his dimensions as to
prevent his egress. In the morning the farmer discovered the havoc of
the night, and the perpetrator himself sprawled out on the floor of the
coop, apparently dead from surfeit. He entered, and taking the creature
by the heels, carried him out and cast him beside the house. This was
no sooner done than the fox sprang up and bounded away with the speed
of a racer. This was communicated by the person.
A spaniel, OBSEND informs us, having discovered a mouse in a
shock of corn, jumped with his fore feet against it to frighten him
out; and then running quickly to the back side, succeeded in taking the
mouse as he attempted to escape.
BUFFON says: 'A number of beavers are employed together at
the foot of the tree in gnawing it down; and when this part of the
labor is accomplished, it becomes the business of others to sever the
branches, while a third party are engaged along the borders of the
river in cutting other trees, which though smaller than the first tree,
are yet as thick as the leg, if not the thigh, of a common-sized man.
These they carry with them by land to the brink of the river, and then
by water to the place allotted for their building; where sharpening
them at one end, and forming them into stakes, they fix them in the
ground, at a small distance from each other, and fill up the vacant
spaces with pliant branches. While some are thus employed in fixing
the stakes, others go in quest of clay, which they prepare for their
purpose with their tails and their feet. At the top of their <DW18>, or
mole, they form two or three openings. These they occasionally enlarge
or contract, as the river rises or falls. NOTE.--Should the
current be very gentle, the dam is carried nearly straight across;
but when the stream is swiftly flowing, it is uniformly made with a
considerable curve, having the convex part opposed to the current.
'Ac veluti ingentem formicae farris acervum
Cum populant, hyemis memores, tectoque reponunt:
It nigrum campis agmen, praedamque per herbas
Convectant calle augusto: pars grandia trudunt
Obnixae frumenta humeris: pars agmina cogunt,
Castigant que moras: opere omnis semita fervet.'
AENEID, IV., 402.
'In formica non modo sensus sed etiam mens, ratio, memoria.'--CIC.
'Si quis comparet onera corporibus earum (formicarum) fateatur nullis
portione. Vires esse majores. Gerunt ea morsu; majora aversae postremio
pedibus moliuntur, humeris obnoxae. Est iis Reip ratio memoria cura.
Semima arrosa condunt vie rursus in fruges exeant e terra. Majora
ad introitum (cavernae) dividunt Madefacta imbre proferunt atque
siccant.'--PLINY: lib. XI., cap. 30.
Many birds and other animals, BUFFON informs us, station a
watch, while they are feeding in the fields. Whenever marmots venture
abroad, one is placed as a sentinel, sitting on an elevated rock,
while the others amuse themselves in the fields below, or are engaged
in cutting grass and making it into hay for their future convenience;
and no sooner does their trusty sentinel perceive a man, an eagle, a
dog, or any other enemy approaching, than he gives notice to the rest
by a kind of whistle, and is himself the last that takes refuge in the
cell. It is asserted that when their hay is made, one of them lies upon
its back, permits the hay to be heaped between its paws, keeping them
upright to make greater room, and in this manner remaining still upon
its back, is dragged by the tail, hay and all, to their common retreat.
These instances could be multiplied indefinitely; but more than
sufficient have been cited. They prove in the first place, without need
of argument, that animals have a language by which they apprehend each
other. Concert of action and division of labor would be impossible
without it. They also exhibit the exercise of memory and abstraction;
and it now remains to ascertain whether their conduct was the result of
reason.
If a person should take a friend whose arm had been fractured to a
skilful surgeon who had before cured him of a similar wound, we should
infer the following course of reasoning: First, a comparison of facts,
to discover whether the injury in question was like the one he had
received; the ability of this surgeon over others in such cases; and
the presumption that the same skill and remedies will again produce
the same effects. These are the most obvious points. The dog, in the
cited case, had once been healed of a broken limb by a surgeon; and
having found a mate in a like situation, took him also to the same
surgeon. It is evident that his conduct was as wise as the man's. The
facts and actions in the two cases are parallel; and having seen that
animals obtain a perception of objects by the same agencies that man
does, it only remains to ascertain whether the intermediate reasoning
process between perception and action were essentially the same. Now,
we cannot prove directly that the mind of another passes through any
process whatever; because the proof of any process of our own mind
is consciousness, which cannot go beyond us; but we can infer the
train of reasoning in a given case with great correctness, taking
self-knowledge as a basis; and the similarity of conduct in another,
in view of premises, with what our own would have been. This is the
chief criterion by which much of our daily conduct is regulated, and
is the most substantial proof that can be reached. Hence, we can infer
with just as much certainty that the instinct of the dog passed through
the process mentioned, as that the mind of the man did in the case
supposed. We can also infer it with as much truth as that instinct is
susceptible of the process of memory, since the proof in both cases is
drawn from facts, and on the same principles.
Again: The beaver's dam is constructed at the very place a skilful
engineer would have selected for a similar purpose. This choice of one
place before another is necessarily founded on comparison, which is
a deliberative reasoning process. It is therefore inconsistent with
an impulse, which seems to be the action suggested, by instantaneous
perception and reasoning; a single, inflexible propulsion in one
direction; without a careful choice, and without deliberation: hence
the term impulsive cannot be applied to a large proportion of the
actions of animals; and having no reason for supposing the impulses of
animals supernatural, or unlike human impulses, the term itself should
be abandoned as vague and unmeaning. Gnawing the large tree upon the
inner side, that it might fall directly across the stream, also rises
above the utmost that we can understand by an inward persuasion; for
it is the incipient step, and has full relation to the subsequent work
of erecting a pier. We have seen that while one part are cutting down
the tree, another part go up the stream, cut smaller trees for stakes,
and draw them to the water's edge; while still a third division go in
quest of clay to prepare as a mortar. This completeness of plan, and
combination of means to execute it, is wholly inconsistent with the
common explanation of instinctive operations. Such exhibitions, as we
have already remarked, are simply the workings of a certain principle
they possess; performing for them the same office that mind does
for man; and the true direction of inquiry is to the nature of its
qualities. The actions themselves exhibit comparison, a knowledge of
the adaptation of means to an end, the combination of these means in
regular detail to effect the end, and the still higher intelligence
of future cause and effect, as evinced by the enlargement of the
water passage with the rise of the stream. These actions, then, being
ascertained to be uniformly the same in a great variety of cases, and
manifesting the operation of an intelligent principle in every act; and
being such as in man would have been in pursuance of the processes of
reason mentioned; we are clearly directed to the inference (indeed no
other rational one _can_ be made) that they compared the advantages of
different places, to enable them to select the best, having reference
to the construction of a dam; that they reasoned out the plan of this
dam and the adaptation of certain materials to its erection; that
they reflected upon the need of its convexity, the better to resist
the pressure of the stream, should it be rapid; that they considered
the advantages of a division of labor to expedite the work; that they
understood from experience, or arrived at the conclusion by reason,
that it was safer to discharge the surplus water at one opening well
guarded, than over the continuous edge of the dam; and finally they
had in view the uses and purpose of this dam from the beginning; and
the reasoning preparatory to each successive step was as exact and
efficient, with reference to the end designed and the means to be
employed, as _man's_ could have been; and was conducted in much, if not
exactly, the same manner; because we can conceive of but one way in
which an intelligent principle thinks.
To learn, we must derive an impression of the object or event by
the senses; and then interpret its meaning by a process of the
understanding. The domestic animals may be taught a variety of
performances, which if done by man we should not hesitate to pronounce
the result of reasoning. Ravens have been taught to sing a regular
piece, involving to a certain extent the same kind of apprehension,
as in instructing a child in music.[A] The parrot may be taught to
speak. Falcons have been learned to hunt, under the influence of
motives; a favorite dish being the reward of skilful services. The
elephant, the camel, and the horse, in adapting themselves to the wants
of man as beasts of burden, give constant proofs of intelligence and
deliberation. Some of the most stupid animals apparently, have been
taught a variety of feats under the stimulus of rewards, which raise
our astonishment at their shrewdness and ingenuity. Imitation, if
carefully considered, will be found impossible without the aid of a
thinking principle. We know, indeed, very little of any species but
our own. Their language is as vague to us as the guttural tongue of
the Indian; their movements are usually unmeaning, and all but their
general necessities, unknown; we are profoundly ignorant of every
thing but the most general manifestations of animal life; and at the
same time it must be admitted that they exhibit more intelligence in
adapting themselves to, and understanding us, than we do in suiting our
conduct to their apprehension.
[Footnote A: SOME animals are self-taught. The mocking-bird
whistles for the dog; Caesar starts up and runs to meet his master. He
squeaks out like a hurt chicken, and the hen hurries about with hanging
wings and bristling feathers, clucking to protect her injured brood.
The barking of the dog, the mewing of the cat, the creaking of the
passing wheel-barrow, follow with great truth and rapidity. He repeats
the tune taught him by his master, though of considerable length, fully
and faithfully. He runs over the quiverings of the Canary and the
clear whistlings of the Virginia nightingale, or red-bird, with such
superior execution and effect, that the mortified songsters feel their
own inferiority, and become silent, while he seems to triumph in their
defeat by redoubling his exertions.--WILSON.]
Many animals provide magazines, on which to subsist during the winter.
This appears to be the result of a long process of reasoning; of which
the impossibility of obtaining supplies during such period, the amount
necessary, the manner of bestowing it, and the kind of provision which
is not perishable, may be the most obvious. If all these points were
not heeded, the consequence would be fatal. To satisfy present hunger,
a simple impulse might be sufficient; but to anticipate distant wants,
the exercise of an intelligent principle is requisite. The ant, the
bee, the squirrel, the rat, and the beaver, are distinguished instances
of this forethought.
If the argument of PALEY is sound, that contrivance forms
design, and from design we infer intelligence, it applies with emphasis
to all constructed animal habitations. The nests of birds, the cells
of the bee, the spider's web, the mound of the ant, and the hills of
the termites, may be cited. Contrivance and construction seem to be
impossible without the constant exercise of a reflecting principle;
while economy of labor and time indicates the correctness with which
this principle directs the conduct.
Again: If the sentinel of a small party should discover an enemy
approaching, he would know, should they reach the encampment, that his
companions would be captured; but if he apprized them of the peril,
they might escape. This is simply ascertaining the relation of cause
and effect; on such conclusions he alarms his mates, and they retreat.
We know that many animals not only act the same in view of similar
premises, but deliberately prepare for the emergency, like a garrison,
by placing sentinels on the watch: now, since their actions are
uniformly the same in a great variety of cases, and exactly analogous
to the actions of men under similar motives, the same inference
results; that such actions in both cases were caused by a reflecting or
reasoning principle; and that this principle must perform its functions
in nearly if not exactly the same manner, in men and in different
animals, to produce such similar conduct. As instances, parrots, jays,
crows, ants, marmots, and the chamois, may be referred to.
The ancients attributed intelligence, in its purest sense, to many
animals, especially to the elephant and the horse. In one of the
passages quoted, PLINY, the naturalist, after describing
the ingenious method of the ants, in'shoving with their shoulders'
the larger bits of grain, says: 'There is in them in every deed,
reason, memory, and care;' the expression breaks out from him like
an irresistible conviction. VIRGIL also observes that they
are'mindful of the approaching winter;' and he refers to their
order, and division of labor. If inquiry should be directed to that
industry which accumulates not only beyond present, but even future
necessities, it could be accounted for on no other supposition, than as
a consequence of reasoning upon the necessity of preparing for the day
of need.
Let us turn for a moment to the fables of AESOP. It is
remarkable that these first attempts at moral philosophy should have
come down to us with such freshness as to be almost without the marks
of antiquity; and yet one of their most interesting features is the
correctness, so far as we know, with which animals have been invested
with their natural characteristics. We still ask
'Astuta ingenuum vulpes imitata leonem?'
and are yet inclined to charge the raven with vanity for being cheated
of her meat, as represented in the fable, by the flattery of the fox.
We also admire the closing reproof: [Greek: Echeis | 2,369.554392 |
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Produced by the Mormon Texts Project
(MormonTextsProject.org), with thanks to Paul Freebairn
and Cheryl Jennings for proofreading.
[Frontispiece Image: Mount Calvary.]
THE HAND OF
PROVIDENCE,
AS SHOWN IN THE
HISTORY OF
NATIONS AND INDIVIDUALS,
From the Great Apostasy to the Restoration of the Gospel.
ILLUSTRATED.
BY ELDER J. H. WARD.
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH:
Published at the Juvenile Instructor Office. 1883.
PREFACE.
Don't throw this book down carelessly. It will do you no harm. It
assumes no dictation. It may benefit you if you will read it carefully.
"We have plenty of histories."
True. But most are too large to be of practical value to the sons and
daughters of toil. Many are written in the interest of some party or
sect, and in order to gain favor, they flatter the vanity of men.
"But they tell of wonderful deeds, and thrilling adventures."
Very true. Some of them are mostly composed of recitals of legalized
slaughter, and praise of tyrants who have climbed to power over the
mangled bodies of their fellow-men, and whose names will not live
in one grateful memory; while the real benefactors of the race, the
unfolding of new and higher truths and, above all, the over-ruling hand
of God are unnoticed, or, at most, barely mentioned.
"Does God rule the world?"
Yes, verily. The greatest actors on the theatre of the world are only
instruments in the hand of God, for the execution of His purposes.
"Where have you obtained the facts contained in this volume?"
From many authentic works, some of them not easily accessible to most
readers.
{IV.}
"This will be a good book for the young, and all those who have not the
opportunity to consult larger works, will it not?"
With this idea it has been written and to this end I dedicate it to my
children as heirs in the kingdom of God, to the youth of Zion and to my
earnest friends everywhere.
THE AUTHOR.
Salt Lake City,
March 16th, 1883.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Injustice of Roman Governors--Nero Emperor--Vespasian and Titus
Sent to Judea--Fortifications of Jerusalem--Titus Offers Terms of
Peace--Horrors of the Siege--Women Devour their own Children--Temple
Burned--City Destroyed--Dispersion of the Jews--Universal
Apostasy--Priesthood no More--Ideas of God Perverted--Worship
Corrupted with Heathen Rites--Persecution of Christians--Emperor
Constantine--Rise of Monastic Order.
CHAPTER II.
Description of Arabia--Arabian Customs--Birth of Mahomet--Early
Life--Journey to Syria--Christian Sects--Doctrines Taught by
Mahomet--His Marriage--Proclaims Himself a Prophet--Persecution--Flees
to Medina--Becomes Powerful--Sickness and Death--Personal Appearance.
CHAPTER III.
Causes of Triumphs--Abou-Beker Elected Caliph--War Declared--Fall of
Bozrah--Battle of Aiznadin--Siege of Jerusalem--Departure of Roman
Emperor--Saracen Fleet--Eastern Conquests--Fall of Alexandria--Conquest
of Northern Africa--Conquest of Spain--Battle of Poictiers--Extent of
Saracen Empire.
CHAPTER IV.
Intellectual Stagnation--Saracens and Jews Revive Learning--University
of Bagdad--Public Schools--Medical College of Cairo--Circulating
Library--Modern Form of Books--Arabic Notation--Discoveries in
Chemistry--Rotundity of the Earth--Mariner's Compass--Discoveries of
Alhazin--Astronomical Observatories--Golden Age of Judaism--Cities of
Andalusia--Saracen Dwellings--Condition of Women--Female Physicians.
CHAPTER V.
Jerusalem the Sacred City--Alexandria Noted for Philosophy--School of
Hypatia--Mob Murders Her--Doctrines of Cyril--Jerusalem a Scene of
Suffering--Fulfillment of Prophecy--Herculaneum and Pompeii--Their
Destruction--Evidences {VI.} of their Wickedness--Excavations--Roman
Rule--Removal of Capital--Crimes of Constantine--Commencement
of Greek Empire--Description of Constantinople--Its
Capture by Crusaders--Taken by the Turks--Intellectual
Degradation--Priestcraft--Debauchery--Turkish Rule.
CHAPTER VI.
Growth of Relic-Worship--Schemes of the Roman Pontiffs--Manufacture
of Relics--Their Great Variety--Value of Relics--Insults Offered to
Pilgrims--Peter the Hermit--Crusades--Disorderly Rabble--Terrible
Suffering--Capture of Jerusalem--Terrible Massacre--Capture
of Constantinople--Crusades of the Children--Results of the
Crusades--Revival of Learning.
CHAPTER VII.
The Morning Dawns--Rise of Knighthood--Principles of
Knights--Apostate Priests Held in Contempt--Waldenses--Persecutions
in Southern France--Rise of the Inquisition--Liberal Policy of
Frederick--"Everlasting Gospel"--Its Remarkable Teachings--Bacon's
Discoveries--Geographical Knowledge--Azores and Canary Islands--Travels
of Marco Polo--Condition of European States--Modern States.
CHAPTER VIII.
Lesson from Heathen Mythology--Vicissitudes of Roman Church--Boniface
Pope--Advancement in Civilization--Work of the Roman Church--Invention
of Printing--Gutenberg--Bible First Printed--Columbus--His Wonderful
Dream--His Great Voyage--Discovery of America--Trials and Triumphs.
CHAPTER IX.
History in Words--British Coat of Arms--The Ten Tribes--Account
of Esdras--Dispersion of the Tribes--Mixed Seed of Israel--Effect
on European Society--Jewish Influence--Discovery of Cape of Good
Hope--Pacific Ocean Discovered--Magellan's Voyage--Discovers Cape
Horn--Distance Sailed--Death of Magellan--Voyage Completed--Its Effect
on the Public--Huss and Jerome Burned--John Ziska--Persecutions
of Waldenses--Capture of Mentz--Dispersion of Printers--Hans
Boheim--Joss Fritz--Sale of Indulgences--Martin Luther Burns the Pope's
Letter--Grand Council at Worms--Rome in a Rage--Luther Kidnapped.
CHAPTER X.
Germany Aroused--Peasants' War--Muntzer's Proclamation--Emperor
Quarrels With the Pope--Results in Other {VII.} Countries--Growth
in Modern Languages--Luther's Crowning Work--Power of
Superstition--Witchcraft--Reformers not Inspired--Extracts from
Mosheim--Battle-Ax of God--Copernicus--Galileo--Newton--Death of
Bruno--Change in Commercial Affairs--Spanish Armada--Blessed by the
Pope--Destroyed by a Storm--Its Effect on Europe--England's Influence
and Position--America the Land of Refuge.
CHAPTER XI.
Columbus Destroyed Papal Dogmas--Cruelty of Spaniards--Their
Retribution--Relics in Massachusetts--Newport Tower--Mounds in
Ohio--Remains Found in Iowa--Plates Found in Illinois--Ancient Mexican
Pyramids--Human Sacrifices--View from the Great Pyramid--Ancient
American Sculptures--Mammoths--Mexican Customs--Religious
Rites--Computation of Time--Arts and Sciences--Description of Peru--Its
Civilization--Massacre of the Incas--Testimony of Travellers--Indian
Traditions.
CHAPTER XII.
England's Development--Reign of Elizabeth--Influence of the
Bible--Tyranny of the Kings--Jacques Cartier--Discovery of the
St. Lawrence--Quebec Founded--Acadia Colonized--Transferred to
England--Extracts from Longfellow's Poem--Virginia Settled.
CHAPTER XIII.
Character of the Colonists--They Leave England--Sojourn in
Holland--Brewster's Printing Press--Puritans Embark for America--Their
Trust in God--Robinson's Prophecy--Plymouth Founded--Sufferings of the
Colonists--Conflict in England--Peculiarities of the Puritans--Harvard
College Founded--Extent of Settlements--First Confederation.
CHAPTER XIV.
Description of Holland--A Land of Refuge--Tyranny of Alva--The Struggle
for Independence--Siege of Leyden--The Country Submerged--Famine in the
City--Speech of the Mayor--Heroic Conduct--Trust in God--Storm Raises
the Waters--Spaniards Retreat--Leyden is Saved--Thanksgiving--Waters
Retire.
CHAPTER XV.
Rise of Quakerism--George Fox--William Penn--Founds
Pennsylvania--Kindness to the Indians--Philadelphia Founded--Maryland,
Carolina and Georgia Settled--Roger Williams--Rhode Island Founded--Its
Toleration.
{VIII.}
CHAPTER XVI.
Condition of English Society--Manufacture of Gin and Rum--Origin of
Methodism--Eloquence of Whitfield--John and Charles Wesley--Remarkable
Teachings--Robert Raikes--John Howard--William Wilberforce--Mechanical
Inventions--Growth of American Freedom--Three Great Battles--Cook's
Voyages--Extension of the English Language--Greatness of
Pitt--Washington's Early Life--Benjamin Franklin.
CHAPTER XVII.
Gathering of Political Forces--General Revolution--Civil
Reformers--Decay of Old Institutions--Rosseau and His
Writings--Voltaire--Holland, a Political Refuge--American
Settlers--Lines of Albert B. Street--Growth of the Colonies--Love for
England--Causes of Revolution--Manufactures Forbidden--Stamp Act--Tax
on Tea--Philadelphia Convention--Address to the King--Appeal To
England--To Canada--Incident in Old South Church, Boston--Paul Revere's
Ride.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Battle of Lexington--Officers Chosen--A Year of Discussion--Declaration
of Independence--Spirit of English Nobility--Defeat of American
Forces--Success at Trenton and Princeton--Sufferings at Valley
Forge--Washington's Prayer--Burgoyne's Campaign--Arrival of La
Fayette--Arnold's Treason--Andre's Death--Siege of Yorktown--Close
of the War--Treaty of Peace--Army Disbanded--Washington Resigns
his Commission--Constitutional Convention--Washington Elected
President--His Death--His Tomb.
CHAPTER XIX.
Influence of La Fayette--Despotism in France--The Bastile--Corruption
of the Church--Commencement of the Revolution--The Marseillaise--Its
Wonderful Influence--Reign of Terror--Napoleon Bonaparte--His Wonderful
Career--Jewish Sanhedrim--Fall of Napoleon--His Death--Progress of
Liberty.
CHAPTER XX.
The Genius of the Age--European Wars--American
Tranquil--Declaration of War--Divisions of North America--United
States--Canada--Mexico--American Common Schools--Their
Influence--Progress of Invention--First Steamboat--First
Locomotive--Electric Telegraph--Improvements in Printing--Spiritual
Darkness--The Kingdom of God--Wants of the Present Age--Joseph
Smith--His Tragic Death--Conclusion.
{9}
THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE.
CHAPTER I.
THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM AND APOSTASY OF THE EARLY CHURCH.
INJUSTICE OF ROMAN GOVERNORS--NERO EMPEROR--VESPASIAN AND TITUS
SENT TO JUDEA--FORTIFICATIONS OF JERUSALEM--TITUS OFFERS TERMS OF
PEACE--HORRORS OF THE SIEGE--WOMEN DEVOUR THEIR OWN CHILDREN--TEMPLE
BURNED--CITY DESTROYED--DISPERSION OF THE JEWS--UNIVERSAL
APOSTASY--PRIESTHOOD NO MORE--IDEAS OF GOD PERVERTED--WORSHIP
CORRUPTED WITH HEATHEN RITES--PERSECUTION OF CHRISTIANS--EMPEROR
CONSTANTINE--RISE OF MONASTIC ORDER.
According to the best records that have come down to us, the last book
of the New Testament (commonly called the Apocalypse of St. John) was
written about sixty years after the ascension of our Savior.
At that time the gospel of Jesus Christ had been preached in all the
principal cities and countries of the known world. Numerous branches of
the primitive church had been planted in Palestine, Syria, Egypt, Asia
Minor, Greece and Italy.
In the meantime the awful doom which the Savior predicted against
Jerusalem had been literally fulfilled. Shortly after the crucifixion
and ascension of the Savior, Judea became the theatre of many cruelties
and oppressions arising from contentions between the Jewish priests,
the depredations of numerous bands of robbers, which infested the
country; but more than all from the injustice and avarice of the Roman
governors.
{10} The last of these governors was Gessius Floras, whom Josephus
represents as a monster in wickedness and cruelty, and whom the Jews
regarded rather as a bloody executioner, sent to torture, than as a
magistrate to govern them.
[Image: Jerusalem.]
During the government of Felix, his predecessor, a dispute having
arisen between the Jews and Syrians about the city of Caesarea, their
respective claims were referred to the emperor, Nero, at Rome. The
decision was in favor of the Syrians, and the Jews immediately took up
arms to avenge their cause.
{11} In this state of things, Nero gave orders to Vespasian to march
into Judea with a powerful army. Accordingly, Vespasian, accompanied
by his son Titus, marched into Palestine at the head of 60,000
well-disciplined troops. While Vespasian was thus preparing more
effectually to curb the still unbroken spirit of the Jews, intelligence
arrived of the death of the emperor and his own election to the throne.
Departing therefore for Rome he left the best of his troops with his
son, ordering him to besiege and utterly destroy Jerusalem.
Titus lost no time in carrying into effect his father's injunction.
Jerusalem was strongly fortified both by nature and art. Three walls
surrounded it which were considered impregnable; besides which it had
numerous towers outside of the walls, lofty, firm and strong. The
circumference was nearly four miles.
Desirous of saving the city, Titus repeatedly sent offers of peace to
the inhabitants; but they were indignantly rejected. At length finding
all efforts at treaty ineffectual, he entered upon the siege determined
not to leave it until he had razed the city to its foundation.
The internal state of the city soon became horrible. The inhabitants
being divided in their counsels fought with one another, and the
streets were often deluged with blood shed by the hands of kindred.
In the meantime famine spread its horrors abroad, and pestilence its
ravages. Thousands died daily and were carried out of the gates to be
buried at the public expense; until being unable to hurry them to the
grave the wretched victims were thrown into houses as fast as they
fell, and there shut up.
During the prevalence of the famine, the house of a certain woman by
the name of Miriam was repeatedly plundered of such provisions as she
had been able to procure. So extreme did her suffering become, that she
entreated those around her, to put an end to her miserable existence.
At length frantic with fury and despair she snatched her infant from
her bosom, killed and cooked it; and having satiated her present
hunger, concealed the rest. The smell of food soon drew the voracious
human tigers to her house; they threatened her with tortures; she hid
her provisions from them. Being thus compelled {12} she set before them
the relics of her mangled babe. At the sight of this horrid spectacle,
inhuman as they were, they stood aghast, petrified with horror, and at
length rushed precipitately from the house.
When the report of this spread through the city, the consternation was
universal and inexpressible. The people now, for the first time, began
to think themselves forsaken of God. In the mind of Titus the recital
awakened both horror and indignation, and he resolved to push the siege
with still greater vigor, aiming particularly to obtain possession of
the temple. The preservation of this noble edifice was strongly desired
by him; but one of the Roman soldiers being exasperated by the Jews,
or, as Josephus says, "pushed on by the hand of Providence," seized
a blazing firebrand, and getting on his comrades' shoulders, threw
it through a window, and soon the whole north side was in a flame.
Titus immediately gave order to extinguish the fire; but the enraged
soldiers, bent on destroying the city and all it contained, either did
not hear or did not regard him. The flames continued to spread until
this consecrated edifice, the glory of the nation, became one mingled
heap of ruins. Then followed a terrible massacre in which thousands
perished, some in the flames and others by the sword of the enemy. At
length the city was abandoned to the fury of the soldiers. It is said
that nearly one million five hundred thousand persons perished in the
siege.
The conquest of the city being achieved, Titus proceeded to demolish
its noble structures, its fortifications, palaces and walls. So
literally were the predictions of the Savior fulfilled respecting its
destruction that not one stone was left upon another that was not
thrown down.
From that day the Jews have been dispersed through the world, despised
and hated, persecuted and yet upheld--lost as it were among the
nations, and yet distinct--they live as the monuments of the truth of
God.
While the apostles lived the churches planted by them continued to
exist with more or less of spiritual life.
But the spirit of apostasy was already at work. In some places pagan
rites and ceremonies had perverted the worship of the true God and but
few could be found who remained {13} pure amid the corruptions of the
age or undaunted by the trials and persecutions that surrounded them on
every side.
So universal was this apostasy that only seven churches throughout
Asia, Africa and Europe were considered worthy of being either reproved
or blessed by the voice of revelation. (_See Revelations 2nd and 3rd
chapters_.)
The whole eastern continent of which we have authentic history was at
that period under the control of Rome, and paganism was the religion
of the empire. Thus the whole power of the realm was brought to bear
against the infant church.
Pagan priests excited the populace to frenzy, and royal decrees
delivered the saints to the most terrible tortures and death.
In a few years the apostolic organization and priesthood were no more.
A few glimmerings of spiritual light remained for a short time, among
those who had taken refuge in the catacombs or subterranean vaults of
Rome, or had fled to the wilds of the Libyan desert. But even this
light was soon extinguished, and then fell that mental, moral, and
spiritual night from which mankind are only now slowly emerging.
But false religion could never satisfy the cravings of the immortal
soul.
Paganism presented only a cheerless prospect. It gave itself no concern
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THE ABBOT.
BEING THE SEQUEL TO THE MONASTERY.
By Sir Walter Scott
[Illustration: ROLAND GRAEME AND CATHERINE SETON BEFORE QUEEN MARY.]
INTRODUCTION--(1831.)
From what is said in the Introduction to the Monastery, it must
necessarily be inferred, that the Author considered that romance as
something very like a failure. It is true, the booksellers did not
complain of the sale, because, unless on very felicitous occasions,
or on those which are equally the reverse, literary popularity is not
gained or lost by a single publication. Leisure must be allowed for the
tide both to flow and ebb. But I was conscious that, in my situation,
not to advance was in some Degree to recede, and being naturally
unwilling to think that the principle of decay lay in myself, I was
at least desirous to know of a certainty, whether the degree of
discountenance which I had incurred, was now owing to an ill-managed
story, or an ill-chosen subject.
I was never, I confess, one of those who are willing to suppose the
brains of an author to be a kind of milk, which will not stand above
a single creaming, and who are eternally harping to young authors to
husband their efforts, and to be chary of their reputation, lest it grow
hackneyed in the eyes of men. Perhaps I was, and have always been, the
more indifferent to the degree of estimation in which I might be held
as an author, because I did not put so high a value as many others upon
what is termed literary reputation in the abstract, or at least upon the
species of popularity which had fallen to my share; for though it
were worse than affectation to deny that my vanity was satisfied at my
success in the department in which chance had in some measure enlisted
me, I was, nevertheless, far from thinking that the novelist or
romance-writer stands high in the ranks of literature. But I spare the
reader farther egotism on this subject, as I have expressed my opinion
very fully in the Introductory Epistle to the Fortunes of Nigel, first
edition; and, although it be composed in an imaginary character, it is
as sincere and candid as if it had been written "without my gown and
band."
In a word, when I considered myself as having been unsuccessful in the
Monastery, I was tempted to try whether I could not restore, even at
the risk of totally losing, my so-called reputation, by a new hazard--I
looked round my library, and could not but observe, that, from the time
of Chaucer to that of Byron, the most popular authors had been the
most prolific. Even the aristarch Johnson allowed that the quality
of readiness and profusion had a merit in itself, independent of the
intrinsic value of the composition. Talking of Churchill, I believe,
who had little merit in his prejudiced eyes, he allowed him that of
fertility, with some such qualification as this, "A Crab-apple can bear
but crabs after all; but there is a great difference in favour of that
which bears a large quantity of fruit, however indifferent, and that
which produces only a few."
Looking more attentively at the patriarchs of literature, whose earner
was as long as it was brilliant, I thought I perceived that in the
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HOW TO SKI
AND
HOW NOT TO
BY
VIVIAN CAULFEILD
PHOTOGRAPHS BY K. DELAP
_THIRD AND REVISED EDITION_
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
597-599 FIFTH AVENUE
1914
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
at the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
RANDALL'S SKI BOOTS
_SPECIAL FEATURES_:
SELECTED MOOR CALF UPPERS.
Watertight Tongues, double thickness of leather
round sides.
STOUT ENGLISH BARK TANNED SOLES.
WATERPROOF: Yet flexible as a dancing-shoe.
The new "BELMONT" HEEL.
_SUPERIOR TO ALL MAKES_
RANDALL'S "SKI" BOOTS _alone_ combine
all the above excellent qualities, and are made for
Gentlemen, Ladies, and Children.
[Illustration] RANDALL'S
For High-Grade
Footwear
H. E. RANDALL, LTD.
24 Haymarket, London, S.W.
39, 40 & 41 Poultry, London, E.C.
10 Grand Hotel Buildings, Charing
Cross, London, W.C.
LIST OF PHOTOGRAPHIC PLATES
Frontispiece. The Adelboden Jumping-hill. _Photo by Miss
E. Frisby._
I. On the level.
II. Stopping a back-slip.
III. Before kick-turn.
IV. Kick-turn.
V. Kick-turn.
VI. Kick-turn.
VII_a_. Kick-turn.
VII_b_. Kick-turn: wrong position.
VIII. Kick-turn: finished.
IX. Herring-boning.
X. Side-stepping.
X_a_. H.B., Herring-boning; K., Kick-turn;
S., Side-stepping; H.S., Half-side-stepping.
XI. Scraping right ski.
XII. Scraping left ski.
XIII. Starting a run on hillside.
XIV. Straight-running: normal position.
XV. Straight-running: normal position.
XVI. Straight-running: how _not_ to do it.
XVII. Straight-running: Telemark position.
XVIII. Straight-running: Telemark position.
XIX. Straight-running: Telemark position.
XX. Snow-ploughing (stemming with both skis).
XXI. Braking with the sticks.
XXII. Stemming with one ski, or start of a downhill turn
to left.
XXIII. Downhill stemming-turn to left: halfway round.
XXIV. Finish of stemming-turn to left.
XXV. Unsuccessful stemming-turn to left: result of wrong
balance or position.
XXVI. Track of downhill stemming-turns.
XXVII. Downhill stemming-turn to left in soft snow (note
wide stride and edged skis).
XXVIII. How _not_ to make a stemming-turn.
XXIX. Uphill Telemark swing to left.
XXX. Uphill Telemark swing to left: wrong balance and
position of skis.
XXXI. Uphill Telemark swing to left (seen from above).
XXXII. Downhill Telemark swing to left.
XXXIII. Track of downhill Telemark swings.
XXXIV. Starting an uphill Christiania swing to the right
from traversing.
XXXV. Starting an uphill Christiania swing to the right
from a direct descent.
XXXVI. Finish of uphill Christiania swing to right.
XXXVII. Bad finish of uphill Christiania swing to right.
XXXVIII. Start of a downhill Christiania swing to right.
XXXIX. Bad finish of uphill Christiania swing to right.
XL. Uphill Christiania swing to right (seen from above).
XLI. Finish of uphill Christiania swing to right (seen
from above).
XLII. Track of downhill Christiania swings.
XLIII. Downhill Christiania swing to right: halfway round.
_Photo by L. Buettner._
XLIV. "Jerked" Christiania swing to right (note position
of arms and shoulders).
XLV. Downhill Telemark swing to left (seen from above).
XLVI. Uphill Telemark swing to right.
XLVII. Jumping round to the left: bad position of skis.
XLVIII. Jumping round to the right.
XLIX. Jumping. _Photo by L. Buettner._
L. Jumping. _Photo by L. Buettner._
LI. Jumping.
LII. Preparing for the "Sats."
LIII. Making the "Sats."
LIV. Hans Klopfenstein jumping (winner of inter-Swiss
Championship, 1910).
LV. Landing from a Jump.
LVI. Jumper just clear of the platform (seen from above).
LVII. Harald Smith jumping at Adelboden, 1909
(photographed from under the platform).
LVIII. How to carry the skis.
LIX. How to carry the skis. (The stick resting on the
right shoulder takes some weight off the other.)
PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION
The alterations and additions to this book in its present form are
due partly to fresh practical experience; partly to adverse criticism
of which I now see the justice; and partly, as I freely admit, to the
picking of other people's brains. Since this book was published I have
read for the first time books on ski-ing by Zdarsky, Bilgeri, Luther,
and Arnold Lunn, and have re-read those of Richardson, Rickmers,
Paulcke, and Hoek. As a result I have had to alter a good deal of my
theory and some of my practice, and to alter and enlarge this book
accordingly. To all the above-named authors, therefore, I am more or
less indebted, and feel correspondingly grateful.
In adopting an idea one can seldom help altering it more or less, and
if in the body of the book I have made few direct acknowledgments, it
has been from no lack of gratitude, but rather from a doubt whether
the originator of the idea would be gratified at its development or
indignant at its distortion.
I must however make special acknowledgments to Ober-Leutnant
Bilgeri. From his excellent book I have gained much fresh knowledge
of the theory and practice of ski-ing. This book, moreover, while
confirming me in my opinion of the vices of the Lilienfeld system of
ski-_running_, has given me a fresh insight into the virtues of the
Lilienfeld system of _teaching_, and consequently a fresh sense of my
indebtedness to the chief apostle of this system, my first teacher, Mr.
Rickmers.
If Herr Bilgeri has ever happened to read my book, certain resemblances
between it and his own--the analogy of the bicycle and tricycle with
the single and double-track runner, for instance--may, since his
book was published first, have struck him as remarkable. I take this
opportunity of assuring him that when I wrote this book I had not read
his, nor for that matter any of his writings, and that, if I had,
the resemblances would have been not only fully acknowledged, but
considerably more numerous.
To Mr. E. C. Richardson I must return special thanks for criticism that
has shown me the error of some of my ways of thinking; I have also to
thank Mr. C. W. Richardson for new ideas gained from an article by him
on "Knee Action in Ski-ing."
Finally, I wish to express my gratitude to everyone whose suggestions
I have adopted, or who, either by precept or example, has taught me
anything new and so has had a hand in the revision of this book, but to
whom I have not referred individually.
This heavy list of acknowledgments makes me realise more than ever how
difficult it is nowadays for a writer on ski-ing technique--or at any
rate for _this_ writer--to say anything new. I am afraid that even a
_succes de scandale_ as the fanatical prophet of complete sticklessness
will soon be out of my reach, if it is not already, for we are all
agreed now that the stick should be used as little as possible, and
therefore that not to use it at all is, if possible, best. It is a
short step from this to finding out by practical experience that, so
long as one is travelling on _snow_, not _ice_, and has a little more
than room enough to place the skis horizontally across the <DW72>, one
can move just as freely, quickly, and easily, and with just as perfect
control, without the stick as with it.
E. V. S. C.
_December 1912._
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY--
THE ENGLISHMAN AS A SKI-RUNNER 1
EQUIPMENT--
THE SKI 23
CLOTHING 41
THE MANAGEMENT OF THE SKIS--
ON THE LEVEL AND UPHILL 52
GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF STEERING, &C. 75
STRAIGHT-RUNNING 97
BRAKING 120
THE STEMMING TURN 136
THE TELEMARK SWING 159
THE CHRISTIANIA SWING 175
JUMPING ROUND 210
SKATING 214
JUMPING 217
HOW TO RUN ACROSS COUNTRY 252
APPENDIX--
HOW TO PRACTISE 280
HOW TO SKI
INTRODUCTORY
THE ENGLISHMAN AS A SKI-RUNNER
Probably every one likely to read this book knows that a ski is a
snow-shoe or skate, and that it is a long narrow plank turned up in
front, but he may not have a very clear idea of the use of it.
It may not have occurred to him, for instance, that in a country which
is deeply covered with soft snow (the surface of snow is sometimes a
hard crust) a man without snow-shoes of some kind is not merely unable
to move quickly, but is unable to move at all outside the cleared roads
and beaten tracks.
Merely to prevent sinking into the snow the ski is just as useful
as a snow-shoe of the racquet form, such as the Canadian, and it is
never _less_ useful than the other even when it seems most likely to
be. For moving through dense underwood, for instance, when its length
would appear likely to be awkward, or for hauling sledges, when its
slipperiness would seem a disadvantage, experience shows that the ski
is fully as useful as the other type.
As a means of locomotion it is altogether superior. Over level open
country a man can slide along on skis a great deal faster than he can
walk (or run) on Canadian snow-shoes.
In hilly country the ski-runner has a further advantage. If a hill is
not steep a man may walk straight up it on racquets rather more quickly
than a man on skis can climb it by zigzagging (as he is obliged to do
on all but the most gradual <DW72>s); but on the descent the ski-runner
more than makes up the time he has lost; for, helped by gravity, he
slides down the hill at least three, perhaps as much as thirty, times
as fast as he climbed it, according to his expertness and the nature of
the ground, while the other takes almost as long to _walk_ down as he
did to walk up.
On very steep ground the ski-runner has a still greater advantage, for
here the narrowness of the ski allows him to move across the steepest
snow <DW72>s with little or no discomfort to his ankles, while on a
steep <DW72> the man on racquets is practically helpless, for, on
account of their shape, it is only with the utmost difficulty, if at
all, that he can move either up, down, or across the hill.
A moderately expert ski-runner can manoeuvre on any sort of ground
which is covered with snow, provided that the surface of the snow
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NARRATIVE
OF THE
LIFE OF DAVID CROCKETT,
OF THE STATE OF TENNESSEE.
I leave this rule for others when I'm dead,
Be always sure you're right--THEN GO AHEAD!
THE AUTHOR.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
SIXTH EDITION.
PHILADELPHIA.
E. L. CAREY AND A. HART.
BALTIMORE:
CAREY, HART & CO.
1834.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1834,
BY DAVID CROCKETT,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Columbia.
STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON,
PHILADELPHIA.
PREFACE.
Fashion is a thing I care mighty little about, except when it happens to
run just exactly according to my own notion; and I was mighty nigh
sending out my book without any preface at all, until a notion struck
me, that perhaps it was necessary to explain a little the reason why and
wherefore I had written it.
Most of authors seek fame, but I seek for justice,--a holier impulse
than ever entered into the ambitious struggles of the votaries of that
_fickle_, _flirting_ goddess.
A publication has been made to the world, which has done me much
injustice; and the catchpenny errors which it contains, have been
already too long sanctioned by my silence. I don't know the author of
the book--and indeed I don't want to know him; for after he has taken
such a liberty with my name, and made such an effort to hold me up to
publick ridicule, he cannot calculate on any thing but my displeasure. If
he had been content to have written his opinions about me, however
contemptuous they might have been, I should have had less reason to
complain. But when he professes to give my narrative (as he often does)
in my own language, and then puts into my mouth such language as would
disgrace even an outlandish African, he must himself be sensible of the
injustice he has done me, and the trick he has played off on the publick.
I have met with hundreds, if not with thousands of people, who have
formed their opinions of my appearance, habits, language, and every
thing else from that deceptive work.
They have almost in every instance expressed the most profound
astonishment at finding me in human shape, and with the _countenance_,
_appearance_, and _common feelings_ of a human being. It is to correct
all these false notions, and to do justice to myself, that I have
written.
It is certain that the writer of the book alluded to has gathered up
many imperfect scraps of information concerning me, as in parts of his
work there is some little semblance of truth. But I ask him, if this
notice should ever reach his eye, how would he have liked it, if I had
treated _him_ so?--if I had put together such a bundle of ridiculous
stuff, and headed it with _his_ name, and sent it out upon the world
without ever even condescending to ask _his_ permission? To these
questions, all upright men must give the same answer. It was wrong; and
the desire to make money by it, is no apology for | 2,369.861729 |
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Transcriber's Note
The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully
preserved. Only obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
THE CRITICAL PERIOD OF
AMERICAN HISTORY
1783-1789
BY
JOHN FISKE
"I am uneasy and apprehensive, more so than during the war."
JAY TO WASHINGTON, _June_ 27, 1786.
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
Copyright, 1888,
BY JOHN FISKE.
_All rights reserved._
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A._ Electrotyped and Printed
by H.O. Houghton & Co.
To
MY DEAR CLASSMATES,
FRANCIS LEE HIGGINSON
AND
CHARLES CABOT JACKSON,
_I DEDICATE THIS BOOK._
PREFACE.
This book contains the substance of the course of lectures given in the
Old South Meeting-House in Boston in December, 1884, at the Washington
University in St. Louis in May, 1885, and in the theatre of the
University Club in New York in March, 1886. In its present shape it may
serve as a sketch of the political history of the United States from the
end of the Revolutionary War to the adoption of the Federal
Constitution. It makes no pretensions to completeness, either as a
summary of the events of that period or as a discussion of the political
questions involved in them. I have aimed especially at grouping facts in
such a way as to bring out and emphasize their causal sequence, and it
is accordingly hoped that the book may prove useful to the student of
American history.
My title was suggested by the fact of Thomas Paine's stopping the
publication of the "Crisis," on hearing the news of the treaty of 1783,
with the remark, "The times that tried men's souls are over." Commenting
upon this, on page 55 of the present work, I observed that so far from
the crisis being over in 1783, the next five years were to be the most
critical time of all. I had not then seen Mr. Trescot's "Diplomatic
History of the Administrations of Washington and Adams," on page 9 of
which he uses almost the same words: "It must not be supposed that the
treaty of peace secured the national life. Indeed, it would be more
correct to say that the most critical period of the country's history
embraced the time between 1783 and the adoption of the Constitution in
1788."
That period was preeminently the turning-point in the development of
political society in the western hemisphere. Though small in their mere
dimensions, the events here summarized were in a remarkable degree
germinal events, fraught with more tremendous alternatives of future
welfare or misery for mankind than it is easy for the imagination to
grasp. As we now stand upon the threshold of that mighty future, in the
light of which all events of the past are clearly destined to seem
dwindled in dimensions and significant only in the ratio of their
potency as causes; as we discern how large a part of that future must be
the outcome of | 2,369.877333 |
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
A superscript is denoted by ^x or ^{xx}, for example Esq^{re}.
Some minor changes are noted at the end of the book.
[Illustration:
BY COMMAND OF His late Majesty WILLIAM THE IV^{TH}.
_and under the Patronage of_
Her Majesty the Queen.
HISTORICAL RECORDS,
_OF THE_
British Army
_Comprising the_
_History of every Regiment_
_IN HER MAJESTY'S SERVICE_.
_By Richard Cannon Esq^{re}._
_Adjutant General's Office, Horse Guards._
London.
_Printed by Authority._]
HISTORICAL RECORD
OF
THE FIFTY-THIRD,
OR
THE SHROPSHIRE REGIMENT OF FOOT.
CONTAINING
AN ACCOUNT OF THE FORMATION OF THE REGIMENT
IN 1755
AND OF ITS SUBSEQUENT SERVICES
TO 1848.
COMPILED BY
RICHARD CANNON, ESQ.,
ADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE, HORSE GUARDS.
ILLUSTRATED WITH PLATES.
LONDON:
PARKER, FURNIVALL, & PARKER,
30, CHARING-CROSS.
MDCCCXLIX.
LONDON: PRINTED BY W. CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET,
FOR HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE.
THE FIFTY-THIRD,
OR
THE SHROPSHIRE REGIMENT OF FOOT,
BEARS ON THE REGIMENTAL COLOUR
THE WORD "NIEUPORT;"
IN COMMEMORATION OF ITS DISTINGUISHED GALLANTRY IN THE DEFENCE OF THAT
FORTRESS IN OCTOBER, 1793;
THE WORD "TOURNAY;"
IN TESTIMONY OF ITS HEROIC CONDUCT IN ACTION AGAINST A SUPERIOR
FORCE OF THE ENEMY IN MAY, 1794;
THE WORDS "ST. LUCIA;"
AS A MARK OF DISTINCTION FOR ITS BRAVERY DISPLAYED AT THE CAPTURE OF
ST. LUCIA, IN MAY, 1796;
THE WORDS
"TALAVERA," "SALAMANCA," "VITTORIA," "PYRENEES,"
"NIVELLE," "TOULOUSE," AND "PENINSULA,"
TO COMMEMORATE THE MERITORIOUS SERVICES OF THE _Second_ BATTALION
DURING THE PENINSULAR WAR, FROM 1809 TO 1814;
AND THE WORDS
"ALIWAL," AND "SOBRAON;"
AS A LASTING TESTIMONY OF THE GALLANT CONDUCT OF THE REGIMENT
ON THE BANKS OF THE SUTLEJ, ON THE 28TH JANUARY, AND
10TH FEBRUARY, 1846.
THE FIFTY-THIRD,
OR
THE SHROPSHIRE REGIMENT.
CONTENTS
OF THE
HISTORICAL RECORD.
YEAR PAGE
INTRODUCTION i
1755 Formation of the Regiment 1
---- Colonel W. Whitmore appointed to the colonelcy -
---- Numbered the FIFTY-FIFTH, and afterwards the
FIFTY-THIRD regiment -
---- Station, uniform, and facing -
---- Officers appointed to commissions 2
1756 Embarked for Gibraltar -
1759 Appointment of Colonel John Toovey to the colonelcy,
in succession to Colonel Whitmore, removed to the
ninth regiment -
1768 Returned from Gibraltar, and embarked for Ireland 3
1770 Appointment of Colonel R. D. H. Elphinstone to the
colonelcy, in succession to Colonel Toovey, deceased -
1776 Embarked for North America -
1777 Engaged with the American forces -
1782 The American war terminated 4
---- The regiment directed to assume the county title of
Shropshire regiment in addition to its Numerical title -
1789 Returned to England from North America -
1790 Embarked on board of the fleet to serve as Marines -
1791 Proceeded to Scotland 5
1793 Embarked for service in Flanders -
---- Engaged at Famars -
---- -------- the siege and capture of Valenciennes -
---- -------- the siege of Dunkirk 6
---- -------- Nieuport -
---- Received the Royal Authority to bear the word
"_Nieuport_" on the colours -
1794 Major-General Gerald Lake, afterwards Viscount Lake,
appointed to the colonelcy, in succession to
General Elphinstone, deceased -
---- Engaged in operations at Vaux, Prémont, Marets, &c. 7
---- ---- at the siege and capture of Landrécies -
---- -------- repulse of the enemy at Cateau -
---- -------------------------------- Tournay -
---- -------- capture of Lannoy, Roubaix, and Mouveaux -
---- ---- in the masterly retreat to Leers 8
---- ---- storming the village of Pontéchin 9
---- Received the Royal Authority to bear the word
"_Tournay_" on its colours 10
1795 Returned to England --
---- Encamped at Southampton --
---- Embarked with an expedition for the West Indies --
1796 Attack and Capture of St. Lucia --
1796 Received the Royal Authority to bear the words
"_St. Lucia_" on its colours 11
---- Embarked for St. Vincent --
---- Engaged in quelling an insurrection, and expelling
the Caribs from the Island of St. Vincent --
---- Received the thanks of the General Officer commanding,
and of the Council and Assembly of the Island 12
---- Appointment of Major-General W. E. Doyle to the
colonelcy, in succession to General Lake, removed
to the 73rd regiment --
1797 Engaged in the capture of Trinidad --
---- Employed in an unsuccessful attempt at Porto Rico --
---- Returned to St. Vincent 13
1798 Lieut.-General Crosbie appointed to the colonelcy,
in succession to Major-General Doyle, deceased --
1800 Removed from St. Vincent to St. Lucia --
1802 Returned to England on the surrender of St. Lucia to
France according to the treaty of peace concluded
at Amiens --
1803 Marched under the command of Lieut.-Colonel Lightburne,
for Shrewsbury --
1805 The First Battalion embarked for India --
---- Arrived at Fort St. George, Madras, and proceeded to
Dinapore --
1806 Removed from Dinapore to Berhampore 14
1807 Proceeded from Berhampore to Cawnpore --
---- Major-General Honorable John Abercromby appointed to
the colonelcy in succession to General Crosbie,
deceased --
1809 Three companies detached to Bundelcund, and engaged
at the siege and capture of the fort of Adjighion --
1809 The Battalion took the field with the troops under
Colonel Martindell 15
1810 Returned to Cawnpore, and received the thanks of the
officer commanding for their conduct --
1812 Five companies engaged in the storming of the fortress
of _Callinger_ --
---- Surrender of the garrison of _Callinger_ on the
remaining five companies joining from Cawnpore 17
---- The Battalion returned to Cawnpore, and afterwards
proceeded to Meerut 18
1814 Marched from Meerut, and joined the army formed for
the invasion of the kingdom of Nepaul, or the
Gorca State --
---- Engaged in the storming and capture of the fort of
_Kalunga_ 19
---- Proceeded to the capture of _Nahn_ and other fortified
places on the Jampta heights 21
---- The Nepaulese reduced to submission --
---- Embarked for Berhampore, proceeded to Calcutta, and
afterwards embarked for Madras --
1816 The Battalion proceeded from Madras to the Naggery
Pass, to repress the plundering tribes of Pindarees --
---- Marched for Trichinopoly 22
1817 Appointment of Lieut.-General Lord Hill, G.C.B., to
the colonelcy, in succession to Lieut.-General
Sir John Abercromby, deceased --
---- The flank companies employed with a field force under
Brigadier-General Pritzler 23
1819 Assault of the fort of _Copaul Droog_ --
1820 Marched from Trichinopoly for Bellary --
1820 Proceeded to Bangalore 23
---- The flank companies rejoined the regiment after much
arduous service 24
1822 Quitted the Mysore, and proceeded to Fort St. George --
---- Relieved by the Forty-first regiment, and ordered to
prepare for embarkation for England --
1823 Embarked from Madras, and arrived at Chatham 25
---- Return of Casualties in the First Battalion, from 1805
to 1822 --
---- Removed to Weedon --
1826 Proceeded to Portsmouth, and inspected by General
Lord Hill, G.C.B. --
---- Marched into Lancashire, and embarked for Ireland --
1829 Formed into six Service, and four Depôt companies,
preparatory for embarkation for foreign service 26
---- Service companies embarked at Cork for Gibraltar --
1830 New Colours presented to the Regiment by General
Sir George Don, Lieut.-Governor of Gibraltar --
---- Appointment of Major-General Lord FitzRoy
J. H. Somerset, K.C.B., to the colonelcy, in
succession to General Lord Hill, G.C.B., removed
to the Royal Regiment of Horse Guards --
1834 Service companies proceeded to Malta 27
1835 Depôt companies returned to Ireland --
1836 Service companies embarked for the Ionian Islands --
1840 Service companies embarked from Corfu and landed
at Plymouth 27
1841 Regiment proceeded to Scotland --
1843 Embarked for Ireland --
1844 Embarked for the East Indies --
---- | 2,370.159998 |
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BAR-20 DAYS
By Clarence E. Mulford
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO "M. D."
BAR-20 DAYS
CHAPTER I
ON A STRANGE RANGE
Two tired but happy punchers rode into the coast town and dismounted in
front of the best hotel. Putting up their horses as quickly as possible
they made arrangements for sleeping quarters and then hastened out to
attend to business. Buck had been kind to delegate this mission to them
and they would feel free to enjoy what pleasures the town might afford.
While at that time the city was not what it is now, nevertheless it was
capable of satisfying what demands might be made upon it by two very
active and zealous cow-punchers. Their first experience began as they
left the hotel.
"Hey, you cow-wrastlers!" said a not unpleasant voice, and they turned
suspiciously as it continued: "You've shore got to hang up them guns
with the hotel clerk while you cavorts around on this range. This is
_fence_ country."
They regarded the speaker's smiling face and twinkling eyes and laughed.
"Well, yo're the foreman if you owns that badge," grinned Hopalong,
cheerfully. "We don't need no guns, nohow, in this town, we don't.
Plumb forgot we was toting them. But mebby you can tell us where lawyer
Jeremiah T. Jones grazes in daylight?"
"Right over yonder, second floor," replied the marshal. "An' come
to think of it, mebby you better leave most of yore cash with the
guns--somebody'll take it away from you if you don't. It'd be an awful
temptation, an' flesh is weak."
"Huh!" laughed Johnny, moving back into the hotel to leave his gun,
closely followed by Hopalong. "Anybody that can turn that little trick
on me an' Hoppy will shore earn every red cent; why, we've been to
Kansas City!"
As they emerged again Johnny slapped his pocket, from which sounded a
musical jingling. "If them weak people try anything on us, we may come
between them and _their_ money!" he boasted.
"From the bottom of my heart I pity you," called the marshal, watching
them depart, a broad smile illuminating his face. "In about twenty-four
hours they'll put up a holler for me to go git it back for 'em," he
muttered. "An' I almost believe I'll do it, too. I ain't never seen none
of that breed what ever left a town without empty pockets an' aching
heads--an' the smarter they think they are the easier they fall." A
fleeting expression of discontent clouded the smile, for the lure of the
open range is hard to resist when once a man has ridden free under
its sky and watched its stars. "An' I wish I was one of 'em again," he
muttered, sauntering on.
Jeremiah T. Jones, Esq., was busy when his door opened, but he leaned
back in his chair and smiled pleasantly at their bow-legged entry,
waving them towards two chairs. Hopalong hung his sombrero on a letter
press and tipped his chair back against the wall; Johnny hung grimly to
his hat, sat stiffly upright until he noticed his companion's pose,
and then, deciding that everything was all right, and that Hopalong was
better up in etiquette than himself, pitched his sombrero dexterously
over the water pitcher and also leaned against the wall. Nobody could
lose him when it came to doing the right thing.
"Well, gentlemen, you look tired and thirsty. This is considered good
for all human ailments of whatsoever nature, degree, or wheresoever
located, in part or entirety, _ab initio_," Mr. Jones remarked, filling
glasses. There was no argument and when the glasses were empty, he
continued: "Now what can I do for you? From the Bar-20? Ah, yes; I was
expecting you. We'll get right at it," and they did. Half an hour later
they emerged on the street, free to take in the town, or to have the
town take them in,--which was usually the case.
"What was that he said for us to keep away from?" asked Johnny with keen
interest.
"Sh! Not so loud," chuckled Hopalong, winking prodigiously.
Johnny pulled tentatively at his upper lip but before he could reply his
companion had accosted a stranger.
"Friend, we're pilgrims in a strange land, an' we don't know the trails.
Can you tell us where the docks are?"
"Certainly; glad to. You'll find them at the end of this street," and he
smilingly waved them towards the section of the town which Jeremiah T.
Jones had specifically and earnestly warned them to avoid.
"Wonder if you're as thirsty as me?" solicitously inquired Hopalong of
his companion.
"I was just wondering the same," replied Johnny. "Say," he confided in
a lower voice, "blamed if I don't feel sort of lost without that Colt.
Every time I lifts my right laig she goes too high--don't feel natural,
nohow."
"Same here; I'm allus feeling to see if I lost it," Hopalong responded.
"There ain't no rubbing, no weight, nor nothing."
"Wish I had something to put in its place, blamed if I don't."
"Why, now yo're talking--mebby we can buy something," grinned Hopalong,
happily. "Here's a hardware store--come on in."
The clerk looked up and laid aside his novel. "Good-morning, gentlemen;
what can I do for you? We've just got in some fine new rifles," he
suggested.
The customers exchanged looks and it was Hopalong who first found his
voice. "Nope, don't want no rifles," he replied, glancing around.
"To tell the truth, I don't know just what we do want, but we want
something, all right--got to have it. It's a funny thing, come to think
of it; I can't never pass a hardware store without going in an' buying
something. I've been told my father was the same way, so I must inherit
it. It's the same with my pardner, here, only he gets his weakness from
his whole family, and it's different from mine. He can't pass a saloon
without going in an' buying something."
"Yo're a cheerful liar, an' you know it," retorted Johnny. "You know the
reason why I goes in saloons so much--you'd never leave 'em if I didn't
drag you out. He inherits that weakness from his grandfather, twice
removed," he confided to the astonished clerk, whose expression didn't
know what to express.
"Let's see: a saw?" soliloquized Hopalong. "Nope; got lots of 'em, an'
they're all genuine Colts," he mused thoughtfully. "Axe? Nails? Augurs?
Corkscrews? Can we use a corkscrew, Johnny? Ah, thought I'd wake you up.
Now, what was it Cookie said for us to bring him? Bacon? Got any bacon?
Too bad--oh, don't apologize; it's all right. Cold chisels--that's the
thing if you ain't got no bacon. Let me see a three-pound cold chisel
about as big as that,"--extending a huge and crooked forefinger,--"an'
with a big bulge at one end. Straight in the middle, circling off into
a three-cornered wavy edge on the other side. What? Look here! You can't
tell us nothing about saloons that we don't know. I want a three-pound
cold chisel, any kind, so it's cold."
Johnny nudged him. "How about them wedges?"
"Twenty-five cents a pound," explained the clerk, groping for his
bearings.
"They might do," Hopalong muttered, forcing the article mentioned into
his holster. "Why, they're quite hocus-pocus. You take the brother to
mine, Johnny."
"Feels good, but I dunno," his companion muttered. "Little wide at the
sharp end. Hey, got any loose shot?" he suddenly asked, whereat Hopalong
beamed and the clerk gasped. It didn't seem to matter whether they
bought bacon, cold chisels, wedges, or shot; yet they looked sober.
"Yes, sir; what size?"
"Three pounds of shot, I said!" Johnny rumbled in his throat. "Never
mind what size."
"We never care about size when we buy shot," Hopalong smiled. "But,
Johnny, wouldn't them little screws be better?" he asked, pointing
eagerly.
"Mebby; reckon we better get 'em mixed--half of each," Johnny gravely
replied. "Anyhow, there ain't much difference."
The clerk had been behind that counter for four years, and executing
and filling orders had become a habit with him; else he would have given
them six pounds of cold chisels and corkscrews, mixed. His mouth was
still open when he weighed out the screws.
"Mix 'em! Mix 'em!" roared Hopalong, and the stunned clerk complied, and
charged them for the whole purchase at the rate set down for screws.
Hopalong started to pour his purchase into the holster which, being open
at the bottom, gayly passed the first instalment through to the floor.
He stopped and looked appealingly at Johnny, and Johnny, in pain from
holding back screams of laughter, looked at him indignantly. Then a
guileless smile crept over Hopalong's face and he stopped the opening
with a wad of wrapping paper and disposed of the shot and screws, Johnny
following his laudable example. After haggling a moment over the bill
they paid it and walked out, to the apparent joy of the clerk.
"Don't laugh, Kid; you'll spoil it all," warned Hopalong, as he noted
signs of distress on his companion's face. "Now, then; what was it we
said about thirst? Come on; I see one already."
Having entered the saloon and ordered, Hopalong beamed upon the
bartender and shoved his glass back again. "One more, kind stranger;
it's good stuff."
"Yes, feels like a shore-enough gun," remarked Johnny, combining two
thoughts in one expression, which is brevity.
The bartender looked at him quickly and then stood quite still and
listened, a puzzled expression on his face.
_Tic--tickety-tick--tic-tic_, came strange sounds from the other side of
the bar. Hopalong was intently studying a chromo on the wall and Johnny
gazed vacantly out of the window.
"What's that? What in the deuce is that?" quickly demanded the man with
the apron, swiftly reaching for his bung-starter.
_Tickety-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic_, the noise went on, and Hopalong, slowly
rolling his eyes, looked at the floor. A screw rebounded and struck his
foot, while shot were rolling recklessly.
"Them's making the noise," Johnny explained after critical survey.
"Hang it! I knowed we ought to 'a' got them wedges!" Hopalong exclaimed,
petulantly, closing the bottom of the sheath. "Why, I won't have no gun
left soon 'less I holds it in." The complaint was plaintive.
"Must be filtering through the stopper," Johnny remarked. "But don't it
sound nice, especially when it hits that brass cuspidor!"
The bartender, grasping the mallet even more firmly, arose on his toes
and peered over the bar, not quite sure of what he might discover. He
had read of infernal machines although he had never seen one. "What the
blazes!" he exclaimed in almost a whisper; and then his face went hard.
"You get out of here, quick! You've had too much already! I've seen
drunks, but--G'wan! Get out!"
"But we ain't begun yet," Hopalong interposed hastily. "You see--"
"Never mind what I see! I'd hate to see what you'll be seeing before
long. God help you when you finish!" rather impolitely interrupted the
bartender. He waved the mallet and made for the end of the counter with
no hesitancy and lots of purpose in his stride. "G'wan, now! Get out!"
"Come on, Johnny; | 2,370.3179 |
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CASHEL BYRON'S PROFESSION
By George Bernard Shaw
PROLOGUE
I
| 2,370.943733 |
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by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
"TO THE PURE ALL THINGS ARE PURE."
(Puris omnia para)
—_Arab Proverb._
"Niuna corrotta mente intese mai sanamente parole."
—"_Decameron_"—_conclusion_.
"Erubuit, posuitque meum Lucretia librum
Sed coram Bruto. Brute! recede, leget."
—_Martial._
"Mieulx est de ris que de larmes escripre,
Pour ce que rire est le propre des hommes."
—RABELAIS.
"The pleasure we derive from perusing the Thousand-and-One Stories makes
us regret that we possess only a comparatively small part of these truly
enchanting fictions."
—CRICHTON'S "_History of Arabia_."
[Illustration]
_A PLAIN AND LITERAL TRANSLATION OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS.
NOW ENTITULED_
_THE BOOK OF THE_
=Thousand Nights and a Night=
_WITH INTRODUCTION EXPLANATORY NOTES ON THE
MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF MOSLEM MEN AND A
TERMINAL ESSAY UPON THE HISTORY OF THE
NIGHTS_
VOLUME I.
BY
RICHARD F. BURTON
[Illustration]
PRINTED BY THE BURTON CLUB FOR PRIVATE
SUBSCRIBERS ONLY
Shammar Edition
Limited to one thousand numbered sets, of which this is
Number _547_
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
=Inscribed to the Memory=
OF
MY LAMENTED FRIEND
=John Frederick Steinhaeuser,=
(CIVIL SURGEON, ADEN)
WHO
A QUARTER OF A CENTURY AGO
ASSISTED ME IN THIS TRANSLATION.
THE TRANSLATOR'S FOREWORD.
This work, laborious as it may appear, has been to me a labour of love,
an unfailing source of solace and satisfaction. During my long years of
official banishment to the luxuriant and deadly deserts of Western
Africa, and to the dull and dreary half-clearings of South America, it
proved itself a charm, a talisman against ennui and despondency.
Impossible even to open the pages without a vision starting into view;
without drawing a picture from the pinacothek of the brain; without
reviving a host of memories and reminiscences which are not the common
property of travellers, however widely they may have travelled. From my
dull and commonplace and "respectable" surroundings, the Jinn bore me at
once to the land of my predilection, Arabia, a region so familiar to my
mind that even at first sight, it seemed a reminiscence of some by-gone
metempsychic life in the distant Past. Again I stood under the
diaphanous skies, in air glorious as æther, whose every breath raises
men's spirits like sparkling wine. Once more I saw the evening star
hanging like a solitaire from the pure front of the western firmament;
and the after-glow transfiguring and transforming, as by magic, the
homely and rugged features of the scene into a fairy-land lit with a
light which never shines on other soils or seas. Then would appear the
woollen tents, low and black, of the true Badawin, mere dots in the
boundless waste of lion-tawny clays and gazelle-brown gravels, and the
camp-fire dotting like a glow-worm the village centre. Presently,
sweetened by distance, would be heard the wild weird song of lads and
lasses, driving or rather pelting, through the gloaming their sheep and
goats; and the measured chant of the spearsmen gravely stalking behind
their charge, the camels; mingled with the bleating of the flocks and
the bellowing of the humpy herds; while the rere-mouse flitted overhead
with his tiny shriek, and the rave of the jackal resounded through
deepening glooms, and—most musical of music—the palm-trees answered the
whispers of the night-breeze with the softest tones of falling water.
And then a shift of scene. The Shaykhs and "white-beards" of the tribe
gravely take their places, sitting with outspread skirts like hillocks
on the plain, as the Arabs say, around the camp-fire, whilst I reward
their hospitality and secure its continuance by reading or reciting a
few pages of their favourite tales. The women and children stand
motionless as silhouettes outside the ring; and all are breathless with
attention; they seem to drink in the words with eyes and mouths as well
as with ears. The most fantastic flights of fancy, the wildest
improbabilities, the most impossible of impossibilities, appear to them
utterly natural, mere matters of every-day occurrence. They enter
thoroughly into each phase of feeling touched upon by the author: they
take a personal pride in the chivalrous nature and knightly prowess of
Taj al-Mulúk; they are touched with tenderness by the self-sacrificing
love of Azízah; their mouths water as they hear of heaps of untold gold
given away in largesse like clay; they chuckle with delight every time a
Kázi or a Fakír—a judge or a reverend—is scurvily entreated by some
Pantagruelist of the Wilderness; and, despite their normal solemnity and
impassibility, all roar with laughter, sometimes rolling upon the ground
till the reader's gravity is sorely tried, at the tales of the garrulous
Barber and of Ali and the Kurdish Sharper. To this magnetising mood the
sole exception is when a Badawi of superior accomplishments, who
sometimes says his prayers, ejaculates a startling "Astaghfaru'llah"—I
pray Allah's pardon!—for listening, not to Carlyle's "downright lies,"
but to light mention of the sex whose name is never heard amongst the
nobility of the Desert.
Nor was it only in Arabia that the immortal Nights did me such notable
service: I found the wildlings of Somali-land equally amenable to its
discipline; no one was deaf to the charm and the two women-cooks of my
caravan, on its way to Harar, were incontinently dubbed by my men
"Shahrazad" and "Dinazad."
It may be permitted me also to note that this translation is a natural
outcome of my Pilgrimage to Al-Medinah and Meccah. Arriving at Aden in
the (so-called) winter of 1852, I put up with my old and dear friend,
Steinhaeuser, to whose memory this volume is inscribed; and, when
talking over Arabia and the Arabs, we at once came to the same
conclusion that, while the name of this wondrous treasury of Moslem
folk-lore is familiar to almost every English child, no general reader
is aware of the valuables it contains, nor indeed will the door open to
any but Arabists. Before parting we agreed to "collaborate" and produce
a full, complete, unvarnished, uncastrated copy of the great original,
my friend taking the prose and I the metrical part; and we corresponded
upon the subject for years. But whilst I was in the Brazil, Steinhaeuser
died suddenly of apoplexy at Berne in Switzerland and, after the fashion
of Anglo-India, his valuable MSS. left at Aden were dispersed, and very
little of his labours came into my hands.
Thus I was left alone to my work, which progressed fitfully amid a host
of obstructions. At length, in the spring of 1879, the tedious process
of copying began and the book commenced to take finished form. But,
during the winter of 1881-82, I saw in the literary journals a notice of
a new version by Mr. John Payne, well known to scholars for his prowess
in English verse, especially for his translation of "The Poems of Master
Francis Villon, of Paris." Being then engaged on an expedition to the
Gold Coast (for gold), which seemed likely to cover some months, I wrote
to the "Athenæum" (Nov. 13, 1881) and to Mr. Payne, who was wholly
unconscious that we were engaged on the same work, and freely offered
him precedence and possession of the field till no longer wanted. He
accepted my offer as frankly, and his priority entailed another delay
lasting till the spring of 1885. These details will partly account for
the lateness of my appearing, but there is yet another cause.
Professional ambition suggested that literary labours, unpopular with
the vulgar and the half-educated, are not likely to help a man up the
ladder of promotion. But common sense presently suggested to me that,
professionally speaking, I was not a success; and, at the same time,
that I had no cause to be ashamed of my failure. In our day, when we
live under a despotism of the lower "middle-class" Philister who can
pardon anything but superiority, the prizes of competitive services are
monopolised by certain "pets" of the _Médiocratie_, and prime favourites
of that jealous and potent majority—the Mediocrities who know "no
nonsense about merit." It is hard for an outsider to realise how perfect
is the monopoly of commonplace, and to comprehend how fatal a
stumbling-stone that man sets in the way of his own advancement who
dares to think for himself, or who knows more or who does more than the
mob of gentlemen-employés who know very little and who do even less.
Yet, however behindhand I may be, there is still ample room and verge
for an English version of the "Arabian Nights' Entertainments."
Our century of translations, popular and vernacular, from (Professor
Antoine) Galland's delightful abbreviation and adaptation (A.D. 1704),
in no wise represent the eastern original. The best and latest, the Rev.
Mr. Foster's, which is diffuse and verbose, and Mr. G. Moir Bussey's,
which is a re-correction, abound in gallicisms of style and idiom; and
one and all degrade a chef-d'œuvre of the highest anthropological and
ethnographical interest and importance to a mere fairy-book, a nice
present for little boys.
After nearly a century had elapsed, Dr. Jonathan Scott (LL.D. H.E.I.C.'s
S., Persian Secretary to the G. G. Bengal; Oriental Professor, etc.,
etc.), printed his "Tales, Anecdotes, and Letters, translated from the
Arabic and Persian," (Cadell and Davies, London, A.D. 1800); and
followed in 1811 with an edition of "The Arabian Nights' Entertainments"
from the MS. of Edward Wortley Montague (in 6 vols., small 8vo, London:
Longmans, etc.). This work he (and he only) describes as "Carefully
revised and occasionally corrected from the Arabic." The reading public
did not wholly reject it, sundry texts were founded upon the Scott
version and it has been imperfectly reprinted (4 vols., 8vo, Nimmo and
Bain, London, 1883). But most men, little recking what a small portion
of the original they were reading, satisfied themselves with the
Anglo-French epitome and metaphrase. At length in 1838, Mr. Henry
Torrens, B.A., Irishman, lawyer ("of the Inner Temple") and Bengal
Civilian, took a step in the right direction; and began to translate,
"The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night," (1 vol., 8vo, Calcutta:
W. Thacker and Co.) from the Arabic of the Ægyptian (!) MS. edited by
Mr. (afterwards Sir) William H. Macnaghten. The attempt, or rather the
intention, was highly creditable; the copy was carefully moulded upon
the model and offered the best example of the _verbatim et literatim_
style. But the plucky author knew little of Arabic, and least of what is
most wanted, the dialect of Egypt and Syria. His prose is so
conscientious as to offer up spirit at the shrine of letter; and his
verse, always whimsical, has at times a manner of Hibernian whoop which
is comical when it should be pathetic. Lastly he printed only one volume
of a series which completed would have contained nine or ten.
That amiable and devoted Arabist, the late Edward William Lane does not
score a success in his "New Translation of the Tales of a Thousand and
One Nights" (London: Charles Knight and Co., MDCCCXXXIX.) of which there
have been four English editions, besides American, two edited by E. S.
Poole. He chose the abbreviating Bulak Edition; and, of its two hundred
tales, he has omitted about half and by far the more characteristic
half: the work was intended for "the drawing-room table;" and,
consequently, the workman was compelled to avoid the "objectionable" and
aught "approaching to licentiousness." He converts the Arabian Nights
into the Arabian Chapters, arbitrarily changing the division and, worse
still, he converts some chapters into notes. He renders poetry by prose
and apologises for not omitting it altogether: he neglects assonance and
he is at once too Oriental and not Oriental enough. He had small store
of Arabic at the time—Lane of the Nights is not Lane of the
Dictionary—and his pages are disfigured by many childish mistakes. Worst
of all, the three handsome volumes are rendered unreadable as Sale's
Koran by their anglicised Latin, their sesquipedalian un-English words,
and the stiff and stilted style of half a century ago when our prose
was, perhaps, the worst in Europe. Their cargo of Moslem learning was
most valuable to the student, but utterly out of place for readers of
"The Nights;" re-published, as these notes have been separately (London,
Chatto, 1883), they are an ethnological text-book.
Mr. John Payne has printed, for the Villon Society and for private
circulation only, the first and sole complete translation of the great
compendium, "comprising about four times as much matter as that of
Galland, and three times as much as that of any other translator;" and
I cannot but feel proud that he has honoured me with the dedication of
"The Book of The Thousand Nights and One Night." His version is most
readable: his English, with a sub-flavour of the Mabinogionic
archaicism, is admirable; and his style gives life and light to the
nine volumes whose matter is frequently heavy enough. He succeeds
admirably in the most difficult passages and he often hits upon choice
and special terms and the exact vernacular equivalent of the foreign
word, so happily and so picturesquely that all future translators must
perforce use the same expression under pain of falling far short. But
the learned and versatile author bound himself to issue only five
hundred copies, and "not to reproduce the work in its complete and
uncastrated form." Consequently his excellent version is caviaire to
the general—practically unprocurable.
And here I hasten to confess that ample use has been made of the three
versions above noted, the whole being blended by a _callida junctura_
into a homogeneous mass. But in the presence of so many predecessors a
writer is bound to show some _raison d'être_ for making a fresh attempt
and this I proceed to do with due reserve.
Briefly, the object of this version is to show what "The Thousand Nights
and a Night" really is. Not, however, for reasons to be more fully
stated in the terminal Essay, by straining _verbum reddere verbo_, but
by writing as the Arab would have written in English. On this point I am
all with Saint Jerome (Pref. in Jobum) "Vel verbum e verbo, vel sensum e
sensu, vel ex utroque commixtum, et medie temperatum genus
translationis." My work claims to be a faithful copy of the great
Eastern Saga-book, by preserving intact, not only the spirit, but even
the _mécanique_, the manner and the matter. Hence, however prosy and
long-drawn out be the formula, it retains the scheme of the Nights
because they are a prime feature in the original. The Ráwí or reciter,
to whose wits the task of supplying details is left, well knows their
value: the openings carefully repeat the names of the _dramatis personæ_
and thus fix them in the hearer's memory. Without the Nights no Arabian
Nights! Moreover it is necessary to retain the whole apparatus: nothing
more ill-advised than Dr. Jonathan Scott's strange device of garnishing
The Nights with fancy head-pieces and | 2,371.029865 |
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THE MYSTERY OF WITCH-FACE MOUNTAIN
CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK
THE MYSTERY OF WITCH-FACE
MOUNTAIN
AND OTHER STORIES
BY
CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1895
Copyright, 1895,
BY MARY N. MURFREE.
_All rights reserved._
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE MYSTERY OF WITCH-FACE MOUNTAIN 1
TAKING THE BLUE RIBBON AT THE COUNTY FAIR 165
THE CASTING VOTE 200
THE MYSTERY OF WITCH-FACE MOUNTAIN.
I.
The beetling crags that hang here and there above the gorge hold in
their rugged rock sculpture no facial similitudes, no suggestions. The
jagged outlines of shelving bluffs delineate no gigantic profile
against the sky beyond. One might seek far and near, and scan the vast
<DW72> with alert and expectant gaze, and view naught of the semblance
that from time immemorial has given the mountain its name. Yet the
imagination needs but scant aid when suddenly the elusive simulacrum
is revealed to the eye. In a certain slant of the diurnal light, even
on bright nights at the full of the moon, sometimes in the uncanny
electric flicker smitten from a storm-cloud, a gigantic peaked
sinister face is limned on the bare, sandy <DW72>, so definite, with
such fixity of lineament, that one is amazed that the perception of it
came no earlier, and is startled when it disappears.
Disappearing as completely as a fancy, few there are who have ever
seen it who have not climbed from the herder's trail across the
narrow wayside stream and up the rugged mountain <DW72>s to the spot
where it became visible. There disappointment awaits the explorer. One
finds a bare and sterile space, from which the hardy chickweed can
scarcely gain the sustenance for timorous sproutings; a few
outcropping rocks; a series of transverse gullies here and there,
washed down to deep indentations; above the whole a stretch of burnt,
broken timber that goes by the name of "fire-scald," and is a relic of
the fury of the fire which was "set out" in the woods with the mission
to burn only the leaves and undergrowth, and which, in its
undisciplined strength, transcended its instructions, as it were, and
destroyed great trees. And this is all. But once more, at a coigne of
vantage on the opposite side of the gorge, and the experience can be
utilized in differentiating the elements that go to make up the weird
presentment of a human countenance. It is the fire-scald that suggests
the great peaked brown hood; the oblong sandy stretch forms the pallid
face; the ledges outline the nose and chin and brow; the eyes look out
from the deep indentations | 2,371.065015 |
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PRIVATEERS AND PRIVATEERING
[Illustration: THE "INVENTION," FRENCH PRIVATEER]
PRIVATEERS
AND PRIVATEERING
By
COMMANDER E.P. STATHAM, R.N.
AUTHOR OF "THE STORY OF THE 'BRITANNIA,'" AND JOINT
AUTHOR OF "THE HOUSE OF HOWARD"
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS
London: HUTCHINSON & CO.
Paternoster Row 1910
PREFACE
A few words of explanation are necessary as to the pretension and scope
of this volume. It does not pretend to be a history of privateering; the
subject is an immense one, teeming with technicalities, legal and
nautical; interesting, indeed, to the student of history, and never
comprehensively treated hitherto, as far as the present author is aware,
in any single work.
The present object is not, however, to provide a work of reference, but
rather a collection of true stories of privateering incidents, and
heroes of what the French term "la course"; and as such it is hoped that
it will find favour with a large number of readers.
While the author has thus aimed at the simple and graphic narration of
such adventures, every effort has been made to ensure that the stories
shall be truly told, without embroidery, and from authentic sources; and
it has been found necessary, in some instances, to point out
inaccuracies in accounts already published; necessary, in view of the
fact that these accounts are accessible to any one, and probably
familiar to not a few possible readers of this volume, and it appears
to be only fair and just that any animadversions upon these
discrepancies should be here anticipated and dealt with.
It has not been considered necessary, save in rare instances, to give
references for statements or narratives; the book is designed to amuse
and entertain, and copious references in footnotes are not entertaining.
It will be noticed that the vast majority of the lives of privateers and
incidents are taken from the eighteenth century; for the simple reason
that full and interesting accounts during this period are available,
while earlier ones are brief and bald, and often of very doubtful
accuracy.
Some excuse must be craved for incongruities in chronological order,
which are unavoidable under the circumstances. They do not affect the
stories.
There remains to enumerate the titles and authors of modern works to
which the writer is indebted, and of which a list will be found on the
adjoining page.
LIST OF MODERN AUTHORITIES
"History of the American Privateers and Letters of Marque
in the War of 1812," etc. By George Coggleshall. 1856.
"Mann and Manners at the Court of Florence." By Dr.
Doran. 1876.
"The Naval War of 1812." By T. Roosevelt. 1882.
"Studies in Naval History." By Sir John K. Laughton. 1887.
"The Corsairs of France." By C.B. Norman. 1887.
"Life Aboard a British Privateer in the Reign of Queen Ann."
By R.C. Leslie. 1889.
"Robert Surcouf, un Corsaire Malouin." Par Robert Surcouf,
ancien Sous-prefet. 1889.
"The British Fleet." By Commander C.N. Robinson, R.N.
1894.
"The Royal Navy." By Sir W. Laird Clowes, etc. 1894.
"Old Naval Ballads," etc. The Navy Records Society. 1894.
"A History of the Administration of the Royal Navy," etc.
By M. Oppenheim. 1896.
"History of the Liverpool Privateers," etc. By G. Williams.
1897.
"Naval Yarns, Letters, and Anecdotes," etc. By W.H.
Long. 1899.
"A History of American Privateers." By E.S. Maclay. 1900.
"Sea Songs and Ballads." By C. Stone. 1906.
"Les Corsaires." Par Henri Malo. 1908.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 1
TWO EARLY INCIDENTS
CHAPTER II
ANDREW BARTON 19
THE "AMITY" AND THE SPANIARDS 28
PRIVATEERING IN THE SOUTH SEAS
CHAPTER III
WILLIAM DAMPIER 35
CHAPTER IV
WOODES ROGERS 41
CHAPTER V
WOODES ROGERS--_continued_ 60
CHAPTER VI
GEORGE SHELVOCKE AND JOHN CLIPPERTON 75
SOME ODD YARNS
CHAPTER VII
CAPTAIN PHILLIPS, OF THE "ALEXANDER" 95
THE CASE OF THE "ANTIGALLICAN" 96
CHAPTER VIII
CAPTAIN DEATH, OF THE "TERRIBLE" 106
MR. PETER BAKER AND THE "MENTOR" 111
CAPTAIN EDWARD MOOR, OF THE "FAME" 115
CAPTAIN JAMES BORROWDALE, OF THE "ELLEN" 117
TWO GREAT ENGLISHMEN
CHAPTER IX
FORTUNATUS WRIGHT 123
CHAPTER X
FORTUNATUS WRIGHT--_continued_ 135
CHAPTER XI
GEORGE WALKER 149
CHAPTER XII
GEORGE WALKER--_continued_ 171
SOME FRENCHMEN
CHAPTER XIII
JEAN BART 191
CHAPTER XIV
DU GUAY TROUIN 208
CHAPTER XV
JACQUES CASSARD 229
CHAPTER XVI
ROBERT SURCOUF 240
CONCERNING THE FRONTISPIECE 263
SOME AMERICANS
CHAPTER XVII
CAPTAIN SILAS TALBOT 269
CHAPTER | 2,371.192292 |
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FACTS IN JINGLES
[Illustration: Winifred, age twelve, with her trained bird, Okikusan]
FACTS IN JINGLES
_By_
WINIFRED SACKVILLE STONER, JR.
(Written Between the Ages of Five and Twelve)
[Illustration]
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1915
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOK MANUFACTURERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
Dedicated
to
Miss Katharine O'Shea
of
Madison, Wisconsin
INTRODUCTION
These jingles were written by a child for children. The young author
does not expect that any one will imagine they were intended to be
a contribution to poetry or literature. They will be of interest to
adults principally as an illustration of the way a child's mind views
some of the every-day situations of life. Grown people will also be
interested to see how easily a young child can put facts into the
jingle form when freedom of expression is acquired early.
Those who have read Mrs. Stoner's _Natural Education_ will recall
that Winifred learned almost as a babe to use the typewriter. This
helped her in her spelling and composition, so that she gained ease
and freedom in expressing herself on any topic that she understood.
She wrote out everything she learned so that she might the better get
a grasp of it and remember it. And she found that when some kinds of
facts were put together in a jingle they could be fixed with less
effort and retained more securely than if they were learned in the
ordinary way--by rote and without any method of organization.
Rhyme and rhythm seem to furnish to the young mind an easy and
effective method of relating and expressing facts ordinarily
dissociated from anything of interest to a child. As long as such
facts are presented to the young in home and school, the jingle will
prove of service to teachers and parents, and of interest and value to
children. In addition, some of these jingles will delight the young
merely because of their rhythmical quality, while others will afford
amusement because of the humorous interpretation they put on many of
the events that are daily experienced by children everywhere.
Any adult who may read these jingles should be informed that many of
them were written when Winifred was hardly more than a babe. And all
of them were dashed off without effort to achieve poetic merit. One
characteristic that makes them of interest is their spontaneity. As
an illustration of the readiness with which Winifred can construct a
jingle, I may say that when she was twelve years of age, I happened one
day to read her the following essay on _Bones_ written by a pupil:
"Bones is the framework of the body. If I had no bones in me, I should
not have so much shape as I have now. If I had no bones my brain,
heart, lungs, and larger blood vessels would be lying around in me, and
might get hurt. If my bones were burned I should be brittle, because it
would take the animal out of me. If I was soaked in acid I should be
limber. I'd rather be soaked than burned. Some of my bones don't grow
close to my others snug like the branches to the trunk of a tree. The
reason why they don't grow that way is because they have joints. Joints
is good things to have in bones. All my bones put together make a
skeleton. Some animals have their skeleton on the outside. I am glad I
am not them animals, for my skeleton like it is on the chart would not
look very well on my outside."
I asked her if she would put the essay into a rhyme. She ran off to
her typewriter, and in twelve minutes came back with the jingle, _I'm
glad I'm not an Exo_. It is published exactly as she handed it to me,
without change in content or in form.
Mrs. Stoner's _Natural Education_ describes in detail how Winifred has
been educated up to this point in her career. This book of jingles
presents some concrete evidence of the results of Mrs. Stoner's method
of teaching freedom of expression, and her many devices for assisting
a child to retain more or less formal facts in history, the sciences,
and so on. The book will prove of interest and help to children, and
parents and teachers should be able to get suggestions and practical
teaching devices from it.
M. V. O'SHEA.
Madison, Wisconsin.
Ever since I was five years old my dear friends, the fairies, have
whispered jingles to me as keys to Memory's storehouse. As these
jingles have been of great assistance in my studies, I have asked my
good publishers to put them in book form with the hope that they may
help, or at least amuse, many girls and boys.
WINIFRED SACKVILLE STONER, JR.
CONTENTS
PAGE
Adam's Funny Bone 238
After the Fourth Was Over 57
All Dentists Go to Heaven 47
All the World Cries 93
Answers, Not Questions, Cause Trouble 22
Appeal to the Fairies, An 187
Are All Angels Blonds? 304
Armadillo, The 199
At Easter 242
Autos Change Good Luck 85
Autumn, Queen of Year 88
Baa! Baa! Black Sheep 206
Bach, Johann Sebastian 269
Bachelor's Opinion of a Baby, A 156
Barber, Barber, Shave a Pig 226
Beethoven, Ludwig von 265
Berlioz, Louis Hector 293
Best Month of All, The 194
Beware of Stings 181
Beware of the Wet 144
Birthday Wish, A 205
B. O. K. Fairy, The 185
Bony Song, A 17
Book Mark, A 200
Bo-Peep 209
Boy Who Was Hero and Villain, A 84
Boy's Complaint, A 31
Boy's Description of a Goat, A 87
Brahms, Johannes 267
Brick Versus Watch 148
Bridget Makes Split Pea Soup 2
Brunettes All the Rage 121
Butcher, Baker, Candle-Stick Maker 221
Careful Mother, The 3
Cat Extincted the Canary, The 16
Cats a Kissin' (Catechism) 122
Children's Prayer, The 255
Chopin, Frédéric François 261
Christmas Wish for All My Friends, 40
Could Only Ask Questions 126
Cultus Mitlite 127
Curly Locks 230
Czerny, Karl 303
Dans Ma Cuisine 166
Dans Ma Maison 163
Dans Mon Joli Jardin 165
Days of Chivalry, The 142
Dickory Dock 226
Doctor Foster 217
Dux Femina Via 203
Easter Greeting 65
Easter Greeting to My Friend 90
Eatable Alphabet, An 241
England's Kings in Rhyme 115
Equal Franchise Valentine, An 180
Esperanto Grammar 198
Esperanto Poem Plain to All, An 154
Fairy Centaphrase, The 254
First Forks, The 110
First Match, The 97
First Metal Plow, The 106
Five Best Fairies, The 177
Five-Foot Shelf of Summer Books, A 15
Five Good Giants 200
Five Little Pigs 231
Franz, Robert 259
Frog Who Would A-Wooing Go, A 211
Furs Lined with Kittens 12
German Jinglette, A 236
Ghost Story, A 153
Giant Arithmos, The 67
Girls' Alphabet, The 243
Glorious O, The 237
Glück, Christopher Willibald 292
Good B's and Bad T's 30
Good-Bye to Teddy Bears 99
Good People Everywhere 305
Good Weather Assured 92
Goosey, Goosey Gander 212
Gottschalk, Louis Moreau 298
Grammar in a Nutshell 183
Grandma Turkey's Lament 21
Grandpa's Head Turns Frew His Hair 5
Great A, Little A 234
Great Surprise, A 1
Greatest Kings of Music Land, The 262
Greedy Imps 157
Greetings to Norfolk 158
Grouch-Bug, The 33
Growing Things 4
Handel, George Frederick 263
Hark! Hark! the Dogs Do Bark 228
Haydn, Franz Joseph 271
Hens 36
Her Turn Coming 128
Hope 94
Hot Cross Buns 230
How Mother Learned Natural History 141
How Simple Simon Became Wise 184
How to Be Happy 136
Humpty Dumpty 231
In India 189
Information by Phone 123
I'm Glad I'm Not an Exo 245
I Prefer a Lazy Bee 169
It Takes a Cigar a Long Time to Wear Out 105
Jack and Jill 226
Jack, Be Nimble 217
Jack Spratt 214, 229
Job Smarter Than Modern Babies 80
Johnnie's Conundrum 130
Joke on Onklo Karlo, A 8
Kind Hearts 35
King Teddy the Fearless 32
King's Questions, The 111
Kitten Gone to Waste, A 78
Kitty, Where Have You Been? 213
Koppa After Pi 148
Last of Mary Had a Little Lamb 28
Lazy White Men Sit While Flying Through the Air 104
Learning the French Alphabet 161
Legend of Westminster Abbey 140
Legends of the Coronation Stone 107
Let Ma Vote 173
Let the Bumble Be 20
Liszt, Franz 288
Little Boy and the Little Sparrow, The 223
Little Boy Blue 215
Little Girl with the Little Curl, The 236
Little Man with the Little Gun, The 209
Little Mary with Her Canary 220
Little Miss Muffet 212
Little Tommy Tucker 228
Mabel at the Butcher Shop 48
Man in the Moon, The 233
Marjory Daw 233
Mary Had a Lamb Song 234
Mary Had a Little Lamb 235
Mary, Quite Contrary 220
Memory Jogger for Your Desk, A 249
Mendelssohn, Jakob Ludwig Felix 296
Midsummer Joys 56
Miller on the Dee, The 206
Mother Hubbard 215
Mother Wotsat, of Wanamakerland 252
Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus 273
Much Learning Saves Ignatius 13
Multiplication Is Vexation 216
Museum's Fat Lady, The 10
Music 258
My Black Hen 234
My Christmas Wish 86
My Country 156
My Easter Wish 54
My Impression of Newspaper Men 151
My Son John 225
Nature's Music 260
'Neath Niagara Falls 182
Nervous Jelly 82
New Baby, The 98
New Year Babe, The 81
Nissen the Santa Claus of Norway 37
North Pole Jingle 240
Ode to a Faithful Dog Dubbed Pickles, An 256
Oh, Pretty Little Girl, Where Are You Going? 232
Old Garden, An 171
Old King Cole 225
Old Mother Goose 227
Old-Time and a Modern Song, An 139
Old Woman in a Shoe, The 222
Old Woman, Mother Goose, The 207
On Midsummer Night 143
On Thanksgiving 51
One, Two, Three, Four, Five 236
Only Naughty Children See Spooks on Hallowe'en 53
Oriental Metaphor 159
Our Presidents 124
Papa's Sainted Leg 186
Past and Present Eve, The 149
Patti Cake 224
Patti Lou at the Zoo 11
Peace Forerunner--"Love Mankind" 257
Pearl of Lakes, The 9
Peas Pudding Hot 219
Peter Pumpkin Eater 216
Peter Visits an Episcopal Church 152
Pets' Christmas Carol, The 52
Pickerino--The Cook's Fate, A 106
Plea to Editors, A 196
Plea to Knights and Ladies Fair, A 194
Please, Grandpa, Croak 108
Pretty Little Maid with Pretty Little Bonnet 235
Pretty Maid, Where Are You Going? 210
Pride 79
Pure-Blooded Pup, The 69
Pussy in the Well 218
Queen of Flowerhood 239
Rain, Rain, Go Away 221
Revenge on an Aching Tooth 137
Riddle, A 96
Rock-a-Bye, Baby 213
Roosevelt Compliments Mama Lion 23
Rubinstein, Anton 289
Santa's Reindeer in the Sky 41
Saying His Speech 195
Scarlatti, Alessandro 302
Schubert, Franz Peter 277
Schumann, Robert 279
Seeking Bargains 126
Simple Simon 214
Sing a Song of Sixpence 222
Sing Joyfully on Your Way 218
Six in the Cemetery 125
Six Little Mice Sat Down to Spin 208
Skillet in Society, A 66
Sleepers in Westminster Abbey 100
Snail, Snail, Come Out of Your Hole 223
Song of Home, A 175
Song of the Woods, A 147
Soul of a Miser, The 160
Spelling Wrong "Rong" 172
Strauss, Johann 300
Susan Rewarded for Twenty Years' Service 6
Taffy Was a Thief 229
Take That Gum from Your Mouth and Put Your Feet Right In 91
Tasmania 197
Tersest Bathing Suit, The 89
Thanksgiving in 20,000 A. D. 49
Then and Now 176
Three Blind Mice 224
Three Cheers for Typewriters! 247
Three Wise Men of Gotham 208
Time of His Life, The 25
Titania's Toyland 253
Titanic's Noble Band 131
To Friends Who Remembered Me When I Was Ill 158
To Market 232
To Modern Knights 145
To My Leap Year Valentine 244
To My Valentine 58
To Save Him from a Whipping 109
Tom the Piper's Son 219
Too Many Dolls 27
Too Ticklish to Count His Ribs 104
Torpid Liver 'Sploded Him, A 160
Twilight 14
Uncle Sam's Pittsburgh Arsenal 201
Un Petit Barbare Pou 167
Verdi, Giuseppe 281
Wagner, Wilhelm Richard 275
Weber, Karl Maria Friedrich Ernst von 295
Wee Willie's First Hair Cut 24
When Will We Be Old Enough? 129
When Women Vote 170
Whingwang Sonnet of an Easter Bonnet, A 55
Who Is Mother Goose 233
Wilmington's Good Fairy 251
Wilmington's Santa Claus 250
Winds of March, The 155
Winking Star, The 26
Wise Replies 168
Woes Caused by Whooping Bugs 29
Wonderland of Matematiko, The 59
Wondrous Growing Baby, A 7
World's a Mirror, The 248
Young Mail Carrier, The 95
FACTS IN JINGLES
A GREAT SURPRISE
On the nineteenth day of August, in the year of nineteen two,
Most kind and gracious Madame Stork right over Norfolk flew,
And brought to my dear mother there a wonderful surprise,
A little red-brown baby girl with large blackberry eyes.
Now mother, she had asked the stork to bring her greatest joy
And drop a bundle at her door containing a wee boy;
But when the stork made a mistake and brought just little me,
She thought that I was better far than any boy could be,
And wrapped me in the blanket which she'd planned for my wee brother
And which my dear "Ma Mie" had knit to help my busy mother.
She changed the name of Lionel to little Winifred,
And all the things for brother planned, she gave to me instead.
BRIDGET MAKES SPLIT PEA SOUP
"Bridget," asked the mistress, "whatever is the matter,
Nothing ready for our lunch excepting pancake batter?
Why, I invited guests to come for lunch at half-past one,
And they've been waiting all this time and yet there's nothing done."
"Well, mum," replied Miss Bridget, "the fault is all your own,
For split pea soup you ordered and, workin' here alone,
It's took me just two hours while tryin' just to split
Three hundred of these blarsted peas, which give me most a fit,
And as there's still three hundred, 'twill take two hours more
To split the pesky little things, shure as me name's MAHORE!"
THE CAREFUL MOTHER
Now come, dear John, and go to school,
I hope you know your every rule.
No, do not kiss me, Johnnie dear,
My mouth is full of germs I fear.
Love, as you walk along the street,
You must not pat each dog you meet.
Alas! you naughty, careless lad,
You've touched the cat, how sad, how sad!
For I must sterilize again
Your hands and face and books and pen.
Now, take each antiseptic glove
And quickly into each one shove
Your fingers which are prone to be
From dreaded germs--ah, never free.
Here's "SURE-GERM-KILLER" in a case.
Put some at once on hands and face,
For, oh, I fear those dreadful GERMS
May some day make you food for worms!
GROWING THINGS
My dearest friend, John M--, and I, at least our mothers say,
Are growing just as weeds will grow in April and in May.
John's legs they grow so very fast his pants they leave his knees,
His jackets get so very tight they burst if he dare sneeze.
His head grows large and larger, I suppose because of brains,
So when he wears his last year's cap, it causes lots of pains.
And I am such a growing thing, my dresses they won't last
More than a month before the spot marked by my knees is passed.
And when I had the measles and had to stay in bed,
You scarcely can believe me, but I grew from foot to head.
So everyone who saw me said that I had grown an inch,
And when I tried to wear my shoes, oh, my, but they did pinch!
But generally my shoes don't last until they are too small,
Because I kick the toes right out while playing at football.
GRANDPA'S HEAD TUMS FREW HIS HAIR
When Margaret was a youngster scarcely two years old,
At climbing chairs and tables this lass was very bold.
And one day when her grandpa was seated in his chair,
She climbed upon the rounded rungs as if they were a stair,
And looking at her grandpa's head, which fast was growing bald,
She cried out, "Dearest Grandpa, one time you must hab failed,
Or maybe you've been naughty and dot an awful scare,
Which taused the top ob yu's round head to tum right frew de hair."
SUSAN REWARDED FOR TWENTY YEARS' SERVICE
Professor Theophilus Socrates Snook
One day paid a visit to Susan, his cook,
And, beaming upon her with kindliest look,
Said, "Susan, my dear, please gaze at this book.
In here you may learn of elephantiasis,
And also the hookworm, uncinariasis;
Of craw-craw and chiggers, of ainhum and sprue,
And all that I've written about them is true.
Now, Susan, to me you've been faithful, my dear,
In keeping my house for many a year;
For years nearly twenty you've been now with me,
Cooking my victuals just as they should be,
And truly I think a reward I should pay
To one who has labored from day unto day.
So when I discovered a wondrous new germ,
Which causes young children to wiggle and squirm,
I thought that this bug for you I would name
And bring you great glory and honor and fame.
It's a wondrous discovery, this ungomariasis,
And so we will call it the SUSANBONPIASIS."
"No, thank you, your honor," said Susan Bawben,
"I had the bugs once and don't want 'em again.
And if you onsist upon callin' me BUGS,
I'll lave you alone wid your books and your drugs."
A WONDROUS GROWING BABY
FIRST LADY:
"Just now I heard a story, which sister says is true,
About a lovely baby which grew and grew and grew,
Because its mother fed it on full gallons of good milk,
So that it gained ten pounds a day and looked as fine as silk."
SECOND LADY:
"I don't believe the story, such diet it would kill
A poor wee darling baby--at least, 'twould make it ill."
FIRST LADY:
"'Tis true, most little babies would have burst and died--
But not so with this baby--'Ma Elephant's fond pride.'"
A JOKE ON ONKLO KARLO
Onklo Karlo, he's a duck, and I love him dearly,
'Cause he loves all little girls, amusing them so queerly
By catching in his mouth the nuts which he hurls in the air,
And making paper cones to stand just almost anywhere;
Or holding apples on a pole stuck right upon his nose,
And balancing the little girls just straight upon his toes.
He always has good candy--the kind I love to eat--
Made of delicious goodies that taste so nice and sweet.
He tells most wondrous stories of sky and land and sea,
And never seems to weary of pleasing little me;
And jokes, he knows so many his store will ne'er give out,
They make me laugh and giggle and sometimes even shout;
But here's a joke on Onklo--I wonder if he knows
That nails are hidden in his socks--of course, they're on his toes.
THE PEARL OF LAKES
Of all good Uncle Sam's great lakes,
LAKE ERIE is the best;
She is a pearl among all lakes
Of north, south, east or west
Her waters on a pleasant day
Dance gaily in the sun,
And ever seem to smile at me
And say, "Come, have some fun
Within my cool refreshing spray
Of waters bright and clear,
Oh, little girl, come right away,
And never have a fear!
There are no dread sea monsters here
Within my wide domain,
Where only best of 'Finny-kind'
Are e'er allowed to reign."
My little friend, sweet Jean, and I
Say, "Thank you, gracious Lake,
Well don our bathing suits and caps
And then a plunge will take
Right into your fresh cooling fount,
And then we'll be so clean
That not a soul would ever think
That PITTSBURGH we had seen."
THE MUSEUM'S FAT LADY
TEACHER TO TOMMY:
"Now, Tommy, please answer, and tell me at once,
Who is your father, you silly young dunce?"
TOMMY TO TEACHER:
Said Tommy, with tears gushing forth from his eyes,
"I know you're a lady w'at's most wondrous wise,
But I hates like the mischief to tell on poor Pa,
'Cause he's always good to both me and Ma,
But he is the fat lady w'at you may see
By goin' to Barnum's and payin' a fee."
PATTI LOU AT THE ZOO
My little Cousin Patti Lou
One day went to the Highland Zoo,
And there she saw an old ZEBU
Who looked at her and said, "Moo--moo!"
And ended with an awful "Oooooooooh!"
She saw also a funny GNU,
And said to him, "Well, how are you?"
But he would nothing say or do,
Not even grant, nor bray, nor mew.
She saw a polly as it flew,
And showed gay feathers, pink and blue,
But when she came this bird to woo,
Poll bit her finger almost through.
Near to this wicked Polly Chew
There lived a handsome, large HIBOU,
Which came from some fine foreign zoo,
And worked its head round like a screw.
The camel and the kangaroo,
With polar bears and brown bears, too,
And many birds to me quite new,
All made their home in this great zoo.
With elephants and tigers, too,
And a huge lion named KING FOO,
He paced his cage and said, "Grr--roo!"
As if he meant, "I will eat you!"
Near him a dove all pink and blue
So sweetly sang of love, "Coo--coo,"
While across the way MONK SNOOPLE SNOO
Swung by his tail and sneezed "Ca--choo!"
FURS LINED WITH KITTENS
Said a rich little girl, who was boasting one day,
"I'ze too many furs, so I throws them away;"
But her poor little friend, who fine furs had none,
In braggadocia could not be outdone,
And proudly she showed her little fur mittens
And said, "I'ze sum odders, do deys lined wid kittens."
MUCH LEARNING SAVES IGNATIUS
"Father," said learned Ignatius, as the strap was preparing to fall
Down on his trousersless bare-skin, "I don't mind a whipping at all,
But are you quite certain, dear father, the strap has been well
sterilized?
For virulent germs in old leather are often concealed and disguised;
And surely by violent impact with textile and soft porous skin,
But lately exposed to the street's dust there's danger of entering in
Upon my most delicate system, and then comes the big doctor's fee,
So, dear father, show you're a wise man and touch not the strap upon
me."
While the learned youth plead, lo! his father upon that dread strap
loosed his hold,
And thus he escaped from a whipping, Ignatius the wise and the bold.
TWILIGHT
Of all the hours of day or night
Give me the twilight hour,
When little birds hide out of sight
And every sylvan bower
Is filled with their sweet good night song,
While darkness creeps apace
O'er all the bright blue sky along
And hides the sun's gold face.
That is the hour when Mother dear
Says, "Come, sweetheart," to me,
"And of the earth's great heroes hear
While sitting on my knee."
Upon her arm I rest my hand
And wondrous stories hear,
Until it's time to go to bed,
Tucked in by Mother dear.
A FIVE-FOOT SHELF OF SUMMER BOOKS
Whenever you're perspiring like a Gruyère cheese,
List to this list of cooling works which cannot fail to please:
Great Isaac Hayes's noted work upon the POLAR SEA,
How much with him this broiling day we all would like to be!
Or maybe in the SNOWBOUND realms we'd find still more delight
If Whittier, the poet great, would take us there to-night.
With Nansen in his tales of weird and far-off frozen lands,
Where no one needs be tortured by electric buzzing fans;
And Barrows' wondrous voyages in icy ARCTIC REGIONS,
Meeting monstrous icebergs each hour by the legions.
While each and all would love to get a nice big cooling box
Of the ARCTIC SUNBEAMS that are mentioned by S. Cox,
And ICY LANDS by Perry, Kane, Atkinson and Hall,
Sound so mighty tempting to us one and all.
Exploring parties to the North led by the hero Schley,
Oh, such a summer voyage how we would like to try!
And follow after Wrangell with snow up to our knees
Across Siberia's lonely plains to far-off NORTHERN SEAS.
While reading of the ICE FLOATS from Kennan and from Hohn,
We feel that we should have a shelf all of our very own,
And on it all these chilly works we there should keep on hand,
To take us when we're hot and cross to some cool northern land.
THE CAT EXTINCTED THE CANARY
"Josephine," asked the teacher, "can you tell to me
Any bird that's now extinct, but used on earth to be?"
"Oh, yes, Miss Jane," said Josephine, "our sweet canary, Jim,
Because the naughty pussy cat, she quite extincted him."
A BONY SONG
Eight and twenty bones, 'tis said,
Are located in my head.
In my trunk are fifty-four
That I add to my bone store;
While my limbs have plenty more--
Full one hundred twenty-four.
In my skull, the strong round box
Which protects my brains from knocks,
There are eight bones in its wall--
Glad I have them when I fall!
Occipital there is but one;
One ethmoid and wedge sphenoid one,
One frontal bone not very long--
Compared with oak just twice as strong.
Parietals there are but two,
Two temporals will also do.
Fourteen bones are in my face,
To know them not is a disgrace.
One lower jaw and upper two
Help me each day when I must chew.
Two turbinated shaped like cones,
Two nasal, malar, palate bones,
Two lachrymals and vomer one,
But very large bones there are none.
The smallest bones are in my ear
And help me when I wish to hear.
These bones so small, are hard to see--
The mallet, anvil, stapes wee.
My bony trunk it takes good care
Of all the organs hidden there.
Its spinal column very long
Has six and twenty bones so strong.
Small bones just seven it doth take
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The Life Of
William Ewart Gladstone
By
John Morley
In Three Volumes--Vol. II.
(1859-1880)
Toronto
George N. Morang & Company, Limited
Copyright, 1903
By The Macmillan Company
CONTENTS
Book V. 1859-1868
Chapter I. The Italian Revolution. (1859-1860)
Chapter II. The Great Budget. (1860-1861)
Chapter III. Battle For Economy. (1860-1862)
Chapter IV. The Spirit Of Gladstonian Finance. (1859-1866)
Chapter V. American Civil War. (1861-1863)
Chapter VI. Death Of Friends--Days At Balmoral. (1861-1884)
Chapter VII. Garibaldi--Denmark. (1864)
Chapter VIII. Advance In Public Position And Otherwise. (1864)
Chapter IX. Defeat At Oxford--Death Of Lord Palmerston--Parliamentary
Leadership. (1865)
Chapter X. Matters Ecclesiastical. (1864-1868)
Chapter XI. Popular Estimates. (1868)
Chapter XII. Letters. (1859-1868)
Chapter XIII. Reform. (1866)
Chapter XIV. The Struggle For Household Suffrage. (1867)
Chapter XV. Opening Of The Irish Campaign. (1868)
Chapter XVI. Prime Minister. (1868)
Book VI. 1869-1874
Chapter I. Religious Equality. (1869)
Chapter II. First Chapter Of An Agrarian Revolution. (1870)
Chapter III. Education--The Career And The Talents. (1870)
Chapter IV. The Franco-German War. (1870)
Chapter V. Neutrality And Annexation. (1870)
Chapter VI. The Black Sea. (1870-1871)
Chapter VII. "Day's Work Of A Giant". (1870-1872)
Chapter VIII. Autumn Of 1871. Decline Of Popularity. (1871-1872)
Chapter IX. Washington And Geneva. (1870-1872)
Chapter X. As Head Of A Cabinet. (1868-1874)
Chapter XI. Catholic Country And Protestant Parliament. (1873)
Chapter XII. The Crisis. (1873)
Chapter XIII. Last Days Of The Ministry. (1873)
Chapter XIV. The Dissolution. (1874)
Book VII. 1874-1880
Chapter I. Retirement From Leadership. (1874-1875)
Chapter II. Vaticanism. (1874-1875)
Chapter III. The Octagon.
Chapter IV. Eastern Question Once More. (1876-1877)
Chapter V. A Tumultuous Year. (1878)
Chapter VI. Midlothian. (1879)
Chapter VII. The Eve Of The Battle. (1879)
Chapter VIII. The Fall Of Lord Beaconsfield. (1880)
Chapter IX. The Second Ministry. (1880)
Appendix
Footnotes
[Frontispiece: Portrait of Gladstone.]
William Ewart Gladstone; from a painting by Sir J. E. Millais, P.R.A, in
the National Gallery.
BOOK V. 1859-1868
Chapter I. The Italian Revolution. (1859-1860)
Rarely, if ever, in the course of our history has there been such
a mixture of high considerations, legislative, military,
commercial, foreign, and constitutional, each for the most part
traversing the rest, and all capable of exercising a vital
influence on public policy, as in the long and complicated session
of 1860. The commercial treaty first struck the keynote of the
year; and the most deeply marked and peculiar feature of the year
was the silent conflict between the motives and provisions of the
treaty on the one hand, and the excitement and exasperation of
military sentiment on the other.--GLADSTONE.(1)
This description extends in truth much beyond the session of a given year
to the whole existence of the new cabinet, and through a highly important
period in Mr. Gladstone's career. More than that, it directly links our
biographic story to a series of events that created kingdoms, awoke
nations, and re-made the map of Europe. The opening of this long and
complex episode was the Italian revolution. Writing to Sir John Acton in
1864 Mr. Gladstone said to him of the budget of 1860, "When viewed as a
whole, it is one of the few cases in which my fortunes as an individual
have been closely associated with matters of a public and even an historic
interest." I will venture to recall in outline to the reader's memory the
ampler background of this striking epoch in Mr. Gladstone's public life.
The old principles of the European state-system, and the old principles
that inspired the vast contentions of ages, lingered but they seemed to
have grown decrepit. Divine right of kings, providential pre-eminence of
dynasties, balance of power, sovereign independence of the papacy,--these
and the other accredited catchwords of history were giving place to the
vague, indefinable, shifting, but most potent and inspiring doctrine of
Nationality. On no statesman of this time did that fiery doctrine with all
its tributaries gain more commanding hold than on Mr. Gladstone. "Of the
various and important incidents," he writes in a memorandum, dated
Braemar, July 16, 1892, "which associated me almost unawares with foreign
affairs in Greece (1850), in the Neapolitan kingdom (1851), and in the
Balkan peninsula and the Turkish empire (1853), I will only say that they
all contributed to forward the action of those home causes more continuous
in their operation, which, without in any way effacing my old sense of
reverence for the past, determined for me my place in the present and my
direction towards the future."
I
(M1) At the opening of the seventh decade of the century--ten years of such
moment for our western world--the relations of the European states with one
another had fallen into chaos. The perilous distractions of 1859-62 were
the prelude to conflicts that after strange and mighty events at Sadowa,
Venice, Rome, Sedan, Versailles, came to their close in 1871. The first
breach in the ramparts of European order set up by the kings after
Waterloo, was the independence of Greece in 1829. Then followed the
transformation of the power of the Turk over Roumanians and Serbs from
despotism to suzerainty. In 1830 Paris overthrew monarchy by divine right;
Belgium cut herself asunder from the supremacy of the Dutch; then Italians
and Poles strove hard but in vain to shake off the yoke of Austria and of
Russia. In 1848 revolts of race against alien dominion broke out afresh in
Italy and Hungary. The rise of the French empire, bringing with it the
principle or idiosyncrasy of its new ruler, carried this movement of race
into its full ascendant. Treaties were confronted by the doctrine of
Nationality. What called itself Order quaked before something that for
lack of a better name was called the Revolution. Reason of State was
eclipsed by the Rights of Peoples. Such was the spirit of the new time.
The end of the Crimean war and the peace of Paris brought a temporary and
superficial repose. The French ruler, by strange irony at once the sabre
of Revolution and the trumpet of Order, made a beginning in urging the
constitution of a Roumanian nationality, by uniting the two Danubian
principalities in a single quasi-independent state. This was obviously a
further step towards that partition of Turkey which the Crimean war had
been waged to prevent. Austria for reasons of her own objected, and
England, still in her Turcophil humour, went with Austria against France
for keeping the two provinces, although in | 2,371.355875 |
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E-text prepared by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Pilar Somoza Fernandez,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
Transcriber's note:
Spelling mistakes have been left in the text to match the original,
except for obvious typographical errors, which have been corrected.
POEMS WITH POWER TO STRENGTHEN THE SOUL
Compiled and Edited by
JAMES MUDGE
Revised and Enlarged Edition
The Abingdon Press
New York Cincinnati Chicago
Copyright, 1907, 1909, by
Eaton & Mains
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition Printed November, 1907
Second Printing, March, 1909
Third Printing, October, 1911
Fourth Printing, July, 1915
Fifth Printing, May, 1919
Sixth Printing, January, 1922
Seventh Printing, April, 1925
Eighth Printing, March, 1928
Ninth Printing, October, 1930
Tenth Printing, September, 1934
TO ALL
WHO ARE AT THE SAME TIME
LOVERS OF GOOD POETRY AND LOVERS OF GOOD CHARACTER,
DEVOTED TO GOD AND THEIR FELLOW-MEN, AS WELL AS TO
LITERATURE, THE COMPILER, WHO CLAIMS A LITTLE
PLACE IN THIS LARGE COMPANY,
DEDICATES THE RESULT OF HIS PLEASANT LABORS
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE vii
SUBJECTS:
HEROISM--CHIVALRY, NOBILITY, HONOR, TRUTH 1
COURAGE--CONSTANCY, CONFIDENCE, STRENGTH, VALOR 14
INDEPENDENCE--MANHOOD, FIRMNESS, EARNESTNESS, RESOLUTION 22
GREATNESS--FAME, SUCCESS, PROGRESS, VICTORY 28
DUTY--LOYALTY, FAITHFULNESS, CONSCIENCE, ZEAL 41
SERVICE--USEFULNESS, BENEVOLENCE, LABOR 50
BROTHERHOOD--CHARITY, SYMPATHY, EXAMPLE, INFLUENCE 66
CONSECRATION--SUBMISSION, DEVOTION, PURITY 79
PEACE--REST, CALM, STILLNESS 88
HUMILITY--MEEKNESS, WEAKNESS, SELFLESSNESS 95
CONTENTMENT--RESIGNATION, PATIENCE, COMPENSATION 103
ASPIRATION--DESIRE, SUPPLICATION, GROWTH 115
PRAYER--WORSHIP, COMMUNION, DEVOTION 123
JOY--PRAISE, CHEERFULNESS, HAPPINESS 138
AFFLICTION--CONSOLATION, TRIAL, ENDURANCE 149
LOVE--DIVINE GOODNESS, UNSELFISHNESS 163
HOPE--PROGRESS, OPTIMISM, ENTHUSIASM 170
FAITH--ASSURANCE, DOUBT, UNBELIEF 177
TRUST--GUIDANCE, SAFETY, GLADNESS 187
GOD'S CARE--PROVIDENCE, GOD'S KNOWLEDGE AND BENEFICENCE 199
GOD'S WILL--OBEDIENCE, DIVINE UNION 209
GOD'S PRESENCE--POSSESSION, SATISFACTION, REFLECTION 221
JESUS--HIS PRECIOUSNESS, AND BEAUTY, AND LOVE 233
LIFE--TIME, OPPORTUNITY, EXPERIENCE, CHARACTER 250
AGE AND DEATH--MATURITY, VICTORY, HEAVEN 267
APPENDIX--MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 278
INDEX TO AUTHORS 288
INDEX TO TITLES 292
INDEX TO FIRST LINES 298
PREFACE
This is not like other collections of religious verse; still less is it
a hymnal. The present volume is directed to a very specific and wholly
practical end, the production of high personal character; and only those
poems which have an immediate bearing in this direction have been
admitted. We know of no other book published which has followed this
special line. There are fine hymnals, deservedly dear to the Church, but
they are necessarily devoted in large measure to institutional and
theological subjects, are adapted to the wants of the general
congregation and to purposes of song; while many poetical productions
that touch the heart the closest are for that very reason unsuited to
the hymnal. There are many anthologies and plentiful volumes of
religious poetry, but not one coming within our ken has been made up as
this has been. We have sought far and wide, through many libraries,
carefully conning hundreds of books and glancing through hundreds more,
to find just those lines which would have the most tonic and stimulating
effect in the direction of holier, nobler living. We have coveted verses
whose influence would be directly on daily life and would help to form
the very best habits of thought and conduct, which would have intrinsic
spiritual value and elevating power; those whose immediate tendency
would be to make people better, toughening their moral fibre and helping
them heavenward; those which they could hardly read attentively without
feeling an impulse toward the things which are pure and true and
honorable and lovely and of good report, things virtuous and
praiseworthy.
It is surprising to one who has not made the search how very many poets
there are whose voluminous and popular works yield nothing, or scarcely
anything, of this sort. We have looked carefully through many scores of
volumes of poetry without finding a line that could be of the slightest
use in this collection. They were taken up altogether with other topics.
They contained many pretty conceits, pleasant descriptions, lovely or
lively narrations--these in abundance, but words that would send the
spirit heavenward, or even earthward with any added love for humanity,
not one. On the other hand, in papers and periodicals, even in books,
are great multitudes of verses, unexceptionable in sentiment and helpful
in influence, which bear so little of the true poetic afflatus, are so
careless in construction or so faulty in diction, so imperfect in rhyme
or rhythm, so much mingled with colloquialisms or so hopelessly
commonplace in thought, as to be unworthy of a permanent place in a book
like this. They would not bear reading many times. They would offend a
properly educated taste. They would not so capture the ear as to linger
on the memory with compelling persistence, nor strike the intellect as
an exceptional presentation of important truth. The combination of fine
form and deep or inspiring thought is by no means common, but, when
found, very precious. We will not claim that this has been secured in
all the poems here presented. Not all will approve our choice in all
respects. There is nothing in which tastes more differ than in matters
of this kind. And we will admit that in some cases we have let
in--because of the important truth which they so well voiced--stanzas
not fully up to the mark in point of poetic merit. Where it has not been
possible to get the two desirable things together, as it has not always,
we have been more solicitous for the sentiment that would benefit than
for mere prettiness or perfection of form. Helpfulness has been the test
oftener than a high literary standard. The labored workmanship of the
vessel has not weighed so much with us as its perfect fitness to convey
the water of life wherewith the thirsty soul of man has been or may be
refreshed. If poets are properly judged, as has been alleged, by the
frame of mind they induce, then some who have not gained great literary
fame may still hold up their heads and claim a worthy crown.
Some poems fully within the scope of the book--like Longfellow's "Psalm
of Life"--have been omitted because of their exceeding commonness and
their accessibility. Many hymns of very high value--like "Jesus, Lover
of my soul," "My faith looks up to thee," "Nearer, my God, to thee,"
"When all thy mercies, O my God," "How firm a foundation"--have also
been omitted because they are found in all the hymnals, and to include
them would unduly swell the size of the book. A few others, although
similarly familiar, like "Jesus, I my cross have taken," and "God moves
in a mysterious way," have been inserted from a feeling that even yet
their depth and richness are not properly appreciated and that they can
never be sufficiently pondered. A few poems we have been unable to
procure permission to use; but in nearly all cases we have met with most
generous treatment from both authors and publishers owning copyrights,
and we take this occasion to express our hearty thanks for the kindness
afforded in the following instances:
Houghton, Mifflin & Company, for the use of the poems and stanzas
here found from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, James Russell Lowell,
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Oliver Wendell
Holmes, Edward Rowland Sill, Celia Thaxter, Caroline Atherton
Mason, Edna Dean Proctor, Edmund Clarence Stedman, John Burroughs,
John Hay, William Dean Howells, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Lucy Larcom,
Margaret E. Sangster, Francis Bret Harte, James Freeman Clarke,
Samuel Longfellow, Samuel Johnson, Christopher Pearse Cranch,
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps and John Vance
Cheney.
Little, Brown & Company, for poems by Helen Hunt Jackson, Louise
Chandler Moulton, William Rounseville Alger, "Susan Coolidge"
[Sarah Chauncey Woolsey], and John White Chadwick.
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company, for poems by Sam Walter Foss.
D. Appleton & Company, for poems by William Cullen Bryant.
T. Y. Crowell & Company, for poems by Sarah Knowles Bolton.
Charles Scribner's Sons, for poems by Josiah Gilbert Holland.
The Century Company, for poems by Richard Watson Gilder.
The Bobbs-Merrill Company, for poems by James Whitcomb Riley.
Harper & Brothers, for poems by Edward Sandford Martin.
Small, Maynard & Co., for poems by Charlotte Perkins Gilman.
The Rev. D. C. Knowles, for poems by Frederic Lawrence Knowles,
especially from "Love Triumphant," published by Dana, Estes &
Company.
The Rev. Frederic Rowland Marvin, for poems from his "Flowers of
Song from Many Lands."
Professor Amos R. Wells, for poems from his "Just to Help."
Mr. Nixon Waterman, for poems from "In Merry Mood," published by
Forbes & Co., of Chicago.
The selections from the above American authors are used by special
arrangements with the firms mentioned, who are the only authorized
publishers of their works. Many other poems used have been found in
papers or other places which gave no indication of the original source.
In spite of much effort to trace these things it is quite likely we have
failed in some cases to give due credit or obtain the usual permission;
and we hope that if such omissions, due to ignorance or inadvertence,
are noticed they will be pardoned. Many unknown writers have left behind
them some things of value, but their names have become detached from
them or perhaps never were appended. Many volumes consulted have been
long out of print.
We are glad to record our large indebtedness to the custodians of the
Boston, Cambridge, Malden, Natick, Brookline, Jamaica Plain, Somerville,
and Newton Public Libraries, the Boston Athenaeum, the Congregational
Library, the General Theological Library, and the Library of Harvard
College, for free access to their treasures.
By far the greater part of the contents are from British and other
foreign authors, such as William Wordsworth, Alfred Tennyson, Robert
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Dinah Maria Mulock Craik, Mrs.
S. F. Adams, Anna Letitia Barbauld, Mrs. Charles, Frances Ridley
Havergal, Anna Letitia Waring, Jean Ingelow, Adelaide Anne Procter, Mme.
Guyon, Theodore Monod, Matthew Arnold, Edwin Arnold, William
Shakespeare, John Milton, George Gordon Byron, Robert Burns, William
Cowper, George Herbert, Robert Herrick, Francis Quarles, Frederick W.
Faber, John Keble, Charles Kingsley, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
John Gay, Edward Young, Thomas Moore, John Newton, John Bunyan, H. Kirke
White, Horatius Bonar, James Montgomery, Charles Wesley, Richard Baxter,
Norman Macleod, George Heber, Richard Chenevix Trench, Henry Alford,
Charles Mackay, Gerald Massey, Alfred Austin, Robert Louis Stevenson,
Arthur Hugh Clough, Henry Burton, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Hartley
Coleridge, Joseph Anstice, George Macdonald, Robert Leighton, John Henry
Newman, John Sterling, Edward H. Bickersteth, Dante Gabriel Rossetti,
and many others. Of German authors there are not a few, including Johann
W. von Goethe, Johann C. F. Schiller, George A. Neumarck, Paul Gerhardt,
Benjamin Schmolke, S. C. Schoener, Scheffler, Karl Rudolf Hagenbach, S.
Rodigast, Novalis, Wolfgang C. Dessler, L. Gedicke, Martin Luther, and
Johann G. von Herder.
The number of American poets drawn upon is small compared with this
list. It is the case in all such collections. According to an analysis
of the hymns contained in the most widely used American hymnals down to
1880 the average number of hymns of purely American origin was not quite
one in seven; the proportion would be a little larger now. And the
number of Methodist poets is almost nil, in spite of the fact that the
compiler is a Methodist and the volume is issued from the official
Methodist Publishing House. But if we thought that this would be any
barrier to its wide circulation in Methodist homes we should be deeply
ashamed for our church. We are confident it will not be. For mere
denominational tenets do not at all enter into these great matters of
the soul's life. A book like this speaks loudly for the real oneness,
not only of all branches of the Christian Church, but of all religions,
in some respects. Not only do we find the various Protestant
denominations amply represented here; not only have we most inspiring
words from Roman Catholic writers like Francis Xavier, Madame Guyon,
Alexander Pope, John Henry Newman, Frederick W. Faber, and Adelaide Anne
Procter; but from Mohammedan sources, from Sufi saints of Persia, and
the Moslem devotees of Arabia, and even from Hinduism, there are
utterances of noblest truth which we cannot read without a kindling
heart. These are all brought together from the ends of the earth into a
delightful "upper chamber," where the warring discords of opinion cease
and an exceedingly precious peace prevails.
It should be said, though it is perhaps hardly necessary, that this is
by no means a book to be read at a sitting. It furnishes very
concentrated nourishment. It can be taken with largest profit only a
little at a time, according as the mood demands and circumstances
appoint. There should be very much meditation mingled with the perusal,
an attempt to penetrate the deep meaning of the lines and have them
enter into the soul for practical benefit. Some of these hymns have
great histories: they are the war cries of combatants on hard-fought
battle fields; they are living words of deep experience pressed out of
the heart by strong feeling; they are the embodiment of visions caught
on some Pisgah's glowing top. Here will be found and furnished hope for
the faint-hearted, rest for the weary, courage for the trembling, cheer
for the despondent, power for the weak, comfort for the afflicted,
guidance in times of difficulty, wise counsel for moments of perplexity,
a stimulant to faithfulness, a cure for the blues, exhilaration,
jubilation. Everything of a depressing nature has been scrupulously
ruled out. The keynote, persistently followed through all the pages, is
optimistic, bright, buoyant. Trumpet calls and bugle notes are furnished
in abundance, but no dirges or elegies. Large space, it will be seen, is
given to such topics as Heroism, True Greatness, the Care and Presence
of God, the blessings of Brotherliness, the privilege of Service, the
path of Peace, the secret of Contentment, the mission of Prayer, the joy
of Jesus, the meaning of Life, the glory of Love, the promise of Faith,
the happy aspect of old Age and Death; for these subjects come very
close home to the heart, and are illustrated in daily experience. Anyone
who feels a special need in any of these directions is confidently
recommended to turn to the proper sections and read the selections.
Very much that is here may easily and suitably be committed to memory,
that thus it may the more permanently penetrate into the inmost depth of
being. It may be used with most telling effect in sermons to give point
and pungency to the thought of the preacher. Alike in popular discourse
and public testimony or in private meditation these gems of sentiment
and thought will come into play with great advantage. The benefit which
may be derived from them can scarcely be overestimated. President Eliot,
of Harvard University, has said: "There are bits of poetry in my mind
learned in infancy that have stood by me in keeping me true to my ideas
of duty and life. Rather than lose these I would have missed all the
sermons I have ever heard." Many another can say substantially the same,
can trace his best deeds very largely to the influence of some little
stanza or couplet early stored away in his memory and coming ever
freshly to mind in after years as the embodiment of truest wisdom.
We cannot guarantee in all cases the absolute correctness of the forms
of the poems given, though much pains have been taken to ensure
accuracy; but authors themselves make changes in their productions at
different times in different editions. Nor have we always been able to
trace the poem to its source. Slips and errors of various kinds can
hardly be avoided in such matters. Even so competent an editor as John
G. Whittier, in his "Songs of Three Centuries," ascribes "Love divine,
all love excelling" to that bitter Calvinist, Augustus M. Toplady,
giving it as the sole specimen of his verse; when it was really written
by the ardent Arminian, Charles Wesley, with whom Toplady was on
anything but friendly terms. If Whittier could make a blunder of this
magnitude we may be pardoned if possibly a keen-eyed critic spies
something in our book almost as grossly incorrect. In some cases we have
been obliged to change the titles of poems so as to avoid reduplication
in our index, or to adapt them the better to the small extract taken
from the much longer form in the original. In a few cases we have made
(indicated) alterations in poems to fit them more fully to the purpose
of the book.
The volume will be found not only a readable one, we think, but also an
uncommonly useful one for presentation by those who would do good and
give gratification to their serious-minded friends with a taste for
religious poetry and a love for wandering in the "holy land of song." He
who would put before another the essential elements of religion would do
better to give him such a book as this than a treatise on theology. He
who would himself get a clear idea of what the religious life really is
will do better to pore over these pages than to dip into some
philosophical discussion. Here the best life is expressed rather than
analyzed, exhibited rather than explained. Mrs. Browning has well said,
"Plant a poet's word deep enough in any man's breast, looking presently
for offshoots, and you have done more for the man than if you dressed
him in a broadcloth coat and warmed his Sunday pottage at your fire." We
who, by preparing or circulating such volumes, aid the poets in finding
a larger circle to whom to give their message, may claim a part of the
blessing which comes to those who in any way aid humanity. George
Herbert has said,
"A verse may find him who a sermon flies,
And turn delight into a sacrifice."
He himself most excellently illustrated the sentiment by bequeathing to
the world many beautiful verses that are sermons of the most picturesque
sort.
One definition of poetry is "a record of the best thoughts and best
moments of the best and happiest minds." This in itself would almost be
sufficient to establish the connection between poetry and religion. It
is certain that the two have very close and vital relations. Dr.
Washington Gladden has admirably remarked, "Poetry is indebted to
religion for its largest and loftiest inspirations, and religion is
indebted to poetry for its subtlest and most luminous interpretations."
No doubt a man may be truly, deeply religious who has little or no
development on the aesthetic side, to whom poetry makes no special
appeal. But it is certain that he whose soul is deaf to the "concord of
sweet sounds" misses a mighty aid in the spiritual life. For a hymn is a
wing by which the spirit soars above earthly cares and trials into a
purer air and a clearer sunshine. Nothing can better scatter the devils
of melancholy and gloom or doubt and fear. When praise and prayer, trust
and love, faith and hope, and similar sentiments, have passed into and
through some poet's passionate soul, until he has become so charged with
them that he has been able to fix them in a form of expression where
beauty is united to strength, where concentration and ornamentation are
alike secured, then the deepest needs of great numbers are fully met.
What was vague and dim is brought into light. What was only half
conceived, and so but half felt, is made to grip the soul with power.
Poetry is of the very highest value for the inspiration and guidance of
life, for calling out the emotions and opening up spiritual visions. It
carries truths not only into the understanding, but into the heart,
where they are likely to have the most direct effect on conduct.
In the language of Robert Southey, I commit these pages to the Christian
public, with a sincere belief that much benefit will result to all who
shall read them:
"Go forth, little book, from this my solitude;
I cast thee on the waters,--go thy ways;
And if, as I believe, thy vein be good,
The world will find thee after many days.
Be it with thee according to thy worth;
Go, little book! in faith I send thee forth."
JAMES MUDGE.
Malden, Mass.
HEROISM
CHIVALRY, NOBILITY, HONOR, TRUTH
THE INEVITABLE
I like the man who faces what he must,
With step triumphant and a heart of cheer;
Who fights the daily battle without fear;
Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust
That God is God; that somehow, true and just,
His plans work out for mortals; not a tear
Is shed when fortune, which the world holds dear,
Falls from his grasp: better, with love, a crust
Than living in dishonor: envies not,
Nor loses faith in man; but does his best,
Nor ever murmurs at his humbler lot,
But, with a smile and words of hope, gives zest
To every toiler: he alone is great
Who by a life heroic conquers fate.
--Sarah Knowles Bolton.
DEFEATED YET TRIUMPHANT
They never fail who die
In a great cause. The block may soak their gore;
Their heads may sodden in the sun; their limbs
Be strung to city gates and castle walls;
But still their spirit walks abroad.
Though years
Elapse and others share as dark a doom,
They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts
Which overpower all others and conduct
The world, at last, to freedom.
--George Gordon Byron.
A HERO GONE
He has done the work of a true man--
Crown him, honor him, love him;
Weep over him, tears of woman,
Stoop, manliest brows, above him!
For the warmest of hearts is frozen;
The freest of hands is still;
And the gap in our picked and chosen
The long years may not fill.
No duty could overtask him,
No need his will outrun:
Or ever our lips could ask him,
His hands the work had done.
He forgot his own life for others,
Himself to his neighbor lending.
Found the Lord in his suffering brothers,
And not in the clouds descending.
And he saw, ere his eye was darkened,
The sheaves of the harvest-bringing;
And knew, while his ear yet hearkened,
The voice of the reapers singing.
Never rode to the wrong's redressing
A worthier paladin.
He has heard the Master's blessing,
"Good and faithful, enter in!"
--John Greenleaf Whittier.
THE CHARGE
They outtalked thee, hissed thee, tore thee?
Better men fared thus before thee;
Fired their ringing shot and pass'd,
Hotly charged--and sank at last.
Charge once more, then, and be dumb!
Let the victors, when they come,
When the forts of folly fall,
Find thy body by the wall!
--Matthew Arnold.
THE REFORMER
Before the monstrous wrong he sets him down--
One man against a stone-walled city of sin.
For centuries those walls have been abuilding;
Smooth porphyry, they <DW72> and coldly glass
The flying storm and wheeling sun. No chink,
No crevice, lets the thinnest arrow in.
He fights alone, and from the cloudy ramparts
A thousand evil faces gibe and jeer him.
Let him lie down and die: what is the right,
And where is justice, in a world like this?
But by and by earth shakes herself, impatient;
And down, in one great roar of ruin, crash
Watch-tower and citadel and battlements.
When the red dust has cleared, the lonely soldier
Stands with strange thoughts beneath the friendly stars.
--Edward Rowland Sill.
LIFE AND DEATH
So he died for his faith. That is fine--
More than most of us do.
But, say, can you add to that line
That he lived for it, too?
In his death he bore witness at last
As a martyr to truth.
Did his life do the same in the past
From the days of his youth?
It is easy to die. Men have died
For a wish or a whim--
From bravado or passion or pride.
Was it harder for him?
But to live--every day to live out
All the truth that he dreamt,
While his friends met his conduct with doubt
And the world with contempt.
Was it thus that he plodded ahead,
Never turning aside?
Then we'll talk of the life that he lived.
Never mind how he died.
--Ernest Crosby.
THE RED PLANET MARS
The star of the unconquered will,
He rises in my breast,
Serene, and resolute, and still,
And calm, and self-possessed.
And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,
That readest this brief psalm,
As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.
Oh, fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know erelong,--
Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
THE NOBLE ARMY OF MARTYRS PRAISE THEE
Not they alone who from the bitter strife
Came forth victorious, yielding willingly
That which they deem most precious, even life,
Content to suffer all things, Christ, for Thee;
Not they alone whose feet so firmly trod
The pathway ending in rack, sword and flame,
Foreseeing death, yet faithful to their Lord,
Enduring for His sake the pain and shame;
Not they alone have won the martyr's palm,
Not only from their life proceeds the eternal psalm.
For earth hath martyrs now, a saintly throng;
Each day unnoticed do we pass them by;
'Mid busy crowds they calmly move along,
Bearing a hidden cross, how patiently!
Not theirs the sudden anguish, swift and keen,
Their hearts are worn and wasted with small cares,
With daily griefs and thrusts from foes unseen;
Troubles and trials that take them unawares;
Theirs is a lingering, silent martyrdom;
They weep through weary years, and long for rest to come.
They weep, but murmur not; it is God's will,
And they have learned to bend their own to his;
Simply enduring, knowing that each ill
Is but the herald of some future bliss;
Striving and suffering, yet so silently
They know it least who seem to know them best.
Faithful and true through long adversity
They work and wait until God gives them rest;
These surely share with those of bygone days
The palm-branch and the crown, and swell their song of praise.
THE HAPPY WARRIOR
'Tis, finally, the man, who, lifted high,
Conspicuous object in a nation's eye,
Or left unthought of in obscurity,
Who, with a toward or untoward lot,
Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not,--
Plays, in the many games of life, that one
Where what he most doth value must be won;
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,
Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
Who, not content that former work stand fast,
Looks forward, persevering to the last,
From well to better, daily self-surpast;
Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
Forever, and to noble deeds give birth,
Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,
And leave a dead, unprofitable name--
Finds comfort in himself and in his cause,
And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws
His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause:
This is the happy warrior; this is he
That every man in arms should wish to be.
--William Wordsworth.
Aground the man who seeks a noble end
Not angels but divinities attend.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson.
ROBERT BROWNING'S MESSAGE
Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made;
Our times are in His hand
Who saith, "A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!"
Poor vaunt of life indeed,
Were man but formed to feed
On joy, to solely seek and find and feast;
Such feasting ended, then
As sure an end to men:
Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast?
Then welcome each rebuff
That turns earth's smoothness rough,
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go!
Be our joys three parts pain!
Strive, and hold cheap the strain;
Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!
For thence--a paradox
Which comforts while it mocks--
Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail:
What I aspired to be,
And was not, comforts me:
A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale.
* * * * *
Not on the vulgar mass
Called "work" must sentence pass,
Things done, that took the eye and had the price;
O'er which, from level stand,
The low world laid its hand,
Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice:
But all, the world's coarse thumb
And finger failed to plumb,
So passed in making up the main account;
All instincts immature,
All purposes unsure,
That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount:
Thoughts hardly to be packed
Into a narrow act,
Fancies that broke through language and escaped;
All I could never be,
All, men ignored in me,
This I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.
* * * * *
Fool! All that is, at all,
Lasts ever, past recall;
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure:
What entered into thee
_That_ was, is, and shall be:
Time's wheel runs back or stops; Potter and clay endure.
--From "Rabbi Ben Ezra."
TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD
Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of Truth with False | 2,371.629169 |
2023-11-16 18:56:35.7605190 | 2,593 | 46 |
Produced by Curtis Weyant, Joseph R. Hauser 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.)
+--------------------------------------------------------------------+
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+--------------------------------------------------------------------+
Hansford:
A TALE OF BACON'S REBELLION.
BY ST. GEORGE TUCKER.
Rebellion! foul dishonouring word--
Whose wrongful blight so oft has stained
The holiest cause that, tongue or sword
Of mortal ever lost or gained.
How many a spirit, born to bless,
Hath sank beneath that withering name;
Whom but a day's, an hour's success,
Had wafted to eternal fame!
MOORE.
RICHMOND, VA.:
PUBLISHED BY GEORGE M. WEST
BOSTON: PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.
1857.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857,
BY GEORGE M. WEST,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Virginia.
PREFACE.
It is the design of the author, in the following pages, to illustrate
the period of our colonial history, to which the story relates, and to
show that this early struggle for freedom was the morning harbinger of
that blessed light, which has since shone more and more unto the perfect
day.
Most of the characters introduced have their existence in real
history--Hansford lived, acted and died in the manner here narrated, and
a heart as pure and true as Virginia Temple's mourned his early doom.
In one of those quaint old tracts, which the indefatigable antiquary,
Peter Force, has rescued from oblivion, it is stated that Thomas
Hansford, although a son of Mars, did sometimes worship at the shrine of
Venus. It was his unwillingness to separate forever from the object of
his love that led to his arrest, while lurking near her residence in
Gloucester. From the meagre materials furnished by history of the
celebrated rebellion of Nathaniel Bacon the following story has been
woven.
It were an object to be desired, both to author and to reader, that the
fate of Thomas Hansford had been different. This could not be but by a
direct violation of history. Yet the lesson taught in this simple story,
it is hoped, is not without its uses to humanity. Though vice may
triumph for a season, and virtue fail to meet its appropriate reward,
yet nothing can confer on the first, nor snatch from the last, that
substantial happiness which is ever afforded to the mind conscious of
rectitude. The self-conviction which stings the vicious mind would make
a diadem a crown of thorns. The _mens sibi conscia recti_ can make a
gallows as triumphant as a throne. Such is the moral which the author
designs to convey. If a darker punishment awaits the guilty, or a purer
reward is in reserve for the virtuous, we must look for them to that
righteous Judge, whose hand wields at once the sceptre of mercy and the
sword of justice.
And now having prepared this brief preface, to stand like a portico
before his simple edifice, the author would cordially and respectfully
make his bow, and invite his guests to enter. If his little volume is
read, he will be amply repaid; if approved, he will be richly rewarded.
HANSFORD.
CHAPTER 1.
"The rose of England bloomed on Gertrude's cheek;
What though these shades had seen her birth? Her sire
A Briton's independence taught to seek
Far western worlds."
_Gertrude of Wyoming._
Among those who had been driven, by the disturbances in England, to seek
a more quiet home in the wilds of Virginia, was a gentleman of the name
of Temple. An Englishman by birth, he was an unwilling spectator of the
revolution which erected the dynasty of Cromwell upon the ruins of the
British monarchy. He had never been able to divest his mind of that
loyal veneration in which Charles Stuart was held by so many of his
subjects, whose better judgments, if consulted, would have prompted them
to unite with the revolutionists. But it was a strong principle with
that noble party, who have borne in history the distinguished name of
Cavaliers, rarely to consult the dictates of reason in questions of
ancient prejudice. They preferred rather to err blindly with the long
line of their loyal forbears in submission to tyranny, than to subvert
the ancient principles of government in the attainment of freedom. They
saw no difference between the knife of the surgeon and the sword of the
destroyer--between the wholesome medicine, administered to heal, and the
deadly poison, given to destroy.
Nor are these strong prejudices without their value in the
administration of government, while they are absolutely essential to the
guidance of a revolution. They <DW44> and moderate those excesses which
they cannot entirely control, and even though unable to avoid the
_descensus Averni_, they render that easy descent less fatal and
destructive. Nor is there anything in the history of revolutions more
beautiful than this steady adherence to ancient principles--this
faithful devotion to a fallen prince, when all others have forsaken him
and fled. While man is capable of enjoying the blessings of freedom, the
memory of Hampden will be cherished and revered; and yet there is
something scarcely less attractive in the disinterested loyalty, the
generous self-denial, of the devoted Hyde, who left the comforts of
home, the pride of country and the allurements of fame, to join in the
lonely wanderings of the banished Stuart.
When at last the revolution was accomplished, and Charles and the hopes
of the Stuarts seemed to sleep in the same bloody grave, Colonel Temple,
unwilling longer to remain under the government of a usurper, left
England for Virginia, to enjoy in the quiet retirement of this infant
colony, the peace and tranquillity which was denied him at home. From
this, the last resting place of the standard of loyalty, he watched the
indications of returning peace, and with a proud and grateful heart he
hailed the advent of the restoration. For many years an influential
member of the House of Burgesses, he at last retired from the busy
scenes of political life to his estate in Gloucester, which, with a
touching veneration for the past, he called Windsor Hall. Here, happy in
the retrospection of a well spent life, and cheered and animated by the
affection of a devoted wife and lovely daughter, the old Loyalist looked
forward with a tranquil heart to the change which his increasing years
warned him could not be far distant.
His wife, a notable dame of the olden time, who was selected, like the
wife of the good vicar, for the qualities which wear best, was one of
those thrifty, bountiful bodies, who care but little for the government
under which they live, so long as their larders are well stored with
provisions, and those around them are happy and contented. Possessed of
a good mind, and of a kind heart, she devoted herself to the true
objects of a woman's life, and reigned supreme at home. Even when her
husband had been immersed in the cares and stirring events of the
revolution, and she was forced to hear the many causes of complaint
urged against the government and stoutly combatted by the Colonel, the
good dame had felt far more interest in market money than in ship
money--in the neatness of her own chamber, than in the purity of the
Star Chamber--and, in short, forgot the great principles of political
economy in her love for the more practical science of domestic economy.
We have said that at home Mrs. Temple reigned supreme, and so indeed she
did. Although the good Colonel held the reins, she showed him the way to
go, and though he was the nominal ruler of his little household, she was
the power behind the throne, which even the throne submissively
acknowledged to be greater than itself.
Yet, for all this, Mrs. Temple was an excellent woman, and devoted to
her husband's interests. Perhaps it was but natural that, although with
a willing heart, and without a murmur, she had accompanied him to
Virginia, she should, with a laudable desire to impress him with her
real worth, advert more frequently than was agreeable to the heavy
sacrifice which she had made. Nay more, we have but little doubt that
the bustle and self-annoyance, the flurry and bluster, which always
attended her domestic preparations, were considered as a requisite
condiment to give relish to her food. We are at least certain of this,
that her frequent strictures on the dress, and criticisms on the manners
of her husband, arose from her real pride, and from her desire that to
the world he should appear the noble perfection which he was to her.
This the good Colonel fully understood, and though sometimes chafed by
her incessant taunts, he knew her real worth, and had long since learned
to wear his fetters as an ornament.
Since their arrival in Virginia, Heaven had blessed the happy pair with
a lovely daughter--a bliss for which they long had hoped and prayed, but
hoped and prayed in vain. If hope deferred, however, maketh the heart
sick, it loses none of its freshness and delight when it is at last
realized, and the fond hearts of her parents were overflowing with love
for this their only child. At the time at which our story commences,
Virginia Temple (she was called after the fair young colony which gave
her birth) had just completed her nineteenth year. Reared for the most
part in the retirement of the country, she was probably not possessed of
those artificial manners, which disguise rather than adorn the gay
butterflies that flutter in the fashionable world, and which passes for
refinement; but such conventional proprieties no more resemble the
innate refinement of soul which nature alone can impart, than the
plastered rouge of an old faded dowager resembles the native rose which
blushes on a healthful maiden's cheek. There was in lieu of all this, in
the character of Virginia Temple, a freshness of feeling and artless
frankness, and withal a refined delicacy of sentiment and expression,
which made the fair young girl the pride and the ornament of the little
circle in which she moved.
Under the kind tuition of her father, who, in his retired life,
delighted to train her mind in wholesome knowledge, she possessed a
great advantage over the large majority of her sex, whose education, at
that early period, was wofully deficient. Some there were indeed (and in
this respect the world has not changed much in the last two centuries),
who were tempted to sneer at accomplishments superior to their own, and
to hint that a book-worm and a bluestocking would never make a useful
wife. But such envious insinuations were overcome by the care of her
judicious mother, who spared no pains to rear her as a useful as well as
an accomplished woman. With such a fortunate education, Virginia grew up
intelligent, useful and beloved; and her good old father used often to
say, in his bland, gentle manner, that he knew | 2,371.780559 |
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Produced by Michael McDermott, from scans obtained at the
Internet Archive
WORKS OF MARTIN LUTHER
WITH INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES
VOLUME II
PHILADELPHIA
A. J. HOLMAN Company
1916
Copyright, 1915, by
A. J. HOLMAN Company
WORKS OF MARTIN LUTHER
CONTENTS
A TREATISE CONCERNING THE BLESSED SACRAMENT
AND CONCERNING THE BROTHERHOODS (1519).
Introduction (J. J. Schindel)
Translation (J. J. Schindel)
A TREATISE CONCERNING THE BAN (1520).
Introduction (J. J. Schindel)
Translation (J. J. Schindel)
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE CHRISTIAN NOBILITY (1520).
Introduction (C. M. Jacobs)
Translation (C. M. Jacobs)
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY OF THE CHURCH (1520).
Introduction (A. T. W. Steinhaeuser)
Translation (A. T. W. Steinhaeuser)
A TREATISE ON CHRISTIAN LIBERTY (1520).
Introduction (W. A. Lambert)
Translation (W. A. Lambert)
A BRIEF EXPLANATION OF THE TEN COMMANDMENTS,
THE CREED, AND THE LORD'S PRAYER (1520).
Introduction (C. M. Jacobs)
Translation (C. M. Jacobs)
THE EIGHT WITTENBERG SERMONS (1522).
Introduction (A. Steimle)
Translation (A. Steimle)
THAT DOCTRINES OF MEN ARE TO BE REJECTED (1522).
Introduction (W. A. Lambert)
Translation (W. A. Lambert)
A TREATISE CONCERNING THE BLESSED SACRAMENT OF THE HOLY AND TRUE BODY
OF CHRIST AND CONCERNING THE BROTHERHOODS
1519
INTRODUCTION
This treatise belongs to a series of four which appeared in the latter
half of the year 1519, the others treating of the Ban, Penance, and
Baptism. The latter two with our treatise form a trilogy which Luther
dedicates to the Duchess Margaret of Braunschweig and Luneburg.
He undertakes the work, as he says, "because there are so many
troubled and distressed ones--and I myself have had the
experience--who do not know what the holy sacraments, full of all
grace, are, nor how to use them, but, alas! presume upon quieting
their consciences with their works, instead of seeking peace in God's
grace through the holy sacrament; so completely are the holy
sacraments obscured and withdrawn from us by the teaching of men."[1]
In a letter to Spalatin[2] of December 18, 1519, he says that no one
need expect treatises from him on the other sacraments, since he
cannot acknowledge them as such.
A copy from the press of John Grunenberg of Wittenberg reached Duke
George of Saxony by December 24, 1519, who on December 27th already
entered his protest against it with the Elector Frederick and the
Bishops of Meissen and Merseburg[3]. Duke George took exception
particularly to Luther's advocacy of the two kinds in the
Communion[4]. This statement of Luther, however, was but incidental to
his broad and rich treatment of the subject of the treatise.
It was Luther's first extended statement of his view of the Lord's
Supper. As such it is very significant, not only because of what he
says, but also because of what he does not say. There is no reference
at all to that which was then distinctive of the Church's doctrine,
the sacrifice of the mass. Luther has already abandoned this position,
but is either too loyal a church-man to attack it or has not as yet
found an evangelical interpretation of the idea of sacrifice in the
mass, such as he gives us in the later treatise on the New
Testament[5]. However, already in this treatise he gives us the
antidote for the false doctrine of sacrifice in the emphasis laid upon
faith, on which all depends[6]. The object of this faith, however, is
not yet stated to be the promise of the forgiveness of sins contained
in the Words of Institution, which are a new and eternal testament[7].
The treatise shows the influence of the German mystics[8] on Luther's
thought, but much more of the Scriptures which furnish him with
argument and illustration for his mystical conceptions. Christ's
natural body is made of less importance than the spiritual body[9],
the communion of saints; just as in the later treatise on the New
Testament the stress is placed on the Words of Institution with their
promise of the forgiveness of sins. Luther does not try to explain
philosophically what is inexplicable, but is content to accept on
faith the act of the presence of Christ in the sacrament, "how and
where,--we leave to Him."[10]
Of interest is the emphasis on the spiritual body, the communion of
saints. Luther knows that although excommunication is exclusion from
external communion, it is not necessarily exclusion from real
spiritual communion with Christ and His saints[11]. No wonder, then,
that he can later treat the papal bull with so much indifference; it
cannot exclude him from the communion of saints.
The treatise consists of three main divisions: sections 1 to 3
treating of the outward sign of the sacrament; sections 4 to 16, of
the inner significance; sections 17 to 22, of faith. Added to this is
the appendix on the subject of the brotherhoods or sodalities,
associations of laymen or charitable and devotional purposes. Of these
there were many at this time, Wittenberg alone being reported as
having twenty-one. Luther objects not only to their immoral conduct,
but also to the spiritual pride which they engendered. He finds in the
communion of saints the fundamental brotherhood instituted in the holy
sacrament, the common brotherhood of all saints.
The modern world needs to have these truths driven home anew, and,
barring a few scholastic phrases here and there, cannot find them
better expressed than in the remarkably elevated and devotional
language of Luther in this treatise.
The text of the treatise is found in the following editions: Weimar
Ed., vol. ii, 742; Erlangen Ed., vol. xxvii, 28; Walch Ed., Vol. xix,
522; St. Louis Ed., xix, 426; Clemen, vol. i, 196; Berlin Ed., vol.
iii, 259.
Literature besides that mentioned:
Tschackert, _Enstehung der lutherischen und reformierten
Kirchenlehre_, 1910, pp. 174-176.
K. Thieme, _Entwicklung und Bedeutung der Sakramentslehre Luthers_,
Neueu Kirchl. Zeitschrift, XII (1901), Nos. 10 and 11.
F. Graebke, _Die Konstruktion der Abendmahlslehre Luthers in ihre
Entwicklung dargestellt_, Leipzig 1908.
J. J. SCHINDEL.
Allentown, PA.
FOOTNOTES
[1] See Clemen, 1, p. 175.
[2] Enders, II, no. 254. Smith, _Luther's Correspondence_, I, no.
206.
[3] Gess, _Akten und Briefe zur Kirchenpolitik Herzog Georgs von
Sachsen_, Leipzig, 1905.
[4] See below, p. 9.
[5] In this edition, Vol. I, pp. 294-336. See especially pp. 312 ff.
[6] See below, pp. 19, 25.
[7] _Treatise on the New Testament_, Vol. I, pp. 297 ff.
[8] See Kostlin, _Luther's Theologie_, I, 292 f.; also Hering, _Die
Mystik Luthers_, Leipzig, 1879, pp. 171-174.
[9] See below, p. 23.
[10] See below, p.20.
[11] See _Treatise concerning the Ban_, below, p. 37.
A TREATISE CONCERNING THE BLESSED SACRAMENT OF THE HOLY AND TRUE BODY
OF CHRIST AND CONCERNING THE BROTHERHOODS
1519
1. Like the sacrament of holy baptism[1] the holy sacrament of the
altar, or of the holy and true body of Christ, has three parts which
it is necessary or us to know. The first is the sacrament, or sign,
the second is the significance of this sacrament, the third is the
faith required by both of these; the three parts which must be found
in every sacrament. The sacrament must be external and visible, and
have some material form; the significance must be internal and
spiritual, within the spirit of man; faith must apply and use both
these.
[Sidenote: The First Part of the Sacrament: the Sign]
2. The sacrament, or outward sign, is in the form of bread and wine,
just as baptism has as its sign water; although the sign is not simply
the form of bread and wine, but the use of the bread and wine in
eating and drinking, just as the water of baptism is used by immersion
or by pouring. For the sacrament, or sign, must be received, or must
at least be desired, if it is to work a blessing. Although at present
the two kinds are not given the people daily, as of old,--nor is this
necessary,--yet the priesthood partakes of it daily in the sight of
the people, and it is enough that the people desire it daily and
receive one kind at the proper time, as the Christian Church ordains
and offers[2].
3. I deem it well, however, that the Church in a general council
should again decree[3] that all persons, as well as the priests, be
given both kinds. Not that one kind were insufficient, since indeed
the simple desire of faith suffices, as St. Augustine says: "Why
preparest thou stomach and teeth? Only believe and thou hast already
partaken of the sacrament";[4] but because it would be meet and right
that the form, or sign, of the sacrament be given not in part only,
but in its entirety, just as I have said of baptism[5] that it were
more fitting to immerse than to pour the water, for the sake of the
completeness and perfection of the sign. For this sacrament signifies
the complete union and the undivided fellowship of the saints, as we
shall see, and this is poorly and unfittingly indicated by only one
part of the sacrament. Nor is there as great a danger in the use of
the cup as is supposed, since the people seldom go to this sacrament,
and Christ was well aware of all future dangers[6], and yet saw it to
institute both kinds or the use of all His Christians.
[Sidenote: The Second Part of the Sacrament: the Significance]
4. The significance or purpose of this sacrament is the fellowship of
all saints, whence it derives its common name _synaxis_ or _communio_,
that is, fellowship; and _communicare_ means to take part in this
fellowship, or as we say, to go to the sacrament, because Christ and
all saints are one spiritual body, just as the inhabitants of a city
are one community and body, each citizen being a member of the other
and a member of the entire city. All the saints, therefore, are
members of Christ and of the Church, which is a spiritual and eternal
city of God, and whoever is taken into this city is said to be
received into the community of saints, and to be incorporated into
Christ's spiritual body and made a member of Him. On the other hand,
_excommunicare_ means to put out of the community and to sever a
member from this body, and that is called in our language "putting one
under the ban"; yet there is a difference, as I shall show in the
following treatise, concerning the ban[4].
To receive the bread and wine of this sacrament, then, is nothing else
than to receive a sure sign of this fellowship and incorporation with
Christ and all saints. As though a citizen were given a sign, a
document, or some other token as a proof that he is a citizen of the
city, a member of the community. Even so St. Paul says: "We are all
one bread and one body, for we are all partakers of one bread and of
one cup." [1 Cor. 10:17]
5. This fellowship is of such a nature that all the spiritual
possessions of Christ and His saints[8] are imparted and communicated
to him who receives this sacrament; again, all his sufferings and sins
are communicated to them, and thus love engenders love and unites all.
To carry out our homely figure: it is like a city where every citizen
shares with all the others the name, honor, freedom, trade, customs,
usages, help, support, protection and the like, of that city, and on
the other hand shares all the danger of fire and flood, enemies and
death, losses, imposts and the like. For he who would have part in the
common profits must also share in the losses, and ever recompense love
with love. Here we see that whoever wrongs a citizen wrongs the entire
city and all the citizens; whoever benefits one deserves favor and
thanks from all the others. So, too, in our natural body, as St. Paul
says in i Corinthians xii, where this sacrament is given a spiritual
explanation: the members have a care one or another; whether one
member suffer, all the members suffer with it; whether one member be
honored, all the members rejoice with it. [1 Cor. 12:25 f.] It is
apparent then that if any one's foot hurts him, nay, even the smallest
toe, the eye at once looks toward it, the fingers grasp it, the face
frowns, the whole body bends to it, and all are concerned with this
small member; on the other hand, if it is cared for, all the other
members rejoice. This figure must be well weighed if one wishes to
understand this sacrament; for the Scriptures employ it or the sake of
the unlearned.
6. In this sacrament, therefore, God Himself gives through the priest
a sure sign to man, to show that, in like manner, he shall be united
with Christ and His saints and have all things in common with them;
that Christ's sufferings and life shall be his own, together with the
lives and sufferings of all the saints, so that whoever does him an
injury does injury to Christ and all the saints, as He says by the
prophet, "He that toucheth you toucheth the apple of My eye" [Zech.
2:8]; on the other hand, whoever does him a kindness does it to Christ
and all His saints, as He says, "What ye have done unto one of the
least of My brethren, that ye have done unto Me." [Matt. 25:40] Again,
he must be willing to share all the burdens and misfortunes of Christ
and His saints, their sorrow and joy. These two sides of the
fellowship we shall consider more fully.
7. Now, adversity assails us in | 2,372.155001 |
2023-11-16 18:56:36.2483020 | 4,319 | 9 |
Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from
scanned images of public domain material from the Internet
Archive.
[Illustration: Book Cover]
POPULAR BOOKS BY
ARTHUR HORNBLOW
John Marsh's Millions
Fifth Large Edition
The struggle of a young girl, heiress to millions, to protect her
rights.
"Has many thrilling dramatic situations."--_St. Louis
Post-Dispatch._
The Third Degree
70th Thousand
A brilliant novelization of Charles Klein's great play.
"A strongly-painted picture of certain conditions in the
administration of law and justice."--_Philadelphia Record._
By Right of Conquest
100th Thousand
A thrilling story of shipwreck, upon a deserted island, of a
millionaire's daughter and a common stoker.
"A sensational situation handled with delicacy and vigor."--_Boston
Transcript._
The End of the Game
75th Thousand
A love story of deep human interest, dealing with the perils of great
wealth.
"A thoroughly wholesome book, with action in the drama and real
human interest."--_Literary Digest._
The Profligate
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A modern rake's progress and thrilling story of love, mystery and
adventure.
"The moral tone of the story is excellent."--_Baltimore Sun._
The Lion and the Mouse
180th Thousand
A brilliant novelization of Charles Klein's tremendously popular play.
"Mr. Hornblow, in the novel, has given something quite as
interesting, quite as fascinating, as Mr. Klein has in his
play."--_Boston Transcript._
[Illustration: WHAT RIGHT HAD HE TO ACCOST HER?
_Frontispiece. Chap. XVII. Page 282._]
BY RIGHT OF CONQUEST
a Novel
BY
ARTHUR HORNBLOW
Author of "The Profligate," "The End of the Game,"
"The Lion and the Mouse" (from the play), etc.
[Illustration]
Illustrations by
ARCHIE GUNN and CHARLES GRUNWALD
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
_Copyright, 1909,_
BY
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
Chapter Page
I 7
II 31
III 57
IV 66
V 84
VI 95
VII 113
VIII 125
IX 142
X 161
XI 184
XII 199
XIII 213
XIV 233
XV 247
XVI 256
XVII 276
XVIII 284
XIX 298
XX 305
XXI 314
XXII 334
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page
What right had he to accost her? _Frontispiece_ 282
It was all they could do to drag him on board 54
Never in his life had he beheld a woman so fair 147
"No--you're not! I'm going with you" 351
CHAPTER I.
In a dark, dirty, foul-smelling room back of a small ship-chandler's
store on West Street, four sailormen were seated at a table, drinking,
quarreling, cursing. The bottle from which they had imbibed too freely
contained a villainous compound that ensured their host a handsome
profit, set their brains afire, and degraded them to the level of the
beast. Not that their condition in life was much better than that of the
dumb brute. Animals often enjoy more creature comforts, are better
housed and more kindly treated.
They were not really sailors, for in their long experience on the high
seas they had never reefed a sail or hauled on a rope. Only too often
they never got so much as a glimpse of God's blue sky or the immense
stretches of tumbling, foaming ocean. They were the galley-slaves of
modern seagoing--the stokers, the men with oily skin and heat-bleared
eyes, who toil naked in the bowels of the giant steamship, each crew
doing its "watch" of four hours in a dark pit at the bottom of the huge
vessel, deprived of air and sunlight, firemen and trimmers working
feverishly in a maddening temperature of 140 degrees and over, thrusting
and pulling with rod and rake in the insatiable maw of the raging
furnace. The hot blasts scorch the men's faces and blister their skins,
yet they are compelled to keep up the furious pace. They must never
slacken, for on their muscles and their nerves depend the speed of the
ship and the prestige of the line. So they shovel faster and faster,
tirelessly, endlessly, the flying coal-dust settling on their sweating
faces and bare bodies until they lose semblance to anything human and
recall those lurid pictures of the Inferno in which Satan's imps, armed
with pitch-forks, thrust back shrieking sinners, condemned to
everlasting torment, who are struggling to escape from the bottomless
pit. That the luxurious liner may break a record and retain the
patronage of the millionaire passengers reclining indolently on the
promenade-decks above, the unknown, unseen slaves in the hellish
regions below must shovel, shovel, shovel, always faster, faster until
at last nature gives way. Exhausted by fatigue, overcome by the killing
heat, the man falls headlong. They pick him up and carry him on deck,
where the pure air may or may not revive him. Perhaps he is already
dead. His filthy, almost unearthly appearance chills the sympathies of
the fastidious cabin passengers. Who is he? What's happened? "Only a
stoker!" yawns some one, and all go unconcernedly down to dinner.
* * * * *
The time passed and the men still loafed in the chandler's shop,
drinking and arguing. The day was already advanced, the active, busy
world without summoned them urgently to duty, at noon their ship would
cast off her moorings and steam majestically out to sea, and yet the
four firemen sat idly in the evil-smelling den, noisy in drunken
argument--all but one man, a big, athletic-looking fellow, who drank in
sullen silence. Occasionally one of them would stop and glance furtively
in the direction of the street, as if apprehensive that an unwelcome
visitor might suddenly put in an appearance.
But no one disturbed them, not even Schmalz, the proprietor of the
place, a fat, tousled-headed German, who found his customers too
profitable to quarrel with. As fast as bottles were emptied, he replaced
them, and that he sold liquor without going through the formalities of
procuring a license was evident from his catlike movements, the absence
of any outward signs of the clandestine traffic, and his extreme care to
keep the inner room and its occupants well secluded from observation.
The outer shop was typical of the many nautical stores of its kind
scattered along New York's waterfront. It contained everything a sailor
needs, from yellow oilskins, thick woolen socks, and blue jerseys to
fried herrings, pickles, and mustard plasters. The atmosphere was heavy
with an agglomeration of different and conflicting smells--fish, tar,
paint, garbage, and stale tobacco. From time to time customers dropped
in, and Schmalz, shrewd and urbane, exercised his talents inducing them
to buy, the while keeping one cautious eye on his open money-drawer, the
other on his boisterous patrons in the inner room.
From the street came refreshing whiffs of salty air and the roar of
heavy traffic rolling along the busy thoroughfare. Trucks groaning and
creaking under mountains of merchandise, cabs filled with travelers and
piled high with baggage, slowly threading their way in and out to trains
and steamers, rickety horse-cars, crowded to the guard-rails, hucksters'
push-carts, piled high with decaying fruit, bewildered immigrants, fresh
from the Old World, nimble commuters from the suburbs hurrying to and
from the ferries--all these, men, horses, and vehicles were tangled up
in seeming hopeless confusion. Along the water's edge, where the
four-mile line of docks sheltered the world's shipping, arose a forest
of ship-masts, with here and there gigantic funnels of ocean liners,
belching smoke as they made ready for their journey to the sea. From
mid-river came the shrill tooting of mosquito-like tugs, and the
churning sound of ferry-boats as they glided from shore to shore.
"Naw, Jack, my boy, it's too blarsted risky," said decisively one of the
four, a short, stocky man, with a pock-marked face and cockney accent.
"'Tain't no good arguin' an' chewin' the rag any longer, ye know. I
won't do it, an' that's all there's to it."
"Shorty's dead right," spoke up another of the men, as he drained his
glass. "We'd be caught, sure as yer name's Jack Armitage."
"Bah!" grunted the third man. "Wot's the good of kickin'? If it isn't
one thing, it's another--so wot's the use?"
The foregoing remarks were directed principally at the big,
straight-limbed fellow who sat at the table in sullen silence, his face
buried in his folded arms. He vouchsafed no answer to his comrades'
arguments. Lifting his head, he turned his bloodshot eyes on them, and,
as if to show his utter contempt for their opinion, he shrugged his
massive shoulders and, picking up the whiskey-bottle, refilled his
glass.
Apparently a few years younger than his associates, he was a clean-cut,
good-looking fellow with a smooth face, and regular features, and there
was something in his manner, an air of authority in the toss of his
head, which suggested that he might be fashioned of a different clay,
yet his grimy skin and oil-stained, coal-blackened clothes indicated
that his condition of life was the same. His eyes were red from
drinking and there were grim lines about his mouth that prompted his
companions to leave him to himself. They knew their customer.
In the stokers' forecastle Jack Armitage had made himself quickly known
as a man whom it was unwise to monkey with. Directly he joined the ship,
he gave them to understand that clearly. The cock of the boiler-room, a
bully who had heretofore run things to suit himself, rashly started an
argument with the newcomer, and before he knew what had hit him, he was
a fit subject for the hospital. Quick to admire physical strength, his
comrades respected Armitage after that episode, and they nicknamed him
Gentleman Jack, because his English was straighter than theirs and
because he appeared to have known better days. Sometimes they hailed him
as "Handsome," because of his shape, regular features and wavy hair. Of
his history they knew nothing, and seeing that he was moody and
uncommunicative, no one ventured to arouse his wrath by asking questions
that he might consider too personal. Besides, no one cared. There's no
"Who's Who?" in a steamer's stoke-hold. A natural refuge for the scum
of the cities--for those wanted by the police as well as for those who
have failed--even a detective will hesitate to follow his quarry into
the red jaws of hell itself. To this, as much as anything else, the
stoke-hold owes its reputation as the modern Sanctuary.
So they let Armitage alone. He did his "shift" along with the rest,
gaining promotion first as coal-passer, then as trimmer, then as
fireman. His services were valued because of his great strength and
power of endurance. He could go on raking and pulling out fires long
after his mate had fallen back exhausted. But with his superiors he was
not very popular. Discontented, intolerant of discipline, mutinous, he
was nearly always in trouble, and, owing to his violent, uncontrollable
temper, quarrels were incessant even with his comrades. They feared him
more than they loved him, and perhaps this explained why his present
attempt to induce them to desert ship just before sailing-time had not
met with much success.
The first speaker went on:
"They'll catch ye, it's a cinch! Then it'll go hard wid ye. 'Tain't no
worser for you than for the rest of us. The boiler-room's bad enough, I
grant ye that, but it's a darn sight better than goin' to jail. What do
you say, Dutch?" he demanded, turning to another.
Armitage maintained his sulky silence. The man called "Dutch," a
lantern-jawed chap with red hair and a squint, expectorated a long
stream of saliva on the floor before replying. Shifting his quid, he
said:
"I guess Shorty's right, Jack. I ain't no fonder of doin' the suicide
act in that hell-hole than ye is yerself. I'd quit right now, and never
want to see the sight of a bloomin' ship again. But we've signed for the
voyage, ain't we? We must grin and bear it for another trip. The law
gives 'em the right on us. I'm goin' back now, before I'm taken back.
What d'ye say, Bill?"
Bill, already half-seas over, nodded in a stupid, maudlin manner. He had
drunk so much that he could hardly keep his head up, and the words came
thickly from his lips:
"Desert ship?--hie! No, siree! Hie! Ye remember--Robinson, who tried to
beat it at Naples? Hie! They didn't do a thing to him--almost fed the
bloody furnace with him, that's all! No, siree, no pier-head jumps for
me!"
The clock in the outer shop struck eleven. Shorty jumped to his feet.
"Say, lads!" he exclaimed, with another nervous glance toward the
street. "The blessed ship sails in another hour. We'll be missed and
they'll be after us, sure as yer born. I'm goin' back right now. Who's
comin'?"
Bill and "Dutch" staggered with difficulty to their feet. While Shorty
settled accounts with the urbane Schmalz, "Dutch" turned to Armitage,
who remained seated at the table.
"Ain't ye goin' back, Jack?" he demanded, as he shot with expert aim
another stream of saliva into Schmalz's cracked cuspidor.
Armitage raised his head and glared at them. There was a look in his
face that made "Dutch" wince. Hoarsely, savagely he burst out:
"You call yourselves men! You're nothing but a lot of white-livered,
whining curs! You've had a taste of hell in that ship, and you want to
go back and endure another three months of it, because you haven't
manhood enough to put an end to it. I'll not sail, I tell you. They'll
never take me back, do you hear?"
"Does ye mean ye goin' to desert?" demanded Shorty, eyeing the big
fellow with astonishment.
The other two men stared at him, open-mouthed. "Dutch" scratched his
head, and, to better conceal his emotion, let go another flyer of saliva
at the cuspidor. Then, with great deliberation, he bit off another chew
of tobacco, and said, with a nasal drawl:
"P'r'aps we might make so bold as to inquire of the gen'l'man what 'ee's
goin' ter do fer a livin'. I allus suspected he didn't 'ave ter work if
'ee didn't 'ave ter. But if 'ee's come in for a fortune 'ee might let
'is pals know summat about it."
"I guess 'ee's gwine ter be a bloomin' bondholder and cut his coupons!"
grinned Bill, in a feeble attempt at jocularity.
Armitage bit his lip and scowled. He was in no humor for jests, and his
hand moved dangerously in the direction of the empty whiskey-bottle.
Bill ducked and the other men immediately gave the table a wider berth.
Shorty cast another nervous glance at the clock.
"Come, boys," he said impatiently. "We ain't got no time to lose. Stop
yer foolin', Armitage. Let's get back to the ship, or there'll be the
devil to pay."
There was a moment of silent suspense. The other men looked toward
Armitage, who did not stir. Shorty stepped forward and shook him by the
arm. Armitage jerked himself free with an oath, and, raising his fist,
powerful as a sledge-hammer, brought it down on the table with a force
that made the glasses dance. His eyes literally blazed with fury as he
turned on his comrades.
"Go and be damned!" he shouted. "Go back to the ship and tell 'em to
count me out. I'll go to hell soon enough without getting hell here,
too. Don't worry about what'll become of me. I guess I'll be all right.
Anyhow, I'm not goin' back, do ye hear? If I was a coward, afraid to
call my soul my own, like you fellows, it'd be different. But I ain't!"
Shorty flushed up. He had been a champion light-weight boxer before
things went wrong and he took to the sea, and he resented this
reflection on his personal courage. He had not yet had an encounter with
Armitage, but he knew enough of the science of self-defense not to be as
much intimidated by the big fellow as were the rest of his shipmates.
Advancing spunkily, he retorted:
"No man ever yet called me a coward, 'Handsome,' an' I ain't goin' to
take it from you. If it comes to a showdown, the coward's the chap as
deserts 'is ship, not the chap as stands by 'is signed articles."
Armitage sprang to his feet, his six feet of athletic masculinity
towering above them all.
"Clear out! Clear out!" he shouted, wildly waving his arms. "Clear out
before I kill one of you!"
Bill and "Dutch" obeyed with almost ludicrous alacrity, and retreated
into the outer shop, but Shorty pluckily stood his ground. Before
Armitage could lay hands on him, the cockney closed to the attack, a
sinewy arm shot out like a flash, and there was a thundering smack as
the blow went home on Armitage's jaw.
For a brief moment the athlete staggered, but more from sheer surprise
than anything else. Then, with a volley of fierce expletives, he made a
savage rush at his adversary. The men clinched, arms and legs whirled
around in a cyclone of dust, tables and chairs were sent crashing to all
corners of the room. It was all | 2,372.268342 |
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STONES OF THE TEMPLE
R I V I N G T O N S
London _Waterloo Place_
Oxford _High Street_
Cambridge _Trinity Street_
Illustration: STONES OF THE TEMPLE
STONES OF THE TEMPLE or
Lessons from the fabric and furniture of the Church
By WALTER FIELD, M.A., F.S.A.
RIVINGTONS London, Oxford, and Cambridge 1871
"When it pleased God to raise up kings and emperors favouring sincerely
the Christian truth, that which the Church before either could not or
durst not do, was with all alacrity performed. Temples were in
all places erected, no cost was spared: nothing judged too
dear which that way should be spent. The whole world did
seem to exult, that it had occasion of pouring out gifts
to so blessed a purpose. That cheerful devotion which
David did this way exceedingly delight to behold,
and wish that the same in the Jewish people
might be perpetual, was then in Christian
people every where to be seen.
So far as our Churches and their
Temple have one end, what
should let but that they
may lawfully have one
form?"--Hooker's
"Ecclesiastical
Polity."
{~MALTESE CROSS~}
CONTENTS
PREFACE.
_Chap._ _Page_
I. THE LICH-GATE 1
II. LICH-STONES 11
III. GRAVE-STONES 19
IV. GRAVE-STONES 31
V. THE PORCH 43
VI. THE PORCH 51
VII. THE PAVEMENT 63
VIII. THE PAVEMENT 73
IX. THE PAVEMENT 81
X. THE PAVEMENT 91
XI. THE WALLS 103
XII. THE WALLS 111
XIII. THE WINDOWS 123
XIV. A LOOSE STONE IN THE BUILDING 145
XV. THE FONT 155
XVI. THE PULPIT 167
XVII. THE PULPIT 175
XVIII. THE NAVE 187
XIX. THE NAVE 197
XX. THE AISLES 209
XXI. THE TRANSEPTS 217
XXII. THE CHANCEL-SCREEN 225
XXIII. THE CHANCEL 235
XXIV. THE ALTAR 245
XXV. THE ORGAN-CHAMBER 255
XXVI. THE VESTRY 265
XXVII. THE PILLARS 275
XXVIII. THE ROOF 285
XXIX. THE TOWER 295
XXX. THE HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS 311
INDEX OF ENGRAVINGS
_Page_
St. Mildred's Church and Lich-Gate, Whippingham 3
Lich-Gate at Yealmton 5
Lich-Gate at Birstal 7
Heywood Church, Manchester 13
Lich-Stone, Great Winnow, Cornwall 15
Lich-Stone at Lustleigh 18
Church of St. Nicholas, West Pennard 21
Grave-Stones in Streatham Churchyard 23
Grave-Stones in High-Week Churchyard 24
Easter Flowers 28
Stinchcombe Church 33
Grave-Stones 35, 39, 41
Llanfechan Church 42
Godmersham Church 45
Porch of Luebeck Cathedral 53
Porch and Parvise of St. Mary's Church, Finedon 55
Parvise, Westbury-on-Trim 60
Church of SS. Philip and James, Oxford 65
Brass of John Bloxham and John Whytton in Merton College, Oxford 67
Heywood Church 75
Brass of Henry Sever, at Merton College, Oxford 77
Chancel of Whippingham Church 83
Brass of Sir Roger de Trumpington 85
Church of St. John the Baptist, Kidmore End 93
Encaustic Tiles, Brooke Church 95, 97
St. Andrew's Church, Halstead 105
Ancient Wall Paintings in Kimpton Church 108, 109
St. Michael's Church, Gloucester 113
Ancient Wall Painting in Bedford Church 118
Wall Painting 121
Church of St. John, Brandenburg 125
Doorway, St. Stephen's Church, Tangermuende 127
Crowmarsh Church 131
Stained Glass Windows in Great Malvern Church 137, 139, 141
Rose Window, Cremona Cathedral 143
Amberley Church, in ruin, and restored 147
Ancient Font in West Rounton Church 157
Stone Pulpit in Dartmouth Church 169
Church of St. Mary, Henley-on-Thames 177
Stone Pulpit in North Kilworth Church 179
St. Mary's Church, Sherborne 189
All Saints' Church, Bradford 199
Castle Cary Church 211
Church of SS. Peter and Paul, Ringwood 219
Church of St. John, Walworth 227
Sutton Benger Church 237
Llanfaenor Church 243
St. Alban's Church, Holborn 247
Icklesham Church 257
Harpsden Church 267
Church of St. John, Highbridge 277
Keynsham Church 287
Clerestory Window 294
Meopham Church 297
Tower, Saragosa 303
Window, Church of St. Petronius, Bologna 309
"Who is able to build Him an house, seeing the heaven and heaven of
heavens cannot contain Him? who am I then, that I should build
Him an house, save only to burn sacrifice before Him?
"Send me now therefore a man cunning to work in gold, and
in silver, and in brass, and in iron, and in purple, and
crimson, and blue, and that can skill to grave with the
cunning men that are with me in Judah and in Jerusalem,
whom David my father did provide. Send
me also cedar-trees, fir-trees, and algum-trees,
out of Lebanon: for I know that thy servants
can skill to cut timber in Lebanon;
and, behold, my servants shall be
with thy servants, even to prepare
me timber in abundance:
for the house which
I am about to build
shall be great and
wonderful."--
2 Chron. ii.
6--9.
{~MALTESE CROSS~}
PREFACE
The following chapters are an attempt to explain in very simple language
the history and use of those parts of the Church's fabric with which
most persons are familiar.
They are not written with a view to assist the student of Ecclesiastical
Art and Architecture--for which purpose the works of many learned
writers are available--but simply to inform those who, from having paid
little attention to such pursuits, or from early prejudice, may have
misconceived the origin and design of much that is beautiful and
instructive in God's House.
The spiritual and the material fabric are placed side by side, and the
several offices and ceremonies of the Church as they are specially
connected with the different parts of the building are briefly noticed.
Some of the subjects referred to may appear trifling and unimportant;
those, however, among them which seem to be the most trivial have in
some parishes given rise to long and serious disputations.
The unpretending narrative, which serves to embody the several subjects
treated of, has the single merit of being composed of little incidents
taken from real life.
The first sixteen chapters were printed some years since in the _ | 2,372.396332 |
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_Canyon de Chelly_
The Story of its Ruins and People
by Zorro A. Bradley
Office of Publications
National Park Service
U.S. Department of the Interior
Washington, D.C.,
1973
_Library of Congress Catalog Card Number_ 73-600078
Contents
Discovery of the Ruins 3
The Principal Ruins 7
White House 7
Antelope House 9
Standing Cow 12
Big Cave 13
Mummy Cave 15
The People of Canyon de Chelly 17
The Anasazi 18
The Navajos 27
Further Reading 57
Maps 8, 24, 39
_Far up above me, a thousand feet or so, set in a great cavern in the
face of the cliff, I saw a little city of stone asleep. It was as still
as sculpture—and something like that. It all hung together, seemed to
have a kind of composition: pale little houses of stone nestling close
to one another, perched on top of each other, with flat roofs, narrow
windows, straight walls, and in the middle of the group, a round
tower...._
_In sunlight it was the colour of winter oak leaves. A fringe of cedars
grew along the edge of the cavern, like a garden. They were the only
living things. Such silence and stillness and repose—immortal repose.
That village sat looking down into the canyon with the calmness of
eternity.... I had come upon the city of some extinct civilization,
hidden away in this inaccessible mesa for centuries, preserved in the
dry air and almost perpetual sunlight like a fly in amber, guarded by
the cliffs and the river and the desert._
—_Willa Cather_
Quotation from _The Professor’s House_, 1925, by permission of Alfred A.
Knopf, New York.
[Illustration: The righthand section of Mummy Cave Ruin as it was
photographed by Ben Wittick in 1882 during the James Stevenson
Survey for the Smithsonian Institution.]
Discovery of the Ruins
Canyon de Chelly National Monument is located in the red rock country of
northeastern Arizona’s high plateau, near the center of the Navajo
Indian Reservation. Included in its 131 square miles are three
spectacular canyons—Canyon de Chelly, Canyon del Muerto, and Monument
Canyon—and many ruins of long-deserted villages. Perched in alcoves and
on high ledges along the sheer-walled canyons, these villages are
evidence of man’s ability to adjust to a difficult environment, using
bare hands, simple stone age tools, and his own ingenuity. They stand as
enduring monuments to the culture of the ancestors of the present-day
Pueblo Indians of the southwestern United States.
The ancestors of the Navajo Indians who now live in the shadows of these
deep canyons came here long after the earlier peoples had left.
Originally the Navajos did not live in the canyon, but only passed
through it on their yearly migrations. Today some live here permanently,
and their hogans are scattered along the sandy canyon floor, almost
hidden by the thick growth of willows and cottonwoods and detectable
only by a column of smoke slowly rising from a cook fire or by the
barking of dogs. Occasionally one may catch a glimpse of a brightly
dressed woman working around the hogan or of black-hatted men trotting
their horses between the nearby trading post, cornfields, or peach
orchards. A reserved and dignified people, they still live in the
tradition of their fathers.
The main canyon’s name, de Chelly, stems from the Navajo word “Tsegi”
(pronounced tsay-yih or tsay-yhi and meaning “Rock Canyon”), the name by
which they know the canyon network. Two centuries of Spanish and English
usage have corrupted both the form and pronunciation. Most people now
pronounce it “dah-SHAY” or “d’SHAY.”
The first Europeans to see the extensive ruins in Canyon de Chelly are
unknown. A Spanish map of 1776 indicates its location, and other
documents reveal that Spanish military expeditions sometimes passed
through the neighborhood. In 1805, Spanish troops entered the canyon
while trying to suppress Navajo raids. During the period of Mexican rule
(1821-46), a number of military expeditions against the Navajo invaded
the Canyon de Chelly region. Though the ruins had not been described in
writing, the area was fairly well known, and by 1846, when the “Army of
the West” brought the region under United States control, there were
many tall tales and rumors about the wonderful cities built in the
cliffs.
[Illustration: Archeological excavations in Canyon del Muerto,
1929.]
In 1849, the New Mexico territorial government found it necessary to
request that a U.S. Army expedition be sent to subdue the Navajos. Lt.
J. H. Simpson of the Topographical Engineers accompanied the troops. His
journal, published in 1850, contained the first detailed account of some
of the Canyon de Chelly ruins.
After Simpson’s visit, other military expeditions and a few civilian
parties probably entered the canyons. No archeological investigations
were made, however, until 1882, when James Stevenson surveyed the area
for the Smithsonian Institution, making sketches, photographs, and
ground plans of 46 ruins in the two main canyons.
Stevenson found two mummies in a rock shelter ruin in the northern
canyon. Because of this find the ruin is known as Mummy Cave, and
Stevenson gave the canyon a Spanish name, Canyon de los Muertos, or
canyon of the dead men. The name has since been shortened to del Muerto.
[Illustration: First Ruin in the lower part of Canyon de Chelly. It
has 10 rooms and two kivas.]
Later in 1882, Cosmos Mindeleff, also from the Smithsonian and a member
of Stevenson’s party, mapped the canyons and showed the locations of
some of the larger ruins. Mindeleff’s monumental architectural survey of
the ruins of Canyon de Chelly was published in 1896, after two more
visits.
Much of our knowledge about material objects used by the early Puebloan
inhabitants of the canyons comes from the work of the late Earl H.
Morris, who excavated a number of the important cave sites in the
1920’s. Since then a comprehensive survey of the monument has been
carried out by David L. De Harport for the Peabody Museum of Harvard
University, and additional excavations have been conducted by National
Park Service archeologists.
[Illustration: The upper and lower White House ruins were probably
connected when the ancient Indians lived there.]
The Principal Ruins
Within the national monument are perhaps 800 prehistoric and historic
Indian village sites, representing various stages of Pueblo and later
Navajo cultural development and spanning a period of about 1,800 years.
The most interesting and important ruins are described below.
WHITE HOUSE
Located up the main canyon, about 6 miles from Park Service
headquarters, White House is one of the largest, best preserved, and
most accessible ruins in the monument.
[Illustration: A kiva at the White House ruin, where religious and
other ceremonies were held.]
Lt. J. H. Simpson described this ruin after his 1849 visit, calling it
Casa Blanca (White House). It is also known by its Navajo name,
Kini-na-e-kai. Both names derive from a conspicuous white-plastered wall
in the upper portion.
White House was constructed in two sections; one stands against the base
of the cliff on the canyon floor, and the other is in a small cave
immediately above. Mindeleff estimated that at one time the whole ruin
contained as many as 80 rooms. Much of the lower building has probably
been washed away by the stream nearby (a retaining wall now helps to
prevent this), but evidence of about 60 rooms and 4 kivas (special
ceremonial chambers) still survives.
Behind the back walls of the lower ruin the smooth cliff face rises 35
feet to the floor of the cave above. Marks on the face indicate that at
one time the rooms of the lower building stood several stories high, and
its roof came to within 4 feet of the cave floor above.
[Illustration: This map shows only the principal ruins in the
canyons that are open to visitors. Only some of these are discussed
in the text. The rock formations of these canyons eroded easily,
thus producing the steep cliffs and cave formations that provided
protection for the Anasazi.]
The upper ruin contains 10 rooms and has a large room nearly in the
center of the cave. The outside front wall of this room is 12 feet high
and still has the coating of white gypsum clay plaster with a decorative
band of yellow clay for which the ruin was named.
At the western edge of the lower ruin are the partial remains of two
well-built kivas. One kiva used to have holes in the floor like those
used to support looms in modern Pueblo kivas. The other kiva shows
evidence of six layers of plaster. Modern Zuni Indians have a ceremony
every 4 years in which they replaster the smoke-stained kiva interior,
and this tradition may give some idea of how long this kiva was in use.
A study of the annual growth rings of its roof timbers indicates that
most of the lower ruin was built after A.D. 1070.
ANTELOPE HOUSE
Many large ruins are located in the narrow and twisting Canyon del
Muerto. One of the biggest is Antelope House, some 5 miles above del
Muerto’s junction with Canyon de Chelly. This 40- to 50-room village was
built on the stream bank against the base of a cliff which towers nearly
600 feet above it.
Antelope House received its name from four antelopes painted in tan and
white, about half life size, high on the cliff nearby. Navajo families
living in the canyon believe that these well-executed paintings were
done by Dibe Yazhi (Little Sheep), a Navajo artist who lived here in the
1830’s. Other figures in white paint are probably the work of the
prehistoric inhabitants of Antelope House.
Because it stands on the river bank, Antelope House has also eroded
badly. Yet many of the house walls still rise two and three stories
high, and the masonry outlines of dozens of unexcavated rubble-filled
rooms and of two kivas can still be seen.
[Illustration: Antelope House in Canyon del Muerto is on the canyon
floor under a towering, overhanging cliff.]
[Illustration: An Anasazi pictograph.]
The famous “Burial of the Weaver” was found in a small cliff alcove not
far from Antelope House. The grave was against the cliff, and a curved
masonry wall in front held back the earth. Inside was the tightly flexed
body of an old man lying on his left side. His hair was streaked with
gray and tied back in a bob; a billet of wood served as a pillow. The
body’s outer wrapping was a feather blanket made from the breast down of
golden eagles. Under the feather cloth was a white cotton blanket,
excellently made and appearing as clean and new as if freshly woven; and
under the white blanket was an old gray cotton blanket. Beneath that
blanket, lying on the mummy’s breast, was a single ear of corn.
A reed mat covered the floor of the grave, and the amount and variety of
objects laid away with the body suggest that the individual was highly
respected in life. A long wooden digging stick, broken to fit into the
grave, lay across the burial bundle. Beside this, and also broken, was a
bow so thick that only a powerful arm could have pulled it. With the bow
was a single reed arrow with a fire-hardened wooden point. Five pottery
jars, one broken, together with four bowl-shaped baskets woven from
yucca leaves, were also in the grave. These containers were filled with
cornmeal, shelled corn, four ears of husked corn, pinyon nuts, beans,
and salt. Tightly packed around the body and offerings were thick skeins
of cotton yarn which measured more than 2 miles in length. A spindle
whorl—a wooden disc on a reed stem which probably had been used to spin
the cotton—lay on the yarn.
[Illustration: A National Park Service archeologist examines a
storage jar found at Antelope House.]
STANDING COW
This cave in Canyon del Muerto was named for a large white and blue
pictograph of a cow, drawn in the historic period and undoubtedly the
work of a Navajo. Not much can be seen of this ancient ruin, for Navajos
have lived on the site in recent times and still use the old bins for
storing corn and the leveled areas for drying peaches.
On the cliff near this ruin is an interesting old Navajo painting of
Spanish cavalrymen.
[Illustration: This blue-headed cow, painted by an early Navajo
artist on the shelter wall, gave Standing Cow Ruin its name.]
[Illustration: This Navajo rock painting in Canyon del Muerto shows
a procession of soldiers. It probably records a Spanish expedition
in the 19th century.]
BIG CAVE
One of the largest concentrations of very early material at Canyon de
Chelly came from Big Cave (Tse-Ya-Tso) in Canyon del Muerto. Tree-ring
dates ranging from A.D. 331 to 835 indicate an intensive occupation of
the site in Basketmaker times.
Several burials of interest were found at Big Cave. One was of an old
man who had broken both legs across the shin bones. The fractures were
set so well that only the smallest of bumps were left.
The remains of 14 infants were found in a slab-lined cist used earlier
as a storage bin. Below the infants were the bodies of four other
children packed in an enormous basket. None showed any signs of
violence, and it is thought that some disease must have swept through
the cave, killing many children in a short time.
The unique “Burial of the Hands” was discovered in another part of Big
Cave. This burial consisted of just a pair of arms and hands lying side
by side on a bed of grass. The elbows touched the wall of the cave in a
way that suggested that the rest of the body had not been removed at a
later time. Three necklaces of abalone shell pendants were wrapped
around the wrists, and two pairs of exceptionally fine, unworn sandals,
patterned in black and red, were lying beside the hands, as was a small
basket half full of white shell beads. Another basket nearly 2 feet in
diameter covered the burial. No satisfactory explanation of this burial
has ever been advanced.
[Illustration: Excavations at Big Cave in Canyon del Muerto yielded
valuable artifacts of the Basketmaker period.]
[Illustration: Mummy Cave, bathed in sun with its flanking ruins
almost hidden in shadows.]
MUMMY CAVE
[Illustration: This fretwork design decorates a kiva in Mummy Cave.]
[Illustration: The central tower structure at Mummy Cave shows
strong Mesa Verde affiliations and was constructed in A.D. 1284.]
One of the most beautifully situated ruins in the national monument is
Mummy Cave in Canyon del Muerto 21 miles northeast of park headquarters.
This dwelling, the largest in the canyons, was built in two adjacent
caves about 300 feet up a talus <DW72> from the streambed.
The largest part of the structure, about 55 rooms and 4 kivas, was built
in the eastern cave. The western cave, with about 20 rooms, is now
accessible only by a ledge from the east cave, although traces of an
eroded hand-and-toe trail can be seen leading directly from the top of
the talus to the ruin. Along the ledge connecting the two caves are 15
rooms, including a “tower” house; these are the best preserved of all
the ruins here. Much original plaster in several colors remains on inner
and outer walls throughout the village. Especially notable is the white
clay plaster on the interior of the third story of the tower house and
the red-painted fret design on white plaster in the large kiva of the
east cave.
[Illustration: A Navajo family has settled below the ruins of the
ancient ones in Canyon del Muerto.]
The People of Canyon de Chelly
Though the stunning sheer red cliffs of Canyon de Chelly are easily the
national monument’s most spectacular feature, the area was set aside for
its importance to the study of prehistoric peoples in the Southwest. The
architecture, tools, clothing, ceramics, and other decorative or useful
objects found here contain a comprehensive record of many hundreds of
years of human activity.
Nothing was known about the ancient culture sheltered here until
archeologists began piecing together the information gleaned from Canyon
de Chelly’s many ruins and burials. Their story survived because these
people lived in a physical environment that posed a minimal threat to
normally fragile remains.
Wherever the remains of ancient man occur in the open, building ruins
and some objects of stone, bone, and pottery survive, but those of wood
and fiber disappear completely. Most of what we know about peoples from
the dim past thus comes from materials that have been buried and
protected. For the archeologist there are few better sources of
information than formal burials, which often contain extensive
offerings, and situations like those at Canyon de Chelly and Canyon del
Muerto, where sites served as dwelling places for long periods of time
and the steady accumulation of refuse buried layers of cultural debris.
The extremely arid conditions in the caves of these canyons offered
additional protection. The climate here is so dry that human burials are
perfectly preserved as natural mummies or desiccated bodies (there being
no attempt at artificial preservation by these people), and such fragile
buried objects as baskets more than a thousand years old are in good
condition.
The people who lived at Canyon de Chelly in prehistoric times are today
called the Anasazi, a Navajo word meaning “old people.” These people
were the ancestors of modern Pueblo Indians, and they lived in the
vicinity of northern Arizona and New Mexico, southwestern Colorado, and
southeastern Utah from about the beginning of the Christian era to the
end of the 13th century. Over most of that period they lived in these
canyons. Before they learned to build in the cliffs they located and
constructed their houses much differently. But the canyons always
sheltered them, and their homes, their dead, and their debris tell us
how it was with these people from the beginning to the end of their time
here.
[Illustration: These bone tools were used to work leather and weave
baskets.]
THE ANASAZI
Early man, a nomadic hunter of big-game animals, came to the Americas
from Asia over the Bering Strait some time between 20,000 and 15,000
B.C. Thousands of years later, after the big animals had become extinct,
larger bands of hunters and gatherers preyed on game animals of species
still living today. Still later, groups began to settle in favorable
areas and to grow maize (corn), which reached them from more complex
cultures in what is now Mexico. From this time on, the spread and
development of prehistoric Indian cultures in the northern Southwest can
be traced in increasing detail.
No one knows exactly when the first people arrived in the Canyon de
Chelly area. But a tree-ring date of A.D. 306 from the West Alcove at
Mummy Cave and the accumulation of sweepings and ashes at this site
suggest that people were living in Canyon del Muerto at about the
beginning of the Christian era.
These early people were primarily farmers rather than nomadic hunters,
although they still depended to some extent on game animals for food.
They established their homes in the shelter of the many caves and
alcoves in the canyon walls, and farmed the mesa tops and canyon
bottoms. Dogs were their only domestic animal, and corn was their major
crop and main source of food. Squashes (pumpkins) were grown in some
quantity, and beans were introduced at an early time. Pinyon nuts and
acorns, sunflower seeds, yucca and cactus fruit, and small seeds of
other wild plants were gathered for food.
[Illustration: This burial at Sliding Rock Ruin shows pottery,
baskets, corn, and the remains of a blanket used in the day-to-day
life of the Anasazi.]
[Illustration: Ring-baskets of split yucca leaves have been in
common use from about A.D. 1100 to the present.]
[Illustration: This coiled basket was used for carrying burdens.]
[Illustration: Indian women fastened | 2,372.420701 |
2023-11-16 18:56:36.4981450 | 3,418 | 7 |
Produced by the Mormon Texts Project,
http://bencrowder.net/books/mtp. Volunteers: Eric Heaps
with a little help from Benjamin Bytheway and Ben Crowder.
_The_ Mormons _and the_ Theatre
OR
_The History of Theatricals in Utah_
With Reminiscences and Comments
Humorous and Critical
_By_ JOHN S. LINDSAY
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH
1905
CHAPTER I.
In rather sharp contrast to other Christian denominations, the Mormons
believe in and are fond of dancing and the theatre. So much is this
the case that Friday evening of each week during the amusement season
is set apart by them in all the settlements throughout Mormondom for
their dance night. Their dances are generally under the supervision of
the presiding bishop and are invariably opened with prayer or
invocation, and closed or dismissed in the same manner, with a brief
return of thanks to the Almighty for the good time they have enjoyed.
The theatre is so popular among the Mormon people, that in almost
every town and settlement throughout their domains there is an amateur
dramatic company.
It is scarcely to be wondered at that Salt Lake has the enviable
distinction of being the best show town of its population in the
United States, and when we say that, we may as well say in the whole
world. It is a well established fact that Salt Lake spends more money
per capita in the theatre than any city in our country.
Such a social condition among a strictly religious people is not
little peculiar, and is due, largely, to the fact that Brigham Young
was himself fond of the dance and also of the theatre. He could "shake
a leg" with the best of them, and loved to lead the fair matrons and
maidens of his flock forth into its giddy, bewildering mazes. Certain
round dances, the waltz and polka, were always barred at dances
Brigham Young attended, and only the old-fashioned quadrilles and
cotillions and an occasional reel like Sir Roger de Coverly or the
Money Musk were tolerated by the great Mormon leader.
That Brigham Young was fond of the theatre also, and gave great
encouragement to it, his building of the Salt Lake Theatre was a
striking proof. He recognized the natural desire for innocent
amusement, and the old axiom "All work and no play makes Jack a dull
boy," had its full weight of meaning to him. Keep the people in a
pleasurable mood, then they will not be apt to brood and ponder over
the weightier concerns of life.
There may have been a stroke of this policy in Brigham Young's
amusement scheme; but whether so or not he must be credited with both
wisdom and liberality, for the policy certainly lightened the cares
and made glad the hearts of the people.
Although Salt Lake City has been the chief nursery of these twin
sources of amusement for the Mormon people, to find the cradle in
which they were first nursed into life, we will have to go back to a
time and place anterior to the settlement of Salt Lake. Back in the
days of Nauvoo, before Brigham Young was chief of the Mormon church,
under the rule of its original prophet, Joseph Smith, the Mormon
people were encouraged in the practice of dancing and going to witness
plays. Indeed, the Mormons have always been a fun-loving people; it is
recorded of their founder and prophet that he was so fond of fun that
he would often indulge in a foot race, or pulling sticks, or even a
wrestling match. He often amazed and sometimes shocked the
sensibilities of the more staid and pious members of his flock by his
antics.
Before the Mormons ever dreamed of emigrating to Utah (or Mexico, as
it was then), they had what they called a "Fun Hall," or theatre and
dance hall combined, where they mingled occasionally in the merry
dance or sat to witness a play. Then, as later in Salt Lake, their
prophet led them through the mazy evolutions of the terpsichorean
numbers and was the most conspicuous figure at all their social
gatherings.
While building temples and propagating their new revelation to the
world, the Mormons have always found time to sing and dance and play
and have a pleasant social time, excepting, of course, in their days
of sore trial. Indeed, they are an anomaly among religious sects in
this respect, and that is what has made Salt Lake City proverbially a
"great show town."
Mormonism during the Nauvoo days had numerous missionaries in the
field and many converts were added to the new faith. Among others that
were attracted to the modern Mecca to look into the claims of the new
evangel, was Thomas A. Lyne, known more familiarly among his
theatrical associates as "Tom" Lyne.
Lyne, at this time, 1842, was an actor of wide and fair repute, in the
very flush of manhood, about thirty-five years of age. He had played
leading support to Edwin Forrest, the elder Booth, Charlotte Cushman,
Ellen Tree (before she became Mrs. Charles Kean), besides having
starred in all the popular classic roles. Lyne was the second actor in
the United States to essay the character of Bulwer's Richelieu--Edwin
Forrest being the first.
The story of "Tom" Lyne's conversion to the Mormon faith created quite
a sensation in theatrical circles of the time, and illustrates the
great proselyting power the elders of the new religion possessed.
Lyne, when he encountered Mormonism, was a skeptic, having outgrown
belief in all of the creeds. It was in 1841 that George J. Adams, a
brother-in-law of Lyne's, turned up suddenly in Philadelphia (Lyne's
home) where he met the popular actor and told him the story of his
conversion to the Mormon faith. Adams had been to Nauvoo, met the
prophet and become one of his most enthusiastic disciples. Adams had
been an actor, also, of more than mediocre ability, and as a preacher
proved to be one of the most brilliant and successful expounders of
the new religion. Elder Adams had been sent as a missionary to
Philadelphia in the hope that his able exposition of the new evangel
would convert that staid city of brotherly love to the new and
everlasting covenant.
In pursuance of the New Testament injunction, the Mormon missionaries
are sent out into their fields of labor without purse or scrip, so
Elder Adams, on arriving at his field of labor, lost no time in
hunting up his brother-in-law, "Tom" Lyne, to whom he related with
dramatic fervor and religious enthusiasm the story of his wonderful
conversion, his subsequent visit to Nauvoo, his meeting with the young
"Mohammed of the West," for whom he had conceived the greatest
admiration, as well as a powerful testimony of the divinity of his
mission.
Adams was so convincing and made such an impression on Lyne that he at
once became greatly interested in the Mormon prophet and his new
revelation. This proved to be a great help to Elder Adams, who was
entirely without "the sinews of war" with which to start his great
campaign.
The brothers-in-law put their heads together in council as to how the
campaign fund was to be raised, and the result was that they decided
to rent a theatre, get a company together, and play "Richard III" for
a week. Lyne was a native of Philadelphia and at this time one of its
most popular actors. It was here that Adams had met him a few years
before and had given him his sister in marriage.
The theatrical venture was carried through, Lyne playing Richard and
Elder Adams, Richmond. The week's business, after paying all expenses,
left a handsome profit. Lyne generously donated his share to the new
cause in which he had now grown so deeply interested and Elder Adams
procured a suitable hall and began his missionary labors. His eloquent
exposition of the new and strange religion won many to the faith; one
of the first fruits of his labors being the conversion of Thomas A.
Lyne.
Such an impression had Adams's description of the Mormon prophet and
the City of the Saints (Nauvoo) made upon Lyne that he could not rest
satisfied until he went and saw for himself. He packed up his wardrobe
and took the road for Nauvoo. With a warm letter of introduction from
Elder Adams to the prophet, it was not long before Lyne was thoroughly
ingratiated in the good graces of the Mormon people. He met the
prophet Joseph, was enchanted with him, and readily gave his adherence
to the new and strange doctrines which the prophet advanced, but
whether with an eye single to his eternal salvation or with both eyes
open to a lucrative engagement "this deponent saith not."
The story runs that after a long sojourn with the Saints in Nauvoo,
during which he played a round of his favorite characters, supported
by a full Mormon cast, he bade the prophet and his followers a
sorrowful farewell and returned to his accustomed haunts in the
vicinity of Liberty Hall.
During his stay in Nauvoo, Mr. Lyne played quite a number of classical
plays, including "William Tell," "Virginius," "Damon and Pythias,"
"The Iron Chest," and "Pizarro." In the latter play, he had no less a
personage than Brigham Young in the cast; he was selected to play the
part of the Peruvian high priest, and is said to have led the singing
in the Temple scene where the Peruvians offer up sacrifice and sing
the invocation for Rolla's victory. Brigham Young is said to have
taken a genuine interest in the character of the high priest and to
have played it with becoming dignity and solemnity. Here was an early
and unmistakable proof of Brigham Young's love for the drama.
Mr. Lyne, while relating this Nauvoo incident in his experience to the
writer, broke into a humorous vein and remarked:
"I've always regretted having cast Brigham Young for that part of the
high priest."
"Why?" I inquired, with some surprise.
With a merry twinkle in his eye and a sly chuckle in his voice, he
replied: "Why don't you see John, he's been playing the character with
great success ever since."
There are still a few survivors of the old Nauvoo dramatic company,
who supported "Tom" Lyne, living in Salt Lake. Bishop Clawson, one of
the first managers of the Salt Lake theatre, is among them.
Lyne played a winning hand at Nauvoo. He made a great hit with the
prophet, who took such a fancy to him that he wanted to ordain him and
send him on a mission, thinking that Lyne's elecutionary powers would
make him a great preacher. But "Tom" had not become sufficiently
enthused over the prophet's revelations to abjure the profession he so
dearly loved, and become a traveling elder going about from place to
place without purse or scrip, instead of a popular actor who was in
demand at a good sized salary.
Lyne had made his visit remunerative and had enshrined himself in the
hearts of the Mormon people, as the sequel will show: but he drifted
away from them as unexpectedly as he had come. Having become a convert
to the new religion, it was confidently expected that he would remain
among the Saints and be one of them; but he drifted away from them and
the Mormons saw no more of "Tom" Lyne till he turned up in Salt Lake
twenty years later, soon after the opening of the Salt Lake Theatre.
Lyne was the first star to tread its stage and played quite a number
of engagements during the years from '62 to '70. He made money enough
out of his engagements at the Salt Lake Theatre to live on for the
remainder of his days. For the last twenty years of his life, he
rarely appeared in public except to give a reading occasionally. With
his French wife, Madeline, he settled down and took life easy, living
cosily in his own cottage, and in 1891 at the advanced age of
eighty-four Thomas A. Lyne passed peacefully away, a firm believer in
a life to come but at utter variance with the Mormon creed, which he
had discarded soon after his departure from Nauvoo.
CHAPTER II.
Thus far into the bowels of the land
Have we marched on without impediment.
--Shakespeare.
When the Mormons came from Nauvoo to Salt Lake they brought with them
to this wilderness in the Rocky Mountains, the love of the drama, and
as a consequence it was not long, only a few years from 1847 to 1850,
before they began to long for something in the way of a theatre.
The pleasant recollections of the drama as interpreted at Nauvoo by
Mr. Lyne and his supporting cast, were still fresh in their memories,
and almost before many of them had comfortable houses to live in they
began to yearn for some dramatic amusement. As a result of this strong
inclination for the play and a still more universal desire for
dancing, it was but a short time before their wishes materialized.
As early as the fall of 1850 they had formed a club called the Musical
and Dramatic Association. The name was a comprehensive one,
intentionally so, for the organization included the celebrated "Nauvoo
Brass Band," a number of whose members also figured in the dramatic
company. Indeed it was from this musical organization that the
dramatic company really sprang.
The members of this original dramatic company were John Kay, Hyrum B.
Clawson, Philip Margetts, Horace K. Whitney, Robert Campbell, R. T.
Burton, George B. Grant, Edmond Ellsworth, Henry Margetts, Edward
Martin, William Cutler, William Clayton, Miss Drum, Miss Margaret
Judd, and Miss Mary Badlam. Miss Badlam, in addition to playing parts,
was very popular as a dancer and gave her dancing specialties between
the acts, making something like our up-to-date continuous performance.
The first public dramatic performances were given in the "Bowery" (a
very reminiscent name for a New York theatre goer of that day). "The
Bowery" in this case was a summer place of worship which stood on the
Temple Block near where the big Tabernacle now stands. In this place
of worship as early as the year 1850, with the aid of a little
home-made scenery and a little crude furniture, were the first plays
presented to a Salt Lake audience.
The first bill consisted of the old serio-comic drama, "Robert
Macaire, or the Two Murderers," dancing by Miss Badlam, and the farce
of the "Dead Shot."
Judging by their titles, these plays were rather a gruesome selection
to play in a church. As it is a matter of historic interest the cast
so far as procurable is appended of "Robert Macaire:"
Robert Macaire................................. John Kay
Jacque Stropp............................. H. B. Clawson
Pierre.................................. Philip Margetts
Waiter.................................. Robert Campbell
Clementina................................ Margaret Judd
Celeste....................................... Miss Orum
Several other plays were given during this first dramatic season and
were creditably performed, affording pleasure both to the audiences
and actors; the only remuneration the actors received, by the way, for | 2,372.518185 |
2023-11-16 18:56:36.7060690 | 1,802 | 6 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Quentin Campbell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold
text by =equal signs=.
THE BRITISH WOODLICE.
This monograph first appeared in the "Essex Naturalist" (Volume XIV.,
1905-6) and has been republished by special arrangement with the
Council of the Essex Field Club.
THE BRITISH WOODLICE.
BEING
A MONOGRAPH OF THE TERRESTRIAL ISOPOD CRUSTACEA
OCCURRING IN THE BRITISH ISLANDS.
BY
WILFRED MARK WEBB, F.L.S.,
_Lecturer on Biology and Nature Study to the Surrey County Council,
Honorary Secretary of the Selborne Society, Sometime, Senior Assistant
Lecturer on Biology to the Essex County Council, and Editor of the
Journal of Malacology, Joint Author of_ "Eton Nature Study and
Observational Lessons."
AND
CHARLES SILLEM.
WITH TWENTY-FIVE PLATES AND FIFTY-NINE FIGURES IN THE TEXT.
LONDON:
DUCKWORTH & CO.,
3, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
1906.
PREFACE.
In Professor Sars' "Crustacea of Norway," quite a number of the British
species of woodlice are figured in detail and described in English, but
few copies of this fine work are to be met with in our country. The
Rev. Canon Norman has from time to time published notes on the British
species in "The Annals and Magazine of Natural History;" these are,
however, scattered, and contain but few figures, while other literature
that exists is out of date. Under these circumstances, we have thought
that the following account and figures of all the British species would
be useful to those anxious to work at the woodlice, and might also
encourage others to pay attention to the distribution and habits of the
interesting tribe to which they belong.
The writers would welcome any corrections or additions in view of a
second edition.
W.M.W.
C.S.
ODSTOCK, HANWELL, _December, 1905_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Introduction 1
Geological history 1
External structure and appendages 2
Alimentary canal 6
Circulatory system 7
Excretory system 7
Nervous system 8
Reproductive organs 8
Development 9
Habits and Economic considerations 12
Local names 15
Methods of collections and preservation 16
Classification 17
Scheme of classification and synopsis of generic characters 18
British Species 19
Section--Ligiae 19
Family--Ligiidae 19
Genus--Ligia Fabricius 19
_Ligia oceanica_ Linze 19
Genus--Ligidium Brandt 21
_Ligidium hypnorum_ Cuvier 21
Family--Trichoniscidae 22
Genus--Trichoniscus Brandt 22
_Trichoniscus pusillus_ Brandt 22
_Trichoniscus vividus_ Koch 23
_Trichoniscus roseus_ Koch 24
Genus--Trichoniscoides, Sars 25
_Trichoniscoides albidus_ Budde-Lund 25
Genus--Haplophthalmus Schobl 26
_Haplophthalmus mengii_ Zaddach 26
_Haplophthalmus danicus_ Budde-Lund 27
Family--Oniscidae 27
Genus--Oniscus Linne 27
_Oniscus asellus_ Linne 27
Genus--Philoscia Latreille 29
_Philoscia muscorum_ Scopoli 29
_Philoscia couchii_ Kinahan 30
Genus--Platyarthrus Brandt 30
_Platyarthrus hoffmannseggii_ Brandt 30
Genus--Porcellio Latreille 32
_Porcellio scaber_ Latreille 32
_Porcellio pictus_ Brandt and Ratzeburg 33
_Porcellio dilatatus_ Brandt 33
_Porcellio rathkei_ Brandt 34
_Porcellio laevis_ Latreille 35
_Porcellio ratzeburgii_ Brandt 36
Genus--Metoponorthus Budde-Lund 37
_Metoponorthus pruinosus_ Brandt 37
_Metoponorthus cingendus_ Kinahan 38
Genus--Cylisticus Schnitzler 38
_Cylisticus convexus_ De Geer 39
Family--Armadillidiidae 40
Genus--Armadillidium Brandt 40
_Armadillidium nasatum_ Budde-Lund 40
_Armadillidium vulgare_ Latreille 41
_Armadillidium pulchellum_ Zencker 42
_Armadillidium depressum_ Brandt 43
Distribution of species 43
Conclusion 43
Bibliography 49
LIST OF FIGURES.
PLATES I.-XXV. with a List, will be found at the end of the Book.
FIGURE. PAGE.
1. Parts of the body (_Oniscus asellus_) 2
2. The first antenna (_Oniscus asellus_) 2
3. The second antenna (_Oniscus asellus_) 3
4. The underside of the head (_Oniscus asellus_) 3
5. The mandibles (_Oniscus asellus_) 4
6. The first maxillae (_Oniscus asellus_) 4
7. The second maxillae (_Oniscus asellus_) 4
8. The fused maxillipeds (_Oniscus asellus_) 4
9. The "upper lip" (_Oniscus asellus_) 5
10. The "lower lip" (_Oniscus asellus_) 5
11. A typical thoracic segment (_Oniscus asellus_) 5
12. The fifth thoracic segment of a female
(_Oniscus asellus_) 5
13. The underside of the abdomen of a female
(_Oniscus asellus_) 6
14. A typical abdominal appendage
(_Oniscus asellus_) 6
15. The first abdominal appendage of the male
(_Oniscus asellus_) 6
16. The second abdominal appendage of the male
(_Oniscus asellus_) 6
17. The alimentary canal (_Oniscus asellus_) 7
18. The circulatory system (_Oniscus asellus_) 7
19. The nervous system (_Oniscus asellus_) 8
20. Female reproductory organs (_Oniscus asellus_) 8
21. The male reproductory organs (_Oniscus asellus_) 9
22. The fertilized egg (_Porcellio sc | 2,372.726109 |
2023-11-16 18:56:37.2342320 | 2,599 | 38 |
Produced by Charles Aldarondo
THE YOUNG EXPLORER
OR
CLAIMING HIS FORTUNE
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
NEW YORK
CONTENTS.
I. Ben's Inheritance
II. Deacon Pitkin's Offer
III. Sam Sturgis' New Idea
IV. A Brilliant Chance
V. In Search of a Place
VI. Mr. Fitch, The Senior Partner
VII. Ben's Dinner Guest
VIII. A Strange Acquaintance
IX. At the Astor House
X. Ben Receives a Call
XI. Miss Sinclair's Stratagem
XII. In San Francisco
XIII. Preliminary Arrangements
XIV. The Canon Hotel
XV. A Polite Hostess
XVI. A New Acquaintance
XVII. A Tight Place
XVIII. An Evening Call
XIX. Ben's Midnight Excursion
XX. A Thief's Disappointment
XXI. Ben's Savings-Bank
XXII. The Arrival at Murphy's
XXIII. Among the Sierras
XXIV. Beaten at His Own Game
XXV. The Horse-Thieves
XXVI. What Next?
XXVII Ki Sing
XXVIII. The Duel of the Miners
XXIX. Chinese Cheap Labor
XXX. A Midnight Visit
XXXI. On the Mountain Path
XXXII. The Mountain Cabin
THE YOUNG EXPLORER
CHAPTER I.
BEN'S INHERITANCE.
"I've settled up your father's estate, Benjamin," said Job Stanton.
"You'll find it all figgered out on this piece of paper. There was
that two-acre piece up at Rockville brought seventy-five dollars,
the medder fetched a hundred and fifty, the two cows--"
"How much does it all come to, Uncle Job?" interrupted Ben, who was
impatient of details.
"Hadn't you better let me read off the items, nephew?" asked Job,
looking over his spectacles.
"No, Uncle Job. I know you've done your best for me, and there's no
need of your going through it all. How much is there left after all
expenses are paid?"
"That's what I was a-comin' to, Ben. I make it out that there's
three hundred and sixty-five dollars and nineteen cents. That's a
dollar for every day in the year. It's a good deal of money, Ben."
"So it is, Uncle Job," answered Ben, and he was quite sincere. There
are not many boys of sixteen to whom this would not seem a large
sum.
"You're rich; that is, for a boy," added Uncle Job.
"It's more than I expected, uncle. I want you to take fifteen
dollars and nineteen cents. That'll leave me just three hundred and
fifty."
"Why should I take any of your money, nephew?"
"You've had considerable trouble in settling up the estate, and it's
taken a good deal of your time, too."
"My time ain't of much vally, and as to the trouble, it's a pity ef
I can't take some trouble for my brother's son. No, Ben, I won't
take a cent. You'll need it all."
"But you said yourself it was a good deal of money for a boy, Uncle
Job."
"So it is, but it's all you've got. Most boys have fathers to take
care of 'em, while you're alone in the world."
"Yes I am alone in the world," said Ben sadly, his cheerful face
clouding over.
"But you've got an uncle, lad," continued Job Stanton, laying his
hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "He's a poor man, but as much as
in him lies, he'll be your friend and helper."
"I know it, Uncle Job. You've always been kind to me."
"And allus will be, Ben. Now, Ben, I've got a plan for you. I don't
know what you'll think of it, but it's the best I've been able to
think of."
"What is it, Uncle Job?"
"Ef you'll stay with me and help me in the shop, I'll give you a
home, such as it is, and fifty dollars a year toward your clothes.
Your Aunt Hannah and your Cousin Jane want you to make your home
with us."
"I'm very much obliged to you, Uncle Job," said Ben slowly.
"You needn't be, boy. It's a sort of mutooal arrangement. It'll be
as good for me as for you. You can put your money in the bank, and
let it stay till you're twenty-one. Why, it'll be nigh on to five
hunderd dollars by that time."
"I'm much obliged to you, Uncle Job, as I said before, but there's
one thing in the way."
"What's that, Ben?"
"I don't like shoemaking."
"Perhaps it isn't genteel enough for you, Ben," said his uncle.
"I don't care for that, Uncle Job, but I don't like being shut up in
a shop. Besides, it doesn't give steady work. Last year you were
without work at least a third of the time."
"So I was, Ben," said Job. "I'm willin' to own that's a great
drawback."
"And it isn't likely to be any better hereafter. Last year was as
good as the average."
"It was better," Job admitted. "The year before I was out of work
five months."
"Well, Uncle Job, I want to work at something that'll give me
employment all the year round."
"So do I, Ben, but I don't see what you can find, unless you go to
work on a farm. You're used to that, and I guess you could find a
chance before long. There's Deacon Pitkin wants a boy, and would be
glad of the chance of gettin' you."
"I suppose he would," said Ben, laughing. "Would you advise me to go
there?"
"Well, there might be some objections, but-"
"You know I wouldn't get enough to eat, Uncle Job," interrupted
Ben. "Why, Deacon Pitkin's the meanest man in the village."
"You mustn't be hasty in your judgments, nephew."
"I'm not. I know what I'm talking about. I worked for the deacon two
days once. He gave me ten cents a day and board-and such board! Why,
I got up from the table hungry every meal, and yet the deacon
reported afterward that I was a great eater. Mrs. Pitkin cuts a
small pie into eight pieces, each about two mouthfuls, and when I
asked for a second piece, she asked if I was allowed to have two
pieces at home."
"What did you say?" asked Uncle Job, evidently amused.
"I said yes, and that each piece was twice as big as she gave."
"I'm afraid that was rather forward, Ben. Did she say anything to
that?"
"She said I must be very greedy, and that boys always ate more'n was
good for 'em. No, Uncle Job, I don't care to work for Deacon
Pitkin."
"Have you formed any plans, Ben? You don't want to go on a farm, and
you don't want to go into a shoeshop, and that's about all you can
find to do in Hampton."
"I don't mean to stay in Hampton," said Ben quietly.
"Don't mean to stay in Hampton!" exclaimed Uncle Joe, amazed.
"No, uncle. There's a good many places besides Hampton in the
world."
"So there is, Ben," answered Uncle Job, with a disregard of grammar
more excusable than his nephew's, for he had never had any special
educational advantages,-"so there is, but you don't know anybody in
them other places."
"It won't take me long to get acquainted," returned Ben, not at all
disturbed by this consideration.
"Where do you want to go?"
"I want to go to California."
"Gracious sakes! Want to go to California!" gasped Job. "What put
that idee into your head?"
"A good many people are going there, and there's a chance to get
rich quick out among the gold-mines."
"But you're only a boy."
"I'm a pretty large boy, Uncle Job," said Ben complacently, "and I'm
pretty strong."
"So you be, Ben, but it takes more than strength."
"What more, Uncle Job?"
"It takes judgment."
"Can't a boy have judgment?"
"Waal, he may have some, but you don't often find an old head on
young shoulders."
"I know all that, uncle, but I can work if I am a boy."
"I know you're willin' to work, Ben, but it'll cost a sight of money
to get out to Californy to start with."
"I know that. It will take two hundred dollars."
"And that's more'n half of all you've got. It seems to me temptin'
Providence to spend such a sight of money for the chance of earning
some on t'other side of the world, when you can get a livin' here
and put all your money in the bank."
"In five years it would only amount to five hundred dollars, and if
I go to California, I expect to be worth a good deal more than that
before two years are past."
"I'm afraid you've got large idees, Ben."
"You won't interfere with my going, Uncle Job?" asked Ben anxiously.
"I won't actooly interfere, but I'll do all I can to have you give
it up."
"But if my mind is set upon it, you'll let me go, won't you, uncle?"
"I suppose I must," said Job Stanton. "A wilful lad must have his
way. But you mustn't blame me if things turn out unlucky."
"No, I shall only blame myself."
"There's one promise you must make me," said his uncle.
"What is that?"
"Take a week to consider whether you hadn't better take my advice
and stay at home."
"Yes, uncle, I'll promise that."
"And you'll think it over in all its bearin's?"
"Yes, uncle."
"It ain't best to take any important step without reflection, Ben."
"You're right, uncle."
This conversation took place in Job Stanton's little shoe-shop, only
a rod distant from the small, plain house which he had occupied ever
since he had been married. It was interrupted by the appearance of a
pretty girl of fourteen, who, presenting herself at the door of the
shop, called out:
"Supper's ready, father."
"So are we, Jennie," said Ben, promptly.
"You are always ready to eat, Ben," said his cousin, smiling.
"That's what Mrs. Pitkin used to think, Jennie. She used to watch
every mouthful I took."
CHAPTER II.
DEACON PITKIN'S OFFER.
Ben's father had died three months before. He had lost his mother
when ten years old, and having neither brother nor sister was left
quite alone in the world. At one time his father had possessed a few
thousand dollars, but by unlucky investments he had lost nearly all,
so that Ben's inheritance amounted to less than four hundred
dollars.
This thought troubled Mr. Stanton, and on his death-bed he spoke
about it to his son.
"I shall leave you almost destitute, Ben," he said. "If I had acted
more wisely it would have been different."
"Don't trouble yourself about that, father," said Ben promptly. "I
am young and strong, and I shall be sure to get along."
"You will have to work hard, and the world is a hard taskmaster."
"I don't feel afraid, father. I am sure I shall succeed."
The dying father was cheered by Ben's confident words. Our hero was
strong and sturdy, his limbs active, and his face ruddy with health.
He looked like a boy who could get along. He was not a | 2,373.254272 |
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Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
A QUEEN OF TEARS
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
THE LOVE OF
AN UNCROWNED QUEEN:
SOPHIE DOROTHEA, CONSORT OF GEORGE I.,
AND HER CORRESPONDENCE WITH PHILIP
CHRISTOPHER, COUNT KONIGSMARCK.
NEW AND REVISED EDITION.
_With 24 Portraits and Illustrations._
_8vo., 12s. 6d. net._
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.,
LONDON, NEW YORK AND BOMBAY.
[Illustration:
_Queen Matilda in the uniform of Colonel of the Holstein Regiment of
Guards._
_After the painting by Als, 1770._]
A QUEEN OF TEARS
CAROLINE MATILDA, QUEEN OF
DENMARK AND NORWAY AND
PRINCESS OF GREAT BRITAIN
AND IRELAND
BY
W. H. WILKINS
_M.A._, _F.S.A._
_Author of "The Love of an Uncrowned Queen," and
"Caroline the Illustrious, Queen Consort of George II."_
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II.
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
1904
CONTENTS
PAGE
CONTENTS v
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS vii
CHAPTER I.
THE TURN OF THE TIDE 1
CHAPTER II.
THE GATHERING STORM 23
CHAPTER III.
THE MASKED BALL 45
CHAPTER IV.
THE PALACE REVOLUTION 63
CHAPTER V.
THE TRIUMPH OF THE QUEEN-DOWAGER 88
CHAPTER VI.
"A DAUGHTER OF ENGLAND" 110
CHAPTER VII.
THE IMPRISONED QUEEN 129
CHAPTER VIII.
THE DIVORCE OF THE QUEEN 149
CHAPTER IX.
THE TRIALS OF STRUENSEE AND BRANDT 177
CHAPTER X.
THE EXECUTIONS 196
CHAPTER XI.
THE RELEASE OF THE QUEEN 216
CHAPTER XII.
REFUGE AT CELLE 239
CHAPTER XIII.
THE RESTORATION PLOT 268
CHAPTER XIV.
THE DEATH OF THE QUEEN 295
CHAPTER XV.
RETRIBUTION 315
APPENDIX.
LIST OF AUTHORITIES 327
INDEX 331
CATALOG
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
QUEEN MATILDA IN THE UNIFORM OF COLONEL OF THE
HOLSTEIN REGIMENT OF GUARDS. (_Photogravure._)
_From a Painting by Als, 1770_ _Frontispiece_
THE ROSENBORG CASTLE, COPENHAGEN _Facing page_ 6
STRUENSEE. _From the Painting by Jens Juel, 1771, now
in the possession of Count Bille-Brahe_ " " 20
ENEVOLD BRANDT. _From a Miniature at Frederiksborg_ " " 38
QUEEN JULIANA MARIA, STEP-MOTHER OF CHRISTIAN VII.
_From the Painting by Clemens_ " " 54
KING CHRISTIAN VII.'S NOTE TO QUEEN MATILDA INFORMING
HER OF HER ARREST " " 74
THE ROOM IN WHICH QUEEN MATILDA WAS IMPRISONED
AT KRONBORG _Page_ 85
COUNT BERNSTORFF _Facing page_ 96
FREDERICK, HEREDITARY PRINCE OF DENMARK, STEP-BROTHER
OF CHRISTIAN VII. " " 108
THE COURTYARD OF THE CASTLE AT KRONBORG. _From
an Engraving_ " " 130
RÖSKILDE CATHEDRAL, WHERE THE KINGS AND QUEENS
OF DENMARK ARE BURIED " " 150
THE GREAT COURT OF FREDERIKSBORG PALACE. _From
a Painting by Heinrich Hansen_ " " 172
THE DOCKS, COPENHAGEN, _TEMP. 1770_ " " 184
THE MARKET PLACE AND TOWN HALL, COPENHAGEN,
_TEMP. 1770_ " " 184
STRUENSEE IN HIS DUNGEON. _From a Contemporary Print_ " " 198
SIR ROBERT MURRAY KEITH, K.C.B " " 218
A VIEW OF ELSINORE, SHOWING THE CASTLE OF KRONBORG.
_From the Drawing by C. F. Christensen_ " " 234
THE CASTLE OF CELLE: THE APARTMENTS OF QUEEN
MATILDA WERE IN THE TOWER " " 246
QUEEN MATILDA. _From the Painting formerly at Celle_ " " 256
AUGUSTA, PRINCESS OF GREAT BRITAIN AND DUCHESS
OF BRUNSWICK, SISTER OF QUEEN MATILDA. _From
the Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds_ " " 266
LOUISE AUGUSTA, PRINCESS OF DENMARK AND DUCHESS
OF AUGUSTENBURG, DAUGHTER OF QUEEN MATILDA " " 284
THE CHURCH AT CELLE, WHERE QUEEN MATILDA IS
BURIED. _From a Photograph_ " " 300
THE MEMORIAL ERECTED TO QUEEN MATILDA IN THE
FRENCH GARDEN OF CELLE " " 312
FREDERICK, CROWN PRINCE OF DENMARK (AFTERWARDS
KING FREDERICK VI.), SON OF QUEEN MATILDA " " 324
CHAPTER I.
THE TURN OF THE TIDE.
1771.
Struensee had now reached the highest pinnacle of power, but no
sooner did he gain it than the whole edifice, which he had reared
with consummate care, began to tremble and to rock; it threatened
to collapse into ruins and involve in destruction not only the man
who built it, but those who had aided him in the task. The winter of
1770- | 2,373.284042 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Graeme Mackreth and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
ANNALS OF A FORTRESS.
[Illustration: MAP OF THE LAND OF OHET.]
ANNALS OF A FORTRESS.
BY
E. VIOLLET-LE-DUC.
TRANSLATED BY BENJAMIN BUCKNALL,
ARCHITECT.
[Illustration]
BOSTON:
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,
LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO.
1876.
UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.,
CAMBRIDGE.
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.
The Fortress whose transmutations during successive ages are so vividly
described in the following pages is an ideal one; its supposed situation
is on the Cousin, an affluent of the Saone. The practical genius of the
author indicates the position which, in view of the new eastern
frontier, should be fortified in order to command the Saone.
To his unrivalled talent as an architect, Monsieur Viollet-le-Duc adds
the highest qualifications of the military engineer. In this branch of
applied science he is a recognised authority; and it may not be out of
place to notice here that he was frequently consulted by the late
Emperor respecting the permanent defences of the country. It is not too
much to assert that if his recommendations had been carried out the
investment of Paris would have been rendered impossible, whilst the
progress of the German invasion elsewhere would have been attended with
greater difficulties. As colonel of engineers, no officer displayed
greater energy, skill, or bravery, in the defence of the city; and every
operation planned and directed by him during the siege was successful.
Within two or three days after the signing of the armistice, the
Germans had done their utmost to destroy all evidences of their works of
investment. Nothing, however, had escaped the vigilant eye of M.
Viollet-le-Duc. In that brief space of time he had surveyed and
accurately noted all these works of investment; plans and descriptions
of which are given in his interesting memoir of the siege. Upon the
outbreak of the Commune, he was solicited by its chiefs to take the
military command; and had he not made a timely escape would probably
have paid the penalty of his life for refusing that questionable honour.
From his retreat at Pierrefonds he was recalled by General MacMahon, to
assist the Versailles troops in re-entering Paris. It is deserving of
mention that in his absence a devoted band of craftsmen thrice gallantly
defended his house from being burnt and pillaged.
In presenting the _Histoire d'une Forteresse_ in an English form, the
translator has considered it impossible to do justice to the original
without adhering to its archaic style and manner; and aware that a
translation must lose something either in point of sense or style, his
chief | 2,373.357668 |
2023-11-16 18:56:37.7341180 | 7,426 | 7 |
Transcribed from the 1849-1850 Darton and Co. edition by David Price,
ccx074@pglaf.org
{The Young Lord's accident: p0.jpg}
THE YOUNG LORD,
AND
Other Tales.
BY MRS. CROSLAND,
(LATE CAMILLA TOULMIN.)
TO WHICH IS ADDED,
VICTORINE DUROCHER.
BY MRS. SHERWOOD.
LONDON:
DARTON AND CO., HOLBORN HILL.
1849-50.
LONDON:
GEORGE WOODFALL AND SON,
ANGEL COURT, SKINNER STREET.
{Decorative title page: p1.jpg}
THE YOUNG LORD;
AND
THE TRIAL OF ADVERSITY.
BY MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND,
(LATE CAMILLA TOULMIN.)
THE YOUNG LORD.
"Lay not up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust do
corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal.
"But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor
rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal.
"For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."--ST.
MATT. vi. 19, 20, 21.
"How can we reward the little boy who has so honestly brought me the
bracelet I lost at church yesterday?" said Mrs. Sidney to her only son
Charles, who was now passing the Midsummer vacation with his widowed
mother, at a pretty cottage in Devonshire, which had been the home of his
early years.
"I do not think people should be rewarded for common honesty," said
Charles; "and the clasp contained such an excellent likeness of papa,
whom every one in the village knew, that it would have been unsafe as
well as dishonest for him not to have delivered it up."
"I am sorry to find, Charles," said Mrs. Sidney, "that school has not
weakened those selfish feelings which have so often caused me pain. You
seem to me to think that every trifling gift I bestow upon another is
robbing you; and, worse than all, I find you constantly wresting phrases
from their real meaning to answer your own purposes. Thus, I agree with
you that people should not look upon common honesty as anything beyond a
simple duty which they would be culpable _not_ to perform. But I am as
well assured that honesty, even in this world, meets with its reward, as
I am that it is our duty, when we find the poor and uneducated
distinguished by this quality, to show our sense of it, and so make
ourselves the instruments of this earthly reward, by every means in our
power. I addressed you, Charles, on the subject, because I fondly hoped
it would give you pleasure to offer some assistance in the matter;
besides which, I thought that you might be more likely to hit upon
something which in a pleasing manner would be of service to a boy of your
own age--although only a cottager's child--than I could be. I am
disappointed in this expectation, however, and can think of no other plan
than giving him a small present in money, with some of your old clothes;
he is, if anything, less than you, so there is very little doubt of the
latter being of use to him."
Now it happened that the honest little boy, who was named Thomas Bennett,
had stood in the hall the whole time, and thus overheard the
conversation. I am sure that you cannot wonder that he remembered it,
with feelings far removed from love or gratitude to Charles Sidney.
Any one who observed Charles Sidney, while his mamma examined his
wardrobe to find what clothes she might choose to spare, would have been
shocked at perceiving the selfish expression of his countenance.
It seemed absolute pain for him to part even with articles which, he
having quite outgrown them, were utterly useless to him, and which very
likely the moths would soon have destroyed: for to accumulate and keep
made the rule of his life. You may imagine what a serious trouble this
unhappy disposition of her son was to Mrs. Sidney, who felt perhaps the
more from contrasting his character with that of an elder brother, who
had died from a lingering illness about two years previously, and who had
been equally distinguished for a generous nature, which had sometimes led
him to the opposite extreme of improvidence.
Indeed, poor Frank had been known to debar himself of necessary comforts
for the sake of assisting others. His pocket money was given away within
an hour of its being received; his books were often torn or lost, from
being indiscriminately lent; and the cold he caught, which led to his
fatal illness, had been occasioned by his leaving a warm upper coat,
which he had been accustomed to wear, to add to the bed covering of a
poor sick child, whom he had gone out one cold winter's day to visit.
Now, though it was impossible for any one to help dearly loving so
amiable and generous a character as Frank, his parents had found it
necessary gently to reprove his exceeding and indiscriminate generosity,
by pointing out to him that it was even wrong when it tended to injure
his own health, or to encroach on the rights of others. On such
occasions Mr. and Mrs. Sidney had explained to him that their income was
limited, so that their acts of benevolence must consist less in absolute
gifts of money (alas! some persons think there is no other way of doing
good), than in the bestowal of time and advice on the poor, and a degree
of judgment in the distribution of what they had to give, which would
make that little of its greatest service.
Charles had often been present at these conversations, and the allusions
Mrs. Sidney made to his fault of wresting phrases from their real
meaning, had reference to the evil manner in which he applied these
warnings to himself--so unnecessary for one of his character: warnings
which nothing but the indiscriminate profusion of Frank could have
tempted Mr. and Mrs. Sidney to utter. I mention these circumstances
because I am afraid we are all too much inclined to find excuses for our
faults; to do which, we generally apply maxims suitable only to the
opposite extreme of our own failings. And this was precisely the case
with the little selfish miser. The death of Mr. Sidney, which had
occurred suddenly, had followed quickly upon that of Frank; but, amid all
the widow's affliction, she never forgot the sorrow that Charles's
selfish disposition occasioned her. There was no longer even the shadow
of an excuse for parsimony, as the inheritance which would have been
divided between the two brothers would now devolve on the only son.
Charles knew this: he knew that he was provided with a sufficient fortune
to finish his education admirably, to send him to college, and start him
in a profession. But this made no difference in his disposition; he
continued to hoard money and books, and everything that came in his way,
as if each individual article were the last he ever could expect to have.
It so happened that Charles had several cousins, the children of a
younger brother of Mr. Sidney, and whose characters formed a strong
contrast to his own. Their father had been a clergyman, and though they
had been bereaved of him when very young, they had never forgotten the
lessons of piety he had bequeathed to them.
The two Mrs. Sidneys were also sisters, and having married two brothers,
the families seemed as it were doubly cemented.
Now Mr. William Sidney, the younger brother, having five children,
between whom his fortune was divided, these cousins had each just one-
fifth of Charles's expectations, and, of course, Mrs. William Sidney was
obliged to limit many of their present indulgences in due proportion to
her income.
And yet I need scarcely tell you that William, the eldest son, who was
about the same age as Charles, and his younger brothers and sisters, were
a thousand times happier than their cousin; and, even with their limited
means, did more good to others in a month than Charles did in a year.
In the first place, they were kind and generous to each other. A book, a
toy, any source of gratification that was opened to one, was always made
the property of the whole family; so that a present or kindness to one of
these children, was like bestowing it on five. Then the little girls,
Fanny and Lucy, were so clever and industrious, that they would make
clothes for the poor, either by purchasing coarse but warm materials with
their own money, or from cast off frocks of their own, which their mamma
gave them permission so to employ. Like all those who think more of
other persons than themselves, and who are constantly enjoying the
pleasure of doing good, they were light-hearted and happy; while their
cousin Charles, who thought of nothing but his own selfish interests, was
three days out of the four in bad spirits and bad temper.
"How I should like to rummage out that closet," said William one day to
his cousin, when he had chanced to have a peep into his receptacle for
what he had hoarded.
"Would you, indeed," replied Charles, "I can tell you there is nothing
there which would be of the least use to you."
"That is good," returned William, with a hearty laugh; "not that I want
anything you have stowed away, but if it could be of no use to me, what
use is it to you? answer me that, Charles!"
"I tell you there is nothing there but old childish toys and baby books,
things that I have not looked at for years."
"Then why don't you turn them out, and give them to some children, or let
the little creatures have a scramble for them? It would be capital fun,
that it would. Suppose you were to give them to the young Bennetts; I
told them the other day I would beg some of your old toys for them. It
would be such a pleasure, I am sure, to make them a present. Poor
children, you know, have seldom anything of the kind."
"How you talk!"
"How I talk!" continued William, "to be sure; besides, I hate waste, and
it is just as much waste to shut things up which might be of use, as it
would be to burn them; more, I think, for if they make firewood, that is
proving of some use. Now don't be such a miser, Charles, do turn them
out."
"I shall do no such thing!" exclaimed Charles, in an angry tone, "and as
for your extravagance, it is quite shocking; I wonder what you think is
to become of you when you are a man."
"I tell you what I expect," replied William, throwing some apples from
his pocket out of window to a poor child who was passing; "what I expect
is, to have to work very hard for my living, and, as I am the eldest, I
look upon it that I ought to do something for mamma, and the girls into
the bargain. But for all that I hope I shall never turn a miserly screw.
Why, when God gives us health, food, clothing, and lodging, don't you
think that hoarding and hoarding, instead of dispensing the blessings,
and performing such acts of kindness as may be in our power to bestow, is
like doubting God's goodness and mercy for the future?"
"One would think you were preaching," said Charles, with a sneer.
"Well, never mind if I am; it was only yesterday I was reading one of
dear papa's sermons, in which he quotes one of the most beautiful
chapters in the New Testament, the 12th of St. Luke, in which our Saviour
speaks of the ravens, which 'God feedeth,' though 'they neither sow nor
reap;' and of the 'lilies, how they grow.' And HE emphatically says,
'Seek not ye what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, neither be ye of
doubtful mind. For all these things do the nations of the world seek
after; and your Father knoweth ye have need of all these things. But
rather seek ye the kingdom of God, _and all these things shall be added
unto you_.'"
"Besides," continued William, after a slight pause, "it seems to me that
nature is constantly repeating the lesson which Scripture teaches us. See
how, year after year, the blades of wheat spring up, and the fruits of
the earth ripen, as if to warn us that we should distribute the good
things God provides us with, and wholly trust that he will continue to
send us all things that are needful."
"Pray did you find that in the sermon, also?" asked Charles.
"Perhaps I did."
"Did it say anything about the ten talents--where we are told that unto
every one that hath shall be given, but from him that hath not shall be
taken away even that which he hath?" replied Charles, with an air of
triumph.
"Do you understand the text you have quoted?" asked William, mildly.
"I suppose so, I should think it rather taught people to increase their
stores than anything else."
"Then let me tell you that you are quite wrong, for that was a text I
used to hear papa explain very often, that it should never be applied to
worldly possessions. But those who pray for, and seek by every means to
acquire, heavenly grace will surely find it bestowed on them; while those
who neglect to cultivate the spirit of religion will as surely find any
feelings of piety they may once have experienced in like manner depart
from them. Every human being has the power, more or less, of doing good:
and his means and opportunities are also among the 'talents' with which
he is intrusted, and for which he must account at last."
"Have you done preaching?" yawned the little miser.
"Yes, for I am afraid you are beyond my teaching." And so the cousins
parted.
Charles sat musing for a little while. "How happy William seems!"
thought he; "and yet I dare say at this moment he has not half-a-crown he
can call his own. It is very fine of him, indeed, to talk of turning out
the closet, he who has got nothing to keep."
And so reasoned the selfish boy, amusing himself with gazing upon a shelf
full of baby toys he could take no pleasure in using, but yet which he
had not the heart to give away; and then he jingled a money-box, which
was heavy enough to tell there were many, many coins inside, and yet he
drew from his pocket a shilling, which he slipped through the narrow
chink, thus adding to his useless store.
Oh! sad it is to believe that no thought of gratitude to the Almighty for
the blessings with which he was surrounded; no prayer for guidance from
on high rose in his heart; no thought of the duty of cultivating the
"talents" which had fallen to his share.
Two or three years passed away, and notwithstanding the exhortations of
Mrs. Sidney, and the bright examples of his cousins, no amendment was
perceived in the character of Charles. Most persons who act improperly,
as I have said before, endeavour to find an excuse for their conduct, and
he formed no exception to the rule. His apology for his parsimony was,
that he was saving every pound he could accumulate to help pay for his
college education when he should be sent thither. A poor, shallow
excuse, for his mother often assured him how little he needed such mean
precaution, and entreated him to spend his money with proper liberality.
Mrs. Sidney so often shed tears on his account, that no one in the house
was much surprised to see her weeping on one important occasion.
Charles was at this time about fifteen, when, entering his mother's
morning room somewhat suddenly, he found her in tears, with an open
letter in her hand, which Charles in a moment remarked had a black border
and a black seal.
"What is the matter, mamma?" said he "is any one we know dead?"
"Yes, Charles," she replied; "I am sorry to say three relations, whom,
though you may have heard of, you have never seen, have been suddenly
removed from this world by the upsetting of a boat in which they had gone
on a pleasure excursion."
"Not Lord Sereton and his sons?" exclaimed Charles, clasping his hands,
while an expression of anything but sorrow passed over his countenance.
"Yes, Charles," replied Mrs. Sidney, after a moment's pause, "I am sorry
to say they are no more."
"Sorry, mamma," shrieked the youth, in a voice of gaiety that,
considering the circumstances, was horrible. "_Sorry_, mamma, why then I
... I... am..."
"Yes, _you_ are Lord Sereton now."
"And shall I have all the money, mamma, and the houses, and that
beautiful park which I once went to see, and the carriages, and the
horses, and the--the--all the beautiful things? Oh, yes, I shall, I know
I shall. I am so glad--I am so happy. Lord Sereton was only papa's
third cousin, I know, but I am the next heir."
"And do you feel no shock"--said Mrs. Sidney, rising and laying her hand
on her son's shoulder, while she spoke almost with a shudder;--"do you
feel no shock at the awful sudden deaths of three estimable
individuals--no compassion for the bereaved widow and mother? and, beyond
all, do you not feel deeply conscious of the additional responsibilities
and the heavy duties which become yours with this accession of wealth and
rank? Oh, Charles, it is hard for a mother to wish such a thing for a
son, yet, unless the Most High would change your heart, I could pray that
this wealth might not be yours. Oh, my son, let me beseech you to humble
yourself before His throne, and ask His grace and assistance."
But Charles, or as we may now call him, the young Lord Sereton, at no
time rendered anything but lip service to his God. It is easy enough to
do this, though such prayers never mount to heaven, but fall back to the
earth from which they spring. Prayers, to be acceptable to God, must
arise from a devout frame of mind, and be accompanied by a diligent
endeavour to acquire that grace for which we ask, while by our actions we
must show the sincerity of our hearts. "That ye cannot serve two
masters," was fully illustrated in his case; and he, the slave of Mammon,
was lured on with the vain expectation that his new wealth would bring
happiness!
Of course, during the minority of the young lord, the guardians whom the
law appointed took care of his property and estates; but, boy as he was,
large sums of money were still at his disposal, and he was old enough to
have considerable influence with those who had legal authority over his
fortune. His treasures, however, were a sort of "enchanted wealth,"
which, as he used it, or rather did not use it, was as valueless as a bag
of gold to the thirsty traveller in the desert, who cannot procure with
it a glass of water; and certainly happiness, according to Charles's
plan, was as completely out of his reach.
As he rode or walked over his estates, no face was there which lighted up
with grateful pleasure, as would have been the case at the approach of a
generous and kind young landlord; no, he was miserable himself, because
he never attempted to make others happy. Tutors were to a certain degree
forced upon him by his guardians, or I really believe he would have
neglected to pursue those studies which he before followed, much more as
the means of acquiring future wealth, than for love of themselves.
And so time passed on, Mrs. Sidney often spending a week or month at her
sister's pretty cottage, where, surrounded by the kind-hearted generous
family, she could not but contrast that happy home with the splendid
misery of Sereton Hall; an abode rendered melancholy to her by its young
owner's selfish and avaricious nature.
It had been the custom for many generations, on the coming of age of the
lord or heir of Sereton Hall, to have a general feasting and merry-making
among the tenantry; an ox was roasted whole, and such rural festivities
were observed as I dare say you have often heard described, if you have
not witnessed them.
When his birthday drew near, it was with great difficulty that the young
lord could be persuaded to adhere to the old-fashioned custom; calling it
waste, profusion, and using many other words which belong to a miser's
vocabulary.
At last, however, he yielded to his friends' advice, chiefly, it is very
probable, because they represented to him that if he made himself more
unpopular than he already was, the people on his estate might find some
serious manner of showing their dislike.
The eventful day arrived. A glorious morning dawned, which _should_ have
been ushered in by the ringing of bells, but unfortunately there was so
much difficulty in finding any one willing to perform this office in
honour of the grinding, hard-hearted young landlord, that Charles had
nearly finished a somewhat late breakfast before a feeble peal fell on
his ear. Soon afterwards he had an interview, by appointment, with his
guardians and trustees, in which they resigned all the papers connected
with the estates.
The young miser, however, had taken care long ago to make himself
acquainted with the exact state of his finances, so that he had very
little to learn, and the business was soon transacted.
How he now rejoiced that he had not yielded to the suggestions of these
gentlemen,--who within the last two or three years had thought fit to
consult the young lord on such matters,--when they had proposed lowering
the rent of a poor farmer, or remitting, it might be, some arrears when
crops had failed, or some unforeseen misfortune happened; not yet was the
time come for the recollections of such misdeeds to torture his mind with
all the writhings of remorse. Not yet, for in the morning of that day he
only revelled in thoughts of his vast wealth, and dreams of future
aggrandizement.
Presently his mother entered the room, accompanied by his cousin William;
they came to offer their congratulations, with, on Mrs. Sidney's part, a
hope that, now her son was really in the possession of enormous wealth,
some impulse of generosity and benevolence would spring up in his heart.
Accordingly she it was who took the opportunity of offering a petition:
nothing less than that he would spare a certain sum of money for his
cousin William's college expenses.
Poor William! he trembled while he listened, for on the chance of his
cousin's acquiescence rested the probability of his advancement in life,
and the means of assisting his brothers and sisters.
But the face of the young lord grew clouded, and though it would seem
that he dared not look up when he spoke, he said, resolutely, "I have no
money to spare for any such purpose."
"Oh, Charles!" exclaimed Mrs. Sidney, "I know that you have hundreds and
thousands of pounds at your disposal; again, again, I warn you that your
sin is great. In the sight of God you are but the steward of this vast
property, and to Him will you have to render an account of its disposal.
My son, my son, while there is time, oh! change this heart of stone;" and
overcome by her bitter feelings she burst into tears.
"My hundreds and thousands of pounds," returned Lord Sereton, without
appearing in the least degree moved, "are wanted to pay for an estate
which is contiguous to my present property, and which I am determined on
having. By joining them together, I shall increase the value of each."
"Is it you, then," exclaimed Mrs. Sidney, with an expression of horror in
her countenance, "is it you then, who have been bidding so cruelly
against the former owner? that good man who, having been compelled from
unforeseen misfortunes to sell his inheritance in early life, has worked
indefatigably for thirty years to win back the house of his fathers, and
preserve the honour of the family. He was your father's friend too."
"What have I to do with friendship that existed before I was born?" said
the unfeeling youth, sulkily; "I _will_ have the estate, I tell you."
"Hush--hush," murmured the mother, and her words seemed almost prophetic,
"it is God that WILLS, not man; and even now I think HE does not will
this cruelty."
"Aunt, let us go," said William, "I am as grateful to you as if your
mission had been successful."
"Let me call _you_ son:" exclaimed Mrs. Sidney, taking William's hand
with affection; "I will no longer own that selfish and cruel child."
And to this pass had the hardening heart, and the growing covetousness of
Charles Sidney brought him: to be disowned by his mother on his one-and-
twentieth birthday, at the moment of his earthly pride, and of his
acquiring princely possessions!
Yet now, even at this eleventh hour, a merciful God might have pardoned
and protected him.
The feasting and attempted merry-making went off heavily. There was no
spirit of love, or reverence, or gratitude, to warm the hearts of the
tenantry, or make their lips eloquent; and not a few were glad when the
day was drawing to a close.
Towards evening, the young lord mounted his horse, and rode in the
direction of the much admired neighbouring estate. Wishing to examine
some particular spots minutely, and to revel in the contemplation of the
whole without being disturbed, he was not even accompanied by a groom.
The sun was going down in all its glory, casting tall shadows of the
trees across the road, when it peeped from the clouds of crimson and gold
that encircled it. The young lord came to a field dotted with the
graceful wheat-sheaves, for it was harvest time, and knowing that if he
rode across it, he should be saved half a mile of road, he determined to
do so. Two men were lounging at the gate through which he passed. One
of them was Thomas Bennett, whom circumstances had induced to become a
labourer on the estate, and he it was who remarked, "He'll be thrown,
that's my opinion; those fine-paced gentlemen's horses are not used to
make their own roads across a corn field."
"Then why don't you warn my lord?" said the other.
"Warn him!" replied Bennett, who it must be owned, had grown up a violent
tempered vindictive man; "you have not lived long in these parts, or you
would have known better than ask that question. If it were Master
William, now, I should make free to seize the bridle--but as for my lord
there--why, I have known him man and boy, and I'll answer for it, no one
has love enough towards him to warn him from any danger." And so saying
they both walked rapidly away.
Bennett's words were indeed true, for scarcely had the young lord
proceeded a hundred yards, when the horse, unused to such uneven ground,
stumbled and fell, throwing his unhappy master. Nor was this all, for
Charles had remained entangled in the stirrup: he was dragged along the
stubble a considerable distance, with a broken arm and fearful bruises,
till, stunned by a kick from the horse, he became insensible. Probably
the saddle-girth at the same moment gave way and released him, for the
unconscious animal trotted home, and was discovered with disordered
trappings at the park gates.
It was evident some accident had happened, and servants were sent out in
all directions. The first conscious perception Charles had was of waking
to excruciating agony, and finding himself supported on men's shoulders
along the road. No doubt every one believed him still insensible, or,
much as he was disliked, they would not have been so cruel as to reproach
him in his hour of agony. He had not strength to speak, but he could not
avoid hearing.
"He can't get over it; he'll never see another sunset," said one.
"Well, any way we can't have a harder master, that's some comfort!"
exclaimed another.
"Oh! Master William _is_ a real right down lord," cried a third eagerly,
"he won't rack-rent the tenants, and grind down the poor. Why, he saved
us and our little ones from the workhouse last winter, though he is
poor--that is quite poor for a gentleman--I well know."
"Then hurrah! for the new lord!" said the second speaker, throwing his
hat in the air; "and I think they should pension the horse, that has
given him to us, with the free run of the park all his life, instead of
shooting him, as some one talked of doing."
"For shame, it is wicked to rejoice over the fallen," said a woman in the
crowd, and in the next moment the sound of a pistol was heard proclaiming
that the horse had paid his penalty for the accident, and would never
throw another rider!
And now for a moment, before these pages close, let us contemplate the
death-bed of the selfish and avaricious young lord, who in the three
stages of ease, affluence, and luxury--and as boy, youth, and man,--had
only laid up his "treasures on earth."
But they could not assuage one torturing pain, or prolong his life for a
second!
Far more than bodily pangs, oh! harder to endure a thousand times, were
the stings of conscience which now assailed him. In dark array rose all
the scenes of suffering he might have relieved, and had not; he saw
himself again the selfish child, the covetous youth, the grasping
landlord, and the unrelenting man. The events of that same day were even
yet more fresh in his memory. Had he but listened to his cousin's wants,
instead of his own selfish plans, might he not have lived?--was it not
one last opportunity of amendment offered by a merciful God, ere He swept
him from the earth, and called him to give a strict account of his
stewardship?
And it was that cousin, who would now have all his wealth, to whom he had
denied in the morning so small a portion.
The anguish of the sufferer's mind was to be read upon his despairing
countenance, and as his weeping mother, now, indeed, with pardon on her
lips, bent over him, he murmured: "Lost, lost, there is no hope for me."
"There is always hope for the truly penitent," replied Mrs. Sidney,
through her tears--"hope in a Saviour--hope in our Maker's mercy."
The dying man turned upon his pillow, for a few minutes he was silent,
though it is believed he joined in the fervent prayers which arose from
the lips of his mother and cousin; and let us hope, though tardy his
repentance, it was accepted. It was evident he was sinking fast, and
before sunrise he expired.
Almost his last words were, "William, yes, William will atone with the
money for the wrong I have done. Yet he does not seem so glad as I was
when I became a lord!"
It was all over, and William, the next heir, was indeed the lord of that
wide domain, and of his cousin's accumulated riches; but _his_ first act
was a fervent prayer for divine assistance. Knowing, as he did, that at
no time is it more needed than, as our Litany beautifully expresses it,
"in all time of our wealth."
That he did make amends for his cousin's avarice by a wise as well as
generous use of his wealth, my young readers will readily believe; and
William, Lord Sereton, was as much beloved as his cousin had been
disliked. And Mrs. Sidney, grieving as she did, notwithstanding his
faults, for the loss of her only child, found no small consolation in the
affection of that family, whom his death had raised from many cares to
rank and affluence.
THE TRIAL OF ADVERSITY.
"Blessed are the meek."--ST. MATTHEW v. 5.
"He that humbleth himself shall be exalted." ST. LUKE xviii. 14.
"You are quite a contradiction, that you are!" was the exclamation of
Harriet Mannering to her sister. And she continued, "You are not too
proud to wear a cotton dress and coarse straw bonnet, and even to be seen
in them by the very persons who knew us when we had a carriage; and yet
you will not accept these presents from Mrs. Somerton."
"I do not accept these fine clothes, Harriet," replied her sister Mary,
"because, however kind the gift, Mrs. Somerton only provides me with
them, that I might visit at her house in a suitable manner; and I do not
think it would be my duty to leave poor papa | 2,373.754158 |
2023-11-16 18:56:37.8121240 | 4,700 | 12 |
Produced by MWS, Carolyn Jablonski 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.)
[Illustration: titlepage]
Conundrum_s_
Riddles _and_ Puzzles
Containing one thousand of the late_s_t
and be_s_t _Conundrums_, gathered from
every conceivable source, and comprising
many that are entirely new and original
By
DEAN RIVERS
Philadelphia
The Penn Publishing Company
1903
COPYRIGHT 1893 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
COPYRIGHT 1900 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PREFACE
A taste for guessing puzzles and enigmas is coeval with the race. The
early Greeks were extremely fond of such intellectual exercises, and
they are found in the language of all civilized nations. One of the
brightest forms of these puzzles is that of the conundrum, the answer of
which is usually a play upon words similar to the pun. Each language has
its own particular form of this kind of wit, but the English language,
on account of its composite nature, is especially rich in such forms of
wit and humor.
The compiler of this little volume has made a choice selection of
conundrums from those in actual use among people belonging to refined
and cultured society. They are classified under four principal
heads—General Conundrums, Biblical Conundrums, Poetical Conundrums, and
French Conundrums. Some of the most ingenious and interesting forms of
wit will be found under each of these classes.
In addition to these conundrums, the book contains a rare collection of
arithmetical puzzles. These were especially prepared for the work by a
mathematician of wide reputation who has used many of them in one of his
own publications. They will be found of great interest to those who have
a taste for numbers and their curious combinations and results.
The collection as a whole will afford innocent recreation for the
fireside and social circle, and thus contribute to the happiness of
those who enjoy the higher forms of pleasure that flow from the exercise
of the mind upon those subjects that require quickness of thought and a
nimble wit.
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS
PAGE
GENERAL CONUNDRUMS, 9
BIBLICAL CONUNDRUMS, 117
POETICAL CONUNDRUMS, 125
FRENCH CONUNDRUMS, 133
ARITHMETICAL PUZZLES, 137
GENERAL CONUNDRUMS
Why is life the greatest of all conundrums? Because we must all give it
up.
When may an army be said to be totally destroyed? When its soldiers are
all in quarters.
Which is swifter, heat or cold? Heat, because you can catch cold.
Why is a young lady like a letter? Because if she isn’t well stamped the
mails (males) won’t take her.
Why are dudes no longer imported into this country from England? Because
a Yankee dude ’ll do (Yankee doodle doo).
What flowers can be found between the nose and chin? Tulips (two lips).
Why is a dude’s hat like swearing? Because it is something to avoid.
How many wives is a man lawfully entitled to by the English prayer-book?
Sixteen: Four richer, four poorer, four better, four worse.
Why is a bright young lady like a spoon in a cup of tea? Because she is
interesting (in tea resting).
Why does a young man think his sweetheart is like a door-knob? Because
she is something to adore (a door).
Why is the emblem of the United States more enduring than that of
France, England, Ireland, or Scotland?
The _Lily_ may fade and its leaves decay,
The _Rose_ from its stem may sever,
The _Shamrock_ and _Thistle_ may pass away,
But the _Stars_ will shine forever.
Why is a kiss like a sermon? Because it needs two heads and an
application.
What is the shape of a kiss? Elliptical.
Why is a kiss like gossip? Because it goes from mouth to mouth.
When two people kiss, what kind of a riddle does it make? A rebus.
What is it George Washington seldom saw, God never saw, and we see every
day? Our equals.
What is better than God, worse than the devil, the dead live on, and the
living would die if they lived on? Nothing.
Prove by logic that an oyster is better than heaven. Nothing is better
than heaven; an oyster is better than nothing; therefore an oyster is
better than heaven.
What is the difference between a honeymoon and a honeycomb? One is a big
sell, the other little cells.
Why is a man who makes pens a wicked man? Because he makes men steel
(steal) pens and then says they do write (right).
What is the difference between a lady and an apple? One you have to get
side her to squeeze, and the other you have to squeeze to get cider.
Who is the greatest chicken-killer spoken of in Shakespeare? Macbeth,
because he did murder most foul.
Why is music cheaper on Sunday than during the week? Because during the
week you get it by the piece, and on Sunday you get it by the choir.
Which death would you prefer to die, Joan of Arc’s or Mary Stuart’s?
Most people prefer Joan of Arc’s, because they like a hot steak better
than a cold chop.
What great writer’s name might you appropriately mention if you were
standing by the grave of Bob Ingersoll? Robert Burns.
What three great writers names might you think of if you were watching a
house burn down? Dickens, Howett, Burns.
If you were invited out to dinner and on sitting down to the table saw
nothing but a beet, what would you say? That beet’s all.
Give a definition of love. An inward inexpressibility and an outward
alloverishness; or, the classical definition of a collegiate is, “Love
is the so-ness, as it were, of the white heat fusion of the intellect,
sensibility, and will.”
When is charity like a top? When it begins to hum.
Why is a man sometimes like dough? Not because a woman needs (kneads)
him, but because he is hard to get off of her hands.
Why does a minister always say “dearly beloved brethren” and not refer
to the sisters? Because the brethren embrace the sisters.
What part of a ragged garment resembles the Pope’s title? Its Holiness.
Why are a dead duck and a dead doctor alike? Because they have both
stopped quacking.
When is the best time to read from the book of nature? When the spring
opens the leaves and the autumn turns them.
In what liquid does the Queen of England take her medicine? In cider
(side her).
Why is a restless man in bed like a lawyer? Because he lies on one side,
then turns around and lies on the other.
Why do tailors make very ardent lovers? Because they press their suits.
When is a man of greatest use at the dinner-table? When he is a spoon.
What is the difference between a rejected and an accepted lover? One
misses the kisses and the other kisses the misses.
What is the difference between a church deacon and a little
rag-a-muffin? One passes the sasser (saucer) and the other sasses the
passer.
Why is a lover like a knocker? Because he is bound to adore (a door).
In what ink should we write our secrets? In violet (inviolate).
Why is a young lady like an arrow? Because she can’t go off without a
bow (beau), and is in a quiver till she gets one.
If a young lady fell into a well why couldn’t her brother help her out?
Because, how could he be a brother and assist her (a sister) too?
If all the women went to China, where would the men go? To Pekin.
Why does a Russian soldier wear brass buttons on his coat, and an
Austrian soldier wear steel ones? To keep his coat buttoned.
What is the difference between an old penny and a new dime? Nine cents.
How is the best way to make a coat last? To make the trousers and vest
first.
What word of four syllables would a man utter if he should eat his wife
and wanted to express his approbation of the deed? Gladiator (glad I ate
her).
Why does a cat look on first one side and then another when she enters a
room? Because she can’t look on both sides at the same time.
Why is a widower like a young baby? Because he cries a great deal the
first six months, looks around the second six months, and has hard work
to get through his second summer.
Why is Philadelphia more subject to earthquakes than any other city?
Because she is a Quaker city.
Why is a policeman on his beat like an Irishman rolling down a hill?
Because he’s patroling (Pat rolling).
If the alphabet were all invited out to supper, in what order would they
come? They would all get there down to _S_, and the rest would come
after _T_.
What would contain all the snuff in the world? No one nose (knows).
Why is a hound like a man with a bald head? Because he makes a little
hare (hair) go a long ways.
What is the first thing a man sets in his garden? His foot.
Who were the first astronomers? The stars, because they have studded the
heavens ever since the creation.
When may you be said to imbibe a piano? When you have a piano for tea
(pianoforte).
When may bread be said to be alive? When it has a little Indian in it.
Why does a bachelor who has a counterfeit half dollar passed on him want
to get married? To get a better half.
Why does a sculptor die a most horrible death? Because he makes faces
and busts.
Why do we generally dub a city her or she? Because about a city there is
so much bustle and because she has outskirts.
Why does a hair-dresser die a sad death? Because he curls up and dies
(dyes).
Why are washwomen great flirts? Because they wring men’s bosoms.
If thirty-two degrees is freezing point, what is squeezing point? Two in
the shade.
Prove that the winds are blind. The wind is a zephyr, a zephyr is a
yarn, a yarn is a story, a story is a tale, a tail is an attachment, an
attachment is love, and love is blind; therefore, the winds are blind.
Why is a married man like a fire? Because he provokes his wife by going
out at night.
Why is a pig’s brain larger than any other animal’s? Because he has a
hog’s head full.
Where was the first Adams Express Company located? In the Garden of
Eden, when Eve was created.
What is the difference between a young lady and a mouse? One charms the
he’s, the other harms the cheese.
Why are men like facts? Because they are stubborn things.
What is the difference between a gardener and a Chinaman? One keeps the
lawn wet, the other keeps the lawn dry (laundry).
Why is a young lady’s age after she has reached twenty-five like a
floral wedding bell? Because it is never told.
When is a door not a door? When it’s an egress (a negress).
Why is Patti like a jeweler? Because she deals in precious tones
(precious stones).
When is a bee a great nuisance? When it is a humbug.
A New Yorker asks: What popular book could the two cities, New York and
Philadelphia, be compared to? The _Quick or the Dead_.
Why is a dog dressed warmer in summer than in winter? Because in winter
he wears a fur coat and in summer he wears a coat and pants.
Why is it more dangerous to go out in the spring than any other time of
the year? Because in the spring the grass has blades, the flowers have
pistils, the leaves shoot, and the bullrushes out.
What is the difference between a hill and a pill? One is hard to get up,
the other is hard to get down.
Why is a lazy dog like a hill? Because he is a slow pup (<DW72> up).
A man and goose once went up in a balloon together, the balloon burst
and they landed on a church steeple, how did the man get down? Plucked
the goose.
Why is a man riding up a hill like a man taking a young dog to a lady?
Because he is taking a gallop up (gal a pup).
Why is a dentist a sad and a wicked man? Because he is always looking
down in the mouth and dams all his patients.
What is the difference between a king’s son, a monkey’s mother, a bald
head, and an orphan? A king’s son is the heir apparent, a monkey’s
mother is a hairy parent, a bald head has no hair apparent, and an
orphan has nary a parent.
If William Penn’s aunts kept a pastry shop, what would be the prices
current of their pies? The pie rates of Penn’s Aunts (Pirates of
Penzance).
What celebrated man in English history might you name if you wished to
tell your servant to replenish the fire in your grate? Philip the Great
(fill up the grate).
A man had twenty-six (twenty sick) sheep and one died, how many
remained? Nineteen.
What is the difference between an Irishman on a bleak mountain-top and a
Scotchman? One is kilt with the cowld and the other is cowled with the
kilt.
If a pair of andirons cost five dollars, what would the wood come to
burned on them for one month? Come to ashes.
What is the difference between Niagara Falls and Queen Elizabeth? One is
a wonder, the other is a Tudor.
What is a soldier’s definition of a kiss? A report at headquarters.
Why is it easy to break into an old man’s house? Because his gait (gate)
is broken and his locks are few.
What word of only three syllables combines in it twenty-six letters?
Alphabet.
Where can one always find happiness? In the dictionary.
When will there be but twenty-five letters in the alphabet? When U and I
are one.
Why is it impossible for a swell who lisps to believe in the existence
of young ladies? Because he calls every miss a mith.
What was Joan of Arc made of? Maid of Orleans.
Why are your eyes like friends separated by the ocean? Because they
correspond but never meet.
Why is a lady who faints in a public place like a good intention?
Because she needs carrying out.
What is the brightest idea in the world? Your eye, dear.
What animal drops from the clouds? The rain, dear (reindeer).
I went out walking one day and met three beggars; to the first I gave
ten cents, to the second I also gave ten cents, and to the third I gave
but five—what time of day was it? A quarter to three.
What is that which by losing an eye has nothing left but a nose? Noise.
Why is a hen immortal? Because her son never sets.
What is that which is full of holes and yet holds water? A sponge.
What will impress the ear more sharply than a falsetto voice? A false
set of teeth.
What is that which is put on the table and cut, but is never eaten. A
pack of cards.
What is the oldest table in the world? The multiplication table.
Which river is the coldest? The Isis (ice is).
Why are cats like unskillful surgeons? Because they mew till late and
destroy patience (patients).
Why is it almost certain that Shakespeare was a broker? Because no other
man has furnished so many stock quotations.
How can you distinguish a fashionable man from a tired dog? One wears an
entire costume, the other wears simply a coat and pants.
Why is a youth trying to raise a moustache like a cow’s tail? Because he
grows down.
Why is a professional thief very comfortable? Because he usually takes
things so easy.
When is a man obliged to keep his word? When no one will take it.
Why is an attractive woman like a successful gambler? Because she has
such winning ways.
Why is the food one eats on an ocean steamer like a difficult conundrum?
Because one is obliged to give it up.
Why are stout men usually sad? Because they are men of sighs (size).
Why are two young ladies kissing each other an emblem of Christianity?
Because they are doing unto each other as they would that men should do
unto them.
What is the difference between a woman and an umbrella? You can shut an
umbrella up.
Why would it be very appropriate for a man named Benjamin to marry a
girl named Annie? Because he would be Bennie-fitted and she Annie-mated.
Why is this continent like milk? Because it’s ours (it sours).
What is the color of the winds and waves in a severe storm? The winds
blew (blue), the waves rose.
Why is a baker a most improvident person? Because he is continually
selling that which he kneads himself.
What is it we all frequently say we will do and no one has ever yet
done? Stop a minute.
How can you by changing the pronunciation of a word only turn mirth into
crime? By making man’s laughter manslaughter.
Why is a room full of married people like an empty room? Because there
is not a single person in it.
Which one of the United States is the largest and most popular? The
state of matrimony.
Which nation produces the most marriages? Fascination.
When is a horse like a house? When he has blinds on.
Why is a bridegroom often more expensive than a bride? Because the bride
is given away, but the bridegroom is often sold.
Why is divinity the easiest of all professions? Because it is easier to
preach than to practice.
When is love deformed? When it is all on one side.
What is the difference between a butcher and a flirt? One kills to
dress, and the other dresses to kill.
When was B the first letter in the alphabet? In the days of No-a (Noah).
How can I remove A from the alphabet? B-head it.
Why is A like a honeysuckle? Because a B follows it.
Why is modesty the strongest characteristic of a watch? Because it
always keeps its hands before its face, and runs down its own works.
Why is it right for B to come before C? Because we must B before we can
C.
Why are two t’s like hops? Because they make beer better.
What kind of sense does a girl long for in a disagreeable suitor?
Absence.
Why is it dangerous to keep a clock at the head of a pair of stairs?
Because it sometimes runs down.
Who are the two largest ladies in the United States? Miss Ouri and Mrs.
Sippi (Missouri and Mississippi).
What key in music would make a good officer? A sharp major.
What is the key-note to good manners? B natural.
Why is a stupid fellow like G sharp? Because he is A flat.
What do ladies look for when they go to church? The Sams (psalms) and
hims (hymns).
Why are married men like steamboats? Because they are sometimes blown
up.
What ship contains more people than the “Great Eastern”? Courtship.
Why is a ship like a woman? Because she is often tender to a man-of war;
often running after a smack; often attached to a buoy (boy); and
frequently making up to a peer (pier).
Why do women make good post-office clerks? Because they know how to
manage the mails (males).
Why is lip-salve like a chaperon? Because it is intended to keep the
chaps away.
If a pair of andirons cost $7.75, what would a ton of coal come to? To
ashes.
What is worse than raining cats and dogs? Hailing omnibuses.
Why is an umbrella like a pancake? Because it is seldom seen after Lent.
On what day of the year do women talk the least? The shortest day.
What is that which every living person has seen, but will never see
again? Yesterday.
What is the difference between dead soldiers and repaired garments? The
former are dead men, and the latter are mended (dead).
Why, when you paint a man’s portrait, may you be described as stepping
into his shoes? Because you make his feet yours (features).
Why may a beggar wear a very short coat? Because it will be long enough
before he gets another.
Which is the most valuable, a five-dollar note or five gold dollars? The
note, because when you put it in your pocket you double it, and when you
take it out again you see it increases.
What is the difference between the Prince of Wales and the water in a
fountain? One is heir to the throne, the other thrown to the air.
Why is a pretty young lady like a wagon wheel? Because she is surrounded
by felloes (fellows).
When is it dangerous to enter a church? When there is a canon in the
reading-desk, a great gun in the pulpit, and a bishop charges the
congregation.
What is the difference between form and ceremony? You sit upon one and | 2,373.832164 |
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Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
THE YELLOW WALLPAPER
By Charlotte Perkins Gilman
It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure
ancestral halls for the summer.
A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house,
and reach the height of romantic felicity--but that would be asking too
much of fate!
Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.
Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long
untenanted?
John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.
John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an
intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of
things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures.
John is a physician, and PERHAPS--(I would not say it to a living
soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my
mind)--PERHAPS that is one reason I do not get well faster.
You see he does not believe I am sick!
And what can one do?
If a physician of high standing, and one's own husband, assures friends
and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but
temporary nervous depression--a slight hysterical tendency--what is one
to do?
My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says
the same thing.
So I take phosphates or phosphites--whichever it is, and tonics, and
journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to "work"
until I am well again.
Personally, I disagree with their ideas.
Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change,
would do me good.
But what is one to do?
I did write for a while in spite of them; but it DOES exhaust me a good
deal--having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.
I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and more
society and stimulus--but John says the very worst thing I can do is to
think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel bad.
So I will let it alone and talk about the house.
The most beautiful place! It is quite alone, standing well back from the
road, quite three miles from the village. It makes me think of English
places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls and gates
that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the gardeners and
people.
There is a DELICIOUS garden! I never saw such a garden--large and shady,
full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors
with seats under them.
There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.
There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the heirs and
coheirs; anyhow, the place has been empty for years.
That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid, but I don't care--there is
something strange about the house--I can feel it.
I even said so to John one moonlight evening, but he said what I felt
was a DRAUGHT, and shut the window.
I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I'm sure I never used to
be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition.
But John says if I feel so, I shall neglect proper self-control; so I
take pains to control myself--before him, at least, and that makes me
very tired.
I don't like our room a bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the
piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned
chintz hangings! but John would not hear of it.
He said there was only one window and not room for two beds, and no near
room for him if he took another.
He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special
direction.
I have a schedule prescription for each hour in the day; he takes all
care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more.
He said we came here solely on my account, that I was to have perfect
rest and all the air I could get. "Your exercise depends on your
strength, my dear," said he, "and your food somewhat on your appetite;
but air you can absorb all the time." So we took the nursery at the top
of the house.
It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look
all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was nursery first and then
playroom and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows are barred for
little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.
The paint and paper look as if a boys' school had used it. It is
stripped off--the paper--in great patches all around the head of my bed,
about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side of
the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my life.
One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic
sin.
It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough
to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the
lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit
suicide--plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard
of contradictions.
The color is repellent, almost revolting; a smouldering unclean yellow,
strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight.
It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in
others.
No wonder the children hated it! I should hate it myself if I had to
live in this room long.
There comes John, and I must put this away,--he hates to have me write a
word.
We have been here two weeks, and I haven't felt like writing before,
since that first day.
I am sitting by the window now, up in this atrocious nursery, and
there is nothing to hinder my writing as much as I please, save lack of
strength.
John is away all day, and even some nights when his cases are serious.
I am glad my case is not serious!
But these nervous troubles are dreadfully depressing.
John does not know how much I really suffer. He | 2,374.063639 |
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Produced by Bethanne M. Simms and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Important Historical Books for the Young
_Makers of England Series_
By EVA MARCH TAPPAN, Ph.D.
_In the Days of Alfred the Great_
Cloth. Illustrated. _Net_ $1.00
_In the Days of William the Conqueror_
Cloth. Illustrated. _Net_ $1.00
_In the Days of Queen Elizabeth_
Cloth. Illustrated. _Net_ $1.00
_In the Days of Queen Victoria_
Cloth. Illustrated. _Net_ $1.00
By CALVIN DILL WILSON
_The Story of the Cid Young People_
Cloth. Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy. $1.25
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., Boston
[Illustration: Her Majesty the Queen in her state robes.
(_From painting by Alfred F. Chalon, R.A., 1838._)]
Makers of England Series
IN THE DAYS
OF
QUEEN VICTORIA
By
EVA MARCH TAPPAN, Ph.D.
AUTHOR OF "IN THE DAYS OF ALFRED THE GREAT," "IN THE DAYS OF
WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR," "IN THE DAYS OF QUEEN ELIZABETH," ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED FROM FAMOUS PAINTINGS AND ENGRAVINGS AND FROM
PHOTOGRAPHS_
BOSTON:
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
Published, August, 1903
COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY LEE AND SHEPARD
_All rights reserved_
IN THE DAYS OF QUEEN VICTORIA
PREFACE
To her own people Queen Victoria was England itself, the emblem of the
realm and of the empire. To millions who were not her people the words
"the Queen" do not bring even yet the thought of the well-beloved woman
who now shares the English throne, but rather of her who for nearly
sixty-four years wore the crown of Great Britain and gave freely to her
country of the gift that was in her.
Other women have been controlled by devotion to duty, other women
have been moved to action by readiness of sympathy, but few have
united so harmoniously a strong determination to do the right with
a never-failing gentleness, a childlike sympathy with unyielding
strength of purpose.
Happy is the realm that can count on the list of its sovereigns one
whose career was so strongly marked by unfaltering faithfulness, by
honesty of aim, and by statesmanlike wisdom of action.
EVA MARCH TAPPAN.
WORCESTER, MASS.
_February, 1903._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BABY DRINA, 1
II. THE SCHOOLDAYS OF A PRINCESS, 21
III. EXAMINATION DAY, 43
IV. A QUEEN AT EIGHTEEN, 68
V. THE CORONATION, 89
VI. THE COMING OF THE PRINCE, 114
VII. HOUSEKEEPING IN A PALACE, 138
VIII. A HOME OF OUR OWN, 163
IX. NIS! NIS! NIS! HURRAH! 186
X. THE ROYAL YOUNG PEOPLE, 212
XI. THE QUEEN IN SORROW, 235
XII. THE LITTLE FOLK, 259
XIII. MOTHER AND EMPRESS, 278
XIV. THE JUBILEE SEASON, 299
XV. THE QUEEN AND THE CHILDREN, 319
XVI. THE CLOSING YEARS, 338
ILLUSTRATIONS
Her Majesty the Queen in her state robes. (_From painting
by Alfred E. Chalon, R.A., 1838_) _Frontispiece_
_Facing page_
Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent and Princess Victoria
(_From painting by Sir W. Beechey, R.A._) 16
The Princess Victoria at the age of eleven 46
The coronation of Queen Victoria. (_From painting by Sir
George Hayter_) 110
Albert, Prince Consort, in the uniform of a field marshal 136
The Queen in 1845. (_From a painting by John Partridge_) 158
Queen Victoria; Prince Albert; Victoria, Princess Royal;
Albert Edward, Prince of Wales; Prince Alfred; Princess
Alice; Princess Helena. (_From a painting by F. Winterhalter,
1848_) 188
Westminster Abbey 216
Balmoral Castle 244
Houses of Parliament 274
Windsor Castle 302
Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. (_From a photograph by
A.Bassano_) 338
In the Days of Queen Victoria
CHAPTER I
BABY DRINA
"Elizabeth would be a good name for her," said the Duke of Kent.
"Elizabeth was the greatest woman who ever sat on the throne of
England. The English people are used to the name, and they like it."
"But would the Emperor Alexander be pleased?" asked the Duchess. "If he
is to be godfather, ought she not to be named for him?"
"Alexandra--no; Alexandrina," said the Duke thoughtfully. "Perhaps you
are right. 'Queen Alexandrina' has a good sound, and the day may come
when the sovereign of England will be as glad of the friendship of the
Emperor of Russia as the Regent is to-day."
"Are you so sure, Edward, that she will be a sovereign?" asked his wife
with a smile.
"Doesn't she look like a queen?" demanded the Duke. "Look at her golden
hair and her blue eyes! There, see how she put her hand out, just as if
she was giving a command! I don't believe any baby a week old ever did
that before. The next time I review the troops she shall go with me.
You're a soldier's daughter, little one. Come and see the world that
you are to conquer." He lifted the tiny baby, much to the displeasure
of the nurse, and carried her across the room to the window that looked
out upon Kensington Garden. "Now, little one," he whispered into the
baby's ear, "they don't believe us and we won't talk about it, but
you'll be queen some day."
"Is that the way every father behaves with his first baby?" asked the
Duchess.
"They're much alike, your Grace," replied the nurse rather grimly, as
she followed the Duke to the window with a blanket on her arm. The Duke
was accustomed to commanding thousands of men, and every one of them
trembled if his weapons and uniform were not spotless, or if he had
been guilty of the least neglect of duty. In more than one battle the
Duke had stood so firmly that he had received the thanks of Parliament
for his bravery and fearlessness. He would never have surrendered a
city to a besieging army, but now he had met his match, and he laid the
baby in the nurse's arms with the utmost meekness.
The question of a name for the child was not yet decided, for the
wishes of someone else had to be considered, and that was the Prince
Regent, the Duke's older brother, George. He thought it proper that his
niece should be named Georgiana in honor of himself.
"Georgiana let it be," said the Duke of Kent, "her first name shall be
Alexandrina."
"Then Georgiana it shall _not_ be," declared the Prince Regent. "No
niece of mine shall put my name second to any king or emperor here in
my own country. Call her Alexandrina Alexandra Alexander, if you
choose, but she'll not be called Alexandrina Georgiana."
When the time for the christening had arrived the Archbishop of
Canterbury and the Bishop of London came to Kensington in company with
the crimson velvet curtains from the chapel at St. James' and a
beautiful golden font which had been taken from the Tower for the
baptism of the royal baby. The Archbishop and the Bishop, the Prince
Regent, and another brother of the Duke of Kent, who was to represent
the Emperor of Russia as godfather, all stood around the golden font in
the magnificent cupola room, the grand saloon of Kensington Palace. The
godmothers were the child's grandmother and aunt, and they were
represented by English princesses. All the royal family were present.
After the prayers had been said and the promises of the sponsors made,
the Archbishop took the little Princess in his arms and, turning to the
godfathers and the godmothers, he said: "Name this child."
"Alexandrina," responded the Duke of York.
"Give her another name," bade the Duke of Kent in a low tone.
"Name her for her mother, then," said the Prince Regent to the
Archbishop, and the baby was christened Alexandrina Victoria.
It made little difference to either the Duke or the baby how the Prince
Regent might feel about her name, for the Duke was the happiest of
fathers, and the little Drina, as the Princess was called, was a merry,
sweet-tempered baby. Everyone at Kensington loved her, and over the sea
was a grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Coburg, who could hardly wait
for the day to come when she would be able to see the child. "How
pretty the little Mayflower will be," she wrote, "when I see it in a
year's time." Another letter said: "The English like queens, and the
niece of the beloved Princess Charlotte will be most dear to them."
Princess Charlotte was the only child of Prince George, and the nation
had loved her and longed to have her for their queen. She had married
Leopold, the brother of the Duchess of Kent, and had died only two
years before "Princess Drina" was born.
The succession to the English crown was in a peculiar condition. The
king, George III., had become insane, and his eldest son, George, was
ruling as Prince Regent. If the Regent lived longer than his father, he
would become George IV. His next younger brother was Frederick, Duke of
York; then came William, Duke of Clarence; and then the Duke of Kent.
George and Frederick had no children, and William's baby girl died on
the very day that the Princess Alexandrina was born. If these three
brothers died without children, the Duke of Kent would become king; but
even then, if the Duke should have a son, the law was that he, rather
than the daughter, should inherit the crown. The baby Princess, then,
stood fifth in the succession to the throne, and a child born to any
one of these three uncles, or a son born to her father, would remove
her still further from sovereignty.
The English people had talked of all these possibilities. The Duke of
Kent had also several younger brothers, but they were all middle-aged
men, the youngest forty-five, and not one of them had a child. If all
the children of George III. died without heirs, the English crown would
descend to a line of Germans who had never walked on English soil. "We
have had one king who could not speak English," said the people, "and
we do not want another." The Duke of Kent was a general favorite among
them, and they hoped that he, and after him his daughter, would become
their ruler. Indeed, they hoped for this so strongly that they began to
feel sure that it would come to pass. Everyone wanted to see the little
Princess. Many a person lingered under the palace windows for hours,
and went away feeling well repaid for the delay if he had caught a
glimpse of the royal baby in her nurse's arms.
When the Princess was four months old, the Duke gave orders one
afternoon that she should be made ready for a drive with him.
"But is it not the day of the military review on Hounslow Heath?" asked
the Duchess.
"Yes," replied the Duke, "and where else should a soldier's daughter be
but at a review? I want to see how she likes the army. You know she
will be at the head of the army some day," he added half in jest and
half in earnest. "Won't you let me have her?" The Duchess shook her
head playfully. Just then the nurse entered the room with the little
Princess in her outdoor wraps. The tall Duke caught up the child and
ran to the carriage like a naughty boy with a forbidden plaything, and
the nurse followed.
At the review the Duke was not so stern a disciplinarian as usual, for
more than one man who was expected to stand "eyes front" took a sly
look at the pretty baby in her nurse's arms, and the proud father
forgot to blame him for the misdemeanor. After the review the people
gathered about the carriage.
"God bless the child," cried an old man. "She'll be a Princess
Charlotte to us."
"Look at her sweet face," said another. "Did you ever see such bright
blue eyes? She'll be a queen who can see what her people want."
There were hurrahs for the Princess and hurrahs for the Duke. Then a
voice in the crowd cried: "Give us a rousing cheer for the Duchess who
cares for her own baby and doesn't leave her to the hired folk."
In all this hubbub and confusion the blue-eyed baby did not cry or show
the least fear. "She's a soldier's child," said the Duke with delight,
and he took her from the nurse and helped her to wave her tiny hand to
the admiring crowd.
Prince George had never been on good terms with his brother, the Duke
of Kent, and after the affair of the name he was less friendly than
ever. He was always jealous of the child, and when he heard of her
reception at the review he was thoroughly angry. "That infant is too
young to be brought into public," he declared.
She was not brought into so public a place again, but she won friends
wherever she went. The Duke could not bear to have her away from him
for an hour, and the greatest honor he could show to a guest was to
allow him to take the little one in his arms. An old friend was at the
Palace, one evening, and when he rose to go, the Duke said: "No, come
with me first and see the child in her crib." As they entered the room
of the little Princess, the Duke said: "We are going to Sidmouth in two
or three days to cheat the winter, and so we may not meet again for
some time. I want you to give my child your blessing. Pray for her, not
merely that her life may be brilliant and free from trouble, but that
God will bless her, and that in all the years to come He will guide her
and guard her." The prayer was made, and the Duke responded with an
earnest "Amen."
In a few days the family set out for Sidmouth. Kensington was becoming
cold and damp, and the precious baby must not be risked in the London
chills of the late autumn. The Duchess, moreover, had devoted herself
so closely to her child that she needed a change and rest.
At Sidmouth the old happy life of the past six months went on for a
little while. The house was so small that it was called "hardly more
than a cottage," but it had pretty verandas and bay windows, shaded by
climbing roses and honeysuckles. It stood on a sunny knoll, with tall
trees circling around it. Just below the knoll was a little brook
running merrily to the sea, a quarter of a | 2,374.064058 |
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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, some even said from the marshal. In
the Quarter it was said that it came from the emperor. The Sergeant
suggested that Pierre was the man for the place; but the captain simply
repeated the order. The Quarter approved the selection, and several
fights occurred among the children who had gotten up a company as to
who should be the sergeant. It was deemed more honorable than to be the
captain.
The day the regiment left Paris, the Sergeant was ordered to report
several reliable men for special duty; he detailed Pierre among the
number. Pierre was sick, so sick that when the company started he would
have been left behind but for his father. The old soldier was too proud
of his son to allow him to miss the opportunity of fighting for France.
Pierre was the handsomest man in the regiment.
The new levies on arrival in the field went into camp, in and near some
villages and were drilled,--quite needlessly, Pierre and some of the
others declared. They were not accustomed to restraint, and they could
not see why they should be worked to death when they were lying in camp
doing nothing. But the soldier of the empire was a strict drill-master,
and the company was shortly the best-drilled one in the regiment.
Yet the army lay still: they were not marching on to Berlin. The sole
principle of the campaign seemed to be the massing together of as many
troops as possible. What they were to do no one appeared very clearly to
know. What they were doing all knew: they were doing nothing. The men,
at first burning for battle, became cold or lukewarm with waiting;
dissatisfaction crept in, and then murmurs: "Why did they not fight?"
The soldier of the empire himself was sorely puzzled. The art of war had
clearly changed since his day. The emperor would have picked the best
third of these troops and have been at the gates of the Prussian capital
in less time than they had spent camped with the enemy right before
them. Still, it was not for a soldier to question, and he reported for
a week's extra guard duty a man who ventured to complain in his presence
that the marshal knew as little as the men. Extra guard duty did no
good. The army was losing heart.
Thus it was for several weeks. But at last, one evening, it was apparent
that some change was at hand: the army stirred and shook itself as a
great animal moves and stretches, not knowing if it will awake or drop
off to sleep again.
During the night it became wide awake. It was high time. The Prussians
were almost on them. They had them in a trap. They held the higher
grounds and hemmed the French in. All night long the tents were being
struck, and the army was in commotion. No one knew just why it was. Some
said they were about to be attacked; some said they were surrounded.
Uncertainty gave place to excitement. At length they marched.
When day began to break, the army had been tumbled into line of battle,
and the regiment in which the old Sergeant and Pierre were was drawn
up on the edge of a gentleman's park outside of the villages. The line
extended beyond them farther than they could see, and large bodies of
troops were massed behind them, and were marching and countermarching
in clouds of dust. The rumor went along the ranks that they were in
the advanced line, and that the Germans were just the other side of
the little plateau, which they could dimly see in the gray light of the
dawn. The men, having been marching in the dark, were tired, and most
of them lay down, when they were halted, to rest. Some went to sleep;
others, like Pierre, set to work and with their bayonets dug little
trenches and threw up a slight earthwork before them, behind which they
could lie; for the skirmishers had been thrown out, looking vague and
ghostly as they trotted forward in the dim twilight, and they supposed
that the battle would be fought right there. By the time, however, that
the trenches were dug, the line was advanced, and the regiment was moved
forward some distance, and was halted just under a knoll along which ran
a road. The Sergeant was the youngest man in the company; the sound of
battle had brought back all his fire. To him numbers were nothing. He
thought it now but a matter of a few hours, and France would be at the
gates of Berlin. He saw once more the field of glory and heard again
the shout of victory; Lorraine would be saved; he beheld the tricolor
floating over the capital of the enemies of France. Perhaps, it would be
planted there by Pierre. And he saw in his imagination Pierre climbing
at a stride from a private to a captain, a colonel, a--! who could
tell?--had not the _baton_ been won in a campaign? As to dreaming that a
battle could bring any other result than victory!--It was impossible!
"Where are you going?" shouted derisively the men of a regiment at rest,
to the Sergeant's command as they marched past.
"To Berlin," replied the Sergeant.
The reply evoked cheers, and that regiment that day stood its ground
until a fourth of its men fell. The old soldier's enthusiasm infected
the new recruits, who were pale and nervous under the strain of waiting.
His eye rested on Pierre, who was standing down near the other end of
the company, and the father's face beamed as he thought he saw there
resolution and impatience for the fight. Ha! France should ring with his
name; the Quarter should go wild with delight.
Just then the skirmishers ahead began to fire, and in a few moments it
was answered by a sullen note from the villages beyond the plain, and
the battle had begun. The dropping fire of the skirmish line increased
and merged into a rattle, and suddenly the thunder broke from a hill
to their right, and ran along the crest until the earth trembled under
their feet. Bullets began to whistle over their heads and clip the
leaves of the trees beyond them, and the long, pulsating scream of
shells flying over them and exploding in the park behind them made the
faces of the men look gray in the morning twilight. Waiting was worse
than fighting. It told on the young men.
In a little while a staff-officer galloped up to the colonel, who was
sitting on his horse in the road, quietly smoking a cigar, and a moment
later the whole line was in motion. They were wheeled to the right, and
marched under shelter of the knoll in the direction of the firing. As
they passed the turn of the road, they caught a glimpse of the hill
ahead where the artillery, enveloped in smoke, was thundering from an
ever-thickening cloud. A battery of eight guns galloped past them, and
turning the curve disappeared in a cloud of dust. To the new recruits it
seemed as if the whole battle was being fought right there. They could
see nothing but their own line, and only a part of that; smoke and dust
hid everything else; but the hill was plainly an important point, for
they were being pushed forward, and the firing on the rise ahead of them
was terrific. They were still partly protected by the ridge, but shells
were screaming over them, and the earth was rocking under their feet.
More batteries came thundering by,--the men clinging to the pieces and
the drivers lashing their horses furiously,--and disappearing into
the smoke on the hill, unlimbered and swelled the deafening roar; they
passed men lying on the ground dead or wounded, or were passed by others
helping wounded comrades to the rear. Several men in the company fell,
some crying out or groaning with pain, and two or three killed outright.
The men were dodging and twisting, with heads bent forward a little as
if in a pelting rain. Only the old Sergeant and some of the younger ones
were perfectly erect.
"Why don't you dodge the balls?" asked a recruit of the Sergeant.
"A soldier of the empire never dodges," was the proud reply.
Some change occurred on the hills; they could not see what. Just then
the order came down the line to advance at a double-quick and support
the batteries. They moved forward at a run and passed beyond the shelter
of the ridge. Instantly they were in the line of fire from the Prussian
batteries, whose white puffs of smoke were visible across the plain, and
bullets and shell tore wide spaces in their ranks. They could not see
the infantrymen, who were in pits, but the bullets hissed and whistled
by them. The men on both sides of Pierre were killed and fell forward on
their faces with a thud, one of them still clutching his musket. Pierre
would have stopped, but there was no time, the men in the rear pressed
him on. As they appeared in the smoke of the nearest battery, the
artillerymen broke into cheers at the welcome sight, and all down the
line it was taken up. All around were dead and dying men increasing in
numbers momentarily. No one had time to notice them. Some of them had
blankets thrown over them. The infantry, who were a little to the side
of the batteries, were ordered to lie down; most of them had already
done so; even then they were barely protected; shot and shell ploughed
the ground around them as if it had been a fallow field; men spoke to
their comrades, and before receiving a reply were shot dead at their
sides. The wounded were more ghastly than the dead; their faces growing
suddenly deadly white from the shock as they were struck.
The gunners lay in piles around their guns, and still the survivors
worked furiously in the dense heat and smoke, the sweat pouring down
their blackened faces. The fire was terrific.
Suddenly an officer galloped up, and spoke to the lieutenant of the
nearest battery.
"Where is the colonel?"
"Killed."
"Where is your captain?"
"Dead, there under the gun."
"Are you in command?"
"I suppose so."
"Well, hold this hill."
"How long?"
"Forever." And he galloped off.
His voice was heard clear and ringing in a sudden lull, and the old
Sergeant, clutching his musket, shouted:
"We will, forever."
There was a momentary lull.
Suddenly the cry was:
"Here they are."
In an instant a dark line of men appeared coming up the <DW72>. The guns
were trained down on them, but shot over their heads; they were double
shotted and trained lower, and belched forth canister. They fell in
swathes, yet still they came on at a run, hurrahing, until they were
almost up among the guns, and the gunners were leaving their pieces. The
old Sergeant's voice speaking to his men was as steady as if on parade,
and kept them down, and when the command was given to fire kneeling,
they rose as one man, and poured a volley into the Germans' faces which
sent them reeling back down the hill, leaving a broken line of dead and
struggling men on the deadly crest. Just then a brigade officer came
along. They heard him | 2,374.260771 |
2023-11-16 18:56:38.3357920 | 3,832 | 27 |
Produced by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
Miss Theodosia's Heartstrings
BY
ANNIE HAMILTON DONNELL
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
WILLIAM VAN DRESSER
[Illustration: Slowly her delicate fingers undid the ravages of
Stefana's patient endeavors. FRONTISPIECE.]
To MY HUSBAND
WHO COULD WRITE SO MUCH
BETTER A BOOK AND
DEDICATE IT TO
ME!
ILLUSTRATIONS
Slowly her delicate fingers undid the ravages of Stefana's patient
endeavors.
"We've all got beautiful names, except poor Elly"
"If you are thinking of putting me anywhere, put me into a story like
that"
Evangeline established a stage of action outside the window
Miss Theodosia's Heartstrings
CHAPTER I
"Mercy gracious!"
"_Well!"_
The last utterance was Miss Theodosia Baxter's. She was a woman of few
words at all times where few sufficed. One sufficed now. The child on
her front porch, with a still childlier child on the small area of her
knees, was not a creature of few words, but now extreme surprise limited
speech. She was stricken with brevity,--stricken is the word--to match
Miss Theodosia's.
Downward, upward, each gazed into the other's surprised face. The
childlier child, jouncing pleasantly back and forth, viewed them both
impartially.
It was the child who regarded the situation, after a moment of mental
adjustment, as humorous. She giggled softly.
"Mercy gracious! How you surprised me' 'n' Elly Precious, an' me 'n'
Elly Precious surprised you! I don't know which was the whichest! We
came over to be shady just once more. We didn't s'pose you would come
home till to-morrow, did we, Elly Precious?"
"I came last night," Miss Theodosia replied with crispness. She stood in
her doorway, apparently waiting for something which--apparently--was not
to happen. The child and Elly Precious sat on in seeming calm.
"Yes'm. Of course if you hadn't come, you wouldn't be standin' there
lookin' at Elly Precious--isn't he a darlin' dear? Wouldn't you like to
look at his toes?"
It was Miss Theodosia Baxter's turn to say "Mercy gracious!" but she did
not say it aloud. It was her turn, too, to see a bit of humor in the
situation on her front porch.
"Not--just now," she said rather hastily. She could not remember ever to
have seen a baby's toes. "I've no doubt they are--are excellent toes."
The word did not satisfy her, but the suitable adjective was not at
hand.
"Mercy gracious! That's a funny way to talk about toes! Elly Precious's
are pink as anything--an' six--yes'm! I've made consid'able money out of
his toes. Yes," with rising pride at the sight of Miss Theodosia's
surprise, "'leven cents, so far. I only charged Lelia Fling a cent for
two looks, because Lelia's baby's dead. I've got three cents out o' her;
she says five of Elly Precious's remind her of her baby's toes. Isn't it
funny you can't make boys pay to look at babies' toes, even when they's
such a lot? Only just girls. Stefana says it's because girls are
ungrown-up mothers. Mercy gracious! speakin' of Stefana an' mothers,
reminds me--"
The shrill little voice stopped with a suddenness that made the woman in
the door fear for Elly Precious; it seemed that he must be jolted from
his narrow perch.
Miss Theodosia had wandered up and down the world for three years in be
search of something to interest her, only to come home and find it here
upon the upper step of her own front porch. She stepped from the doorway
and sat down in one of the wicker rockers. She had plenty of time to be
interested; there was really no haste for unpacking and settling back
into her little country rut.
"What about 'Stefana and mothers'?" she prodded gently. A cloud had
settled on the child's vivid little face and threatened to overshade the
childlier child, as well. "I suppose 'Stefana' is a Spanish person,
isn't she?" The name had a definitely foreign sound.
"Oh, no'm--just a United States. We're all United States. Mother named
her; we've all got beautiful names, except poor Elly. Mother hated to
call him Elihu, but there was Grandfather gettin' older an' older all
the time, an' she dassen't wait till the next one. She put it off an'
off with the other boys, Carruthers an' Gilpatrick--he's dead. She just
couldn't name any of 'em Elihu, till Grandfather scared her, gettin' so
old. She was afraid there wouldn't be time, an' there wasn't any to
spare. Grandfather's dead now--she's thankful enough she didn't wait any
longer. He was so pleased. He said he could depart this life easier,
leavin' an Elihu Flagg behind him. An', anyway, Mother says Elly can
call himself his middle name, if he'd ruther, when he's twenty-one--his
middle name's Launcelot."
Elihu Launcelot, at this juncture, toppled over against the little flat
breast of his nurse, asleep--or in a swoon; Miss Theodosia had her
fears. There seemed sufficient swooning cause.
"Stefana," she prompted again, her interest advancing at a rapid pace,
"and mothers--"
"Stefana's our oldest. She's goin' to run us while Mother's away. She's
got a job before her! All I can do is 'tend Elly Precious--we're all
boys, but us. But, of course, runnin' the family isn't the real
trouble--not what made Mother cry."
Miss Theodosia sat forward in her chair.
"What made Mother cry?" she asked. The child shifted her heavy burden
the better to turn her head. She regarded the beautiful white lady
gloomily.
"You," she stated briefly.
This time Miss Theodosia said it aloud and with a surprising ease, as if
of long custom--"Mercy gracious!"
"Oh, I didn't mean you're to blame; you can't help Aunt Sarah tumblin'
down the cellar stairs an' Mother not bein' able to do you up."
"Do me--up?"
"Yes'm--white-wash you. Mother was sure you'd let her, an' we were goin'
to send Carruthers to a deaf 'n' dumb school after you'd wore white
clo'es enough. He isn't dumb, but he's deaf. He can't hear Elly Precious
laugh--only yell. Mother heard that you always wore white dresses an'
she most hugged herself--she hugged us. She said you'd prob'ly find out
what a good white-washer she was an' let her white-wash you. But, now,
Aunt Sarah's went an' fell down cellar."
"Whitewash--whitewash?" queried Miss Theodosia.
"Yes'm, you didn't think Mother was a washwoman, did you? Of course she
could, but it doesn't pay's well. She only whitewashes--white clo'es,
you know, dresses an' shirtwaists. She says it's her talent that the
Lord's gave her, an' she's goin' to make it gain ten talents for
Carruthers. But Aunt Sarah--"
"Never mind Aunt Sarah. Unless--do you mean your mother has had to go
away from home?"
"Yes'm, to see to Aunt Sarah. They were twins when they were babies.
Mother cried, because she said of course you'd have to be done up while
she was gone, an' so she'd lost you. She said you'd been her bacon light
ever since she heard you was comin' home an' wore so many white clo'es."
The garrulous little voice might have run on indefinitely but for the
abrupt appearance, here, of a slender girl in an all-enwrapping gingham
apron. She came hurrying up Miss Theodosia's front walk.
"Well, Evangeline Flagg, I hope you're blushing crimson scarlet
red--helping yourself to folks's doorsteps that's got back from Europe!
I hope--" but the newcomer got no further, for, quite suddenly, she
found herself blushing crimson scarlet red, in the grip of a
disconcerting thought.
"I suppose it's just as bad to help yourself to doorsteps when folks
aren't here as when they are," she said slowly, "but you mustn't blame
Mother. She'd never've allowed Evangeline and Elly, if we'd had a single
sol-i-ta-ry tree. Or been on the shady side. Or had a porch. Elly's been
pindly, and Mother felt obliged to save his life. It's been terribly
hot. Here, Evangeline Flagg, you give Elly here, an' you run home an'
keep the soup-kettle from burning on. Don't you wait until it smells!
I've got an errand to do here."
The child, Evangeline, relinquished her burden and turned slowly away.
But she halted at the foot of the steps.
"This is Stefana," she introduced politely. "Stefana, you ain't _goin'
to_? You look 'xactly as if you was. Mercy gracious!"
[Illustration: "We've all got beautiful names except poor Elly."]
"Yes," Stefana returned gravely, "I am. Now, you go. Remember the soup!"
Miss Theodosia's interested gaze left the retreating little figure and
came back to Stefana and Elly Precious. She was pleasantly aware of her
own immaculate daintiness in her crisp white dress. Only Theodosia
Baxter would have dreamed of arraying herself in white to unpack and
settle. Her friends declared she made a fetich of her white raiment; it
was a well-known fact among them that she was extremely "fussy" about
its laundering.
"One, two, three," counted the slender girl, over the baby's bald little
head, "only three tucks, an' the lace not terribly full on the edges.
I'm thankful there aren't any ruffles, but, there, I suppose there are
on some o' the others, aren't there? I'll have to manage the ruffles. I
mean, if--oh, I mean, won't you please let me do you up? Just till Aunt
Sarah's bone knits--so to save you for Mother? I'll try so hard! If I
don't, Charlotte Lovell will--she's the only other one. She's a
beautiful washer and ironer, but none of her children are deaf, and she
hasn't any, anyway. I didn't dare to come over and ask you, but I kept
thinking of poor Mother and how she's been 'lotting on earning all that
money. There, I've asked you--please don't answer till I've counted ten.
When we were little, Mother always said for us to; it was safer. One,
two, three--" she counted rapidly, then swung about facing Miss
Theodosia. "You can say 'no,' now," she said, with a difficult little
smile.
Miss Theodosia had been, in a way, counting ten herself. She had had
time to remember her very strict injunctions to those to whom she
entrusted her beloved white gowns--to pull out the lace with careful
fingers, not to iron it; to iron embroidered portions over many
thicknesses of flannel, and never, never, never on the right side; to
starch the dresses just enough and not too much. All these thoughts
flashed through her mind while Stefana counted ten. But it was without
accompaniment of injunctions that Miss Theodosia answered on that
wistful little stroke of ten. In her soul she felt the futility of
injunctions.
"Yes," answered Miss Theodosia.
Stefana whirled, at the risk of Elihu Launcelot.
"Oh--oh, what? You mean I can do you up, honest? Starch you, and iron
you, too--of course, I could wash you. Oh, if I could drop Elly Precious
I'd get right up and dance!"
"Give Elly Precious to me, and go ahead, my dear," said the White Lady
with a smile.
But Stefana shook her head. She was covertly studying the white dress
once more. It was very white--she could detect no promising spots or
creases, and she drew a sigh even in the midst of her rejoicing. If a
person only sat on porches, in chairs, how often did white dresses need
doing up? Miss Theodosia interpreted the sigh and look.
"Oh, I've three of them rolled up in my trunk; aren't three enough to
begin on? And shirtwaists--I'm sure I don't know how many of those. I'll
go and get them now."
In the hall she stopped at the mirror, jibing at the image confronting
her. "You've done it this time, Theodosia Baxter! When you can't bear a
wrinkle! But, there, don't look so scared--daughters inherit their
mothers' talents, plenty of times. And you need only try it once, of
course."
After Stefana had gone away, doubly laden with clothes and bulky baby,
Miss Theodosia remained on her porch. She found herself leaning over and
parting her porch-vines, to get a glimpse of the little house next door.
She had always loathed that little house with its barefaced poverties
and uglinesses, and it had been a great relief to her to have it stand
vacant in past years. She had left it vacant when she started upon her
last globe-trotting. Now here it was teeming with life, and here she was
aiding and abetting it! What new manner of Theodosia Baxter was this?
"You'd better get up and globe-trot again, Woman, and not unpack," she
uttered, with a lone woman's habit of talking to herself. "You were
never made to live in a house like other people--to sit on porches and
rock. And certainly, Theodosia Baxter, you were never made to live next
to that little dry-goods box. It will turn you gray, poor thing." She
felt a gentle pity for herself, then gentle wrath seized her. Why had
she come home, anyway? Already she was lonely and restless. Why--could
anybody tell her why--had she weakly yielded to two small girls? Her
dear-beloved white dresses! And she could not go back on her
promise--not on a Baxter promise! There was, indeed, the release of
going away again, back to her globe-trotting--
"I might write to Cornelia Dunlap," Miss Theodosia thought. "Maybe she
is sorry she came home, too."
Cornelia Dunlap had been her recent comrade of the road. They had
traveled to many far places together. What would Cornelia say to that
little conference of three--and a baby--on the front porch?
"My dear," wrote Miss Theodosia, "you will think I have been swapped in
my cradle since I left you! 'That is no fellow tramp of mine,' you will
say, 'That woman being victimized by children in knee-high dresses!
Theodosia Baxter nothing!'"--for Cornelia Dunlap in moments of surprise
resorted sometimes to slang, which she claimed was a sturdy vehicle of
speech. "You will set down your teacup hard," wrote on Miss
Theodosia,--"I know you are drinking tea!--when I tell you the little
story of the Whitewashing of Theodosia Baxter. But shall I tell it? Why
expose Theodosia Baxter's weaknesses when hitherto she has posed as
strong? Soberly, Cornelia, I am as much surprised at myself as you will
be (oh, I shall tell it!). Do you remember your Mother Goose? The little
astonished old lady who took a nap beside the road and woke to find her
petticoats cut off at her knees? 'Oh, lawk-a-daisy me, can this be I!'
cried she. I'm not sure those were just her words, but they will do. Oh,
lawk-a-daisy me, can this be Theodosia Baxter! The Astonished Little Old
Lady, if I remember my Mother Goose, resorted to the simple expedient of
going home and letting her little dog decide if she were she. But I have
no little dog.
"They were so earnest to whitewash me, Cornelia! The whole scheme was
such a plucky little one and Baxters, from the dawn of creation, have
admired pluck. The lively, chatterbox-one was | 2,374.355832 |
2023-11-16 18:56:38.6348250 | 1,411 | 9 |
Produced by Mark C. Orton, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Books project.)
J. BRYER & SON,
Nautical Instrument Makers & Yacht Fitters,
104, MINORIES, LONDON.
13-in. high, =£5 10s.= Nickel-plated, =£6 10s.=
Blocks.
Rope.
Cleats.
Fairleads.
Flags.
Pumps.
Chains.
Anchors.
Cork Seats.
Stoves.
Knives, etc.
Masts.
Spars.
Wire Rigging.
[Illustration]
Spirit Compasses.
Dry Compasses.
Clocks and Aneroid Barometers.
Charts.
Books.
Night Glasses.
Lamps: Port, Starboard, and Anchor.
Cabin Lamps.
* * * * *
Rowlocks.
Boat Hooks.
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Extreme Height only 14 inches. 5-inch Card Liquid Compass.
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_Rope of all Kinds for Yachts, Boats, and Canoes._
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R. J. TURK,
BOAT, PUNT, AND CANOE BUILDER,
KINGSTON-ON-THAMES, SURREY.
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HEAD QUARTERS OF THE ROYAL CANOE CLUB.
CRUISING CANOE, with SELF-REEFING GEAR SAILS.
[Illustration]
Gold Medal, Melbourne, 1888-1889. Gold Medal, Edinburgh, 1886.
Gold Medal, Glasgow, 1886-1887. Silver Medal, Liverpool, 1886.
Gold Medal, Paris International Exhibition, 1885.
Silver and Bronze Medals, Falmouth Exhibition, 1885.
The Medal of the Sanitary Institute of Great Britain, Leicester, 1885.
Only Prize Medal, Inventions Exhibition, 1885, for Construction of
Boats.
Silver Medal, Havre, 1887. Medal, Saltaire, 1887.
Highest Award, First Order of Merit, Adelaide International Exhibition,
1887, for Rowing Skiff and Canoe.
Silver Medal, Brussels, 1888. Silver and Bronze Medals, Barcelona, 1888.
Builder of the Nautilus Sailing Canoe, awarded Silver Medal, Inventions
Exhibition, 1885.
RADIX FOLDING CENTRE BOARD (Patent).
Gold Medal, New Orleans. Silver Medal, Philadelphia.
Sole Agent for Europe, R. J. TURK.
NORIE & WILSON,
CHART PUBLISHERS,
156, MINORIES, LONDON.
SAILING AND STEAM YACHTS FOR SALE OR HIRE.
YACHTING REQUISITES OF EVERY KIND.
_Charts, Books, Nautical Instruments, Signal Flags, Burgees, Ensigns,
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[Illustration]
CATALOGUES POST FREE.
SAILING.
E. F. KNIGHT.
_THE ALL-ENGLAND SERIES._
_Small 8vo, cloth, price 1s. each._
_CRICKET._ _By the HON. IVO BLIGH._
_LAWN TENNIS._ _By H. W. W. WILBERFORCE, Sec. A.E.L.T.C._
_ROWING AND SCULLING._ _By W. B. WOODGATE, Diamond Sculls._
_SAILING._ _By E. F. KNIGHT, Author of “The Cruise of the
‘Falcon,’” &c._ [_Double volume, 2s._]
_GOLF._ _By W. T. LINSKILL, Cam. Univ. Golf Club._
_SWIMMING._ _By MARTIN COBBETT._
_CYCLING._ _By H. H. GRIFFIN, L.A.C., N.C.U., C.T.C._
_ATHLETICS._ _By H. H. GRIFFIN, L.A.C._
_FOOTBALL--RUGBY GAME._ _By HARRY VASSALL._
_FOOTBALL--ASSOCIATION GAME._ _By C. W. ALCOCK._
_BOXING._ _By R. G. ALLANSON-WINN, Winner of Middle and Heavy
Weights, Cambridge, 1876-8._
_WRESTLING._ _By WALTER ARMSTRONG, Author of “Wrestliana.”_
_TENNIS._ _By JULIAN MARSHALL._
_FENCING._ _By H. A. COLMORE DUNN, Inns of Court School of Arms._
_SKATING._ _By DOUGLAS ADAMS, London Skating Club._
_LONDON: GEORGE BELL & SONS._
SAILING.
BY
E. F. KNIGHT,
BARRISTER-AT-LAW,
AUTHOR OF “THE CRUISE OF THE ‘FALCON,’”
“THE ‘FALCON’ ON THE BALTIC,” ETC.
_WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS._
LONDON: GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK STREET,
COVENT GARDEN.
1889.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
PAGE
The choice of a boat--Description of the various parts of a
cutter 1
CHAPTER II.
THE ROPES.
Knots, bends, and hitches 6
CHAPTER III.
THE THEORY OF SAILING.
Leeway and lateral resistance--Heeling--Balancing sails--
Tacking--Action of rudder--Longitudinal | 2,374.654865 |
2023-11-16 18:56:38.8342340 | 2,235 | 7 |
Produced by Ron Swanson
THE PRECIOUS AND SACRED WRITINGS OF MARTIN LUTHER
_The Hero of the Reformation, the Greatest of the Teuton Church
Fathers, and the Father of Protestant Church Literature_
BASED ON THE KAISER CHRONOLOGICAL EDITION WITH REFERENCE TO THE
ERLANGEN AND WALCH EDITIONS
EDITED BY JOHN NICHOLAS LENKER, D.D. IN CONNECTION WITH LEADING
SCHOLARS OF ALL PARTS OF THE CHURCH
LUTHERANS IN ALL LANDS CO.,
MINNEAPOLIS, MINN., U.S.A.
1904
LUTHER ON THE CREATION
A CRITICAL AND DEVOTIONAL COMMENTARY ON GENESIS
BASED ON DR. HENRY COLE'S TRANSLATION FROM THE ORIGINAL LATIN.
REVISED, ENLARGED, PARTS RETRANSLATED AND EDITED IN COMPLETE FORM
BY
JOHN NICHOLAS LENKER, D.D.
PROFESSOR OF OLD TESTAMENT EXEGESIS, AUTHOR OF "LUTHERANS IN ALL
LANDS" AND PRESIDENT OF THE NATIONAL LUTHERAN LIBRARY ASSOCIATION
VOL. I.
LUTHERANS IN ALL LANDS CO.,
MINNEAPOLIS, MINN., U.S.A.
1904
COPYRIGHT, 1904,
BY PROF. J. N. LENKER, D.D.
SECOND INTRODUCTION
--to--
LUTHER'S WORKS IN ENGLISH.
This introduction or prospectus is supplementary to that in the first
volume on the Psalms, in that it likewise emphasizes, though from
different view-points, the history and fruits, as well as the present
need and future mission of the Protestant Classics of the greatest of
all reformers in their relation to the development of the human race.
Let us in this introduction briefly notice the following: The progress
of the movement to translate and circulate Luther's works in English,
and then emphasize the need of developing an interest to read them;
first, because of the relation of Luther and his writings to the
public library; and secondly, because as the chief of the Teuton
Protestant Church Fathers, we need to understand Luther in his
relation to the Greek and Latin Church Fathers, and our true historic
relations to them all.
THE PROGRESS OF THE MOVEMENT.
With profound gratitude to Almighty God for his rich blessing bestowed
upon the publication and quick sale of the first volume, Luther's
Commentary on the Psalms, a book "the mourning soul cannot well be
without," we now send forth the first volume of his Commentary on
Genesis, with the confidence that those, who think with Melanchthon
that "a single page of Luther contains more sound divinity than many
whole volumes," will not change their opinion by studying this volume.
Having purchased all the copies of Luther on Galatians and his Notes
on the Gospels by Dr. P. Anstadt, and the right to reprint them, with
two other volumes about ready for the press, one by Prof. E. F.
Bartholomew, D.D., and another by Dr. Bernhard Pick, our progress is
encouraging, especially since the movement has taken an intersynodical
character with colaborers from every branch of our polyglot communion.
LUTHER ON THE OLD TESTAMENT NEEDED FIRST.
This volume on Genesis follows the first volume on the Psalms because
the volumes ought to be published first that are needed most and will
do the most good. As Professor of Old Testament Exegesis I found that
like "Luther on the Psalms" so "Luther on Genesis" was not accessible
to the English, Swedish, Norwegian and Danish students of theology,
Prof. Bugge's Norwegian translation of extracts from it being out of
print. Therefore we believe this volume also will be welcomed by all
Old Testament professors and students. While both these volumes will
be a healthy corrective to the Old Testament critics, their
contribution to the biblical knowledge and the devotional life of
Protestantism cannot be exaggerated. Though first delivered to
critical students they have also been extensively read in family
worship. Luther began and closed his blessed ministry in the church of
God not by fighting the Pope, but by expounding the Word of God. He
began by explaining the whole Psalter from 1513 to 1516 (before 1517)
forming volumes III and IV of the Kaiser Chronological Edition and
closed his life's labors by expounding the first book of the Bible,
Genesis, which composes volumes I and II of the St. Louis Walch
edition. He commenced with the penitential Psalms of David and ended
with Moses, the earliest writings of the Old Testament. The reason so
many preachers and congregations neglect the Old Testament is because
it is neglected in the seminaries. God willing a volume of Luther on
the Prophetical Books will be issued and then in all three years at
the seminary the students may have something of Luther on the
Pentateuch, Psalms and Prophets.
LUTHER'S WORDS ON PUBLIC LIBRARIES.
In the recent marvelous development of public libraries it is held if
it is the duty of the state to teach the child to read for the welfare
of the child and of the state, it is also the duty of the state to
offer the child something to read. Hence the library is being
supported by taxation like the public school, and the library
buildings are being erected near the high schools. It is as President
Roosevelt said while west recently, our civilization rests on the
church, the school and the library. The library is the child of the
church and school and will in turn greatly influence both. Luther, the
founder of the Protestant Church, and the founder of the Public
School, is also the founder of the Protestant Library. Yea, more,
nearly four hundred years ago he united the school and the library as
is proved by the following:
It is noteworthy that Luther closes his "Address to the Mayors and
Aldermen of all the Cities of Germany in behalf of Christian Schools,"
which is considered by educators for its pioneer character and
statements of principles "the most important educational treatise ever
written," by a powerful appeal in behalf of public libraries which I
give in full from Luther on Education by Prof. Painter.
Luther concludes that great educational treatise thus:
"Finally, this must be taken into consideration by all who earnestly
desire to see such schools established and the study of the languages
preserved in the German states; that no cost nor pains should be
spared to procure good libraries in suitable buildings, especially in
the large cities that are able to afford it. For if a knowledge of the
Gospel and of every kind of learning is to be preserved, it must be
embodied in books, as the prophets and apostles did, as I have already
shown. This should be done, not only that our spiritual and civil
leaders may have something to read and study, but also that good books
may not be lost, and that the arts and languages may be preserved,
with which God has graciously favored us. St. Paul was diligent in
this matter, since he lays the injunction upon Timothy, 'Give heed to
reading,' I Tim. 4:13, and directs him to bring the books, but
especially the parchments left at Troas, 2 Tim. 4:13.
"All the kingdoms that have been distinguished in the world have
bestowed care upon this matter, and particularly the Israelites, among
whom Moses was the first to begin the work, who commanded them to
preserve the book of the law in the ark of God, and put it under the
care of Levites, that any one might procure copies from them. He even
commanded the king to make a copy of this book in the hands of the
Levites. Among other duties, God directed the Levitical priesthood to
preserve and attend to the books. Afterwards Joshua increased and
improved this library, as did subsequently Samuel, David, Solomon,
Isaiah, and many kings and prophets. Hence have come to us the Holy
Scriptures of the Old Testament, which would not otherwise have been
collected and preserved, if God had not required such diligence in
regard to it.
"After this example collegiate churches and convents formerly founded
libraries, although with few good books. And the injury from the
neglect to procure books and good libraries, when there were men and
books enough for that purpose, was afterwards perceived in the decline
of every kind of knowledge; and instead of good books, the senseless,
useless, and hurtful books of the monks, the Catholicon, Florista,
Graecista, Labyrinthus, Dormi Secure (names of Latin grammars and
collections of sermons), and the like, were introduced by Satan, so
that the Latin language was corrupted, and neither good schools, good
instruction, nor good methods of study remained. And as we see, the
language and arts are, in an imperfect manner, recovered from
fragments of old books rescued from the worms and dust; and every day
men are seeking these literary remains, as people dig in the ashes of
a ruined city after treasures and jewels.
"Therein we have received our just due, and God has well recompensed
our ingratitude, in that we did not consider his benefits, and lay up
a supply of good literature when we had time and opportunity, but
neglected it, as if we were not concerned. He in turn, instead of the
Holy Scriptures and good books, suffered Aristotle and numberless
pernicious books to come into use, which only lead us further from the
Bible. To these were added the progeny of Satan, the monks and the
phantoms of the universities, which we founded at incredible cost, and
many doctors, preachers, teachers, priests and monks, that is to say,
great, coarse, fat fellows, adorned with red and brown caps, like
swine led with a golden chain and decorated with pearls; and we have
burdened ourselves with them, who have taught us nothing useful, but
have made us more and more blind and stupid, and as a reward have
consumed all our property, and filled all the cloisters, and indeed
every corner | 2,374.854274 |
2023-11-16 18:56:38.8562420 | 7,435 | 9 |
Produced by John Williams and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
BOTANY
OF
THE NORTHERN UNITED STATES.
MANUAL
OF
THE BOTANY
OF THE
NORTHERN UNITED STATES,
INCLUDING THE DISTRICT EAST OF THE MISSISSIPPI AND
NORTH OF NORTH CAROLINA AND TENNESSEE.
BY ASA GRAY,
LATE FISHER PROFESSOR OF NATURAL HISTORY IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY.
Sixth Edition.
REVISED AND EXTENDED WESTWARD TO THE 100th MERIDIAN,
BY
SERENO WATSON,
CURATOR OF THE GRAY HERBARIUM, HARVARD UNIVERSITY,
AND
JOHN M. COULTER,
PROFESSOR OF BOTANY IN WABASH COLLEGE,
_ASSISTED BY SPECIALISTS IN CERTAIN GROUPS_.
WITH TWENTY-FIVE PLATES,
ILLUSTRATING THE SEDGES, GRASSES, FERNS, ETC.
IVISON, BLAKEMAN, AND COMPANY,
_PUBLISHERS_,
NEW YORK AND CHICAGO.
1890.
_Copyright, 1889_,
BY THE PRESIDENT AND FELLOWS OF HARVARD COLLEGE.
CONTENTS.
Page
PREFACE 1
SYNOPSIS OF THE ORDERS 5
ANALYTICAL KEY TO THE ORDERS 19
EXPLANATION OF ABBREVIATIONS OF AUTHORS' NAMES 30
EXPLANATION OF SIGNS 32
FLORA.--PHAENOGAMOUS OR FLOWERING PLANTS 33
Dicotyledonous or Exogenous Plants 33
Angiospermous, Polypetalous 33
Gamopetalous 216
Apetalous 425
Gymnospermous Plants 489
Monocotyledonous or Endogenous Plants 495
CRYPTOGAMOUS OR FLOWERLESS PLANTS 675
Vascular Acrogens, or Pteridophytes 675
Cellular Acrogens, or Bryophytes (Hepaticae) 702
ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS 733
TABLE OF ORDERS 736
GLOSSARY 738
INDEX 749
PLATES, WITH EXPLANATIONS 761
PREFACE.
The first edition of Gray's Manual was published in 1848. It was to a
great extent rewritten and its range extended in 1856, and it was again
largely rewritten in 1867. The great advances that have since been made
in systematic botany and in the knowledge of our flora have for several
years past made another revision desirable, which Dr. Gray before his
death was purposing to undertake.
The present editors, acting to the best of their ability in his stead,
have endeavored throughout to follow his methods and views. The original
plan, so long retained by Dr. Gray and so generally approved, has been
closely adhered to, the characters and descriptions of the last edition
have been left essentially unchanged so far as possible, and in the
numerous alterations and additions that have been considered necessary
or advisable, his conclusions and principles have governed in every
matter of importance, so far as they could be known. The effort
especially has been to maintain that high standard of excellence which
has always made the Manual an authority among botanists.
In the treatment of the genera and species, Gray's Synoptical Flora has
been made the basis in the revision of the Gamopetalous Orders, and the
manuscript in continuation of that work, so far as prepared, for the
Polypetalous Orders which precede _Leguminosae_ (excepting _Nuphar_, the
_Cruciferae, Caryophyllaceae, Vitis_, and the small Orders numbered 18,
22, 23, 25-27, and 29). The genus _Salix_ has been rewritten for this
edition by M. S. BEBB, Esq., the genus _Carex_ by Prof. L. H. BAILEY,
and the Ferns and allied orders by Prof. D. C. EATON. For the rest, all
known available sources of information have been made use of, and much
willing help has been received from botanists in all parts of our
territory.
The increasing interest that is taken in the study of the Cellular
Cryptogams, and the desire to encourage it, have led to the inclusion
again of the Hepaticae, which were omitted in the last edition. These
have been prepared through the kindness of Prof. L. M. UNDERWOOD, though
the limits of the volume have necessitated somewhat briefer descriptions
than he considered desirable. The three fine plates illustrating the
genera of these Orders, which were used in the early editions, are also
added, with a supplementary one, as well as an additional one in
illustration of the Grasses, thus increasing the number of plates to
twenty-five. A Glossary of botanical terms is appended, to meet an
expressed need of those who use the Manual alone, and a Synopsis of the
Orders in their sequence is given, to contrast more clearly their
characters, and to show the general principles which have determined
their present arrangement. This should be a useful adjunct to the more
artificially arranged Analytical Key.
GEOGRAPHICAL LIMITS, AND DISTRIBUTION.--The southern limit of the
territory covered by the present work is the same as in the later
previous editions, viz. the southern boundary of Virginia and Kentucky.
This coincides better than any other geographical line with the natural
division between the cooler-temperate and the warm-temperate vegetation
of the Atlantic States. The rapid increase of population west of the
Mississippi River, and the growing need of a Manual covering the flora
of that section, have seemed a sufficient reason for the extension of
the limits of the work westward to the 100th meridian, thus connecting
with the _Manual of the Flora of the Rocky Mountain Region_ by Prof.
Coulter. These limits, as well as that upon the north, have been in
general strictly observed, very few species being admitted that are not
known with some degree of certainty to occur within them. The extreme
western flora is no doubt imperfectly represented.
The distribution of the individual species is indicated somewhat more
definitely than heretofore in many cases, so far as it could be
satisfactorily ascertained. The extralimital range is also sometimes
given, but the terms "northward," "southward," and "westward" are more
frequently employed, signifying an indefinite range in those directions
beyond the limits of the Manual. Where no definite habitat is specified,
the species may be understood as found more or less generally throughout
the whole area, or at least to near the western limits.
NOMENCLATURE, ACCENTUATION OF NAMES, etc.--In case of question
respecting the proper name to be adopted for any species, Dr. Gray's
known and expressed views have been followed, it is believed, throughout
the work. While reasonable regard has been paid to the claims of
priority, the purpose has been to avoid unnecessary changes, in the
belief that such changes are in most cases an unmitigated evil. Synonyms
are rarely given except where changes have been made. As a guide to
correct pronunciation, the long sound of the accented vowel (modified
often in personal names) is indicated, as heretofore, by the grave
accent (`), and the short sound by the acute ('). In regard to the
derivations of generic names, many valuable suggestions have been due to
W. R. Gerard, Esq., of New York.
PROMINENT CHARACTERS are indicated by the use of _Italic type_ for the
leading distinctions of the Orders, and generally in the specific
descriptions for those points by which two or more nearly allied species
may be most readily distinguished. The ready discrimination of the
genera is provided for by a Synopsis of their leading characters under
each order. Whenever a genus comprises several species, pains have been
taken to render important differences conspicuous by proper grouping,
and when needed by a series of subordinate divisions and subdivisions.
The headings of these various groups are to be considered as belonging
to and forming a part of the specific characters of the several species
under them,--a fact which the student should always bear in mind.
ARRANGEMENT OF THE ORDERS.--The Natural Orders are disposed in very
close accordance with the method followed by Bentham and Hooker in the
_Genera Plantarum_, the principles of which are concisely shown in the
Synopsis of Orders which precedes the Analytical Key. The _Gymnospermae_
are retained as a Subclass following the Angiospermous Dicotyledons,
with which they have an obvious relationship, in preference to placing
them, as some authorities would do, next before the Pteridophytes, to
which their affinity, if no less certain, is nevertheless obscure. A
more natural arrangement than either would be the withdrawal of the
Endogens, placing them at the beginning, in perhaps an inverse order.
ANALYTICAL KEY TO THE ORDERS.--As stated in Dr. Gray's Preface to the
last edition, this is designed to enable the student to refer readily to
its proper Order any of our plants, upon taking the pains to ascertain
the structure of its flowers, and sometimes of the fruit, and by
following out a series of easy steps in the analysis. It is founded upon
the most obvious distinctions which will answer the purpose, and is so
contrived as to provide for all or nearly all exceptional instances and
variant cases. Referring to the Order which the Key leads him to, the
student will find its most distinctive points brought together and
printed in Italics in the first sentence of the ordinal description, and
thus can verify his results. The Synopsis which follows will then lead
him to the genus, to be verified in turn by the full generic description
in its place; and the progress thence to the species is facilitated,
when there are several to choose from, by the arrangement under
divisions and subdivisions, as already explained.
It will be seen that the Key directs the inquirer to ascertain, first,
the Class of the plant under consideration,--which, even without the
seeds, is revealed at once by the plan of the stem, as seen in a
cross-section, and usually by the veining of the leaves, and is commonly
confirmed by the numerical plan of the flower;--then, if of the first
Class, the Subclass is at once determined by the pistil, whether of the
ordinary kind, or an open scale bearing naked ovules. If the former,
then the choice between the three Divisions is determined by the
presence or absence of the petals, and whether separate or united. Each
Division is subdivided by equally obvious characters, and, finally, a
series of successively subordinated propositions,--each set more
indented upon the page than the preceding,--leads to the name of the
Order sought for, followed by the number of the page upon which it is
described in the body of the work.
The book is now submitted to those for whose benefit it has been
prepared, in the trust that its shortcomings will meet with friendly
indulgence, and with the earnest request that information be kindly
given of any corrections or additions that may appear to be necessary.
SERENO WATSON.
CAMBRIDGE, MASS., Dec. 26, 1889.
SYNOPSIS OF THE ORDERS OF PLANT
DESCRIBED IN THIS WORK.
SERIES I. PHAENOGAMOUS OR FLOWERING PLANTS: those producing real flowers
and seeds.
CLASS I. DICOTYLEDONOUS OR EXOGENOUS PLANTS.
Stems formed of bark, wood, and pith; the wood forming a zone between
the other two, and increasing, when the stem continues from year to
year, by the annual addition of a new layer to the outside, next the
bark. Leaves netted-veined. Embryo with a pair of opposite cotyledons,
or in Subclass II. often three or more in a whorl. Parts of the flower
mostly in fours or fives.
SUBCLASS I. ANGIOSPERMAE. Pistil consisting of a closed ovary which
contains the ovules and becomes the fruit. Cotyledons only two.
DIVISION I. POLYPETALOUS: the calyx and corolla both present; the latter
of _separate_ petals. (Apetalous flowers occur in various Orders, as
noted under the subdivisions.)
[A.] THALAMIFLORAE. Stamens and petals hypogynous (free both from the
calyx and from the superior ovary), upon a usually narrow receptacle
(not glandular nor discoid, except in Reseda, sometimes stipe-like).
(Stamens and petals upon the partly inferior ovary in some Nymphaeaceae.)
Apetalous flowers occur in the Ranunculaceae and Caryophyllaceae.
[*] 1. Carpels solitary or distinct (or coherent in Magnoliaceae); sepals
and petals deciduous (except in Nymphaeaceae); leaves alternate or
radical, without stipules (sometimes opposite or whorled and rarely
stipular in Ranunculaceae); embryo (except in Nelumbo) small, in fleshy
albumen.
1. Ranunculaceae (p. 34). Sepals (3 or more), petals (as many, in regular
flowers, or none), stamens (usually many), and carpels (1--many) all
distinct. Fruit achenes, follicles, or berries. Mostly herbs.
2. Magnoliaceae (p. 49). Sepals and petals alike, in three or
more rows of three, imbricate. Fruit cone-like, formed of the numerous
cohering pistils. Trees.
3. Anonaceae (p. 50). Sepals (3) and petals (6, in two rows) valvate.
Fruit pulpy. Shrubs or small trees.
4. Menispermaceae (p. 51). Sepals and petals in twos or threes,
imbricate. Pistils becoming 1-seeded drupes. Dioecious woody
climbers, with palmate or peltate leaves.
5. Berberidaceae (p. 52). Sepals and petals imbricate, each in two rows
of three (rarely in twos or fours). Stamens opposite the petals. Pistil
solitary, becoming a berry or pod. Shrubs or low herbs.
6. Nymphaeaceae, in part (p. 54). Sepals and petals each 3, or many in
several rows. Pistils becoming coriaceous and indehiscent. Aquatics;
floating leaves peltate.
[*] 2. Carpels (2 or more) united into a compound ovary with parietal,
often nerve-like placentae (or the seeds covering the inner surface in
Nymphaeaceae, and the placentae axile in Sarraceniaceae). Herbs (some
Cistaceae somewhat shrubby).
[+] Fruit 5--many-celled; calyx or whole perianth persistent; embryo
small, at the base of fleshy albumen.
6. Nymphaeaceae proper (p. 54). Sepals 2--6. Petals and stamens numerous,
on a thick hypogynous receptacle or inserted upon the ovary. Capsule
8--30-celled. Aquatics, with peltate or cordate leaves.
7. Sarraceniaceae (p. 57). Sepals and petals 5. Capsule 5-celled. Marsh
plants, with pitcher-shaped leaves.
[+][+] Fruit 1-celled, or spuriously 2--more-celled by partitions
connecting the placentae.
[++] Embryo minute at the base of fleshy albumen; perianth deciduous;
sepals 2.
8. Papaveraceae (p. 57.) Flowers regular. Sepals fugacious. Petals 4--12.
Stamens and seeds numerous. Capsule 2--several-valved. Juice milky or
.
9. Fumariaceae (p. 59.) Flowers irregular. Petals 4, in dissimilar pairs.
Stamens 6, diadelphous. Fruit 2-valved (indehiscent and 1-seeded in
Fumaria). Juice watery; leaves dissected.
[++][++] Albumen none; embryo curved or folded; perianth deciduous
(sepals persistent in Resedaceae).
10. Cruciferae (p. 61). Sepals and petals 4. Stamens mostly 6,
tetradynamous (two inserted lower and shorter). Pod 2-celled by a
transverse partition, 2-valved, or sometimes indehiscent or transversely
jointed. Bracts and stipules none.
11. Capparidaceae (p. 74). Sepals and petals 4. Stamens 6 or more, nearly
equal. Pod 1-celled, 2-valved. Embryo coiled. Leaves often palmately
divided; bracts and stipules often present.
12. Resedaceae (p. 75). Sepals and petals 4--7, irregular. Stamens
indefinite on an hypogynous disk, not covered in the bud. Pod 1-celled,
3--6-lobed, opening at the top.
[++][++][++] Embryo rather large in fleshy albumen; placentae on the
middle of the valves; calyx persistent.
13. Cistaceae (p. 76). Flowers regular; sepals and petals 5, the two
outer sepals minute. Stamens indefinite. Pod 1-celled, 3--5-valved.
Ovules orthotropous. Embryo curved. Leaves entire, the lower often
opposite.
14. Violaceae (p. 78). Flowers irregular; sepals and petals 5. Stamens 5,
with connivent introrse anthers. Style clavate. Pod 1-celled, 3-valved.
Ovules anatropous. Embryo straight. Stipules present.
[*] 3. Ovary compound, 1-celled, with central placentae; embryo curved
around mealy albumen (except in Dianthus); leaves entire; stipules
mostly none.
15. Caryophyllaceae (p. 82). Sepals (5, rarely 4) distinct or united,
persistent. Petals as many, rarely none. Stamens as many or twice as
many, rarely fewer. Styles 2--5. Leaves opposite.
16. Portulacaceae (p. 90). Sepals 2. Petals 5. Stamens 5--20. Capsule
3-valved or circumscissile. Fleshy herbs; leaves mostly alternate.
[*] 4. Calyx imbricate; stamens as many or twice as many as the petals
or often indefinite; ovary compound, 1-celled with parietal placentae or
several-celled with the placentae united in the axis; embryo straight or
slightly curved; albumen none or scanty.
17. Elatinaceae (p. 91). Small marsh annuals, with opposite leaves,
membranous stipules, minute axillary flowers, few stamens, and pod
2--5-celled.
18. Hypericaceae (p. 92). Herbs or shrubs, with opposite entire dotted
leaves and no stipules. Flowers cymose or panicled. Stamens few or many,
usually in 3 or more clusters. Pod 1-celled or 3--5-celled.
19. Ternstroemiaceae (p. 95). Trees or shrubs, with alternate leaves
and no stipules. Flowers large, axillary, solitary. Stamens numerous,
more or less united together and with the base of the petals. Pod
3--5-celled.
[*] 5. Calyx valvate; stamens numerous, usually more or less united
together and with the base of the petals; ovary 3--many-celled with the
placentae united in the axis (becoming 1-celled and 1-seeded in Tilia).
20. Malvaceae (p. 96). Stamens monadelphous; anthers 1-celled. Calyx
persistent. Seeds kidney-shaped, with curved embryo and little albumen.
Herbs or shrubs, with alternate palmately veined stipular leaves.
21. Tiliaceae (p. 101). Stamens polyadelphous or nearly distinct; anthers
2-celled. Calyx deciduous. Embryo nearly straight. Trees, with alternate
leaves and deciduous stipules.
[B.] DISCIFLORAE. Stamens as many as the petals or twice as many or
fewer, inserted upon or at the outer or inner base of a more or less
tumid hypogynous or perigynous disk, which is cushion-like or annular or
divided into glands, sometimes obscure or minute (or none in Linum,
Ilex, some Geraniaceae and Polygala); ovary superior (or half-inferior in
some Rhamnaceae); sepals more usually distinct. Petals wanting in some
Rutaceae, Rhamnaceae, and Sapindaceae.
[*] 1. Ovules (mostly 1 or 2 in each cell) pendulous, with the rhaphe
toward the axis of the ovary; disk often reduced to glands alternate
with the petals or none; ovary often lobed or the carpels nearly
distinct.
22. Linaceae (p. 101). Flowers regular, usually 5-merous. Capsule not
lobed, mostly 5-valved, spuriously 10-celled, 10-seeded. Stamens united
at base. Disk none or 5 minute glands. Herbs, with entire alternate or
opposite leaves; stipules gland-like or none.
23. Geraniaceae (p. 102). Flowers regular or irregular, 5-merous or
3-merous as to the stamens and pistils. Ovary 3--5-lobed, the cells
1--few-ovuled, and axis persistent. Disk of 5 glands or none. Herbs,
with often lobed or divided mostly alternate leaves, with or without
stipules.
24. Rutaceae (p. 106). Flowers mostly regular, 3--5-merous, dioecious
or polygamous in our genera. Ovary 2--5-lobed or the carpels nearly
distinct, upon a glandular disk; cells 2-ovuled. Mostly shrubs or trees,
with glandular-punctate compound leaves, without stipules.
[*] 2. Ovules (1 or 2) pendulous, the rhaphe away from the axis; disk
none and ovary not lobed.
25. Ilicineae (p. 107). Flowers small, dioeciously polygamous,
axillary, 4--8-merous. Fruit a 4--8-seeded berry-like drupe. Shrubs or
trees, with simple alternate leaves and no stipules.
[*] 3. Ovules (1 or 2 in each cell) erect, the rhaphe toward the axis;
disk fleshy, covering the base of the calyx; stamens as many
as the petals, at the margin of the disk; flowers perfect or
polygamo-dioecious; albumen fleshy; shrubs or trees, with simple
leaves (compound in some Vitaceae).
26. Celastraceae (p. 109). Sepals and petals imbricated, the stamens
alternate with the petals. Fruit 2--5-celled; seeds arilled.
27. Rhamnaceae (p. 111). Calyx valvate. Petals small or none. Stamens
alternate with the sepals. Fruit 2--5-celled; seeds solitary, not
arilled.
28. Vitaceae (p. 112). Calyx minute. Stamens opposite the valvate
caducous petals. Climbing by tendrils opposite the alternate leaves.
[*] 4. Ovules (1 or 2) ascending or horizontal, or pendulous from a
basal funicle; fleshy disk entire or lobed; stamens 5--10; shrubs or
trees, with compound leaves (simple in Acer) and mostly
polygamo-dioecious and often irregular flowers; petals imbricate
(sometimes none in Sapindaceae).
29. Sapindaceae (p. 115). Flowers mostly unsymmetrical or irregular.
Ovary 2--3-celled and -lobed.
30. Anacardiaceae (p. 118). Flowers regular, 5-androus. Ovary 1-celled,
becoming a small dry drupe. Leaves alternate; juice milky or resinous.
[*] 5. Ovules solitary, pendulous from the summit of the 2-celled ovary;
disk none; flowers irregular (subpapilionaceous), hypogynous; stamens
monadelphous or diadelphous; anthers 1-celled, opening by an apical
pore.
31. Polygalaceae (p. 120). Herbs, with perfect flowers and alternate or
opposite or whorled entire leaves. Stamens 6--8. Seed carunculate.
[C.] CALYCIFLORAE. Sepals rarely distinct; disk adnate to the base of the
calyx, rarely tumid or conspicuous; petals and stamens on the calyx,
perigynous or epigynous, the ovary being often inferior (hypogynous in
Drosera and Parnassia, nearly so in some Leguminosae and Crassulaceae).
Apetalous flowers in Orders 33, 35, 36, 38, 39, 41, 42, 47, and 50.
[*] 1. Ovary usually superior, the pistils solitary, or several and
distinct (sometimes more or less united but at least the styles distinct
except in some Saxifragaceae).
32. Leguminosae (p. 122). Flowers papilionaceous or regular. Stamens
usually 10, and mostly monadelphous or diadelphous. Pistil one, free,
becoming a legume; style terminal. Albumen none. Leaves mostly compound,
alternate, stipular.
33. Rosaceae (p. 150). Flowers regular, with usually numerous distinct
stamens, and 1--many pistils, distinct or (in Pomeae) united and combined
with the calyx-tube; style often lateral or basal. Calyx-lobes and
petals mostly 5. Ovules mostly 1 or 2. Albumen mostly none. Trees,
shrubs, or herbs; leaves usually alternate and stipulate, simple or
compound.
34. Calycanthaceae (p. 167). Calyx-lobes, petals, and stamens indefinite.
Pistils numerous, becoming achenes in a hollow receptacle. Albumen none.
Aromatic shrubs, with opposite entire leaves and no stipules.
35. Saxifragaceae (p. 168). Flowers regular, with 5--10 stamens (numerous
in Philadelphus), few (mostly 2) more or less united, free or partially
adnate carpels, and few--many ovules on axile or sometimes parietal
placentae. Seeds albuminous. Herbs or shrubs, with opposite or alternate
leaves, with or without stipules.
36. Crassulaceae (p. 170). Mostly fleshy herbs, with symmetrical flowers,
the usually distinct many-seeded carpels as many as the sepals. Seeds
albuminous. Leaves alternate or opposite or whorled; stipules none.
37. Droseraceae (p. 178). Glandular-haired scapose marsh herbs, with
regular 5-merous hypogynous flowers. Capsule 1-celled, with 3--5
many-seeded parietal placentae. Anthers extrorse. Leaves circinate in
vernation.
38. Hamamelideae (p. 179). Shrubs or trees; flowers often
polygamo-monoecious, in clusters, heads, or spikes; petals often none.
Seeds 2 or more, bony, in a 2-beaked woody pod opening above, the base
adnate to the calyx-tube. Stamens few or many. Leaves alternate, simple.
39. Halorageae (p. 180). Aquatic or marsh herbs; flowers perfect or
polygamo-dioecious, small, axillary or spicate; petals often none.
Stamens 1--8. Ovary inferior, the calyx-limb obsolete or very short.
Fruit small, indehiscent, 1--4-celled, 1--4-seeded. Leaves alternate or
opposite, the submersed often dissected.
[*] 2. Ovary inferior (except in Lythraceae), 1--several-celled; style
entire; flowers perfect, regular or nearly so, mostly 4-merous; herbs,
with simple and mostly entire leaves without stipules.
40. Melastomaceae (p. 183). Calyx open. Stamens definite; anthers opening
by an apical pore. Leaves opposite, 3--7-nerved; flowers cymose.
41. Lythraceae (p. 184). Calyx-lobes valvate. Pod free, but enclosed in
the calyx, membranous, 1--4-celled, many-seeded with axile placentae.
Leaves mostly opposite; flowers axillary or whorled; petals crumpled, or
none.
42. Onagraceae (p. 186). Calyx-lobes valvate. Ovary 1--4-celled, the
cells 1--many-ovuled. Stamens 2, 4, or 8. Petals 2 or 4, convolute, or
none. Leaves opposite or alternate.
[*] 3. Ovary inferior (except in Passifloraceae and Ficoideae), 1-celled
with parietal placentae or several-celled by the intrusion of the
placentae; flowers regular, perfect or unisexual; styles free or united;
herbs.
[+] Embryo straight; cotyledons foliaceous; leaves alternate, often
lobed.
43. Loasaceae (p. 193). Flowers perfect. Stamens indefinite. Style entire
or 2--3-cleft. Capsule 1-celled, with 2 or 3 many-seeded placentae.
Pubescence of hooked hairs.
44. Passifloraceae (p. 194). Climbing by tendrils. Flowers perfect.
Stamens 5, monadelphous. Ovary stalked, superior, becoming a 1-celled
many-seeded berry with 3 or 4 placentae. Styles 3, clavate.
45. Cucurbitaceae (p. 194). Tendril-bearing vines, with dioecious or
monoecious flowers. Corolla 5-lobed, often confluent with the calyx.
Stamens 3 or 5, usually more or less united and the anthers often
tortuous. Fruit fleshy or membranous, 1--5-celled, the placentae often
produced to the axis and revolute. Seeds exalbuminous.
[+][+] Embryo curved or coiled about central albumen; leaves entire.
46. Cactaceae (p. 196). Fleshy and mostly leafless prickly plants, with
solitary sessile perfect flowers. Calyx-lobes and petals indefinite,
imbricated, the numerous stamens on the tube. Fruit a 1-celled
many-seeded berry.
47. Ficoideae (p. 198). Calyx-lobes or sepals 5 and petals none in our
genera. Capsule 3--5-celled with axile placentae, loculicidal or
circumscissile, many-seeded. Often fleshy; leaves mostly opposite or
verticillate.
[*] 4. Flowers small, regular, perfect or polygamous; calyx-limb minute
or obsolete; ovary inferior, 2--several-celled, with solitary pendulous
ovules; petals and stamens mostly 4 or 5, on the margin of an epigynous
disk surrounding the styles; albumen copious.
48. Umbelliferae (p. 198). Flowers in umbels or heads. Petals (inflexed)
and stamens 5. Styles 2. Fruit of 2 dry seed-like carpels, the pericarp
usually with oil-tubes. Herbs, with alternate mostly compound leaves.
49. Araliaceae (p. 212). Flowers mostly in umbels and nearly as in
Umbelliferae; petals not inflexed and styles 2 or more. Fruit a
2--several-celled drupe. Herbs or shrubs, with alternate mostly compound
leaves.
50. Cornaceae (p. 213). Flowers not in umbels; petals (valvate, or none)
and stamens 4 or 5. Style 1. Fruit a 1--2-seeded drupe. Trees | 2,374.876282 |
2023-11-16 18:56:38.9711030 | 2,605 | 34 |
Produced by Jonathan Ingram and Distributed Proofreaders
LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET
By Mary Elizabeth Braddon
CHAPTER I.
LUCY.
It lay down in a hollow, rich with fine old timber and luxuriant pastures; and you came upon it through an avenue of limes, bordered on either side by meadows, over the high hedges of which the cattle looked inquisitively at you as you passed, wondering, perhaps, what you wanted; for there was no thorough-fare, and unless you were going to the Court you had no business there at all.
At the end of this avenue there was an old arch and a clock tower, with a stupid, bewildering clock, which had only one handand which jumped straight from one hour to the nextand was therefore always in extremes. Through this arch you walked straight into the gardens of Audley Court.
A smooth lawn lay before you, dotted with groups of rhododendrons, which grew in more perfection here than anywhere else in the county. To the right there were the kitchen gardens, the fish-pond, and an orchard bordered by a dry moat, and a broken ruin of a wall, in some places thicker than it was high, and everywhere overgrown with trailing ivy, yellow stonecrop, and dark moss. To the left there was a broad graveled walk, down which, years ago, when the place had been a convent, the quiet nuns had walked hand in hand; a wall bordered with espaliers, and shadowed on one side by goodly oaks, which shut out the flat landscape, and circled in the house and gardens with a darkening shelter.
The house faced the arch, and occupied three sides of a quadrangle. It was very old, and very irregular and rambling. The windows were uneven; some small, some large, some with heavy stone mullions and rich stained glass; others with frail lattices that rattled in every breeze; others so modern that they might have been added only yesterday. Great piles of chimneys rose up here and there behind the pointed gables, and seemed as if they were so broken down by age and long service that they must have fallen but for the straggling ivy which, crawling up the walls and trailing even over the roof, wound itself about them and supported them. The principal door was squeezed into a corner of a turret at one angle of the building, as if it were in hiding from dangerous visitors, and wished to keep itself a secreta noble door for all thatold oak, and studded with great square-headed iron nails, and so thick that the sharp iron knocker struck upon it with a muffled sound, and the visitor rung a clanging bell that dangled in a corner among the ivy, lest the noise of the knocking should never penetrate the stronghold.
A glorious old place. A place that visitors fell in raptures with; feeling a yearning wish to have done with life, and to stay there forever, staring into the cool fish-ponds and counting the bubbles as the roach and carp rose to the surface of the water. A spot in which peace seemed to have taken up her abode, setting her soothing hand on every tree and flower, on the still ponds and quiet alleys, the shady corners of the old-fashioned rooms, the deep window-seats behind the painted glass, the low meadows and the stately avenuesay, even upon the stagnant well, which, cool and sheltered as all else in the old place, hid itself away in a shrubbery behind the gardens, with an idle handle that was never turned and a lazy rope so rotten that the pail had broken away from it, and had fallen into the water.
A noble place; inside as well as out, a noble placea house in which you incontinently lost yourself if ever you were so rash as to attempt to penetrate its mysteries alone; a house in which no one room had any sympathy with another, every chamber running off at a tangent into an inner chamber, and through that down some narrow staircase leading to a door which, in its turn, led back into that very part of the house from which you thought yourself the furthest; a house that could never have been planned by any mortal architect, but must have been the handiwork of that good old builder, Time, who, adding a room one year, and knocking down a room another year, toppling down a chimney coeval with the Plantagenets, and setting up one in the style of the Tudors; shaking down a bit of Saxon wall, allowing a Norman arch to stand here; throwing in a row of high narrow windows in the reign of Queen Anne, and joining on a dining-room after the fashion of the time of Hanoverian George I, to a refectory that had been standing since the Conquest, had contrived, in some eleven centuries, to run up such a mansion as was not elsewhere to be met with throughout the county of Essex. Of course, in such a house there were secret chambers; the little daughter of the present owner, Sir Michael Audley, had fallen by accident upon the discovery of one. A board had rattled under her feet in the great nursery where she played, and on attention being drawn to it, it was found to be loose, and so removed, revealed a ladder, leading to a hiding-place between the floor of the nursery and the ceiling of the room belowa hiding-place so small that he who had hid there must have crouched on his hands and knees or lain at full length, and yet large enough to contain a quaint old carved oak chest, half filled with priests' vestments, which had been hidden away, no doubt, in those cruel days when the life of a man was in danger if he was discovered to have harbored a Roman Catholic priest, or to have mass said in his house.
The broad outer moat was dry and grass-grown, and the laden trees of the orchard hung over it with gnarled, straggling branches that drew fantastical shadows upon the green <DW72>. Within this moat there was, as I have said, the fish-ponda sheet of water that extended the whole length of the garden and bordering which there was an avenue called the lime-tree walk; an avenue so shaded from the sun and sky, so screened from observation by the thick shelter of the over-arching trees that it seemed a chosen place for secret meetings or for stolen interviews; a place in which a conspiracy might have been planned, or a lover's vow registered with equal safety; and yet it was scarcely twenty paces from the house.
At the end of this dark arcade there was the shrubbery, where, half buried among the tangled branches and the neglected weeds, stood the rusty wheel of that old well of which I have spoken. It had been of good service in its time, no doubt; and busy nuns have perhaps drawn the cool water with their own fair hands; but it had fallen into disuse now, and scarcely any one at Audley Court knew whether the spring had dried up or not. But sheltered as was the solitude of this lime-tree walk, I doubt very much if it was ever put to any romantic uses. Often in the cool of the evening Sir Michael Audley would stroll up and down smoking his cigar, with his dogs at his heels, and his pretty young wife dawdling by his side; but in about ten minutes the baronet and his companion would grow tired of the rustling limes and the still water, hidden under the spreading leaves of the water-lilies, and the long green vista with the broken well at the end, and would stroll back to the drawing-room, where my lady played dreamy melodies by Beethoven and Mendelssohn till her husband fell asleep in his easy-chair.
Sir Michael Audley was fifty-six years of age, and he had married a second wife three months after his fifty-fifth birthday. He was a big man, tall and stout, with a deep, sonorous voice, handsome black eyes, and a white bearda white beard which made him look venerable against his will, for he was as active as a boy, and one of the hardest riders in the country. For seventeen years he had been a widower with an only child, a daughter, Alicia Audley, now eighteen, and by no means too well pleased at having a step-mother brought home to the Court; for Miss Alicia had reigned supreme in her father's house since her earliest childhood, and had carried the keys, and jingled them in the pockets of her silk aprons, and lost them in the shrubbery, and dropped them into the pond, and given all manner of trouble about them from the hour in which she entered her teens, and had, on that account, deluded herself into the sincere belief, that for the whole of that period, she had been keeping the house.
But Miss Alicia's day was over; and now, when she asked anything of the housekeeper, the housekeeper would tell her that she would speak to my lady, or she would consult my lady, and if my lady pleased it should be done. So the baronet's daughter, who was an excellent horsewoman and a very clever artist, spent most of her time out of doors, riding about the green lanes, and sketching the cottage children, and the plow-boys, and the cattle, and all manner of animal life that came in her way. She set her face with a sulky determination against any intimacy between herself and the baronet's young wife; and amiable as that lady was, she found it quite impossible to overcome Miss Alicia's prejudices and dislike; or to convince the spoilt girl that she had not done her a cruel injury by marrying Sir Michael Audley. The truth was that Lady Audley had, in becoming the wife of Sir Michael, made one of those apparently advantageous matches which are apt to draw upon a woman the envy and hatred of her sex. She had come into the neighborhood as a governess in the family of a surgeon in the village near Audley Court. No one knew anything of her, except that she came in answer to an advertisement which Mr. Dawson, the surgeon, had inserted in The Times. She came from London; and the only reference she gave was to a lady at a school at Brompton, where she had once been a teacher. But this reference was so satisfactory that none other was needed, and Miss Lucy Graham was received by the surgeon as the instructress of his daughters. Her accomplishments were so brilliant and numerous, that it seemed strange that she should have answered an advertisement offering such very moderate terms of remuneration as those named by Mr. Dawson; but Miss Graham seemed perfectly well satisfied with her situation, and she taught the girls to play sonatas by Beethoven, and to paint from nature after Creswick, and walked through a dull, out-of-the-way village to the humble little church, three times every Sunday, as contentedly as if she had no higher aspiration in the world than to do so all the rest of her life.
People who observed this, accounted for it by saying that it was a part of her amiable and gentle nature always to be light-hearted, happy and contented under any circumstances.
Wherever she went she seemed to take joy and brightness with her. In the cottages of the poor her fair face shone like a sunbeam. She would sit for a quarter of an hour talking to some old woman, and apparently as pleased with the admiration of a toothless crone as if she had been listening to the compliments of a marquis; and when she tripped away, leaving nothing behind her (for her poor salary gave no scope to her benevolence), the old woman would burst out into senile raptures with her grace, beauty, and her kindliness, such as she never bestowed upon the vicar's wife, who half fed and clothed her. For you see, Miss Lucy Graham was blessed with that magic power of fascination, by which a woman can charm with a word or intoxicate with a smile. Every one loved, admired, and praised her. The boy who opened the five-barred gate that stood in her pathway, ran home to his mother to tell of her pretty looks, and the sweet voice in which she thanked him for the little service. The verger at the church, who ushered her into the surgeon's pew; the vicar, who saw the soft blue eyes uplifted | 2,374.991143 |
2023-11-16 18:56:39.2817620 | 3,835 | 6 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Gentleman Cadet
His Career and Adventures at the Royal Military Academy
Woolwich By Lt. Col. A.W. Drayson
Illustrations by C.J. Staniland
Published by Griffith and Farran, London.
The Gentleman Cadet, by Lt. Col. A.W. Drayson.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
THE GENTLEMAN CADET, BY LT. COL. A.W. DRAYSON.
PREFACE.
The following pages contain a history of the life of a Woolwich Cadet as
it was about thirty years ago. The hero of the tale is taken through
the then usual routine of a cram-school at Woolwich, and from thence
passed into the Royal Military Academy. The reformation that has taken
place--both in the preparatory schools and also at the Academy--may be
judged of by those who read this book and are acquainted with existing
conditions. The habits and life of a Cadet of the present day are well
known, but the singular laws and regulations--written and unwritten--in
former times may not be so generally understood; and, as memory of the
past fades away, the following pages have been penned, to give a history
of the singular life and manners of the old Cadet. The work has no
other pretensions than to give this history, and to afford amusement to
the young aspirant for military glory.
_Southsea, September_, 1874.
CHAPTER ONE.
MY HOME LIFE.
On the borders of the New Forest, in Hampshire, stands an old-fashioned
thatch-roofed family-house, surrounded by cedars and firs, with a
clean-shaved, prim-looking lawn opposite the drawing-room windows, from
which a magnificent view was visible of the forest itself and the
Southampton waters beyond. In that house I was born; and there I passed
the first fourteen years of my existence in a manner that must be
briefly recorded, in order to make the reader acquainted with my state
of education previous to a somewhat eventful career in a more busy
scene.
My father had been intended for the Church, but having at Cambridge
taken a dislike to holy orders, and finding himself left, by the death
of my grandfather, sole possessor of a sum of about thirty thousand
pounds invested in Consols, he decided to live an easy life, and enjoy
himself, instead of taking up any profession--an error that caused him
to be what may be called "a mistake" all his life, and which was the
cause of much suffering to me.
Having devoted some eight or ten years to travelling and seeing the
world, my father married, and selected for his wife the youngest of
seven daughters of a very worthy but very poor clergyman in Wiltshire,
who bore him two daughters and myself; after which she sickened and died
at the early age of twenty-six.
In order to have some one to whom he could entrust the care of his three
children, my father took into his house his eldest sister, who was some
fifteen years his senior, and to whom was given the sole charge of
myself and my two sisters. Aunt Emma, as we used to term her, was my
abhorrence; she had a singular facility of making herself disagreeable,
especially with us young people. That she used to teach us our letters
and our reading and writing was certainly kind on her part--at least, so
she assured me--but she had a way of teaching that was not one at all
suitable to gaining the esteem or affection of a child. Her principal
object in teaching seemed to be to impress on us children that we were
the most stupid, dull, and lazy children in the world, whom it was
little short of martyrdom to try to teach; whilst we were informed that
she, as a child and as a schoolgirl, had always been famous for
quickness in learning, attention to her studies, and love to her
schoolmistress.
We were also being daily impressed with the idea that we were awfully
wicked and selfish, and quite unworthy of any kindness from her or our
father, whilst we were also accused of having a bad motive for
everything we did.
Aunt Emma was a great expert in slapping. Often have I lain in bed and
cried for hours at the remembrance of the unmerited and severe slaps
that my poor little delicate sister had received during the day from
Aunt Emma. There was, I feel glad to say, no real anger in those
feelings, but a sense of utter misery and regret that Aunt Emma should
feel so little for the unhappiness she caused, and for the injustice of
which she was guilty. I was a child then, and I had yet to learn that
there are people in the world who take a delight in making others
unhappy, who attribute to all, except themselves, bad, selfish, or
spiteful motives for every word and act, and to whom the world is an
enemy on which they are justified in renting their spleen.
It may seem to the reader out of place to speak thus of Aunt Emma, but
as she had much to do with my early life, and as her specialities must
then be brought forward, there is really no object in concealing either
her weaknesses or defects.
At the date to which I am referring, some forty years ago, there was a
great taste in many private families for immoderate physicking. Aunt
Emma possessed this taste in no small degree; that she believed in its
efficacy there can be no doubt, because she used to physic herself with
the same generous freedom that she bestowed on us children. Each spring
we regularly, for some five weeks, were put through a course of
brimstone and treacle; each morning we were given a spoonful of treacle
in which the gritty brimstone had been stirred with a free hand. If we
looked pale or tired, or were more than ordinarily stupid at our
lessons, Aunt Emma decided that a three-grain blue pill at night,
followed by a cup of senna tea in the morning, was urgently needed.
These doses came with dangerous frequency, and I can conscientiously
say, not once for a fortnight, from the time I was five years old till
nearly eleven, was I free of physic.
Whether it was from this or from any other cause, I cannot say for
certain, but up to twelve years of age I was a pale, weak, sickly boy,
given to sick headaches, sleepless nights, vomitings, and general
debility, with a strong tendency to get alone somewhere, and either
dream away the hours, or read and re-read any book that I was fortunate
enough to procure.
Up to the age of twelve my life was a kind of tideless sea; time passed,
but there were no events to mark it. Companions I had none, except my
two sisters, and sometimes a forest lad, the son of a gamekeeper, who
used to take me out squirrel-hunting or birds'-nesting. These
expeditions, however, were all but forbidden by my aunt, who visited
with her severe displeasure either absence from a meal or a late arrival
for one.
Having given priority in description to my aunt, I must now endeavour to
describe my father. If I were to write pages I could not more fully
delineate my father's character better than to state that he had but one
fault, viz, he was too kind. This kindness actually degenerated into
weakness, or, as some people might term it, feebleness or indifference.
This peculiar attribute manifested itself in a neglect of my early
education, and of that of my sisters. If it were suggested to him that
I was old enough to go to a school, he invariably found some excuse,
such as that I was just then too much out of health, or he could not
spare me, or I was doing very well at home, or he could not select a
school where he could be sure I should receive proper attention. The
true reason for these excuses was, I believe, that he could not make up
his mind to part with me. I was almost his only companion, for our
nearest neighbour was three miles off, and he was a man devoted to
hunting only, and had none of those refined tastes or love for
literature and art that my father was famous for. The result of these
conditions was that at the age of thirteen I was very old in manner and
thought; I was prematurely old before I was young; but I lacked the
knowledge, education, and experience which usually come with age, and I
was, as regards other boys, the most veritable ignoramus as to the
world--knowing nothing of boys, or of the great school-world, a complete
dunce as regards those points of education on which all other lads of my
own age were well-informed--having a somewhat exaggerated idea of my own
talents, genius, and acquirements, and disposed to look down on those
boys, sons of the neighbouring gentry, who about twice a year came to
our house to partake of our hospitality, and enjoy a picnic in the
forest.
My father was a perfect gentleman, in the full meaning of the word. He
was most sensitive himself, and, believing all those with whom he
associated to be equally gifted, he was most careful and considerate in
all he said or did. With him it was little short of a crime to say or
do anything that could by any chance hurt the feelings of even an
acquaintance. I remember once hearing an anecdote related about my
father, which may show how great was the belief at least of his
sympathies with others. A guest at his dinner-table, on one occasion,
upset by accident a glass of sherry on the table-cloth. The visitor
apologised for his awkwardness, in most humble terms, blushed deeply,
and again commenced a second apology. My father tried to place the
guest at his ease, but, noticing how uncomfortable he appeared, my
father (it was said, purposely) upset his own glass of wine, at which he
laughed immoderately, and was joined by all at table, the result being
that no further apologies were offered or awkwardness exhibited by the
clumsy guest.
My father's pet hobby was Natural History. He had a splendid collection
of all the moths and butterflies to be found in England. It was a great
treat for me to walk with him under the wide-spreading arms of the giant
beech-trees or grand old oaks that grew around us, and watch him select
the grub or cocoon of some insect that would have escaped the attention
of common eyes, and hear him describe the changes through which this
creature passed in its material career.
Many are the happy hours that I have passed with him watching the
gambols of the squirrel, or, with a pair of powerful opera glasses,
scrutinising the detail labours of various birds as they built their
nests. The peculiar habits of various birds and insects were well known
to me long before some of them were made known to the reading world by
those gentlemen whose books on natural history were written from their
experience gained in the library of the British Museum.
Long before naturalists had begun to speculate on the cause of that
peculiar drumming noise made by the snipe when on the wing, my father
and I had convinced ourselves that it was due to the bird spreading open
the pinion feathers as it stooped in its flight. The New Forest was
especially suited for the residence of a naturalist, as in it were many
rare birds and insects, and the opportunities for watching the habits of
these were frequent.
About my future course in life my father never spoke; he seemed disposed
to let matters drift on; and I believe his wish was that I never should
leave home for the purpose of taking up a profession, but that at his
death I should still continue the quiet, peaceful life that we had
hitherto led in the forest.
It is possible that I might have continued contented as a mere forest
boy with country tastes, somewhat feeble powers, and what may be termed
a wasted life, had I not by chance met an individual who in one short
day turned the whole current of my thoughts into a new channel, and
raised in my mind longings and wishes to which I had hitherto been a
stranger. As my whole future life turned at this point I must devote a
new chapter to a description of my meeting with this person.
CHAPTER TWO.
MY FIRST ADVENTURE.
I was in the habit of taking long walks, accompanied by my dog, through
the forest and over those wastes of moorland which are to be found in
various parts of Hampshire. Whilst thus wandering one day, I saw on a
prominent knoll, from which an extensive view could be obtained of the
surrounding country, two men, one of whom had on a red uniform. My life
had been passed so entirely in the wilds of the forest that I had never
before seen a soldier, and my curiosity was at once excited by this
red-coat, and I consequently made my way towards him, intending to
examine him as I would a new specimen of natural history.
On coming near the two persons I saw at once that the one in civilian
dress was a gentleman. To me he looked old, but I afterwards found out
he was only twenty-four; but a man of twenty-four is old to a boy of
fourteen. This gentleman was busily occupied with a strange-looking
instrument, which seemed made partly of brass and partly of wood. It
stood on three legs, which were separated so as to form a pyramid, and
on the apex of this was the brass apparatus referred to. I had
approached to within about twenty yards of this instrument when the
gentleman ceased looking at it, and, turning towards me, said, "Now,
young fellow, mind you don't get shot."
"I beg pardon," I said, "I didn't know you were going to fire." And as
I said so I saw that what appeared rather like a tube was pointing
towards me.
"If you get shot it will be your own fault," said the gentleman; "so
don't expect me to be responsible. Don't you see the muzzle is pointing
at you?"
I slipped round very quickly, so as to place myself, as I supposed,
behind the gun, but, in a moment, round went the instrument with a touch
of the gentleman's finger, and again the tube pointed at me.
"There you are again, right in the way," said the stranger. "If you are
not shot it's a marvel to me."
Seeing a smile on the face of the soldier, I began to suspect that I was
being made fun of, so I said, "I don't believe that is a gun."
"Not a gun? Why, what a disbelieving young Jew you are?"
"I'm not a Jew," I replied indignantly. "I'm a gentleman."
"That's good," exclaimed the stranger, with a laugh. "Then you mean to
assert that a Jew can't be a gentleman? You'd better mind what you're
saying, sir, for I'm a Jew."
I looked at him with surprise, for I had my own idea of what a Jew was
on account of a Jew pedlar coming to our lodge twice a year with a pack
of all sorts of odds and ends to sell; and certainly, as I looked at the
tall, handsome-looking stranger, I saw no similarity between him and the
pedlar. I had lived hitherto in a most matter-of-fact world, where such
a thing as a joke was rare, and what is termed "chaff" was unknown, so I
did not understand the meaning of these remarks, and certainly felt no
inclination to smile.
"Do you live in these parts?" asked the stranger.
"Yes," I replied. "Do you know the forest well?"
"Every part of it."
"Now come here," said the stranger. "Do you see those tall pines--those
on that hill?"
"Yes."
"Well, what is the name of that place?"
"That's Castle Malwood."
"Castle Malwood; and it's well known about here by that name?"
"Yes, of course it is."
"If I were to ask one of these chawbacon foresters to show me where
Castle Malwood was, he would point out that place, eh?"
"Yes; every forester knows that."
"How about the name of that house down there with the yew-trees round
it?"
"That's Blackthorn Lodge, where I live."
"Oh, that's your house, is it? And what's your governor?"
"A gentleman."
"I suppose you are home for the midsummer holidays?"
"No; I don't go to school."
"Tutor at home, I suppose?"
"No."
"Who teaches you, then?"
"Aunt did, and now my father does."
"And what are you going to be?"
"I don't know."
"You ought to be a cadet, and join the Engineers."
I made no reply to this; for I had never thought of any career in the
future, and had never had any ideas beyond our quiet forest home, so I
was not prepared with any remark.
"How do you amuse yourself here?" said the stranger. "Rather a dull
place, I fancy."
"I watch the birds and insects, and study natural history," I replied.
"You are fond of that | 2,375.301802 |
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Produced by Jordan, Julia Neufeld, The Internet Archive
(TIA) and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
The carat character (^) indicates that the following letter is
superscripted (example: M^cGill). If two or more letters are
superscripted they are enclosed in curly brackets (example: xxv^{to).
[Illustration: title page]
THE WORKS
OF
JOHN KNOX
COLLECTED AND EDITED BY
DAVID LAING, LL.D.
VOLUME SECOND.
EDINBURGH:
JAMES THIN, 55 SOUTH BRIDGE.
MDCCCXCV.
WORKS
OF
JOHN KNOX.
THE WODROW SOCIETY,
INSTITUTED MAY 1841,
FOR THE PUBLICATION OF THE WORKS OF THE FATHERS AND EARLY
WRITERS OF THE REFORMED CHURCH OF SCOTLAND.
AD SCOTOS TRANSEUNTIBUS PRIMUS OCCURRIT MAGNUS ILLE JOANNES
CNOXUS, QUEM SI SCOTORUM IN VERO DEI CULTU INSTAURANDO, VELUT
APOSTOLUM QUENDAM DIXERO, DIXISSE ME QUOD RES EST EXISTIMABO.
THEOD. BEZA.
Manufactured in the United States of America
[Illustration: decoration]
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
ADVERTISEMENT, vii
HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION IN SCOTLAND.
BOOK THIRD, 1559-1561, 1
THE CONFESSION OF FAITH, 1560, 93
THE BUKE OF DISCIPLINE, 1560, 183
HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION IN SCOTLAND.
BOOK FOURTH, 1561--1564, 261
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE TO BOOK FIFTH, 465
BOOK FIFTH, 1564-1567, 469
APPENDIX.
No. I.--INTERPOLATIONS AND VARIOUS READINGS IN BOOK
THIRD AND FOURTH IN BUCHANAN'S EDITIONS OF
THE HISTORY, IN 1644, 569
NOTICES OF THE EDITOR, DAVID BUCHANAN, 584
No. II.--ON SPOTTISWOOD'S EDITION OF THE FIRST BOOK OF
DISCIPLINE, 587
No. III.--FUNERALS OF MARY OF GUISE, QUEEN REGENT OF
SCOTLAND, 590
No. IV.--NOTICES OF JOHN BLACK, A DOMINICAN FRIAR, 592
No. V.--NOTICES OF DAVID RICCIO, 595
No. VI.--THE ABBOTS OF CULROSS AND LINDORES IN 1560;
AND JOHN LESLEY, BISHOP OF ROSS, 598
GLOSSARY, 603
INDEX OF PERSONS, 619
INDEX OF PLACES, 639
[Illustration: decoration]
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE present Volume completes THE HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION IN
SCOTLAND, and includes Book Fifth, which was published under Knox's
name in 1644, but of which no manuscript copy has been discovered.
Separate title pages are given, along with a Glossary and Index, as
the History forms a distinct portion of the Reformer's Works; and
these two volumes will probably be in the hands of many Members of the
WODROW SOCIETY who may not be inclined to procure the remaining three,
or more probably, four volumes of the series, in the event of some
arrangement being made by which their publication, as proposed, shall
ultimately be secured.
D. L.
EDINBURGH, _May_ 1848.
THE THIRD BOOKE OF THE PROGRESSE OF
TREW RELIGIOUN WITHIN THE REALME
OF SCOTLAND.
[Sidenote: NOTA.--HEBBURN AGAINST THE ERLE OF ARRANE BEING INNOCENT.]
[Sidenote: THE DROWNYNG OF THE FRENCHE.]
AFTER this our dolorous departing from Edinburgh,[1] the furye and the
raige of the Frenche increassed; for then durst neither man nor woman
that professed Christ Jesus within that toune be seyn. The housses of
the most honest men war gevin by the Quene to Frenchemen for a parte
of thair reward. The Erle Bothwell, by sound of trumpett, proclaimed
the Erle of Arrane traytour,[2] with other dispytefull wourdes: whiche
all was done for the pleasure and by the suggestioun of the Quene
Regent,[3] who then thought the battell was won without farther
resistance. Great practising sche maid for obteaneing of the Castell
of Edinburgh. The Frenche maid thair faggottis, with other
preparationis, to assault the said Castell either by force, or ellis
by treassone. But God wrought so potentlie with the Capitane, the Lord
Erskin,[4] at that tyme, that neither the Quene by flatterye, nor the
Frenche by treassoun prevailled. Advertisementis with all diligence
past to the Duck of Gwise, who then was King of France (as concerneing
power to command[5]), requiring him then to make expeditioun, yf he
desyred the full conquest of Scotland. Who delayed no tyme, but with a
new armye send away his brother, Marquis Dalbuf, and in his company
the Martikis,[6] promissing, that he himself should follow. But the
rychteouse God, who in mercy looketh upon the afflictioun of those
that unfeanedlye sob unto him, fought for us by his awin out-stretched
arme; for, upon one nycht, upon the coast of Holand, war drowned of
thame aughttein ensenzeis, so that onlye rested the schip in the
whiche war the two principallis foirsaid, with thair Ladyis; who,
violentlie dreven back agane to Deape,[7] war compelled to confesse,
That God fawght for the defence of Scotland.
[1] As related in vol. i. page 462, the Lords of the Congregation,
after the unfortunate skirmish at Rest | 2,375.676894 |
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Produced by sp1nd, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
KING ROBERT
THE BRUCE:
FAMOUS SCOTS SERIES
_The following Volumes are now ready_:--
THOMAS CARLYLE. By HECTOR C. MacPHERSON.
ALLAN RAMSAY. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
HUGH MILLER. By W. KEITH LEASK.
JOHN KNOX. By A. TAYLOR INNES.
ROBERT BURNS. By GABRIEL SETOUN.
THE BALLADISTS. By JOHN GEDDIE.
RICHARD CAMERON. By PROFESSOR HERKLESS.
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. By EVE BLANTYRE SIMPSON.
THOMAS CHALMERS. By Professor W. GARDEN BLAIKIE.
JAMES BOSWELL. By W. KEITH LEASK.
TOBIAS SMOLLETT. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
FLETCHER OF SALTOUN. By G. W. T. OMOND.
THE "BLACKWOOD" GROUP. By Sir GEORGE DOUGLAS.
NORMAN MacLEOD. By JOHN WELLWOOD.
SIR WALTER SCOTT. By Professor SAINTSBURY.
KIRKCALDY OF GRANGE. By LOUIS A. BARBE.
ROBERT FERGUSSON. By A. B. GROSART.
JAMES THOMSON. By WILLIAM BAYNE.
MUNGO PARK. By T. BANKS MacLACHLAN.
DAVID HUME. By Professor CALDERWOOD.
WILLIAM DUNBAR. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. By Professor MURISON.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. By MARGARET MOYES BLACK.
THOMAS REID. By Professor CAMPBELL FRASER.
POLLOK AND AYTOUN. By ROSALINE MASSON.
ADAM SMITH. By HECTOR C. MacPHERSON.
ANDREW MELVILLE. By WILLIAM MORISON.
JAMES FREDERICK FERRIER. By E. S. HALDANE.
KING ROBERT THE BRUCE. By A. F. MURISON.
[Illustration]
KING ROBERT
THE BRUCE
BY
A. F.
MURISON
FAMOUS
SCOTS
SERIES
PUBLISHED BY
OLIPHANT ANDERSON
& FERRIER. EDINBURGH
AND LONDON
The designs and ornaments of this volume are by Mr Joseph Brown, and
the printing from the press of Messrs Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh.
_July 1899._
ALMAE MATRI
VNIVERSITATI ABERDONENSI
"O, ne'er shall the fame of the patriot decay--
De Bruce! in thy name still our country rejoices;
It thrills Scottish heart-strings, it swells Scottish voices,
As it did when the Bannock ran red from the fray.
Thine ashes in darkness and silence may lie;
But ne'er, mighty hero, while earth hath its motion,
While rises the day-star, or rolls forth the ocean,
Can thy deeds be eclipsed or their memory die:
They stand thy proud monument, sculptur'd sublime
By the chisel of Fame on the Tablet of Time."
PREFACE
The present volume on King Robert the Bruce is the historical
complement to the former volume on Sir William Wallace. Together they
outline, from the standpoint of the leading spirits, the prolonged and
successful struggle of the Scots against the unprovoked aggression of
Edward I. and Edward II.--the most memorable episode in the history of
Scotland.
As in the story of Wallace, so in the story of Bruce, the narrative
is based on the primary authorities. Happily State records and
official papers supply much trustworthy material, which furnishes
also an invaluable test of the accuracy of the numerous and wayward
race of chroniclers. Barbour's poem, with all its errors of fact
and deflections of judgment, is eminently useful--in spite of the
indulgence of historical criticism.
There is no space here to set forth the long list of sources, or to
attempt a formal estimate of their comparative value. Some of them
appear incidentally in the text, though only where it seems absolutely
necessary to name them. The expert knows them; the general reader will
not miss them. Nor is there room for more than occasional argument on
controverted points; it has very frequently been necessary to signify
disapproval by mere silence. The writer, declining the guidance of
modern historians, has formed his own conclusions on an independent
study of the available materials.
After due reduction of the exaggerated pedestal of Patriotism reared
for Bruce by the indiscriminating, if not time-serving, eulogies
of Barbour and Fordun, and maintained for some five centuries, the
figure of the Hero still remains colossal: he completed the national
deliverance.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE ANCESTRY OF BRUCE 11
CHAPTER II
OPPORTUNIST VACILLATION 18
CHAPTER III
THE CORONATION OF BRUCE 26
CHAPTER IV
DEFEAT AND DISASTER: METHVEN AND KILDRUMMY 36
CHAPTER V
THE KING IN EXILE 53
CHAPTER VI
THE TURN OF THE TIDE 58
CHAPTER VII
RECONQUEST OF TERRITORY 69
CHAPTER VIII
RECOVERY OF FORTRESSES 84
CHAPTER IX
THE BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN 92
CHAPTER X
INVASION OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND 108
CHAPTER XI
CONCILIATION AND CONFLICT 119
CHAPTER XII
PEACE AT THE SWORD'S POINT 134
CHAPTER XIII
THE HEART OF THE BRUCE 149
KING ROBERT THE BRUCE
CHAPTER I
THE ANCESTRY OF BRUCE
When Sir William Wallace, the sole apparent hope of Scottish
independence, died at the foot of the gallows in Smithfield, and was
torn limb from limb, it seemed that at last 'the accursed nation' would
quietly submit to the English yoke. The spectacle of the bleaching
bones of the heroic Patriot would, it was anticipated, overawe such of
his countrymen as might yet cherish perverse aspirations after national
freedom. It was a delusive anticipation. In fifteen years of arduous
diplomacy and warfare, with an astounding expenditure of blood and
treasure, Edward I. had crushed the leaders and crippled the resources
of Scotland, but he had inadequately estimated the spirit of the
nation. Only six months, and Scotland was again in arms. It is of the
irony of fate that the very man destined to bring Edward's calculations
to naught had been his most zealous officer in his last campaign, and
had, in all probability, been present at the trial--it may be at the
execution--of Wallace, silently consenting to his death. That man of
destiny was Sir Robert de Brus, Lord of Annandale and Earl of Carrick.
* * * * *
The Bruces came over with the Conqueror. The theory of a Norse origin
in a follower of Rollo the Ganger, who established himself in the
diocese of Coutances in Manche, Normandy, though not improbable, is but
vaguely supported. The name is territorial; and the better opinion is
inclined to connect it with Brix, between Cherbourg and Valognes.
The first Robert de Brus on record was probably the leader of the
Brus contingent in the army of the Conqueror. His services must have
been conspicuous; he died (about 1094) in possession of some 40,000
acres, comprised in forty-three manors in the East and West Ridings of
Yorkshire, and fifty-one in the North | 2,375.685058 |
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Produced by Eve Sobol
HOWARDS END
By E. M. Forster
CHAPTER I.
One may as well begin with Helen's letters to her sister.
"Howards End,
"Tuesday.
"Dearest Meg,
"It isn't going to be what we expected. It is old and little, and
altogether delightful--red brick. We can scarcely pack in as it is,
and the dear knows what will happen when Paul (younger son) arrives
to-morrow. From hall you go right or left into dining-room or
drawing-room. Hall itself is practically a room. You open another door
in it, and there are the stairs going up in a sort of tunnel to the
first-floor. Three bed-rooms in a row there, and three attics in a
row above. That isn't all the house really, but it's all that one
notices--nine windows as you look up from the front garden.
"Then there's a very big wych-elm--to the left as you look up--leaning
a little over the house, and standing on the boundary between the garden
and meadow. I quite love that tree already. Also ordinary elms, oaks--no
nastier than ordinary oaks--pear-trees, apple-trees, and a vine. No
silver birches, though. However, I must get on to my host and hostess. I
only wanted to show that it isn't the least what we expected. Why did
we settle that their house would be all gables and wiggles, and their
garden all gamboge- paths? I believe simply because we associate
them with expensive hotels--Mrs. Wilcox trailing in beautiful dresses
down long corridors, Mr. Wilcox bullying porters, etc. We females are
that unjust.
"I shall be back Saturday; will let you know train later. They are as
angry as I am that you did not come too; really Tibby is too tiresome,
he starts a new mortal disease every month. How could he have got hay
fever in London? and even if he could, it seems hard that you should
give up a visit to hear a schoolboy sneeze. Tell him that Charles Wilcox
(the son who is here) has hay fever too, but he's brave, and gets quite
cross when we inquire after it. Men like the Wilcoxes would do Tibby a
power of good. But you won't agree, and I'd better change the subject.
"This long letter is because I'm writing before breakfast. Oh, the
beautiful vine leaves! The house is covered with a vine. I looked out
earlier, and Mrs. Wilcox was already in the garden. She evidently loves
it. No wonder she sometimes looks tired. She was watching the large
red poppies come out. Then she walked off the lawn to the meadow, whose
corner to the right I can just see. Trail, trail, went her long dress
over the sopping grass, and she came back with her hands full of the hay
that was cut yesterday--I suppose for rabbits or something, as she kept
on smelling it. The air here is delicious. Later on I heard the noise
of croquet balls, and looked out again, and it was Charles Wilcox
practising; they are keen on all games. Presently he started sneezing
and had to stop. Then I hear more clicketing, and it is Mr. Wilcox
practising, and then, 'a-tissue, a-tissue': he has to stop too. Then
Evie comes out, and does some calisthenic exercises on a machine that is
tacked on to a green-gage-tree--they put everything to use--and then
she says 'a-tissue,' and in she goes. And finally Mrs. Wilcox reappears,
trail, trail, still smelling hay and looking at the flowers. I inflict
all this on you because once you said that life is sometimes life and
sometimes only a drama, and one must learn to distinguish tother from
which, and up to now I have always put that down as 'Meg's clever
nonsense.' But this morning, it really does seem not life but a play,
and it did amuse me enormously to watch the W's. Now Mrs. Wilcox has
come in.
"I am going to wear [omission]. Last night Mrs. Wilcox wore an
[omission], and Evie [omission]. So it isn't exactly a go-as-you-please
place, and if you shut your eyes it still seems the wiggly hotel that we
expected. Not if you open them. The dog-roses are too sweet. There is a
great hedge of them over the lawn--magnificently tall, so that they fall
down in garlands, and nice and thin at the bottom, so that you can see
ducks through it and a cow. These belong to the farm, which is the only
house near us. There goes the breakfast gong. Much love. Modified love
to Tibby. Love to Aunt Juley; how good of her to come and keep you
company, but what a bore. Burn this. Will write again Thursday.
"HELEN."
"Howards End
"Friday
"Dearest Meg,
"I am having a glorious time. I like them all. Mrs. Wilcox, if quieter
than in Germany, is sweeter than ever, and I never saw anything like her
steady unselfishness, and the best of it is that the others do not take
advantage of her. They are the very happiest, jolliest family that you
can imagine. I do really feel that we are making friends. The fun of
it is that they think me a noodle, and say so--at least, Mr. Wilcox
does--and when that happens, and one doesn't mind, it's a pretty sure
test, isn't it? He says the most horrid things about woman's suffrage so
nicely, and when I said I believed in equality he just folded his arms
and gave me such a setting down as I've never had. Meg, shall we ever
learn to talk less? I never felt so ashamed of myself in my life. I
couldn't point to a time when men had been equal, | 2,375.754173 |
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available by Internet Archive (http://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/champagnestandar00lanerich
THE CHAMPAGNE STANDARD
by
MRS. JOHN LANE
Author of "Kitwyk," "Brown's Retreat," etc.
London: John Lane, The Bodley Head
New York: John Lane Company
MDCCCCV
Copyright, 1905,
by John Lane Company
The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
TO THE PUBLISHER
MY GENIAL AND
SUGGESTIVE CRITIC
_My Preface_
I was sitting alone with a lead-pencil, having a _tete-a-tete_ with a
sheet of paper. A brisk fire burned on the hearth, and through the
beating of the rain against the little, curved Georgian windows I could
hear the monotonous roll of the sea at the foot of the narrow street,
and the tear and crunching of the pebbles down the shingle as the waves
receded.
I had been ordered to write a preface to explain the liberty I had taken
in making miscellaneous observations about two great nations, and then
putting a climax to my effrontery by having them printed. So here I was
trying, with the aid of a lead-pencil and a sheet of paper, to construct
a preface, and that without the ghost of an idea how to begin. Nor was
the dim electric light illuminating; nor, in the narrow street, the
nasal invocation of an aged man with a green shade over his eyes, arm
in arm with an aged woman keenly alive to pennies, somewhere out of
whose interiors there emanated a song to the words, "Glowry, glowry,
hallaluh!"
In fact, all the ideas that did occur to me were miles away from a
preface. It was maddening! I even demanded that the ocean should stop
making such a horrid noise, if only for five minutes. And that set me
idly to thinking what would happen to the world if the tides should
really be struck motionless even for that short space of time. The idea
is so out of my line that it is quite at the service of any distressed
romancer, dashed with science, who, also, may be nibbling his pencil.
I sat steeped in that profound melancholy familiar to authors who are
required to say something and who have nothing to say. Finally, in a
despair which is familiar to such as have seen the first act of _Faust_,
I invoked that Supernatural Power who comes with a red light and bestows
inspiration.
"If you'll only help me to begin," I cried, "I'll do the rest!" For I
realised in what active demand his services must be.
I didn't believe anything would happen. Nothing ever does except in the
first act of _Faust_, and I must really take this opportunity to beg
Faust not to unbutton his old age so obviously. Still, that again has
nothing to do with my preface!
I reclined on a red plush couch before the fire and thought gloomily of
Faust's buttons, and how the supernatural never comes to one's aid these
material days, when my eyes, following the elegant outlines of the
couch, strayed to a red plush chair at its foot, strangely and
supernaturally out of place. And how can I describe my amazement and
terror when I saw on that red plush chair a big black cat, with his tail
neatly curled about his toes! A strange black cat where no cat had ever
been seen before! He stared at me, and I stared at him. Was he the Rapid
Reply of that Supernatural Power I had so rashly invoked? At the mere
thought I turned cold.
"Are you a message 'from the night's Plutonian shore'?" I said,
trembling, "or do you belong to the landlady?"
His reply was merely to blink, and indeed he was so black and the
background was so black that but for his blink I shouldn't have known he
was there.
"If," I murmured, "he recognises quotations from _The Raven_, it will be
a sign that he is going to stay forever." Whereupon I declaimed all the
shivery bits of that immortal poem, which I had received as a Christmas
present.
He was so far from being agitated that before I had finished he had
settled down in a cosy heap, with his fore-paws tucked under his black
shirt front, and was fast asleep, delivering himself of the emotional
purr of a tea kettle in full operation. For a moment I was appalled. Was
this new and stodgy edition of _The Raven_ going to stay forever?
"'Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore,'" I
urged, but all he did was to open one lazy eye, and wink. For a moment I
was frozen with horror. Was I doomed to live forever in the society of a
strange black cat, of possibly supernatural antecedents?
"'Take thy form from off my door,'" I was about to address him, but
paused, for, strictly speaking, he was not on my door. And just as I
was quite faint with apprehension, common-sense, which does not usually
come to the aid of ladies in distress, came to mine. Like a flash it
came to me that even if he stayed forever, _I_ needn't. I had only taken
the lodgings by the week. He was foiled.
With a new sense of security I again studied him, and I observed a
subtle change. He was evidently a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde kind of cat. I
became conscious of a complex personality. Though to the careless
observer he might appear to be only a chubby cat, full of purr, to me he
was rapidly developing into something more; in fact, mind was, as usual,
triumphing over matter, and presto! before I knew what he was about, he
had changed into an idea.
"To call you only a cat!" I cried in fervent gratitude. "Only a cat,
indeed! You are much more than a cat--you are a miracle! You are a
preface!" And so, indeed, he was.
Like one inspired I thought of his first illustrious ancestor, on four
legs, the one who had once so heroically looked at a king, with the
result that not only did he gain a perpetual permission for his race,
but he has passed into an immortal proverb. That was not his only
glorious deed, however, for it was he who first encouraged the Modest.
If it had not been for that historic cat, what would have become of
them! When the Modest want to say something, no matter how modestly, and
get frightfully snubbed, don't they always declare that "A cat may look
at a king"? Really, that illustrious cat has never had his due! Besides
heaps of other things, is he not the original type of the first true
Republican? I would like to know what the world would have done if he
hadn't looked at the king? Why, it was the first great Declaration of
Independence.
Besides, don't we owe to him, though hitherto unacknowledged, those
underlying principles of that other glorious Declaration of
Independence, the happy result of which seems to be that tea is so
awfully dear in America?
No, one doesn't hold with a cat's laughing at a king. No cat should
laugh at a king, for that leads to anarchy and impoliteness and things
going off. It is the cat who looks civilly at kings who has come to
stay, along with republics and free thought. But possibly that is the
one little drawback--thought is so dreadfully free! It used to be rather
select to think, but now everybody thinks, and kings and other important
things are not nearly as sacred as they used to be, and even the Modest
get a chance. I suppose it is the spirit of the Age.
I had got so far and had to nibble again at my pencil for further
inspiration, when the door opened and my landlady appeared. She is a
worthy woman, and she holds her head on one side like an elderly
canary-bird.
She spoke with a remnant of breath.
"If you please, ma'am, we have lost our Alonzo the Brave."
"You will probably," I replied with great presence of mind, considering
that I had no idea what she was talking about, "find him with the fair
Imogene."
Here my landlady, with her eyes penetrating the corners, gave a cry of
rapture, "There he is! Glory be!" And she pounced on the black and
purring stranger, who rose and stretched his back to a mountainous
height and his jaws to a pink cavern.
"This is our Alonzo the Brave," and she pressed his rebellious head
against the pins on her ample bosom.
"Oh, indeed," I said politely; "and though he is your Alonzo the Brave,
I hope you won't mind his being my preface, will you? And may I ask what
does he like best in the world besides Imogene?"
Alonzo the Brave had partly wriggled out of her ardent embrace, so that
he now hung suspended by his elastic body, while his legs dangled at
amazing length.
"Me," and my landlady simpered.
"I mean in the eating line," I explained.
Catnip, said his biographer, was his favourite weakness.
"Then get him a pennyworth of catnip and put it on my bill," I said
benevolently. For I thought as she carried him off struggling, even a
poor preface is cheap at a penny, and without Alonzo the Brave there
would have been no preface, and without his heroic ancestor the Modest
would never have had a chance!
I do hope this explains the following pages. I have not, like Alonzo's
ancestor, strictly confined my observations to kings. I have, indeed,
ventured to look at all sorts of things, many of them very sublime, and
solemn and important, and some less so; and, as the following pages will
prove, I have availed myself freely of the privilege of the Modest.
If the two greatest nations of the world have served me as "copy," it is
because they are very near and dear, and the Modest, like more
celebrated writers, have a way of using their nearest and dearest as
"copy," especially their dearest.
In conclusion, I trust I have adequately explained, by help of Alonzo
the Brave, that it is the privilege of the Modest to make observations
about everything--whether anyone will ever read them, why--that's
another matter.
A. E. L.
KEMPTOWN, January, 1906.
_Contents_
_Page_
The Champagne Standard 1
American Wives and English Housekeeping 40
Kitchen Comedies 75
Entertaining 104
Temporary Power 130
The Extravagant Economy of Women 153
A Modern Tendency 171
A Plea for Women Architects 181
The Electric Age 188
Gunpowder or Toothpowder 196
The Pleasure of Patriotism 211
Romance and Eyeglasses 220
The Plague of Music 230
A Domestic Danger 245
A Study of Frivolity 259
On Taking Oneself Seriously 271
Soft-Soap 290
_The Champagne Standard_
The other evening at a charming dinner party in London, and in that
intimate time which is just before the men return to the drawing room, I
found myself tete-a-tete with my genial hostess. She leaned forward and
said with a touch of anxiety in her pretty eyes, "Confess that I am
heroic?"
"Why?" I asked, somewhat surprised.
"To give a dinner party without champagne."
It was only then that I realised that we had had excellent claret and
hock instead of that fatal wine which represents, as really nothing else
does, the cheap pretence which is so humorously characteristic of Modern
Society.
"You see," she said with a deep sigh, "I have a conscience, and I try to
reconcile a modest purse and the hospitality people expect from me, and
that is being very heroic these days, and it does so disagree with me to
be heroic! Besides, people don't appreciate your heroism, they only
think you are mean!"
I realised at once the truth and absurdity of what she said. It does
require tremendous heroism to have the courage of a small income and to
be hospitable within your means, for by force of bad example hospitality
grows dearer year by year. The increasing extravagance of life is all
owing to those millionaires, and imitation millionaires, whose example
is a curse and a menace. They set the pace, and the whole world tears
after. Because solely of their wealth, or supposed wealth, they are
accepted everywhere, and it is they who have broken down the once
impassable barriers between the English classes, with the result that
the evil which before might have been confined to the highest, now that
extravagant imitation is universal, permeates all ranks even to the
lowest.
The old aristocracy is giving place to the new millionaires, and it
gladly bestows on them its friendship in exchange for the privilege of
consorting with untold wealth and possible hints on how to make it. The
dignity that hedges about royalty is indeed a thing of the past, since a
bubble king of finance is said to have been too busy to vouchsafe an
audience to an emperor.
There is nothing in the modern world so absolutely real and convincing
and universal as its pretence. It has set itself a standard of aims and
of living which can best be described as the Champagne Standard.
To live up to the champagne standard you have to put your best foot
foremost, and that foot is usually a woman's. It is the women who are
the arbiters of the essentially unimportant in life, the neglect of
which is a crime. It is the women who have set the champagne standard. A
man who lays a great stress on the importance of trivialities has either
a worldly woman behind him, or he has a decided feminine streak in his
character.
Yes, it is the champagne standard; for nothing else so accurately
describes the insincere, pretentious, and frothy striving after one's
little private unattainables. It is aspiration turned sour. Aspirations,
real and true, keep the world progressive, make of men great men and of
women great women; but it is the minor aspirations after what we have
not got, what the accident of circumstances prevents us from having,
which make of life a weariness and a profound disappointment. Not the
tragedies of life make us bitter, but the pin-pricks.
In America, for instance, one does not need to be so very old to be
aware of the amazing changes in the ways of living, the result of an
unbalanced increase of wealth which has brought with it the imported
complexity of older and more aristocratic countries. It is the older
civilisation's retaliation against those blustering new millions that
have done her such incalculable harm. Indeed, it would have been well
for the great republic had she put an absolutely prohibitive tariff on
the fatal importation. The republican simplicity of our fathers is
slowly vanishing in the blind, mad struggle of modern life--in a
standard of living that is based on folly. It is easier to imitate the
old-world luxury than the old-world cultivation which mellows down the
crudeness of wealth and makes it an accessory and not the principal.
Unfortunately we judge a nation by those of its people who are most in
evidence, and do it the injustice of over-looking the best and finest
types among its wealthiest class: men and women who are the first to
regret and disown what is false and unworthy in their social life. We
assume that the blatant, self-advertising _nouveau riche_, with whom
wealth is the standard of success and virtue, is the national American
type, instead of the worst of many types, whose bad example is as well
recognised as a peril to character in America as in other countries.
Wealth in all nations covers a multitude of sins, but in America, to
judge from recent developments, it would seem to cover crimes. Is not
America now passing through a gigantic struggle, the result of the
hideous modern fight for wealth, in which the common man goes under,
while the reckless speculators who juggled with his hard-earned savings
use these same savings to fight justice to the bitter end? Possibly in
no other enlightened country in the world could such titanic frauds,
with such incalculably far-reaching effects, be so successfully
attempted, and that by a handful of men who had in their keeping the
hopes of countless unsuspecting people who trusted to their honesty and
uprightness.
The race for wealth in America has become a madness--a disease. It is
not a love of wealth for what it will bring into life, of beauty and
goodness, but a love of millions pure and simple. Who has not seen the
effect of millions on the average human character? Who has not seen men
grow hard and rapacious in proportion as their millions accumulated? Who
has not seen the tendency to judge of deeds and virtue by the same false
standard? A shady transaction performed by a millionaire is condoned
because he is a millionaire and for no other reason. Without millions he
would be shunned, but with them he is regarded with the eyes of a most
benevolent charity. It is high time indeed that a prophet should arise
and preach the simple life, but let him not preach it from below
upwards. He must preach it to the kings of the world and the
billionaires and magnates, and above all to the lady magnates; and let
him be sure not to forget the lady magnates, for they are of the
supremest importance and set the fashion. Let him turn them from their
complicated ways. Now the ways of magnates and all who belong to them
are very instructive. The well-authenticated story goes that at a dinner
party the other night at a magnate's,--to describe his indescribable
importance it is sufficient to call a man a magnate--after the ladies
returned to the drawing-room, the hostess, her broad expanse tinkling
and glittering with diamonds, leaned back in a great tufted chair--just
like a throne _en deshabille_--and shivered slightly. A footman went in
search of the lady's maid.
"Francoise," said the magnate's lady with languid magnificence, "I feel
chilly; bring me another diamond necklace."
Yes, let the prophet first convert the magnate and the magnate's "lady"
to a simpler life, then the simple life will undoubtedly become the
fashion, for the small fry will follow soon enough. Are we not all like
sheep? And what is the use of arguing with sheep who are leaping after
the bellwether?
There is one safeguard for the American republic, and that is, in
default of any other description, its ice-water-drinking class. In its
ice-water-drinking class lies its safety, for that represents the
backbone of the republic. It represents a class which, in spite of the
sanitary drawbacks of ice, is a national asset. It seems curious to
boast of the people who drink ice-water, and yet they represent American
life, simple, sincere, and untouched by the sophistries of the champagne
standard, and of a social ambition imported from abroad; decently well
off people, but not so well off but that the only heritage of their sons
will be a practical education. Already we are reaping the curse of
inherited wealth in America, where, unlike England, it has no duties to
keep the balance. The English aristocrat has inherited political duties
and responsibilities towards his country which, as a rule, he
faithfully performs, and which make of him a hard-working man.
Unfortunately it is the fashion for the rich American, in his race for
wealth and pleasure, or out of sheer indolence, to ignore politics and
all that is of vital importance in national life. And until the best
elements of the nation take a practical interest in the government of
their country and in the administration of its great institutions, the
nation cannot reach its highest development. Just now, unhappily, we
have a warning example of what happens in America to the second
generation that inherits instead of makes incalculable wealth. The
District Attorney of New York, in a case which has shaken the foundation
of all commercial rectitude, is quoted as saying of the still young man
whom the accident of inheritance placed in a position of despotic power
over millions of money and millions of modest hopes: "He is an excellent
type of the second generation." It is an epigram which should be a
warning, as the cause is a menace to American business methods. For did
not Emerson say, studying American ways more than a generation ago when
American life was simpler: "It takes three generations from
shirt-sleeves to shirt-sleeves." But in that warning there is hope, for
in the scattering of wealth lies America's chance of salvation. Plain
living and high thinking once characterised what was best in American
life, and the men and women whose thoughts were high and whose living
plain were mostly from that simple ice-water-drinking class that has
produced much of the nobility and patriotism of America. That ice-water
has helped to encourage dyspepsia, granted; but even a great virtue can
have its defects.
How different was the America of our childhood! One remembers the
time when, if the honoured guest was not invited to quench his thirst
with ice-water at the hospitable board, he was, as a great treat,
furnished with cider. Claret was the drink of those adventurous souls
who had traditions and had been abroad. There was no champagne
standard--champagne only graced the table on solemn, state occasions.
But in these rapid days the hospitable people who would once have
offered you a serious glass of claret now give you champagne. And
because Smith, who can afford it, gives you good champagne, Jones, who
cannot afford it, gives you bad champagne. But the bad and the good
champagne are both tied up in white cloths, as if they had the
toothache, so how awfully lucky it is that when the label is fifth-rate,
Mrs. Jones, trusting in the shrouded shape, can offer bad champagne with
ignorant satisfaction.
It is interesting to study the evolution of Jones. There was Jones's
father; he didn't pretend. He lived in a modest house and kept one
servant and had a fat bank account. Old Mrs. Jones, a charming woman
with the manners of a duchess, helped in the housework. Old Jones dined
all the days of his life at one o'clock, and had a "meat-tea" at six. At
ten every night he ate an apple, and then he went to bed at ten-thirty.
He left a handsome fortune to his children, who shared alike, which made
Jones, Jr., only comfortably off. Now young Jones and his wife began by
following in the footsteps of their parents, but Jones made money in
business, and the result was that Mrs. Jones had aspirations.
Aspirations are always a feminine attribute. So Jones bought a
fashionable house, and instead of one servant Mrs. Jones keeps four;
instead of a joint and pie, American pie, for which his simple appetite
longs, Jones has a six-course dinner at eight which gives him dyspepsia.
There is not the ghost of a doubt that Mrs. Jones is too afraid of the
servants to have a plain dinner. And it is also quite certain that she
goes to a fashionable church for a social impetus rather than divine
uplifting, and that she sends her only child, Petra Jones, to a
fashionable kindergarten so that the unfortunate child, who is at an age
when she ought to be making mud pies, shall be early launched into
fashionable friendships. Indeed, one day, in a burst of confidence, Mrs.
Jones described how Petra had been snubbed. It seems that the Jones's
child met another small school-fellow in the park in custody of the last
thing in French nurses. Being only six and still unsophisticated in the
ways of fashion, she rushed up to the young patrician and suggested
their playing together.
"No, I can't play with you," the young patrician sniffed--"for my ma
don't call on your ma."
Why is it that the pin-pricks of life are so much harder to bear than
its tragedies? Mrs. Jones mourned over this snub to the pride of Jones,
but she has no leisure to observe that Jones, her husband, is meanwhile
growing old and hollow-eyed with care and business worries and the
expense of aspiring. O champagne standard! O foolish Mrs. Jones!
As long as we can be snubbed and suffer what is the use of telling us
that we are born free and equal? The only liberty we have is to breathe,
and our equality consists in that, plebeian and patrician alike, we are
permitted to take in as much air as our infant lungs can accommodate.
After that our equality ceases.
When Mrs. Jones goes to the expense of giving a dinner party, does she
only invite her nearest and dearest | 2,375.938115 |
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THE BROCHURE SERIES
OF ARCHITECTURAL ILLUSTRATION.
VOL. I. MAY, 1895. No. 5.
TWO FLORENTINE PAVEMENTS.
The church of San Miniato al Monte, just outside the walls southeast of
Florence, and the Baptistery, or church of San Giovanni Battista, in
Florence, are among the finest examples of the Tuscan Romanesque style,
and both probably date from about the same time--the early part of the
twelfth century--although the date of San Miniato has until recently
been referred several centuries further back.
These two churches have many points of similarity, although entirely
different in plan. San Miniato was referred to in the article upon the
Byzantine-Romanesque doorways of Southern Italy in our February number,
and Fergusson's classification of Byzantine-Romanesque was, for the time
being, adopted for lack of better authority. Later writers have,
however, generally agreed that there is little or no Byzantine influence
in these two churches; that the delicate and refined treatment of
classic forms here found is not the result of Byzantine or Greek
influence, but is due entirely to the natural refinement of the Tuscan
race. The same characteristic was again shown later in the treatment of
Gothic detail, and is evident in the Renaissance work of this locality.
The dimensions of San Miniato were given in the February number referred
to above. The interior of this church is generally considered one of the
most beautiful interiors of Italy on account of its effective basilican
plan with a crypt opening from the nave, its beautiful and rich detail,
and its fine mosaics and decorations. The pavement is not the least of
its attractions.
The Baptistery will be remembered for its famous bronze doors, the work
of Ghiberti, which have given occasion for so much discussion, favorable
and unfavorable. It is octagonal in plan, and 108 feet in diameter
externally. It was erected originally for the cathedral of the city, but
in the eleventh and twelfth centuries was so thoroughly remodeled that
no recognizable features of the old building remain.
The pavements, in point of design, appear quite independent of the other
ornamental work in the two buildings we are considering.
The motives of ornament are those commonly found in the stuffs,
especially silks, of Sicily and the East, and their use here could
easily be accounted for through connection with Sicily. It is known that
the Hotel de Tiraz at Palermo, the great royal manufactory of stuffs,
artistic metal work, mosaics, etc., established in the sixth century,
and which continued until the sixteenth, supplied not only much of the
finest textile products for all of Europe in that time, but also
furnished workmen who carried with them the designs and methods of
Sicilian textile manufacture to other countries. Such manufactories were
established in several Italian cities, among them Lucca.
The relationship seems clear, as the forms are perfectly similar. The
beasts and birds set in balancing pairs facing each other and repeated
in an all-over pattern, as in a woven fabric, strongly suggest the
Sicilian silks. Eug. Muentz in his work, "La Tapisserie," speaks of this
evident relationship. The internal evidence of the design itself would
be quite sufficient if we had no other means of tracing it.
These two pavements are practically unique, as far as we are able to
learn. They are marble inlay, the pattern having been cut out in a slab
of white marble and pieces of black marble carefully fitted in to form
the figure. This is not true mosaic, and differs essentially in design
from the mosaic work of the same period which was derived from the Roman
mosaics made up of small pieces of marble or other material. Most of the
floor mosaics in Italy have suffered from wear and tear, and have in
many cases been very poorly restored; but these two pavements appear to
be in nearly their original condition.
The design does not have the merit of belonging distinctively to the
material in all cases, and might just as well be applied to wood
parquetry as stone. In fact, it might be even more effective in this
material if the colors were judiciously chosen.
[Illustration: XXXIII. Portion of the Pavement in the Baptistery,
Florence, Italy.]
[Illustration: XXXIV. Portion of the Pavement in the Baptistery,
Florence, Italy.]
[Illustration: XXXV. Portion of the Pavement in the Baptistery,
Florence, Italy.]
[Illustration: XXXVI. Portion of the Pavement in the Baptistery,
Florence, Italy.]
[Illustration: XXXVII. Portion of the Pavement in the Baptistery,
Florence, Italy.]
XXXIII to XXXVII.
PORTIONS OF THE PAVEMENT IN THE BAPTISTERY, FLORENCE, ITALY.
One exception should be made to the remarks above in relation to true
mosaic. The lower left-hand portion of plate XXXVI is without doubt made
up of small pieces put together after the manner of the old Roman
mosaics, and it is possible that the portion shown in the upper
left-hand corner of the same plate is made in the same way. There are
several parts of the floor laid in this manner, but they are distinctly
secondary in interest to the inlaid portions.
The pavement is divided irregularly by squares and rectangles, the
portion especially rich in ornament being that between the door and the
altar. The rectangular patterns are irregularly cut into by special
pavements, placed before several of the monumental tombs in the walls.
[Illustration: XXXVIII. Portion of the Pavement in the Church of San
Miniato al Monte, Florence, Italy.]
[Illustration: XXXIX. Portion of the Pavement in the Church of San
Miniato al Monte, Florence, Italy.]
[Illustration: XL. Portion of the Pavement in the Church of San Miniato
al Monte, Florence, Italy.]
XXXVIII to XL.
PORTIONS OF THE PAVEMENT IN THE CHURCH OF SAN MINIATO AL MONTE,
FLORENCE, ITALY.
In the first of these plates there is a suggestion of the mosaic
treatment commonly seen in the pavements of Rome, Venice, and Siena.
The sort of guilloche of interlacing circles was very generally used.
Plate XL on the other hand is as plainly reminiscent of textile designs
as it well might be; and in plate XXXIII from the Baptistery the same
characteristic can be seen.
Wood Floors.
The addition which a fine hardwood floor makes to the attractiveness of
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[Illustration: cover art]
The Quest of the
"Golden Hope"
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
50 Old Bailey, LONDON
17 Stanhope Street, GLASGOW
BLACKIE & SON (INDIA) LIMITED
Warwick House, Fort Street, BOMBAY
BLACKIE & SON (CANADA) LIMITED
1118 Bay Street, TORONTO
[Illustration: CAPTAIN JEREMY IS WOUNDED (missing from book)]
The Quest of the
"Golden Hope"
A Seventeenth Century Story of Adventure
BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "East in the _Golden Gain_" "The Third Officer"
"Sea Scouts All" &c.
ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK E. WILES
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
LONDON AND GLASGOW
By Percy F. Westerman
Rivals of the Reef.
A Shanghai Adventure.
Pat Stobart in the "Golden Dawn".
The Junior Cadet.
Captain Starlight.
The Sea-Girt Fortress.
On the Wings of the Wind.
Captured at Tripoli.
Captain Blundell's Treasure.
The Third Officer.
Unconquered Wings.
The Buccaneers of Boya.
The Riddle of the Air.
Chums of the "Golden Vanity".
The Luck of the "Golden Dawn".
Clipped Wings.
The Salving of the "Fusi Yama".
Winning his Wings.
A Lively Bit of the Front.
A Cadet of the Mercantile Marine.
The Good Ship "Golden Effort".
East in the "Golden Gain".
The Quest of the "Golden Hope".
Sea Scouts Abroad.
Sea Scouts Up-Channel.
The Wireless Officer.
A Lad of Grit.
The Submarine Hunters.
Sea Scouts All.
The Thick of the Fray.
A Sub and a Submarine.
Under the White Ensign.
The Fight for Constantinople.
With Beatty off Jutland.
Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow
Contents
I. OF THE FUGITIVE FROM SEDGEMOOR
II. THE TWO DRAGOONS ON THE BROCKENHURST ROAD
III. CAPTAIN JEREMY'S SURPRISE
IV. THE _MADRE DE DIOS_
V. THE CHART
VI. A MIDNIGHT INTRUDER
VII. THE CAVE IN THE LONELY HEATH
VIII. CONCERNING THE EVENTS THAT PROMPTED ME
TO A DESPERATE RESOLVE
IX. FLIGHT
X. IN THE HOLD
XI. MY FIRST DAY AT SEA
XII. A BRUSH WITH ALGERINES
XIII. OF THE MYSTERIOUS SHIP IN THE MIDST OF THE OCEAN
XIV. "CAPTAIN 'ENERY"
XV. WE ARRIVE AT TREASURE ISLAND
XVI. A HASTY RECALL
XVII. ATTACKED BY BUCCANEERS
XVIII. "REPEL BOARDERS!"
XIX. BLOWN UP
XX. THE REPULSE AT THE STOCKADE
XXI. CAPTAIN CRADDOCK
XXII. A LEAP FOR LIFE
XXIII. THE PERILS OF THE SHOAL
XXIV. MORE TROUBLE IN SIGHT
XXV. WE ARRIVE AT THE HIDING-PLACE OF THE TREASURE
XXVI. UNTOLD WEALTH
XXVII. THE MUTINY OF THE _NEPTUNE_
XXVIII. THE FATE OF THE MUTINEERS
XXIX. HOMEWARD BOUND
XXX. THE LAST OF MY SWORN ENEMY
XXXI. THE BURNING SHIP
XXXII. CONSTANCE'S STORY
XXXIII. SAFE IN PORT
Illustrations
------
CAPTAIN JEREMY IS WOUNDED (Frontispiece)
I DESCENDED HAND OVER HAND
THE TREASURE OF THE "MADRE DE DIOS"
I SHOUTED TO THE MEN TO HEAVE ROUNDLY
------
MAP OF THE ISLAND
[Illustration: MAP OF THE ISLAND]
A The _Golden Hope_ in harbour.
B The stockade.
C Path taken by first expedition in search of the treasure.
CC Path taken by successful expedition.
D Wreck of the _Madre de Dios._
E Cave where Clifford was held prisoner.
F Shoal where Clifford was attacked by octopus.
G Site of the master gunner's ambuscade.
H Buccaneers' harbour and settlement.
K Wreck of the _Black Arrow._
L False landmark erected by Captain Jeremy's orders.
M Wreck of _Neptune_ owing to false bearings.
N Where the treasure was found.
O Cove where Cherry and the long-boat's crew landed.
P Deep water channel inside shoals, unknown to Captain Jeremy.
Q Existing path between buccaneers'
harbour and south side of island.
R Bearing for navigating channel.
The track of the _Golden Hope_
into the harbour is shown by the black line.
The shaded portion of the shoals were
uncovered at low water.
THE QUEST OF THE
"GOLDEN HOPE"
CHAPTER I
Of the Fugitive from Sedgemoor
Well do I, Clifford Hammond, remember the 10th day of July in the
year of grace 1685. Rebellion, though some would have it 'twas
justifiable invasion, had appeared in the land. Monmouth had landed
in Dorset, and had raised an army. How he fared, the men of
Hampshire knew not as yet, though there were many who prayed for the
successful issue of his venture.
Little did I think, living on the borders of the New Forest, that
the outbreak in the West would affect the welfare of our house. Yet
it did, though, I must confess, indirectly; for had it not been for
the routing of the rebels at Sedgemoor, the voyage of the _Golden
Hope_ would not have been undertaken, nor would I be able to relate
the desperate adventures of her crew in gaining the object of the
expedition. But I am forestalling my story.
Our family, the Hammonds of Brockenhurst, had lived within the
bounds of the Forest for centuries, as witness the name of Geoffroi
Hammond, who served with distinction at the taking of the _Great
Christopher_ in the sea-fight of Sluys; or of Thomas Hammond, who
fought at Agincourt: but I would make it plain that the Hammonds of
Brockenhurst have no connection with the rebel Colonel
Hammond--though, to his credit be it said, he treated His Majesty
King Charles the Martyr, during his captivity in the Isle of Wight,
with far more courtesy than did his brother officers.
My father, Captain Richard Hammond--"Foul-weather Dick", as he was
affectionately dubbed in the fleet--had had an adventurous career
both ashore and afloat. Beginning with the fatal fight at Naseby
when he was but a young cornet of horse of barely twenty years of
age, he had fought Dutch, Algerines, and, sad to relate, his
fellow-countrymen; but for the last ten years he had retired from
the King's service, and had settled down to a quiet country life in
his native Hampshire.
Thanks to his father's devotion to his sovereign, the exchequer of
the Hammond family had been sadly depleted. During the
ever-to-be-abhorred Rebellion, plate, jewels, money, all went, and
'twas fortunate that our lands had not been confiscated by the
Commonwealth. My father had to rely upon the unkept promises of His
Majesty King Charles II as a reward for the sacrifices of our house
towards the royal cause; nevertheless, the meagre pay of a sea
captain in the King's fleet, together with the income from the shore
estate, sufficed to keep us in comparative ease.
My father married late in life. His spouse, the daughter of Sir
Digby Tall (a baronet as impecunious as the majority of his class at
this time), died within three years of their union, leaving two
children.
At the time my story opens I, Clifford Hammond, was sixteen years of
age, my sister Constance being eighteen months my junior. She was a
tall, sprightly girl, with fresh complexion, blue eyes, and rich
golden hair, being, 'twas said, the image of her mother in her
youth.
No one would readily have taken Constance and me for sister and
brother, for I was olive-featured, with straight, dark-brown hair
and grey eyes; tall in stature, yet inclined to slenderness.
On the particular morning to which I have referred, Constance and I
had gone into Lyndhurst to give orders to a carrier respecting the
purchase of a certain article at Southampton. What the nature of the
purchase was we did not at the time know, although every month,
summer and winter, year in and year out, my father had a similar
package brought in by the regular carrier. Here I may mention that
my sire, in spite of his sixty odd years, was a wonderfully
well-preserved man, his dark-brown locks (for he scorned to wear a
peruke) being innocent of any trace of grey hairs. Yet I call to
mind the occasion, when I was yet a child of tender years, upon
which my father had perforce to attend the Verderers' Court at
Lyndhurst with his hair of a rusty, iron-grey hue. That was about
the time that Giles Shearing's wain was upset at Redbridge, and many
a housewife in Lyndhurst and Brockenhurst who relied on the
Southampton carrier had to go short-handed. I no longer wonder at
the coincidence.
As we left Lyndhurst town on our return journey, I leading a shaggy
Forest pony on which my sister, holding the required purchase, was
perched, a troop of horse came riding with loose rein and hot spur
through the quiet High Street.
They were fierce-looking fellows, with bronzed features, begrimed
with sweat and dust; upturned moustachios, and flowing locks. They
wore red frock-coats trimmed with white facings, the skirts buttoned
back to enable them to sit the better in the saddle; dark-green
breeches, long riding-boots of buff leather, and broad-brimmed
beaver hats, looped up on one side. All were armed with a broadsword
and a pair of pistols, while not a few carried snaphances in a
bucket at the right side of the saddle, or slung across their backs.
This much I noticed as they tore onwards with undiminished pace
through the narrow street, till they were lost to view in a cloud of
dust on the Southampton Road.
"There's some news for Cap'n Hammond, Master Clifford!" shouted
Chambers the blacksmith from across the way. "They say as how Duke
Monmouth's been beaten, and half his army cut to pieces. Those
redcoats are Cornbury's Dragoons, and they are hot on the track of
the Hampshire rebels. Heaven help the Mayor of Lymington and the
score of men he sent to the West!"
Young as I was, I realized that it was a case of woe to the
vanquished. Although our county had not taken up the cause of the
rebel Duke to any thing like the extent of Dorset, Somerset, and
Wiltshire, several of the towns in the western division of Hampshire
had sent small contingents to aid Monmouth's cause, and Lymington
had been the chief offender in this respect. Fortunately for us,
Brockenhurst had held aloof, though the villagers were none too
kindly disposed towards King James's measures.
We hastened on our homeward journey, eager to convey the momentous
news to my father. For the first half of the way the road ran
between dense masses of trees, intersected by shady glades, in which
the leaves of last year still littered the ground. Ever and anon a
herd of fallow deer would dash across the highway, or a troop of
Forest ponies would scamper betwixt the trees, fearing in every
human being a possible master. Pigs also roamed in great numbers,
for though it was the time of fence month[1] within the Forest, so
lax had the jurisdiction of the Verderers' Court become that the
commoners paid less heed to the regulations than they had for years
past.
At length we emerged from the forest and gained the rolling expanse
of heath, where, to right and left, as far as the eye could reach,
the heather and the gorse gleamed in the bright sunshine like a sea
of purple and gold.
"See, there's a man riding as fast as his horse can carry him!"
exclaimed Constance, pointing down the bridle path that, running
between Ring wood and Beaulieu, crosses the highway near the place
where we were.
"Aye, he seems in a mighty hurry," I replied, shading my eyes from
the glare.
"Perchance 'tis another of those horse soldiers?"
"Nay, he wears no red coat," I answered, reassuring her; but though
I did not mention it, I perceived two men riding a long distance
behind the first horseman as if in pursuit, and, unless my eyes
deceived me, they were dragoons.
"Let us hasten," urged Constance, as if filled with some
forebodings, though she was usually a strong-minded girl.
"He'll not molest us," said I. "He is too intent on his errand, I
trow."
Nearer and nearer came the fugitive--for fugitive he was--till I
could distinguish his features. Then my heart gave a sudden bound,
for I recognized the man: it was Jeremy Miles, a master mariner of
Lymington, and one of the townsfolk who had gone west to join the
rebel standard.
Constance knew him also, for she exclaimed, "'Tis Captain Miles! And
see, Clifford, there are soldiers after him!"
Something compelled me to stop and await the arrival of the
fugitive, and, holding the pony's bridle by one hand, I assisted
Constance to dismount.
As we stood we were hidden from the bridle path by a gorse-covered
bank that, being but breast high, was sufficiently low to enable us
to command the track on which the horsemen were riding without being
seen by them until they gained the highway.
Not for one moment did I expect to be in danger, for Miles was
riding strongly and evidently holding his own, while 'twas unlikely
that the troopers, keen on his pursuit, would draw rein to molest a
boy and a girl.
The fugitive was now crossing the white dusty road within twenty
paces of us, when suddenly his horse sank under him, throwing its
rider headlong to the ground. But before the expiring animal gave a
last convulsive shudder, Miles had sprung to his feet and was
looking dazedly towards his pursuers, now but a mile behind.
"Captain Miles!" I shouted, urging my pony forward. "Captain Miles!
Take Trotter and ride him across the heath."
"Why, 'tis Master Hammond!" he exclaimed. "Nay, lad, that beast
would not ship a crew like me: But they'll have their work cut out
to take me. Come, young sir, I'll trouble you to give a hand with my
mare, if you will."
Together, with Constance helping us, we dragged the body of the
animal off the road, and hid it in a slight depression behind some
furze bushes. Then hurriedly we strove to conceal the tell-tale
tracks on the dusty road.
The dragoons were now only a bare quarter-mile away.
[1] The period between the 20th June and the 20th July, during which
time the ancient right of "Pannage", i.e. turning out pigs to feed
on acorns and beech-mast, within the New Forest was withheld.
CHAPTER II
The Two Dragoons on the Brockenhurst Road
"Leave me and shape your own course, Master Hammond!" exclaimed the
Captain composedly, for he had regained both his breath and his
wits. "You can do no more, and I'll warrant I can shift for myself."
So saying, he wriggled along the ground over the bank that screened
us from the soldiers, and lay hidden in the bracken on the same side
of the highway as the troopers.
Meanwhile, filled with anxiety on the behalf of Jeremy Miles--for he
was always a general favourite amongst the youths in and around
Lymington--Constance and I resumed our way, endeavouring to appear
as unconcerned as possible.
Less than a minute must have passed since we saw Captain Miles's
great frame disappear beneath the bracken, when we heard the clatter
of the troopers' horses as their hoofs struck the road. Knowing that
it would ill play our part to refrain from curiosity, we stopped and
looked back at the pursuing soldiers.
They were of the same troop that we had seen in Lyndhurst a short
half-hour ago. Great, swarthy men they were, hardened to cruelty by
reason of their service at Tangiers, and, though I knew it not at
the time, ready to practise the barbarities acquired from the Moors
upon their own countrymen, as many a poor peasant of the marshes of
Somerset had learned to his cost.
"Curse him!" exclaimed one, with an oath. "Where hath he gone? Are
we to let a guinea slip through our fingers after all our trouble?"
"He's not far away," replied his comrade, pointing with an
exclamation of triumph to the partially concealed tracks on the
road. "See, he hath had a fall. Methinks we have him by the heels."
"'Tis like looking for a sprat in the ocean," returned the first
trooper, gazing across the wilderness of gorse. "So long as he stuck
to his mount we could have tracked him. 'Tis what I feared: he hath
made off afoot."
"Here, sirrah," he shouted to me, urging his horse down the road to
where we were, "hast seen aught of a horseman riding like
Beelzebub?"
"Nay," I replied truthfully enough; "no horseman has passed this
way."
"You young prevaricator!" he exclaimed, tapping his pistols
significantly. "You do but dissemble. You know whither that man
went."
I kept silence.
Suddenly the other trooper, who had forced his horse through the
gorse by the side of the road, shouted, "Here's a find, David. The
rogue hath lost his horse."
"Then you saw him fall," continued the dragoon who had overtaken us.
"Back you come with me, you young rebel!"
"I am no rebel," I replied, as stoutly as I could force myself to
speak.
"Back, I say!" he repeated, ignoring my protest, and producing a
pistol from his holster. There was no help for it. I had to go with
him. "Run off home, Constance," I said in a low voice; "I shall be
all right."
"No, you don't, you little wench!" exclaimed the villain. "You'll
come in useful to make this young rebel open his mouth. Come on,
both of you, I say!"
I looked at Constance. She was deathly white, yet she spoke not a
word, although by the expression of her eyes she said, as plainly as
if she had spoken, "Do not tell where he is."
"Mum's the word, eh?" was the greeting of the second trooper, as we
were told to stand still near the scene of our meeting with the
fugitive, Captain Miles. "Shall I tell 'em about that stubborn young
rebel at Dulverton--it was Dulverton, wasn't it, David?--who thought
to deceive one of Cornbury's Dragoons? A little tow tied to his
thumbs did the trick, and I'll swear he's nursing his burns now.
There's no tow to be had hereabouts, but I'll warrant a little dry
heather will suffice. Now, sirrah, which way did the rebel go?"
"What! you won't answer?" he continued, as he dismounted from his
horse, his comrade following his example. Whipping out his
broadsword, he struck me a heavy blow on the ankle with the flat of
the weapon. The pain was intense, yet, though an involuntary cry
escaped me, I kept my lips tightly closed.
I gave a hasty look right and left along the straight white road.
Not a creature was in sight. Even if there had been, 'twas difficult
to imagine that a solitary wayfarer would dare to interfere with two
armed and powerful ruffians.
"Pluck me a wisp of dry grass," said my tormentor.
"Nay, Jim," replied the other, "we've no time to waste in that
fashion. If the rebel is making off afoot, every moment is precious.
I know of a way." And, thrusting his huge fingers through my
sister's golden locks, he shouted, "Now, sirrah, answer, or I'll
pull out a handful of hair, to remember this pleasant meeting."
Constance cried with pain as the villain slowly tightened his grip.
Knowing he was quite capable of carrying out his threat, I was torn
with conflicting thoughts, till my brave sister exclaimed, "Not a
word, Clifford!"
Possibly the rogue answering to the name of Jim realized my
desperate intention, for at the risk of my life I was on the point
of dashing my clenched fist in the face of Constance's assailant.
With his right hand the dragoon gripped me by the nape of the neck,
so that in his powerful grasp I was as helpless as a kitten; while
with his left he caught and slowly twisted my wrist.
Suddenly a huge, dark form sprang from the concealing heather, and
like an arrow from a bow Jeremy Miles flung himself upon the dragoon
whose fingers were still grasping Constance's tresses.
I saw it all as clearly as if 'twere the work of minutes rather than
of one instant. A swinging blow of the Captain's ponderous fist, and
the ruffian's arm fell nerveless to his side; and a second blow
stretched him lifeless on the ground. The other dragoon, with a
furious oath, flung me headlong. As I fell I heard the crashing
explosion of his pistol.
Slowly I raised myself on my arm, and watched the struggle betwixt
our preserver and his antagonist. Powerful though the trooper was,
the Captain, thanks to his strenuous life afloat, was his master.
For a while they swayed to and fro in a desperate struggle, Jeremy's
arms clasping the soldier like bands of steel, till the villain's
resistance grew weaker and weaker.
Then, with a superhuman effort, Captain Miles wrenched his bulky foe
clean off the ground, and hurled him, like a sack of flour, over his
shoulder.
"Bear a hand with your sister, lad," he then exclaimed, in a
matter-of-fact tone, although he was breathing heavily. "She has
swooned."
This was a work of some difficulty, for water was not at hand, but
at length Constance opened her eyes. Poor girl! Although not much
hurt, for the rogue had not had time to carry out his threat to the
fullest extent, she was terribly frightened, and the sight of the
two dragoons lying motionless on the road did not help matters.
"Take her down the road a little way, and make her sit down," said
Captain Jeremy kindly. "Then hasten back, for I'll warrant we've a
fine job to make all shipshape and Bristol fashion."
"Have you seen any more of these lubbers?" he asked, after I had
returned from carrying out his instructions.
"There was a troop of them in Lyndhurst this morning. They went
Southampton-wards."
"I'll pray that they'll not return in a hurry," he exclaimed. "We've
enough to do to cover up our tracks."
"Are they dead?" I asked shudderingly.
"As a marline-spike," he replied. "For the time we are safe; they
were the only ones that battened themselves to me. The Duke is
taken. I saw him seized by some of Portman's Militia near Ringwood
but yesterday. Faith! I was disappointed in King Monmouth, for he
fled from the field long before his men began to give way."
"And how did you escape?"
"'Twas touch and go. Monmouth, in a peasant's dress, lay hidden in
some ferns, I but ten yards away. Little did I think 'twas the Duke
till I heard Portman say as 'twas. I suppose that find satisfied
them, for they searched no more. Farmer Shearing of Ringwood lent me
his mare, and I rode off early this morning, intending to shape a
course for Pitt's Deep, for 'twould have been madness to return to
Lymington. Master Hammond, I was a fool even to set out for the
West. What I've seen in forty years afloat is naught to what I've
seen these last few days. But let's to work!"
We thereupon dragged the bodies of the troopers into the bracken,
and carefully obliterated all signs of the struggle. The troopers'
horses were contentedly nibbling the coarse grass by the roadside,
our pony Trotter having followed Constance.
They were fine animals, these dragoons' mounts, and I wondered what
would become of them. The same question evidently troubled Captain
Miles, for if they came within hearing of a trumpet call they would
most likely trot off to rejoin their fellows. Yet, as there were no
troopers within several miles of us, the horses might be taken by
some of the peasants who lived on the outskirts of the heath,
especially if we removed the saddlery.
"Nay, 'tis too much of a risk," muttered Jeremy to himself, though I
heard the words; and, lifting the fore-foot of one of the animals,
he examined its hoof. There, in a manner that could not be effaced,
were the royal monogram and regimental number; while a further
search revealed the government mark branded on the creature's flank.
"Those marks are their death warrant," he exclaimed.
"How so?"
"No man cares for a dumb animal more than I do," he replied. "Yet,
when human life and liberty are at stake, it behoves us to take
stern measures. Now, I pray you, take your sister home, and return
speedily with a pair of serviceable spades."
So saying, he led the two animals aside into the gorse, while I
hastened to rejoin Constance. We had barely gone a hundred paces
when a pistol shot rang out, quickly followed by another.
"What sound is that?" asked my sister.
"'Tis but naught," I replied, not daring to tell her the plain
truth. "Captain Miles has unloaded the troopers' pistols."
CHAPTER III
Captain Jeremy's Surprise.
"What hath befallen you?" asked my father anxiously, as we crossed
the threshold of the house. "Ye are both as pale as ghosts, and your
clothes, Clifford, are smothered in dust. Hath Trotter thrown you?"
For answer, Constance sat down upon a settle and sobbed
hysterically, while my father, stopping abruptly his task of
questioning us, bestirred himself to comfort her.
"Two dragoons have molested us," I announced. "They were in pursuit
of Captain Miles."
"Have they hurt you?" he asked.
"Nay, but little--thanks to the Captain." In a few words I related
the incidents that had terminated in the death of the two villains.
My father looked grave.
"And Jeremy?" he asked. "Hath he gone to Lymington?"
"Nay, he awaits me by the Beaulieu bridle path."
"'Tis well for him, though I am loath to risk His Majesty's
displeasure in succouring rebels. Yet, especially as he did befriend
you, I'll do my best to repay Jeremy's kindness. He must not go to
Lymington, Clifford."
"He doth not intend to do so," said I. "He is making for Pitt's
Deep."
"Equally as rash as if he journeyed to Lymington. I, too, heard the
news this morning soon after you left. The dragoons watch every mile
of this part of the coast, and at every little port a watch is set,
so that no strangers dare set foot on shipboard without being
closely questioned. My son, I take the risk even of harbouring a
rebel. I'll go with thee and speak my mind with friend Jeremy."
Bidding Martha, our housekeeper, stay with Constance, and impressing
upon her the necessity for silence as to what had occurred, my
father, taking a mattock in his hand, set out to the scene of the
encounter, I accompanying him, and carrying the spades over my
shoulder.
"Where is the package I bade you bring from Lyndhurst?" he asked, as
we left the outskirts of the village.
I searched the pockets of my doublet without success, though I was
certain that the article had been safely placed in one of them.
"It must have fallen out on the road," I replied.
"'Tis a grave matter," he said, with a look of anxiety and a gesture
of impatience. "How can I--but there! if 't comes to the worst, I
must journey into Southampton myself. 'Tis the fortune of war."
No more was said, for we were already in sight of the cross-roads,
and Captain Miles was sitting on the bracken-covered bank awaiting
us.
"Good day to you, Cap'n Hammond!" he exclaimed as we approached.
"'Tis a sad business dragging you and yours into this bickering."
"Yet, thanks to Heaven and your aid, my children were saved from the
clutches of those rogues."
"Had it not been for me the rascals would not have been here,"
replied Captain Miles apologetically. "Yet I thank you, sir, for
coming to my assistance, though 'tis to the advantage of this part
of the countryside that we hide this carrion," and he pointed with
his finger to the bodies of the two dragoons.
We set to work with a will, and in less than a quarter of an hour a
shallow trench was dug sufficiently deep to receive the corpses of
the ruffianly soldiers.
"Egad! 'tis warm work," exclaimed my father, leaning on his mattock
as the first part of the task was completed.
"I'm right sorry I've no rum to offer you," said Captain Miles,
wiping his heated brow. "You see, we're not aboard the old
_Venture_, otherwise 'twould be different."
"I, too, regret that I brought not my flask of cordials," replied my
father.
"There is a bottle of strong waters that I found close to the body
of one of these villains," remarked Jeremy; "but though I did make
three good attempts at it, 'twas more than I could stomach. It
smells aright, but the taste--faugh! I have it in my mouth yet. Try
it, Captain Hammond, and see if it suit thy palate."
So saying, he produced a bottle and handed it to my father, who gave
an exclamation of surprise, quickly followed by a hearty laugh.
"Why, what's amiss?" asked the astonished Captain, as my father
thrust the bottle into his pocket.
"Hist! I'll tell thee anon," said my sire mysteriously. "Now, let's
resume our task."
The carcasses of the troopers' horses, the victims of Captain
Miles's self-preservation, were next interred; while, to make doubly
sure, the mount that Jeremy had borrowed from the Ringwood farmer
was also buried.
This done, I happened to cross the highway, where, to my surprise, I
found the wrappings of the package for which we had journeyed into
Lyndhurst on that eventful morning.
"See! here is the covering of your packet," I exclaimed, holding it
up to my father's view.
"Aye, Clifford, I know it. Say no more on this matter."
Inwardly wondering, I obeyed. Whatever the package contained, I now
felt certain that 'twas the same stuff as Jeremy Miles had attempted
to swallow.
"Now, look you, Captain Miles," said my father, as we prepared to
return homewards, "neither Lymington nor Pitt's Deep offers an
asylum for you. To go to either place is to set your head in a trap.
I have made up my mind that you must tarry with us at Brockenhurst
till this storm has blown over."
"Nay, 'tis unfair to saddle you with the presence of a proclaimed
rebel," objected Captain Jeremy stoutly. "The service I rendered
your children does not warrant such a generous payment. I'll accept
your hospitality for this night, and at sunrise to-morrow I'll make
my way into Sussex. I know of an old shipmate at Shoreham who'll
gladly set me across to France."
"You'll never get out of Hampshire, my friend," interrupted my
| 2,376.454363 |
2023-11-16 18:56:40.5730300 | 2,611 | 34 | WEAK MEANS***
Transcribed from the 1822 R. Thomas edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Public domain book cover]
THE
_GLORY OF GRACE_
Effected by weak Means:
BEING THE SUBSTANCE OF
A SERMON,
PREACHED ON THE
DEATH OF SAMUEL CHURCH,
_Aged Twelve Years_.
On SUNDAY Evening, APRIL 14, 1822,
BY J. CHURCH,
At the Surrey Tabernacle.
* * * * *
And Eli perceived that the Lord had called the Child.—1 _Sam._ iii,
8.
And there is hope in thine end, saith the LORD, that thy Children
shall come
again to their own Border.—_Jeremiah_ xxxi, 17.
* * * * *
SOUTHWARK,
PRINTED BY R. THOMAS, RED LION STREET, BOROUGH.
1822.
* * * * *
_A SERMON_, _&c._
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength,
because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the
avenger. _Psalm_ viii, 2.
WHEN David had his mind most divinely elevated and filled with holy
thoughts of the person, work, and glory of the dear Redeemer, he burst
forth in holy admiration, joy, and praise, in this adoring language: I
will extol thee, my God, O king! I will bless thy name for ever and
ever! One generation shall praise thy works unto another, and shall
declare thy mighty acts: and surely the most wonderful and astonishing
act, is the everlasting salvation of lost, ruined, guilty man. This is a
greater act than the formation of worlds, either heaven or earth. The
salvation of one poor sinner is a more marvellous display of God, than
the creation, with all its wonders. This salvation we are to speak of to
others, both ministers and people; and in proportion as we see our
interest in it, so are we to declare its greatness, because it is the
highest act of God, as the God of all grace, and
Why should the wonders he has wrought
Be lost in silence and forgot?
But babes, men, and children, let them praise the name of the Lord.
I could wish this task, on this solemn, and to me, painful occasion, had
devolved on one suitable, but supported by the Lord’s presence, upheld by
his power, and cheered with his approbation in my mind, I humbly attempt
to rehearse the wonders of his love, the riches of his grace, and the
displays of his mercy to me, and mine, and attempt, in my poor way, to
prove the glorious truth in the text: Out of the mouths of babes God has
ordained his own glory, the glory of his _love_, his _grace_, his
_mercy_, his _truth_, his _power_, his _faithfulness_, and infinite
_condescension_. It is true that I can do no justice to the important
words, by way of a Sermon. They contain a vast store of rich truth and
precious experience. I must therefore merely glance at the meaning, and
shew, in as concise a manner as I can, to whom they belong, and to whom
they will, with scriptural propriety, apply.
The title of this psalm is to the chief musician upon Gittith, a psalm of
David.—Various are the conjectures of learned men on this title. Some
think the word Gittith signifies the wine press, and the title means, To
the conqueror over the trodden wine press, wrath; and if so, we are not
at a loss to know to whom it belongs. A psalm of, or concerning the
beloved one, to whom be glory. Amen.
The ever blessed Redeemer is the subject of this psalm. Hence we find it
quoted in the New Testament, and twice applied to him. It is a
revelation of Christ, as God-man, in his headship, his empire, dominion,
and excellent name, his royalties, majesty, and glory, with his union,
relation, and interest in his people. It is addressed to him as Jehovah,
the covenant God of the church; as one of the glorious and divine
persons, subsisting in the divine essence, with the Father and the holy
Spirit, the incomprehensible God, the most high God, blessed for
evermore; the mighty God, the everlasting Father, the first and the last.
If the first, there were none before him, and if the last, there can be
none after him. He is the Almighty, himself has declared it; the true
God and eternal life, possessing every divine and glorious perfection,
the maker of heaven and earth, the centre, the foundation, the glory, the
beauty, and ornament of creation; and the whole is sustained by him—he is
omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, eternal, unchangeable—the adorable I
am, that I am!—and as God in covenant, as well as absolute deity, he is
called our God, your God, their God, my Lord, and my God, the most
mighty, the great God, the living God; and must not that person have
diabolical effrontery to deny the essential and eternal Godhead of the
Lord Jesus Christ? Such conduct clearly demonstrates that such persons
are in nature’s thickest gloom, nor can those characters give the church
or the world any scriptural account of the holy Spirit’s work upon their
hearts. We, therefore, can never allow such unconverted persons to be
proper judges of any one truth in divine revelation. When persons are
called by divine grace, they are brought to feel their need of just such
a saviour as Christ is, and are led to prize the infinite value of his
blood, the merit of his obedience, the power of his arm, and the love of
his heart. But amidst the host of enemies to the person and dignity of
Christ, we humbly and gratefully unite with the Psalmist: Oh Lord, our
Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth, thy perfections, and
thy gospel, wherever it has been carried. And how glorious it will be in
the new heavens and earth, during the millennium, his thousand years
personal reign with his people. There _he_ has set his glory above the
heavens, his everlasting love, his holy humanity; and his church, as
considered in himself, are exalted above the ærial or starry heavens.
This is his glory, the joy of the redeemed, the wonder of elect angels,
and the envy of devils.
The Psalmist, having been led to adore Jehovah Jesus, as God in covenant,
and as God-man, the brightness of the Father’s glory, is sweetly brought
on to view him in his humiliation, final victory, and exaltation; and
while considering the heavenly bodies, their glory and greatness, with
his own insufficiency to celebrate his power, he yet adores him for that
knowledge with which his mind was favored, and exclaims, What is man that
thou art mindful of him? This passage is quoted by the apostle, and the
whole of it is applied to Christ, as the mediator, as the Son of man,
admiring that grace which conferred so great an honor upon him, as to
choose his individual nature, his humanity, as to unite it with the
Godhead, that he should prepare it in the covenant, anoint it with the
oil of gladness above his fellows, delight in it, exalt it, and take such
providential care of it; support it under his direful sorrows, raise it,
and give it glory. Thus the sacred Messiah is represented, as filled
with holy and admiring thoughts of the subject, and in extacy asks, What
is man? the human nature made a little lower than God, but next unto him,
and in personal union with the Son of God; a little lower than the angels
for the suffering of death, but crowned with glory and honor, as the
whole election of grace, and as the mediator of reconciliation. Christ
by delegation, hath universal dominion over all things, visible and
invisible, nature, providence, grace, glory, earth, and hell; and this
will ever form a subject for the admiration of God’s people. O Lord, our
Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! for as thou hast formed
thy people for thy praise, thou hast ordained the wonders of thy grace
shall be celebrated by them in time and eternity. Out of the mouths of
babes and sucklings thou hast ordained strength, because of thine
enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.
We may consider these words as justly applicable to 1. David. 2, David’s
Lord.—3, The children of the temple. 4, The apostles in their
minority.—5, The experience of believers.—6, The salvation of children.
This good man was chosen and ordained for the glory of God, and for the
benefit of his people; eternally chosen in Christ to salvation; he was
impressed with the power of converting grace in very early life, and long
before he was introduced to public notice, long before his elevation to
the throne of Israel. No doubt, while a youth, the holy Spirit took
possession of his heart, and led his mind to hope in the promised
Messiah, for life and salvation, and being selected from the busy world,
and the cares, vanities, and snares of the court, he had many sweet
moments in the sacred enjoyment of his God. _Times_, his mind often
afterwards reflected upon with heaven-felt pleasure. It appears God had
endowed him with astonishing skill in music, and a sublime talent for
poetry, so that he probably filled his leisure hours with close attention
to the exercise of those gifts; and as Mr. Toplady strikingly remarks, on
David’s composing this beautiful pastoral psalm: We must form to
ourselves an idea of David, the stripling, and think we see him watching
his flocks on a summer’s night, under the expanded canopy of the skies.
The air is still, the heavens are serene, the moon arrived at her full,
is pursuing her majestic silent course, the stars, like peeresses, on a
coronation solemnity, assume their brightest robes, to attend the
beauteous sovereign of the night, while both moon and stars concur to
shed a soft undazzling lustre on all the subjacent landscape. David, at
this happy period, a blameless youth, unpoisoned with ambition, and
unfacinated by the witchcraft of court corruption, and his hands undipped
in blood, is seated on a rising hillock, or on the protuberant root of
some stately tree. All is hushed, not a bough rustles, not a leaf
trembles to the breeze; the silent flocks are either carelessly grazing
by his side, or slumbering securely at his feet. The birds have
suspended their songs, until waked by the superior sweetness of his
voice, and the music of his hand; for, charmed with the loveliness of the
scene, and wrapt by the holy Spirit into a seraphic flame of exalted
devotion, he has lain aside his crook—he has taken up his harp, and
transmitting to the throne of God, these grateful, these inexpressibly
beautiful lines contained in this psalm, | 2,376.59307 |
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Produced by Robert J. Hall
MANUAL FOR NONCOMMISSIONED OFFICERS AND PRIVATES OF INFANTRY OF
THE ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES
1917
To be used by Engineer companies (dismounted) and Coast Artillery
companies for Infantry instruction and training.
WAR DEPARTMENT Document No. 574 OFFICE OF THE ADJUTANT GENERAL
WAR DEPARTMENT,
WASHINGTON, _April_14,_1917._
The following Manual for Noncommissioned Officers and Privates
of Infantry of the Army of the United States is approved and
herewith published for the information and government of all
concerned.
This manual will also be used by Engineer companies (dismounted)
and Coast Artillery companies in connection with Infantry instruction
and training prescribed by the War Department.
By ORDER OF THE SECRETARY OF WAR:
H. L. SCOTT,
_Major_General,_Chief_of_Staff._
OFFICIAL:
H. P. McCAIN.
_The_Adjutant_General._
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. MILITARY DISCIPLINE AND COURTESY
Section 1. Oath of enlistment
Section 2. Obedience
Section 3. Loyalty
Section 4. Discipline
Section 5. Military courtesy
Section 6. Saluting
Section 7. Rules governing saluting
Section 8. Courtesies in conversation
CHAPTER II. ARMS, UNIFORMS, AND EQUIPMENT
Section 1. The rifle
Section 2. Care of the rifle
Section 3. Cleaning the rifle
Section 4. Uniforms
Section 5. The service kit
Section 6. The surplus kit
Section 7. Assembling Infantry equipment
CHAPTER III. RATIONS AND FORAGE
Section 1. The ration
Section 2. Individual cooking
Section 3. The forage ration
CHAPTER IV. PERSONAL HYGIENE AND CARE OF THE FEET
CHAPTER V. EXTRACTS FROM INFANTRY DRILL REGULATIONS, 1911
Section l. Definitions
Section 2. Introduction
Section 3. Orders, commands, and signals
Section 4. School of the soldier
Section 5. School of the squad
Section 6. School of the company
Section 7. Company inspection
Section 8. Manual of tent pitching
Section 9. Manual of the bayonet
CHAPTER VI. FIELD SERVICE
Section 1. Principles of Infantry training
Section 2. Combat
Section 3. Patrolling
Section 4. Advance guards
Section 5. Rear guards
Section 6. Flank guards
Section 7. Outposts
Section 8. Rifle trenches
CHAPTER VII. MARCHING AND CAMPING
Section 1. Breaking camp and preparation for a march
Section 2. Marching
Section 3. Making camp
Section 4. Camp services and duties
CHAPTER VIII. TARGET PRACTICE
Section 1. Preliminary training in marksmanship
Section 2. Sight adjustment
Section 3. Table of sight corrections
Section 4. Aiming
Section 5. Battle sight
Section 6. Trigger squeeze
Section 7. Firing positions
Section 8. Calling the shot
Section 9. Coordination
Section 10. Advice to riflemen
Section 11. The course in small-arms firing
Section 12. Targets
Section 13. Pistol and revolver practice
CHAPTER IX. EXTRACTS PROM MANUAL OF INTERIOR GUARD DUTY
Section 1. Introduction
Section 2. Classification of interior guilds
Section 3. Details and rosters
Section 4. Commander of the guard
Section 5. Sergeant of the guard
Section 6. Corporal of the guard
Section 7. Musicians of the guard
Section 8. Orderlies and color sentinels
Section 9. Privates of the guard
Section 10. Orders for sentinels
Section 11. Countersigns and paroles
Section 12. Guard patrols
Section 13. Watchmen
Section 14. Compliments from guards
Section 15. Prisoners
Section 16. Guarding prisoners
Section 17. Flags
Section 18. Reveille and retreat gun
Section 19. Guard mounting
Section 20. Formal guard mounting for Infantry
Section 21. Informal guard mounting for Infantry
Section 22. Relieving the old guard
CHAPTER X. MAP READING AND SKETCHING
Section 1. Military map reading
Section 2. Sketching
CHAPTER XI. MESSAGE BLANKS
CHAPTER XII. SIGNALS AND CODES
CHAPTER XIII. FIRST-AID RULES
CHAPTER XIV. LAWS AND REGULATIONS
Section 1. General provisions
Section 2. The Army of the United States
Section 3. Rank and precedence of officers and noncommissioned
officers
Section 4. Insignia of officers and noncommissioned officers
Section 5. Extracts from the Articles of War
CHAPTER XV. ENGLISH-FRENCH VOCABULARY
APPENDIX. FORM FOR LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT
CHAPTER I.
MILITARY DISCIPLINE AND COURTESY.
SECTION 1. OATH OF ENLISTMENT.
Every soldier on enlisting in the Army takes upon himself the
following obligation:
"I,--------, do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will bear true
faith and allegiance to the United States of America; that I will
serve them honestly and faithfully against all their enemies
whomsoever; and that I will obey the orders of the President of
the United States, and the orders of the officers appointed over
me according to the Rules and Articles of War." (109th Article
of War.)
SECTION 2. OBEDIENCE.
The very first paragraph in the Army Regulations reads:
"All persons in the military service are required to obey strictly
and to EXECUTE PROMPTLY the lawful orders of their superiors."
Obedience is the first and last duty of a soldier. It is the
foundation upon which all military efficiency is built. Without
it an army becomes a mob, while with it a mob ceases to be a
mob and becomes possessed of much of the power of an organized
force. It is a quality that is demanded of every person in the
Army, from the highest to the lowest. Each enlisted man binds
himself, by his enlistment oath, to obedience. Each officer, in
accepting his commission, must take upon himself the same solemn
obligation.
Obey strictly and execute promptly the lawful orders of your
superiors. It is enough to know that the person giving the order,
whether he be an officer, a noncommissioned officer, or a private
acting as such, is your lawful superior. You may not like him,
you may not respect him, but you must respect his position and
authority, and reflect honor and credit upon yourself and your
profession by yielding to all superiors that complete and
unhesitating obedience which is the pleasure as well as the duty
of every true soldier.
Orders must be STRICTLY carried out. It is not sufficient to
comply with only that part which suits you or which involves no
work or danger or hardship. Nor is it proper or permissible, when
you are ordered to do a thing in a certain way or to accomplish a
work in a definitely prescribed manner, for you to obtain the
same results by other methods.
Obedience must be PROMPT AND UNQUESTIONING. When any soldier (and
this word includes officers as well as enlisted men) receives
an order, it is not for him to consider whether the order is
a good one or not, whether it would have been better had such
an order never been given, or whether the duty might be better
performed by some one else, or at some other time, or in some
other manner. His duty is, first, to understand just what the
order requires, and, second, to proceed at once to carry out
the order to the best of his ability.
"Officers and men of all ranks and grades are given a certain
independence in the execution of the tasks to which they are
assigned and are expected to show initiative in meeting the different
situations as they arise. Every individual, from the highest
commander to the lowest private, must always remember that inaction
and neglect of opportunities will warrant more severe censure
than an error in the choice of the means." (_Preface,_Field_
_Service_Regulations._)
SECTION 3. LOYALTY.
But even with implicit obedience you may yet fail to measure
up to that high standard of duty which is at once the pride and
glory of every true soldier. Not until you carry out the desires
and wishes of your superiors in a hearty, willing, and cheerful
manner are you meeting all the requirements of your profession.
For an order is but the will of your superior, however it may be
expressed. Loyalty means that you are for your organization and
its officers and noncommissioned officers--not against them; that
you always extend your most earnest and hearty support to those in
authority. No soldier is a loyal soldier who is a knocker or a
grumbler or a shirker. Just one man of this class in a company
breeds discontent and dissatisfaction among many others. You should,
therefore, not only guard against doing such things yourself but
should discourage such actions among any of your comrades.
SECTION 4. DISCIPLINE.
"1. All persons in the military service are required to obey
strictly and to execute promptly the lawful orders of their
superiors.
"2. Military authority will be exercised with firmness, kindness,
and justice. Punishments must conform to law and follow offenses
as promptly as circumstances will permit.
"3. Superiors are forbidden to injure those under their authority
by tyrannical or capricious conduct or by abusive language. While
maintaining discipline and the thorough and prompt performance
of military duty, all officers, in dealing with enlisted men,
will bear in mind the absolute necessity of so treating them as
to preserve their self-respect. Officers will keep in as close
touch as possible with the men under their command and will strive
to build up such relations of confidence and sympathy as will
insure the free approach of their men to them for counsel and
assistance. This relationship may be gained and maintained without
relaxation of the bonds of discipline and with great benefit to
the service as a whole.
"4. Courtesy among military men is indispensable to discipline;
respect to superiors will not be confined to obedience on duty,
but will be extended on all occasions.
"5. Deliberations or discussions among military men conveying
praise or censure, or any mark of approbation, toward others in
the military service, and all publications relating to private
or personal transactions between officers are prohibited. Efforts
to influence legislation affecting the Army or to procure personal
favor or consideration should never be made except through regular
military channels; the adoption of any other method by any officer
or enlisted man will be noted in the military record of those
concerned," (_Army_Regulations_.)
"The discipline which makes the soldier of a free country reliable
in battle is not to be gained by harsh or tyrannical treatment.
On the contrary, such treatment is far more likely to destroy
than to make an army. It is possible to import instruction and
give commands in such manner and in such tone of voice as to
inspire in the soldier no feeling but an intense desire to obey,
while the opposite manner and tone of voice can not fall to excite
strong resentment and a desire to disobey. The one mode or the
other of dealing with subordinates springs from a corresponding
spirit in the breast of the commander. He who feels the respect
which is due to others can not fail to inspire in them regard
for himself, while he who feels, and hence manifests, disrespect
toward others, especially his inferiors, can not fail to inspire
hatred against himself," (_Address_of_Maj._Gen._John_M._Schofield_
_to_the_United_States_Corps_of_Cadets,_Aug,_11,_1879._)
When, by long-continued drill and subordination, you have learned
your duties, and obedience becomes second nature, you have acquired
discipline. It call not be acquired in a day or a month. It is
a growth. It is the habit of obedience. To teach this habit of
obedience is the main object of the close-order drill, and, if
good results are to be expected, the greatest attention must be
paid to even the smallest details. The company or squad must
be formed promptly at the prescribed time--not a minute or even
a second late. All must wear the exact uniform prescribed and
in the exact manner prescribed. When at attention there must
be no gazing about, no raising of hands, no chewing or spitting
in ranks. The manual of arms and all movements must be executed
absolutely as prescribed. A drill of this kind teaches discipline.
A careless, sloppy drill breeds disobedience and insubordination.
In other words, discipline simply means efficiency.
SECTION 5. MILITARY COURTESY.
In all walks of life men who are gentlemanly and of good breeding
are always respectful and courteous to those about them. It helps
to make life move along more smoothly. In civil life this courtesy
is shown by the custom of tipping the hat to ladies, shaking
hands with friends. and greeting persons with a nod or a friendly
"Good morning," etc.
In the Army courtesy is just us necessary, and for the same reasons.
It helps to keep the great machine moving without friction.
"Courtesy among military men is indispensable to discipline;
respect to superiors will not be confined to obedience on duty, but
will be extended on all occasions." (_Par._4,_Army_Regulations,_
_1913._)
One method of extending this courtesy is by saluting. When in
ranks the question of what a private should do is simple--he
obeys any command that is given. It is when out of ranks that
a private must know how and when to salute.
SECTION 6. SALUTING.
In the old days the free men of Europe were all allowed to carry
weapons, and when they met each would hold up his right hand to
show that he had no weapon in it and that they met as friends.
Slaves or serfs, however, were not allowed to carry weapons,
and slunk past the free men without making any sign. In this
way the salute came to be the symbol or sign by which soldiers
(free men) might recognize each other. The lower classes began
to imitate the soldiers in this respect, although in a clumsy,
apologetic way, and thence crept into civil life the custom of
raising the hand or nodding as one passed an acquaintance. The
soldiers, however, kept their individual salute, and purposely
made it intricate and difficult to learn in order that it could be
acquired only by the constant training all real soldiers received.
To this day armies have preserved their salute, and when correctly
done it is at once recognized and never mistaken for that of the
civilian. All soldiers should be careful to execute the salute
exactly as prescribed. The civilian or the imitation soldier
who tries to imitate the military salute invariably makes some
mistake which shows that he is not a real soldier; he gives it
| 2,376.656389 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing, readbueno and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
SQUIB AND HIS FRIENDS.
[Illustration:
“_Squib flung himself upon the dog, and threw his arms about his
neck._”
Page 17.
]
SQUIB AND HIS FRIENDS ❧ BY E. EVERETT-GREEN
LONDON, EDINBURGH,
AND NEW YORK
THOMAS NELSON
AND SONS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS.
I. “THE ODD ONE,” 9
II. GOING AWAY, 28
III. THE CHALET IN THE HILLS, 47
IV. THE LITTLE GOAT-HERD, 65
V. COMRADES, 84
VI. HERR ADLER, 102
VII. HAPPY HOURS, 124
VIII. A WONDERFUL WALK, 148
IX. A STORY AND A FAREWELL, 175
X. A MOUNTAIN STORM, 204
XI. PLANS AND PROJECTS, 221
XII. FAREWELLS, 238
XIII. GOING HOME, 256
XIV. CONCLUSION, 272
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
“SQUIB FLUNG HIMSELF UPON THE DOG, AND THREW HIS ARMS _Frontispiece_.
ABOUT HIS NECK,”
“SQUIB LISTENED WITH A STRANGE SENSE OF FASCINATION,” 68
“BREATHLESSLY ONE BOY WORKED AND THE OTHER WATCHED,” 94
“DOWN, DOWN, DOWN—WITH A CRASH, AND A BANG, AND A 169
ROAR!”
“SEPPI DREW SQUIB’S HAND DOWN UPON THE HEAD OF MOOR,” 254
“SQUIB’S BROTHERS AND SISTERS REJOICED OVER THE PRETTY 283
GIFTS HE HAD BROUGHT THEM,”
SQUIB AND HIS FRIENDS.
CHAPTER I.
“THE ODD ONE.”
That was the name Squib went by in the nursery and in the household—“the
odd one.” Not exactly because of any personal peculiarities—although he
had a few of these—but because he had no especial brother or sister
belonging to him, and seemed to stand alone, whilst all the others could
be paired off together.
Norman and Frank were big boys, away at school most of the year, near to
each other in age, and always together in the holidays. Philippa and
Molly came next, and were girls, devoted to each other and to their
family of dolls, and even more devoted to the live dolls in the
nursery—the little twin sisters, Hilda and Hulda, whom nobody knew apart
save themselves and the nurse. But Squib had no brother or sister to be
bracketed with him. The baby who came next in age to him had died in
infancy, and was only a dim memory to the brother just above him in age.
So he had always been, as it were, “the odd one” of the family, although
his sisters were very fond of him, and never refused him a share in
their games when he wanted to join in them.
But Squib did not care for dolls, and his tastes lay amongst things
beyond the walls of nursery or schoolroom. He wanted always to be out of
doors when not busy with his lessons for Mademoiselle (for so far he had
not gone to school, but had been taught with his sisters in the
schoolroom); and his pursuits were not of a kind to be attractive to the
dainty little ladies, Philippa and Molly, or to find favour in the eyes
of nurse, who reigned supreme over Hilda and Hulda. So Squib got into
the way of amusing himself in his own fashion, and took his name of “the
odd one” with great equanimity.
Squib was not his real name, as I suppose I need hardly say; it was a
nickname given him by his father some years before my story begins, and
it had stuck to him ever since. His real name was Sydenham, and he had
been called Syd for a time, till Colonel Rutland had hit upon this other
appellation.
And the reason for this was a habit of Squib’s which amused his father a
good deal. The child had a way of sitting perfectly still and silent for
a very long time in the room, not speaking, even when spoken to, until
some exhaustive mental process had taken place, after which he would
suddenly “go off,” as his father expressed it, and talk rapidly and
eagerly for several minutes straight on end; then having thus relieved
his mind and delivered himself of his thoughts, he would relapse into
dead silence until ready for the next explosion. And so his father
called him “Squib;” and Squib he became in time to the whole household.
It was commonly whispered about the place that Squib was the Colonel’s
favourite amongst his children. Colonel Rutland was not a man who had
taken a great deal of notice of his sons and daughters as they appeared
upon the scene. He was a busy man, having a large estate to order, being
a magistrate, churchwarden, and guardian of the poor-law, and having
social duties to attend to as well. He was a most devoted husband; and
people used to say that never was there a happier couple than he and
Lady Mary, his beautiful wife. He was proud of his fine young family in
the aggregate, but did not notice the children very much individually,
until one or two small incidents brought Squib before his eyes.
The first of these was a severe altercation which he chanced to overhear
between the child and his nurse when Squib was five years old. He was
walking through the shrubberies one morning when the sound of | 2,376.656802 |
2023-11-16 18:56:40.7341940 | 3,913 | 12 | JANUARY, 1861***
E-text prepared by Joshua Hutchinson, Tonya Allen, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.
VOL. VII.--JANUARY, 1861.--NO. XXXIX.
WASHINGTON CITY.
Washington is the paradise of paradoxes,--a city of magnificent
distances, but of still more magnificent discrepancies. Anything may be
affirmed of it, everything denied. What it seems to be it is not; and
although it is getting to be what it never was, it must always remain
what it now is. It might be called a city, if it were not alternately
populous and uninhabited; and it would be a wide-spread village, if it
were not a collection of hospitals for decayed or callow politicians. It
is the hybernating-place of fashion, of intelligence, of vice,--a resort
without the attractions of waters either mineral or salt, where there is
no bathing and no springs, but drinking in abundance and gambling in
any quantity. Defenceless, as regards walls, redoubts, moats, or other
fortifications, it is nevertheless the Sevastopol of the Republic,
against which the allied army of Contractors and Claim-Agents
incessantly lay siege. It is a great, little, splendid, mean,
extravagant, poverty-stricken barrack for soldiers of fortune and
votaries of folly.
Scattered helter-skelter over an immense surface, cut up into scalene
triangles, the oddity of its plan makes Washington a succession of
surprises which never fail to vex and astonish the stranger, be he ever
so highly endowed as to the phrenological bump of locality. Depending
upon the hap-hazard start the ignoramus may chance to make, any
particular house or street is either nearer at hand or farther off than
the ordinary human mind finds it agreeable to believe. The first duty of
the new-comer is to teach his nether extremities to avoid instinctively
the hypothenuse of the street-triangulation, and the last lesson the
resident fails to learn is which of the shortcuts from point to point
is the least lengthy. Beyond a doubt, the corners of the streets were
constructed upon a cold and brutal calculation of the greatest possible
amount of oral sin which disappointed haste and irritated anxiety are
capable of committing; nor is any relief to the tendency to profanity
thus engendered afforded by the inexcusable nomenclature of the streets
and avenues,--a nomenclature in which the resources of the alphabet, the
arithmetic, the names of all the States of the Union, and the Presidents
as well, are exhausted with the most unsystematic profligacy. A man not
gifted with supernatural acuteness, in striving to get from Brown's
Hotel to the General Post-Office, turns a corner and suddenly finds
himself nowhere, simply because he is everywhere,--being at the instant
upon three separate streets and two distinct avenues. And, as a further
consequence of the scalene arrangement of things, it happens that the
stranger in Washington, however civic his birth and education may have
been, is always unconsciously performing those military evolutions
styled marching to the right or left oblique,--acquiring thereby, it is
said, that obliquity of the moral vision--which sooner or later afflicts
every human being who inhabits this strange, lop-sided city-village.
So queer, indeed, is Washington City in every aspect, that one
newly impressed by its incongruities is compelled to regard Swift's
description of Lilliputia and Sydney Smith's account of Australia as
poor attempts at fun. For, leaving out of view the pigmies of the former
place, whose like we know is never found in Congress, what is there in
that Australian bird with the voice of a jackass to excite the feeblest
interest in the mind of a man who has listened to the debates on Kansas?
or what marvel is an amphibian with the bill of a duck to him who has
gazed aghast at the intricate anatomy of the bill of English? It is true
that the ignorant Antipodes, with a total disregard of all theories of
projectiles, throw their boomerangs behind their backs in order to kill
an animal that stands or runs before their faces, or skim them along
the ground when they would destroy an object flying overhead. And these
feats seem curious. But an accomplished "Constitutional Adviser" can
perform feats far more surprising with a few lumps of coal or a number
of ships-knees, which are but boomerangs of a larger growth. Another has
invented the deadliest of political missiles, (in their recoil,) shaped
like mules and dismantled forts, while a third has demolished the
Treasury with a simple miscalculation. Still more astonishing are the
performances of an eminent functionary who encourages polygamy by
intimidation, purchases redress for national insult by intercepting his
armies and fleets with an apology in the mouth of a Commissioner, and
elevates the Republic in the eyes of mankind by conquering at Ostend
even less than he has lost at the Executive Mansion.
In truth, the list of Washington anomalies is so extensive and so
various, that no writer with a proper regard for his own reputation or
his readers' credulity would dare enumerate them one by one. Without
material injury to the common understanding, a few may be mentioned; but
respect for public opinion would urge that the enormous whole be summed
up in the comparatively safe and respectful assertion, that the one only
absolutely certain thing in Washington is the absence of everything
that is at all permanent. The following are some of the more obnoxious
astonishments of the place.
Traversing a rocky prairie inflated with hacks, you arrive late in the
afternoon at a curbed boundary, too fatigued in body and too suffocated
with dust to resent the insult to your common-sense implied in the
announcement that you have merely crossed what is called an Avenue.
Recovered from your fatigue, you ascend the steps of a marble palace,
and enter but to find it garrisoned by shabby regiments armed with
quills and steel pens. The cells they inhabit are gloomy as dungeons,
but furnished like parlors. Their business is to keep everybody's
accounts but their own. They are of all ages, but of a uniformly
dejected aspect. Do not underrate their value. Mr. Bulwer has said,
that, in the hands of men entirely great, the pen is mightier than the
sword. Suffer yourself to be astonished at their numbers, but permit
yourself to withdraw from their vicinity without questioning too closely
their present utility or future destination. No personal affront to the
public or the nineteenth century is intended by the superfluity of their
numbers or the inadequacy of their capacities. Their rapid increase is
attributable not to any incestuous breeding in-and-in among themselves,
but to a violent seduction of the President and the Heads of Department
by importunate Congressmen; and you may rest assured that this criminal
multiplication fills nobody with half so much righteous indignation and
virtuous sorrow as the clerks themselves. Emerging from the palace of
quill-drivers, a new surprise awaits you. The palace is surmounted by
what appear to be gigantic masts and booms, economically, but strongly
rigged, and without any sails. In the distance, you see other palaces
rigged in the same manner. The effect of this spectacle is painful in
the extreme. Standing dry-shod as the Israelites were while crossing the
Red Sea, you nevertheless seem to be in the midst of a small fleet of
unaccountable sloops of the Saurian period. You question whether these
are not the fabulous "Ships of State" so often mentioned in the elegant
oratory of your country. You observe that these ships are anchored in an
ocean of pavement, and your no longer trustworthy eyes search vainly
for their helms. The nearest approach to a rudder is a chimney or an
unfinished pillar; the closest resemblance to a pilot is a hod-carrying
workman clambering up a gangway. Dismissing the nautical hypothesis,
your next effort to relieve your perplexity results in the conjecture
that the prodigious masts and booms may be nothing more than curious
gibbets, the cross-pieces to which, conforming rigidly to the Washington
rule of contrariety, are fastened to the bottom instead of the top of
the upright. Your theory is, that the destinies of the nation are to be
hanged on these monstrous gibbets, and you wonder whether the laws of
gravitation will be complaisant enough to turn upside down for the
accommodation of the hangman, whoever he may be. It is not without
pain that you are forced at last to the commonplace belief that these
remarkable mountings of the Public Buildings are neither masts nor
booms, but simply derricks,--mechanical contrivances for the lifting of
very heavy weights. It is some consolation, however, to be told that
the weakness of these derricks has never been proved by the endeavor
to elevate by means of them the moral character of the inhabitants of
Washington. Content yourself, after a reasonable delay for natural
wonderment, to leave the strange scene. This shipping-like aspect of the
incomplete Departments is only a nice architectural tribute to the fact
that the population of Washington is a floating population. This you
will not be long in finding out. The oldest inhabitants are here to-day
and gone tomorrow, as punctually, if not as poetically, as the Arabs of
Mr. Longfellow. A few remain,--parasitic growths, clinging tenaciously
to the old haunts. Like tartar on the teeth, they are proof against the
hardest rubs of the tooth-brush of Fortune.
As with the people, so with the houses. Though they retain their
positions, seldom abandoning the ground on which they were originally
built, they change almost hourly their appearance and their
uses,--insomuch that the very solids of the city seem fluid, and even
the stables are mutable,--the horse-house of last week being an office
for the sale of patents, or periodicals, or lottery-tickets, this week,
with every probability of becoming an oyster-cellar, a billiard-saloon,
a cigar-store, a barber's shop, a bar-room, or a faro-bank, next week.
And here is another astonishment. You will observe that the palatial
museums for the temporary preservation of fossil or fungous penmen join
walls, virtually, with habitations whose architecture would reflect
no credit on the most curious hamlet in tide-water Virginia. To your
amazement, you learn that all these houses, thousands in number, are
boarding-houses. Of course, where everybody is a stranger, nobody
keeps house. It would be pardonable to suppose, that, out of so many
boarding-houses, some would be in reality what they are in name. Nothing
can be farther from the fact. These houses contain apartments more or
less cheerless and badly furnished, according to the price (always
exorbitant, however small it may be) demanded for them, and are devoted
exclusively to the storage of empty bottles and demijohns, to large
boxes of vegetable- and flower-seeds, to great piles of books, speeches,
and documents not yet directed to people who will never read them, and
to an abominable odor of boiling cabbages. This odor steals in from
a number of pitch-dark tunnels and shafts, misnamed passages and
staircases, in which there are more books, documents, and speeches,
other boxes of seeds, and a still stronger odor of cabbages. The piles
of books are traps set here for the benefit of the setters of broken
legs and the patchers of skinless shins, and the noisome odors are
propagated for the advantage of gentlemen who treat diseases of the
larynx and lungs.
It would appear, then, that the so-called boarding-houses are, in point
of fact, private gift-book stores, or rather, commission-houses for the
receiving and forwarding of a profusion of undesirable documents and
vegetations. You may view them also in the light of establishments for
the manufacture and distribution of domestic perfumery, payment for
which is never exacted at the moment of its involuntary purchase, but is
left to be collected by a doctor,--who calls upon you during the winter,
levies on you with a lancet, and distrains upon your viscera with a
compound cathartic pill.
It is claimed, that, in addition to the victims who pay egregious rents
for boarding-house beds in order that they may have a place to store
their documents and demi-johns, there are other permanent occupants of
these houses. As, for example, Irish chambermaids, who subtract a few
moments from the morning half-hour given to drinking the remnants of
your whiskey, and devote them to cleaning up your room. Also a very
strange being, peculiar to Washington boarding-houses, who is never
visible at any time, and is only heard stumbling up-stairs about four
o'clock in the morning. Also beldames of incalculable antiquity,--a
regular allowance of one to each boarding-house,--who flit noiselessly
and unceasingly about the passages and up and down the stairways,
admonishing you of their presence by a ghostly sniffle, which always
frightens you, and prevents you from running into them and knocking them
down. For these people, it is believed, a table is set in the houses
where the boarders proper flatter their acquaintances that they sleep.
It must be so, for the entire male population is constantly eating in
the oyster-cellars. Indeed, if ocular evidence may be relied on, the
best energies of the metropolis are given to the incessant consumption
of "half a dozen raw," or "four fried and a glass of ale." The bar-rooms
and eating-houses are always full or in the act of becoming full. By a
fatality so unerring that it has ceased to be wonderful, it happens that
you can never enter a Washington restaurant and find it partially empty,
without being instantly followed by a dozen or two of bipeds as hungry
and thirsty as yourself, who crowd up to the bar and destroy half the
comfort you derive from your lunch or your toddy.
But, although, everybody is forever eating oysters and drinking ale in
myriads of subterranean holes and corners, nobody fails to eat at other
places more surprising and original than any you have yet seen. In all
other cities, people eat at home or at a hotel or an eating-house; in
Washington they eat at bank. But they do not eat money,--at least, not
in the form of bullion, or specie, or notes. These Washington banks,
unlike those of London, Paris, and New York, are open mainly at night
and all night long, are situated invariably in the second story, guarded
as jealously as any seraglio, and admit nobody but strangers,--that is
to say, everybody in Washington. This is singular. Still more singular
is the fact, that the best food, served in the most exquisite manner,
and (with sometimes a slight variation) the choicest wines and cigars,
may be had at these banks free of cost, except to those who choose
voluntarily to remunerate the banker by purchasing a commodity as costly
and almost as worthless as the articles sold at ladies' fairs,--upon
which principle, indeed, the Washington banks are conducted. The
commodity alluded to is in the form of small discs of ivory, called
"chips" or "cheeks" or "shad" or "skad," and the price varies from
twenty-five cents to a hundred dollars per "skad."
It is expected that every person who opens an account at bank by eating
a supper there shall buy a number of "shad," but not with the view of
taking them home to show to his wife and children. Yet it is not an
uncommon thing for persons of a stingy and ungrateful disposition to
spend most of their time in these benevolent institutions without ever
spending so much as a dollar for "shad," but eating, drinking, and
smoking, and particularly drinking, to the best of their ability. This
reprehensible practice is known familiarly in Washington as "bucking
ag'inst the sideboard," and is thought by some to be the safest mode of
doing business at bank.
The presiding officer is never called President. He is called
"Dealer,"--perhaps from the circumstance of his dealing in ivory,--and
is not looked up to and worshipped as the influential man of
banking-houses is generally. On. the contrary, he is for the most part
condemned by his best customers, whose heart's desire and prayer are to
break his bank and ruin him utterly.
Seeing the multitude of boarding-houses, oyster-cellars, and
ivory-banks, you may suppose there are no hotels in Washington. You are
mistaken. There are plenty of hotels, many of them got up on the scale
of magnificent distances that prevails everywhere, and somewhat on the
maritime plan of the Departments. Outwardly, they look like colossal
docks, erected for the benefit of hacks, large fleets of which you will
always find moored under their lee, safe from the monsoon that prevails
on the open sea of the Avenue. Inwardly, they are labyrinths, through
whose gloomy mazes it is impossible to thread your way without the
assistance | 2,376.754234 |
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Boissonnas, The Internet Archive for some images and the
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BIRDS AND NATURE.
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.
VOL. VIII. DECEMBER, 1900. NO. 5.
CONTENTS.
Page
DECEMBER. 193
THE WESTERN HORNED OWL. 194
THE OWL. 198
THE LONG-CRESTED JAY. 201
THE SUNRISE SERENADE. 202
A VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 203
THE FULVOUS TREE-DUCK. 204
HOW THE SWIFTS CAME TO BUILD IN AUNT DOROTHY'S CHIMNEY. 207
THE RED-BREASTED SAPSUCKER. 213
A WHITE TABLE IN THE WOODS. 214
THE MOON-BABY. 215
THE CECROPIA AND PROMETHEA MOTHS. 216
A PLEA FOR LEGISLATIVE PROTECTION. 221
THE DOG AND ITS ANCESTORS. 225
A FAVORITE HAUNT. 227
CARNIVOROUS PLANTS. 228
MAPLE LEAVES. 232
MAY-APPLE. 235
INDEX.
DECEMBER.
The lakes of ice gleam bluer than the lakes
Of water 'neath the summer sunshine gleamed;
Far fairer than when placidly it streamed,
The brook its frozen architecture makes,
And under bridges white its swift way takes.
Snow comes and goes as messenger who dreamed
Might linger on the road; or one who deemed
His message hostile, gently, for their sakes
Who listened, might reveal it by degrees.
We gird against the cold of winter wind
Our loins now with mighty bands of sleep,
In longest, darkest nights take rest and ease,
And every shortening day, as shadows creep
O'er the brief noontide, fresh surprises find.
--Helen Hunt Jackson
Best of all, old King December,
Laughs beside the burning ember,
With his children round his knees,
And a look of jovial ease.
He is crowned Lord of Misrule--
Here's his Queen, and there's his fool.
He is wreathed with frosty green,
And ever the gay song between
"Wassail!" shouts he, "health to all!"
And re-echoes the old hall.--
Kind December!
--Walter Thornbury, "The Twelve Brothers."
Copyright, 1900, by A. W. Mumford.
THE WESTERN HORNED OWL.
(_Bubo virginianus subarcticus._)
"Bird of the silent wing and expansive eye, grimalkin in feathers,
feline, mousing, haunting ruins and towers, and mocking the midnight
stillness with thy uncanny cry."--_John Burroughs, Birds and Poets._
Among the birds of prey (Raptores) none are better known, more written
about or more cosmopolitan than that nocturnal division (Family
Strigidae), which includes the two hundred or more species of Owls.
From the Arctic regions of the north to the Antarctic regions of the
south they are known. Most of the genera are represented in both
hemispheres, though eight are peculiar to the Old World and three to
the New. The majority of the species finds a home in the forests,
though a few live in marshes and on the plains. Some invade the
buildings of civilization and may be found in the unfrequented towers
of churches and in outbuildings.
Disliked by all birds its appearance during the day is the signal for a
storm of protests and, knowing that there is little need of fear of his
power at this time, they flock about him, pecking and teasing him till
he is obliged to retreat to his obscure roosting place.
The Owls in most countries of both the New World as well as the Old are
regarded as birds of ill omen and messengers of woe, and are protected
from harm by some uncivilized and superstitious peoples, some believing
that spirits of the wicked reside in their bodies. By others they have
been called "Devil's Birds." The belief of some unlearned people in the
close relationship of the Owl with death and the grave dates back at
least to the time of Shakespeare, who speaks of the Owl's hoot as "A
song of death." Among the ancient races only the Athenians seem not to
have possessed this popular fear and superstition. They venerated the
Owl and regarded it as the favorite bird of Minerva. On the other hand
the Romans looked upon the Owl with fear and detestation, dreading its
appearance as the embodiment of all evil and the omen of unfortunate
events to come. By them the Owl was consecrated to Proserpine, the wife
of Hades and queen of the underworld. Pliny tells us that the city of
Rome underwent a solemn cleansing because of the visit of one of these
birds. When the unearthly character of their cries and their quiet,
spirit-like motion, as they fly through the night hours, are taken
into consideration, it is not surprising that they have been and are
held in awe and dread by many people. The characteristics of the two
sexes are practically the same, except that the female is somewhat the
larger. The young resemble the adults, but are usually darker in color.
Excepting those species that are whitish in color, the Owls are usually
a mixture of black, brown, rufous gray, yellow and white, and barring
is common on the wings and tail. Their bills are blackish, dusky or
yellowish. Their eyes are so fixed that they have little power of
turning the eye-balls and thus are obliged to turn the head when they
wish to change their range of vision. This they do with great rapidity,
in fact, the motion is so rapid that without close observation the bird
seems to turn its head in one direction for several revolutions if the
object looked at passes around the perch upon which the Owl rests.
A remarkable characteristic is the reversible fourth toe or digit,
enabling the Owl to perch with either one or two toes behind.
[Illustration: WESTERN HORNED OWL.
(Bubo virginianus subarcticus.)
About 1/3 Life-size.
FROM COL. F. M. WOODRUFF
COPYRIGHT 1900, BY
A. W. MUMFORD, CHICAGO.]
Mr. Evans tells us that "the note varies from a loud hoot to a low,
muffled sound or a clear, musical cry; the utterance of both young and
adults being in some cases a cat-like mew, while the screech-owl
snores when stationary. The hoot is said to be produced by closing the
bill, puffing out the throat, and then liberating the air, a proceeding
comparable to that of the Bitterns. On the whole the voice is mournful
and monotonous, but occasionally it resembles a shrill laugh." The
utterances of the Owls are, however, quite various. Some species will
give a piercing scream and hiss like an angry cat when disturbed.
The Western Horned Owl of our illustration is a variety of the Great
Horned Owl (Bubo virginianus) of eastern North America. It has a wide
and extensive range reaching from Manitoba, on the north, into the
table-lands of Mexico on the south and eastward from the Pacific coast
across the Great Plains. Occasionally specimens are taken as far east
as the states of Illinois and Wisconsin. It is replaced in the Arctic
regions by the Arctic Horned Owl (Bubo virginianus arcticus), which
is lighter in color, its range only reaching as far south as Idaho
and South Dakota. The Western Horned Owl breeds nearly throughout its
range. It is of interest that this Owl is not an inhabitant of high
altitudes but rather of the foothills and more open country of its
range. The Dusky Horned Owl (Bubo virginianus saturatus), the darkest
colored of all the owls, taking its place in the higher regions.
In its habits it is closely related to its eastern relative. It has
a similar call note and is as destructive. It feeds on grouse and
ducks as well as other species of valuable food water-birds. It also
kills many forest birds that are useful to man as insect destroyers.
It is said that they will feed on mammals, such as pole cats, prairie
dogs, squirrels, rabbits and other rodents. But this is not the worst
crime of this marauder, for when it visits the more thickly inhabited
districts it appreciates the delicacies to be found in the poultry
yards of the farmer and kills far more than it needs to satisfy its
appetite.
With regard to the nesting habits of this Owl, Captain Charles Bendire
says: "While perhaps the majority of these birds resort to hollow
trees or old nests of the larger hawks and of the common crow, quite
a number nest in the wind-worn holes in sandstone and other cliffs,
small caves in clay and chalk bluffs, in some localities on the ground,
and, I believe, even occasionally in badger holes under ground. On
the grassy plains in the Umatilla Indian Reservation, in northeastern
Oregon, I have several times seen Owls of this race sitting on the
little mounds in front of badger or coyote burrows, near the mouths of
which small bones and pellets of fur were scattered about. While unable
to assert positively that they do actually breed occasionally in such
holes, the indications point that way, and this would not seem to be
due to the absence of suitable timber, as an abundance of trees grow
along the banks of the Umatilla river not more than a mile away. When
nesting in trees, large cottonwoods, sycamores, willows, pecans, pines,
oaks and firs are generally preferred. In regions, however, where heavy
timber is scarce, they content themselves with nests in small mesquite
and hackberry trees, frequently placed not more than ten feet from
the ground." Captain Bendire also states that they have been known to
use the nests of the black-billed magpie, either laying their eggs on
the inside of these curiously built and enormous structures or on the
broken-down roofs. These nests are well adapted to the requirements
of the Owl, for they vary from one to three feet in diameter and are
constructed in a very substantial manner. The foundations consist of
twigs held together with mud, and upon this, built of smaller twigs, is
the nest, which is plastered with mud and lined with grass and small
roots. The whole structure is surrounded by dead twigs, which form an
arch over the top of the nest. This is a palace which the Owl would
never take the trouble to construct, but is willing to use.
It is said that the Western Horned Owl will lay two or more sets of
eggs at short intervals if the nest and eggs are disturbed, and an
instance has been recorded where three sets of eggs have been taken
from the nest of a single pair at intervals of about four weeks. The
number of eggs laid is usually two or three, and infrequently four are
found and sets of five and six have been reported. The eggs are white,
showing, as a rule, but little gloss and are roughish. In form they are
rounded oval, about two and one-half inches long, and nearly two inches
in diameter. The period of incubation lasts about four weeks, and it
is said that only the female sets on the eggs, the male furnishing her
with food.
Like the Great Horned Owl this variety is quite solitary in its habits,
except during the breeding season, and is almost as destructive as that
bird which is considered the most destructive of all the Owls.
The Owl has long been an inspiration to the poets, due to its odd
appearance and uncanny actions during the daylight hours, the wise
expression of its face, and its quiet flight during the weird hours of
the night.
"The lark is but a bumpkin fowl;
He sleeps in his nest till morn;
But my blessing upon the jolly owl
That all night blows his horn."
THE OWL.
When cats run home and light is come,
And dew is cold upon the ground,
And the far-off stream is dumb,
And the whirring sail goes round,
And the whirring sail goes round;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.
When merry milkmaids click the latch,
And rarely smells the new-mown hay,
And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch
Twice or thrice his roundelay,
Twice or thrice his roundelay;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.
--Alfred Tennyson.
[Illustration: LONG-CRESTED JAY.
(Cyanocitta stelleri macrolopha.)
Nearly Life-size.
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.
COPYRIGHT 1900, BY
A. W. MUMFORD, CHICAGO.]
THE LONG-CRESTED JAY.
(_Cyanocitta stelleri macrolopha._)
The family (Corvidae) of birds to which the long-crested jay belongs
includes not only the jays but also the crows, the ravens, the magpies
and the rooks. It is a cosmopolitan family with the exception that no
representatives are found in New Zealand. It includes over two hundred
species of which about twenty-five are inhabitants of North America.
Strictly speaking, none of the species are migratory, excepting
those whose range carries them to regions of severe winters. Some of
the species are well protected by soft and thick coats of down and
feathers, and as they are generous in their selection of food, eating
varieties that may be procured at any season, they do not need to move
from place to place but may remain resident throughout the year.
The jays differ from the crows in their method of progression on the
ground, hopping instead of walking. They are distinctly arboreal in
their habits, and usually have a bright-colored plumage, blue being
the most common. Their heads are often crested. Though found nearly
throughout the world their highest development seems to have been
reached by those species that are resident in the warmer portions of
America.
The jays are noisy and quarrelsome, fretting apparently for the most
insignificant reasons. They are great mimics and exhibit a high degree
of intelligence. The jay possesses a variety of notes and calls,
and is a notable borrower of those of some other species of birds.
This versatility has given rise to the very appropriate name of the
sub-family in which they are included, the Garrulinae, from the Latin
word garrio, meaning to prattle.
Our illustration shows the color and markings of the long-crested jay.
Its home is in the wooded regions of the southern Rocky Mountains,
southern Arizona and the northwestern portion of Mexico. It breeds
throughout this range.
Dr. Coues has said regarding this bird that it is "a stranger to
modesty and forbearance, and the many qualities that charm us in some
little birds and endear them to us; he is a regular fillibuster,
ready for any sort of adventure that promises sport or spoil, even if
spiced with danger." In spite of these characteristics they are very
quiet during the nesting season and the female is very devoted to her
nest and will almost allow herself to be touched before flying from
her eggs. Their nests are bulky and usually placed in out-of-the-way
places, in low, bushy, cone-bearing trees. They seemingly will eat
anything of a nutritious nature. Flying insects, larvae, beetles,
flies, spiders, eggs, and even small birds, seem to be palatable to
their tastes. Yet they are principally vegetarians feeding upon seeds,
hard fruits and berries when these are obtainable.
The Steller's jay (Cyanocitta stelleri), of which the long-crested form
is a geographical variety, is a resident of the Northwestern portion of
North America ranging from northern California to southern Alaska and
eastward to the Cascade Mountains.
THE SUNRISE SERENADE.
"Ah walk out when de eas' am red
Among de timbehs tall;
Ah heah a mockeh oberhead,
De sweetest froat ob all.
'Why do yo' sing?' Ah stop en ask,
En den Ah heah her say;
'Dis am mah daily sunup task,
A sahanade to Day.'
"Songs ob sunrise joy when de darkness fades away,
De mockeh in de treetop sing a welcum song to Day.
"Ah brush among de meddeh lan's
Wheh yelleh-jackets hum;
Ah look up wheh det dogwood spans,
En heah det solemn drum.
Oh. Misteh Gol' Wing, why yo' drum | 2,376.765121 |
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BATTLES
OF THE
CIVIL WAR
BY
T. E. VINEYARD
[Illustration]
SPENCER, W. VA.
1914
COPYRIGHT, 1914
BY
T. E. VINEYARD
HAMMOND PRESS
W. B. CONKEY COMPANY
CHICAGO
CONTENTS
PAGE
FIRST BATTLE OF BULL RUN 9
BATTLE OF SHILOH 14
BATTLE OF FAIR OAKS AND SEVEN PINES 19
THE SEVEN DAYS' BATTLES BEFORE RICHMOND 25
BATTLE OF CEDAR MOUNTAIN 36
SECOND BATTLE OF BULL RUN 40
BATTLE OF ANTIETAM 46
BATTLE OF MURFREESBORO 56
BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG 62
BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE 71
SIEGE OF VICKSBURG 79
BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG 86
BATTLE OF CHICKAMAUGA 104
BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN AND MISSIONARY RIDGE 109
BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS 114
BATTLE OF SPOTTSYLVANIA COURT HOUSE 120
BATTLE OF COLD HARBOR 125
SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA 129
BATTLE OF CLOYD MOUNTAIN 136
THE SIEGE AND FALL OF PETERSBURG 142
THE SURRENDER AT APPOMATTOX 149
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE 16
GENERAL ULYSSES S. GRANT 32
JOHN BROWN ON HIS WAY TO THE GALLOWS 48
BATTLEFIELD OF FIRST BULL RUN 64
BATTLE OF ANTIETAM 96
BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG 112
DEDICATING THE NATIONAL CEMETERY AT GETTYSBURG 128
BATTLE OF SPOTTSYLVANIA COURT-HOUSE 144
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
In all history of this American Republic, or perhaps any other nation,
there was no conflict that was so terrible as our Civil war. Napoleon's
efforts to bring into reality his dream of universal empire would not
compare with it.
I have endeavored in this book to describe in detail the chief points
that were enacted on the most important battlefields of that War. As
those who participated in that War are now fast passing away, and the
time will soon be here when they will only be remembered by their
deeds of valor on these battlefields, I deem it only fit and proper
that those in all walks of life should know more of these battles in
detail and of those who participated in them. I think you will get this
information from this book, as it is written specially with this view.
It should specially appeal to teachers and students who can use it in
a supplementary way in connection with the study of history of this
period.
I now commend this book to you, and trust that it may be the means of
giving you more light on this the greatest civil war of all time, and
that it may help to lengthen in the minds of the American people their
remembrance of those who participated in it.
FIRST BATTLE OF BULL RUN
At the beginning of July, 1861, the Federals had 30,000 men encamped
along the Potomac near the heights of Arlington under the general
command of General Winfield Scott, who was a veteran of the war of
1812, as well as the Mexican war, but who was at this time aged and
infirm, and remained in Washington, and Brigadier-General Irvin
McDowell was in immediate command of the army. Another 20,000 men lay
at Martinsburg under General Patterson who like Scott was a veteran of
the war of 1812 and of the Mexican war.
At Manassas Junction, about thirty miles from Washington, lay the
Confederate army under Brigadier-General Beauregard. General Joseph E.
Johnston was in command of 9,000 men in the Shenandoah Valley. Johnston
and Beauregard, as well as McDowell, had with Scott and Patterson
battled at the gates of Mexico.
General Scott gave orders to McDowell to move against Beauregard and
on the 16th day of July the army, with waving banners and lively hopes
of victory, and with "On to Richmond" as their battle cry, moved on
Manassas. General McDowell brought his army to a halt at Centreville
within seven miles of Manassas. Beauregard was apprised of the coming
of the Federals. The stream of Bull Run, from which the first great
battle of the war derived its name, flowed between the two armies.
Patterson failed to detain Johnston in the valley, and General Johnston
reached Manassas with his army on the afternoon of the 20th. General
Longstreet was also there, who some months later played a distinctive
part in the struggle at Gettysburg and in the death grapple of Lee and
Grant in the wilderness.
McDowell, after resting his troops for two days at Centreville, thought
the time for an engagement was now at hand, so on Sunday, July 21st,
at half-past two in the morning, the men were roused for the coming
conflict. Their dream of easy victory had already received a rude
shock, for on their second day at Centreville a skirmish between two
minor divisions of the opposing armies resulted in the defeat of the
Union forces with some loss.
Ambrose E. Burnside and William T. Sherman were at this time
subordinate officers under General McDowell. Burnside, who figured
later in the far more disastrous battle of Fredericksburg, and Sherman,
distinguished for his march to the sea.
The Union plan was that General Tyler should lead his division
westward and cross Bull Run at the Stone Bridge about four miles from
Centreville, and the remainder of the army under Hunter and Heintzelman
was to make a circuit of several miles through a dense wood and cross
Bull Run at Sudley's Ford. The plan was to attack the Confederate left
wing. The march to Sudley's Ford was slower than expected and it was
almost noon before this division of the army reached the field near
Stone Bridge.
General Tyler early in the day opened fire at Stone Bridge on the
Confederates under General Evans, but merely kept up a desultory fire.
As the morning wore away the Confederates suddenly discovered clouds
of dust rising above the treetops along the Warrenton turnpike, which
told them that the main Federal army was on them. Evans quickly turned
about and made ready for battle and waited calmly for the approach of
the enemy. Presently there was a glimmer of sunlight reflected from
burnished steel among the trees and Colonel Burnside led the Federal
army from the woods and without delay the battle began and raged
furiously.
Meanwhile Generals Beauregard and Johnston were at Manassas, about four
miles from the scene of battle, with part of the Confederate army, and
had been planning an attack on the Federal left, but on hearing the
roar of the cannon and the rattle of the musketry became convinced that
the Federals were making their main attack on the Confederate left,
and both galloped at full speed to the scene of battle, after leaving
orders to the remainder of the army to be brought up to reenforce the
small force of Confederates who were trying to hold back the Federals.
They arrived on the field at the moment when General Bee's brigade
was being driven back. General Bee, in trying to rally his men,
called their attention to the fact that Thos. J. Jackson's brigade was
standing like a stone wall, and it was here that Jackson won his name
of "Stonewall."
The battle raged furiously until 3 o'clock. The chief object was to
get possession of Henry's Hill. Beauregard, like McDowell on the other
side, led his men in the thickest of the battle. His horse was killed
by a bursting shell, but he mounted another and continued. At about
2 o'clock the Confederates were driven from the field and McDowell
thought he had won the victory, but General Kirby Smith had arrived
from Manassas with the remainder of the Confederate army and was now
on the field, after a double-quick march for four miles under a hot
July sun. Beauregard determined to make another effort and ordered
his troops forward with fresh courage. When the Union army saw the
Confederates again approaching, supported by fresh troops, their
courage failed and they began to retreat. McDowell tried in vain
to rally his men, the Confederates pressed on, the retreat of the
Federals became a panic. He again tried to rally his men and make a
stand at Centreville but to no avail, the troops refused to listen
to his commands. Some of the troops did not stop until they reached
Washington, and the first great battle of the Civil war was now over.
The Federal force engaged was about 19,000 men, of which the loss in
killed, wounded and missing was about 3,000.
The Confederates had about 18,000 men on the field, and their total
loss in killed, wounded and missing was about 2,000. McDowell and
Beauregard, the opposing commanders, were old-time friends, having been
in the same class at West Point.
It was in this battle that Captain Ricketts was severely wounded and
left on the field, and was carried a prisoner to Richmond by the
Confederates.
To commemorate the success of the Southern arms at Bull Run the
Confederate congress voted a day of Thanksgiving.
THE BATTLE OF SHILOH
Many battles had been fought in America, but they were all skirmishes
compared with Shiloh. Napoleon fought but few battles on the Continent
of Europe that were more destructive of human life.
In the beginning of April, 1862, General Albert Sidney Johnston was in
command of 40,000 Confederate soldiers at Corinth, Miss., about twenty
miles from Pittsburgh Landing, on the Tennessee River; the next in
command was General Beauregard, who had fought at Bull Run, and had
come to reenforce Johnston; General Bragg, of Buena Vista fame, was
there, to whom, at Buena Vista, General Taylor had given the famous
command, "A little more grape, Captain Bragg." General Leonidas Polk
was with Johnston also. He was called the "Fighting Bishop," for he had
been a bishop in the church after leaving West Point.
Meanwhile the Union army was gathering at Pittsburgh Landing, under the
command of General Grant, and by April 5th numbered 40,000 men. Grant's
plan was to attack the Confederates at Corinth, within a few days, and
at this time was little expecting an immediate battle, and had left his
army in command of his subordinate officers, and on the night of the
5th was some miles down the Tennessee from where his army was encamped.
In the meantime Johnston was moving on the Federals at Pittsburgh
Landing, and on the night of April 5th encamped within a mile of the
Federal lines.
At the break of day Sunday, April 6th, the Confederate battle-lines
moved from the woods on the surrounding hills, and the greatest battle
yet fought in the Western Hemisphere was at hand.
General Grant was at breakfast when he heard the roar of the cannon,
and made haste by boat to take charge of his army.
General Hardee led the first Confederate attack against the outlying
division of the Federals under General Benjamin Prentiss, of West
Virginia. Very soon a Confederate attack was made all along the Federal
line, led by Bragg, Polk and Breckinridge. A determined stand was made
by the Federal division under General W. T. Sherman, but was finally
pushed back after inflicting great slaughter to the Confederates. About
two and a half miles from the Landing, in a grove of trees, stood a log
church, known to the country people as Shiloh, at which they gathered
on Sunday to worship, but on this particular Sunday the demon of war
reigned supreme, and it goes without saying that the regular service on
this fateful Sunday was dispensed with. About this church the battle
raged furiously. Near the same was a dense undergrowth, which was
held by General Prentiss until late in the afternoon of the 6th, when
his entire division was surrounded and compelled to surrender, after
repulsing the Confederate attack time after time with great slaughter.
This spot has since been known as the "Hornet's Nest."
It was near this place that General Albert Sidney Johnston received his
death wound while leading his troops, and in his death the Confederates
suffered irreparable loss. He was struck in the leg by a minie ball,
and if surgical attention had been given him at once his life would
have been saved.
It is the belief of many that the death of Johnston changed the result
at Shiloh. Beauregard succeeded to the command and continued the
battle. The utter rout of Grant's army was saved only by the gunboats
in the river. Beauregard gave orders to suspend operations until
morning.
[Illustration: GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE]
The Confederates were left in charge of the field on the first day and
were in good hope of victory. But ere long their hopes were mingled
with fear, for Beauregard had been expecting General Van Dorn with
20,000 men to reenforce him, but he had not arrived. On the other hand,
Generals Buell and Wallace arrived during the night with 25,000 fresh
troops to reenforce Grant. Everyone knew the battle would be renewed
at the dawn of day. At the break of day, April 7th, all was astir on
the field of Shiloh, and the dawn was greeted with the roar of the
cannon and the rattle of the musketry.
The Confederates were at a great disadvantage as Van Dorn had not
arrived, and they were confronted by Grant's overwhelming numbers.
Shiloh church was again the storm center, and was used by Beauregard as
his headquarters.
During the afternoon Beauregard became convinced that the battle
was lost, and ordered a retreat, which was skillfully made, for he
maintained a front firing-line, and the Federals did not suspect his
retreat for some time.
The Federals were left in possession of the field, while Beauregard's
troops were wading through mud on their way to Corinth.
Nothing yet on the American continent had ever been witnessed by any
human being that would equal the agony and woe that was endured on this
retreat; the road was almost impassable, and the Confederate army,
extending along this road for six to eight miles, was struggling along
through a downpour of rain, which, ere long, as night hovered over
them, turned to hail and sleet. There were wagons loaded with wounded,
whose wounds had not yet been attended. The wounded that died on the
way were left by the wayside.
Some days after the battle Beauregard reported to his government at
Richmond as follows: "This army is more confident of ultimate success
than before its encounter with the enemy."
In his address to his soldiers he said: "You have done your duty. Your
countrymen are proud of your deeds on the bloody field of Shiloh:
Confident of the ultimate result of your valor."
The two days at Shiloh were astonishing to the American people. Bull
Run was a skirmish in comparison with Shiloh. The loss on each side was
more than 10,000 men. General Grant said that after the battle there
was an open field so covered with dead that it would have been possible
to walk across it in any direction stepping on dead bodies without the
foot touching the ground.
This proved a great victory for the Federals, as it left them in full
possession along the Tennessee and in the surrounding country.
THE BATTLES OF FAIR OAKS AND SEVEN PINES
After the battle of Bull Run the Union army was broken up and
unorganized. General George B. McClellan was called to Washington to
take charge of the army, and in the beginning days of 1862 he found
himself in command of 200,000 men. He set about to organize this army
and fit them for service. Presently public opinion grew restless, and
the North became tired of "All's Quiet Along the Potomac."
About the middle of March McClellan moved a large portion of his army
on transports down the Potomac to Fortress Monroe. On April 5th he
moved up the Peninsula toward Richmond. He met with a Confederate force
under General Magruder near Yorktown, who fell back on Williamsburg as
the Union army advanced. At Williamsburg he met a large Confederate
force under General J. E. B. Stuart, D. H. Hill and Jubal Early. The
Confederates were finally dislodged and forced to retreat by the
advance divisions of McClellan's army under Hooker, Kearny and Hancock,
who occupied Williamsburg.
The Union army continued their march, and on May 16th reached White
House, the ancestral home of the Lees, which is twenty-four miles from
Richmond. On every side were fields of grain, and were it not for the
presence of 100,000 men, there was the promise of a full harvest.
Great confusion reigned at the Confederate capital on hearing of the
advance of McClellan's army. The Confederate army, known as the Army
of Northern Virginia, under the command of General Joseph E. Johnston,
was arrayed against McClellan's army, known as the Army of the Potomac.
And thus was arrayed against each other two of the greatest and best
equipped armies that had ever confronted each other on the field of
battle. It was now imminent that this would be the beginning of a
series of battles between the Army of the Potomac and the Army of
Northern Virginia, ending three years thereafter at Appomattox, where
the veterans in gray layed down their arms, in honor, to those in blue.
Between these two armies lay the Chickahominy River, which at this time
was overflowing its banks on account of recent heavy rains. McClellan
ordered his army forward May 20th, and a large division under General
Naglee succeeded in crossing the river, and took up a position on the
south side of the stream. General McClellan, however, was expecting to
be reenforced by McDowell from Fredericksburg with 40,000 men.
General Johnston, discovering the divided condition of McClellan's
army, believed that the time had arrived to give battle. At this time
"Stonewall" Jackson, with his army, was in the Valley of Virginia, and
was seriously threatening Washington. The authorities at Washington
deemed it necessary to recall McDowell and thus prevent him from
reenforcing McClellan, which proved to be a very serious disappointment
to him. McClellan ordered two divisions of his army to advance. One,
commanded by General Casey, stationed itself at Fair Oaks farm, and the
other, under General Couch, entrenched itself at the cross-roads near
Seven Pines, which derives its name from a clump of pine trees, from
which the battle fought here derives its name.
No sooner had these positions been taken than they began to entrench
themselves and throw out their picket lines, for the advance division
of the Confederates could plainly be seen through the timber lines.
On May 30th Johnston gave orders for his army to be ready to advance
at daybreak, but during the night a very heavy rain fell and delayed
operations until late in the morning of May 31st. About nine o'clock,
however, the forces of Longstreet and Hill were ready to move, and
advanced rapidly through the woods on the outlying division of the
Federals, who made a stubborn defense, driving back the Confederates
time after time at the point of the bayonet, and the last time pressing
them back to the woods. Here they were met by a furious musketry fire
by fresh men from Longstreet's division or infantry. They quickly gave
way, and retreated in confusion back to their entrenchments near Fair
Oaks farm. Here the Federals took a stubborn stand, but were presently
dislodged with great slaughter by an enfilading fire from the brigades
of Rains and Rhodes, who had come up on each side.
The Federals fell back to Seven Pines, where Couch's division was
stationed. Their situation was growing critical, although they were
making a determined stand and had been reenforced by Heintzelman's
division. In the meantime Hill had been reenforced by a brigade of
Longstreet's division and was making a fierce attack on the Federals.
The Confederates were further reenforced by the division of General
G. W. Smith. The battle raged furiously until late in the evening,
when the Federals fell back a distance of about two miles within their
entrenchments along the river.
While this battle was being fought, another at Fair Oaks Station, only
a short distance away, was also being fought, in which General Joseph
E. Johnston was seriously wounded by a bursting shell, and was carried
from the field. He was succeeded in command by General Robert E. Lee,
who was afterwards made the commander in chief of all the Southern
forces, although the immediate command fell upon G. W. Smith.
Early Sunday morning, June 1st, the battle was renewed and the attack
was again made by the Confederates, led by General Smith, supported
by Longstreet, but they were pushed back with great slaughter. The
Union lines were also broken and a brief lull ensued. Both sides were
gathering themselves for another onslaught. Presently the Federals were
reenforced by the division of General Hooker. They marched upon the
field in double quick time, and were met by a withering artillery fire.
Both attacking divisions were ordered forward with fixed bayonets. The
Confederates finally gave way and fell back toward Richmond, and the
Federals again withdrew to their entrenchment along the river.
It is thought by many that McClellan's failure to follow up the
Confederates proved to be the final failure of his Peninsula campaign,
for it gave the Confederates time to readjust their army under their
new commander.
The forest paths were strewn with the dead and dying. Many of the
wounded were compelled to lie in the hot sun for hours before help
could reach them. Many of the Federal wounded were placed upon cars and
taken across the Chickahominy. The Confederate wounded were carried to
Richmond, which was only seven miles away. And many of the Confederate
dead at Seven Pines were buried in the Holly Wood cemetery at Richmond,
where there are 16,000 Confederate dead. At Oak Wood cemetery, which is
near by, there is another 16,000, which makes 32,000 buried at Richmond.
At this time the defense of Washington was giving McClellan, as
well as other Federal authorities, considerable concern, for Jackson
with his army had previously taken possession of Winchester and was
advancing down the valley. The Federals opposed to Jackson were
commanded by Generals Shields and Banks. Jackson made an attack on
Shields' army at Kernstown and drove the Federals back, but presently
fell back to wait reenforcements under Ewell. The Federals were
reenforced by General Fremont. Jackson's activity in the valley
caused the president to fear that his goal was Washington. The two
armies fought a series of battles in the valley, namely: Front
Royal, Strausburg, Newtown and Port Republic, the last-named being
the far more important and destructive to life. These were a series
of victories for Jackson, for he drove the Federals from place to
place, and 3,000 of Banks' men fell into his hands as prisoners. Banks
retreated across the Potomac and Jackson joined Lee before Richmond.
Jackson's activity and strategy in the movement of his army surprised
both the North and the South. Banks reported to the government at
Washington that "Jackson aimed at nothing less than the capture of our
entire force."
THE SEVEN DAYS' BATTLES
Early in the summer of 1862, General Lee proceeded to increase his
fighting force so as to make it more nearly equal in number to that of
McClellan, and to that end every man that could be spared from other
sections in the South was called to Richmond. Numerous intrenchments
were thrown up along the roads and in the fields about Richmond, thus
giving it the appearance of a fortified camp. General Lee, in an
address to his troops, said that the army had made its last retreat.
Each army at this time numbered in the neighborhood of 100,000 men.
Meanwhile, McClellan's army was acclimating itself to a Virginia
summer, and now that the sweltering heat of June was coming on, the
swamps about their camps were fountains of disease, which began to tell
on the health of the men. The hospitals were crowded, and the death
rate was appalling.
McClellan proceeded to transfer all his men to the south side of the
Chickahominy River, excepting the corps of Franklin and Porter, which
were left on the north side of the river to await reenforcements under
General McCall, which arrived about the middle of June.
General Lee sent a division of his cavalry, under the command of J.
E. B. Stuart, to encircle the army of McClellan. Stuart started in the
direction of Fredericksburg June 12th, as if to reenforce Jackson, and
the first night bivouacked in the pine woods of Hanover county. Then,
turning to the east, he soon came upon a Union force, drawn up in
columns of four, ready to dispute the passage of the road, and which
fell back in confusion as the Confederates advanced. Stuart pushed on
and fell upon a company of Federal infantry at Tunstall's Station,
which surrendered at once. The Confederates quickly turned about,
crossed the Chickahominy River and joined Lee's army before Richmond,
thus giving Lee the desired information of the position of McClellan's
army.
Meanwhile, General "Stonewall" Jackson with his army was making haste
to join Lee's army, and on June 25th reached Ashland, in striking
distance of the Army of the Potomac.
McClellan was pushing his men forward to begin the siege of Richmond.
His advance guard was within four miles of the Confederate capital, and
his fond hope was that within a few days at most his artillery would be
belching forth its sheets of fire and lead into the beleaguered city.
In front of the Union camp was a strip of pine woodland, full of ponds
and marshes. The Union soldiers pressed through this thicket, met the
Confederate pickets among the trees and drove them back. Upon emerging
into the open the Federal troops found it filled with rifle pits,
earth works, and redoubts. At once they were met with a steady and
incessant fire, which continued nearly all day, and at times almost
reached the magnitude of a battle. This is sometimes called the second
battle of Fair Oaks, and was the prelude of the Seven Days' battles.
The extreme right of the Union line, under command of General Porter,
lay near Mechanicsville, on the Upper Chickahominy. It was strongly
entrenched and was almost impregnable to an attack from the front.
Before sunrise, June 26th, the Confederates were at the Chickahominy
bridge awaiting the arrival of Jackson, but for once Jackson was behind
time. The morning hours came and went. Noon came and Jackson had not
arrived. About the middle of the afternoon, General A. P. Hill, growing
impatient, crossed the river at Meadow bridge, and at Mechanicsville
was joined by the divisions of Longstreet and D. H. Hill. Driving the
Union outpost to cover, the Confederates swept across the low approach
to Beaver Dam Creek through a murderous fire from the batteries on
the cliff, but were finally repulsed with severe loss. Later in the
afternoon relief was sent Hill, who again attempted to force the
Union position at Ellerson's Mill. From across the open fields, and
in full view of the defenders of the cliff, the Confederates moved
down the <DW72> in full range of the Federal batteries, but the fire
was reserved by the Federals. As the approaching columns reached the
stream the shells came screaming through the air from every waiting
field-piece. Volley after volley of musketry was poured into the ranks
of the Southerners. The hillside was soon covered by the victims of
the gallant charge. As darkness hovered over them there were no signs
of the cessation of the combat. It was nine o'clock when Hill finally
drew back his shattered forces to await the coming of the morning. The
Forty-fourth Georgia regiment suffered the loss of all of its officers,
and thereby was unable to re-form its broken ranks. Both armies now
prepared for another day of conflict.
McClellan became convinced that Jackson was really approaching with a
large force, and decided to change his base to the James River, leaving
Porter with the Fifth corps on the banks of the Chickahominy, to
prevent Jackson from interrupting this gigantic movement. It involved
marching an army of 100,000 men, with a train of 5,000 heavily loaded
wagons, and many siege-guns, together with 3,000 cattle to be driven
across the marshy peninsula.
On the night of the 26th, McCall's division was directed to fall back
to the bridges across the Chickahominy near Gaines' Mill, and there
make a stand, for the purpose of holding back the Confederates. Just
before daylight the operations of moving the troops began.
The Confederates were equally alert, and opened a heavy fire upon the
retreating columns. The Union force under McCall, by being skillfully
handled, succeeded in reaching their new position on the Chickahominy
heights, and on the morning of the new day made ready for action. The
selection of this ground had been well made; they occupied a series of
heights fronted on the west by a cycle shaped stream. The land beyond
was an open country, through which a creek meandered sluggishly, and
beyond this a densely tangled undergrowth. Around the Union position
also were many patches of woods, affording cover for the reserves.
To protect the Federals, trees had been felled along their front, out
of which barriers, protected by rails and knapsacks, were erected.
Jackson's forces had united with those of Longstreet and the two Hills,
and were advancing with grim determination of victory.
It was two o'clock, on June 28th, when General A. P. Hill swung his
division into line for the attack. He was unsupported by the other
divisions, which had not yet arrived on the field. His columns moved
rapidly toward the Union front, and was met by a hailstorm of lead from
Porter's artillery, which sent messages of death to the approaching
lines of gray.
The Confederate front recoiled from the incessant outpour of grape,
canister and shell. The repulse threw the Confederates into great
confusion. Many left the field in disorder. Others threw themselves on
the ground to escape the withering fire, while some held their places.
The Federals were reenforced by General Slocum's division of Franklin's
corps.
Lee ordered a general attack upon the entire Union front.
Reenforcements were brought up to take the place of the shattered
regiments. The troops moved forward in the face of a heavy fire and
pressed up the hillside against the Union line at fearful sacrifice. It
was a death grapple for the mastery of the field.
At this time General Lee observed Hood of Jackson's corps coming down
the road bringing his brigade into the fight. Riding forward to meet
him, Lee directed that he should try to break the Union line. Hood, in
addressing his troops, said that no man should fire until ordered, then
started for the Union breastwork 800 yards away. They moved rapidly
across the open under a shower of shot and shell. At every step the
ranks grew thinner and thinner. They quickened their pace as they
passed down the <DW72> and across the creek. Not a shot had they fired.
With the wing of death hovering over all, they fixed bayonets and,
dashing up the hill into the Federals' line, with a shout they plunged
through the felled timber and over the breastworks. The Union line
had been pierced and was giving way, and the retreat was threatening
to develop into a general rout. But the Federals at this moment were
reenforced by the brigades of French and Meagher of Sumner's corps.
This stopped the pursuit and, as night was at hand, the Southern
soldiers withdrew. The battle of Gaines' Mill was then over.
General Lee believed that McClellan would | 2,376.859076 |
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THE
Lives of the Saints
REV. S. BARING-GOULD
_SIXTEEN VOLUMES_
VOLUME THE FIRST
[Illustration: SILVER-GILT MONSTRANCE,
In the Treasury of the Cathedral, Aix-la-Chapelle.]
THE
Lives of the Saints
BY THE
REV. S. BARING-GOULD, M.A.
New Edition in 16 Volumes
Revised with Introduction and Additional Lives of
English Martyrs, Cornish and Welsh Saints,
and a full Index to the Entire Work
_ILLUSTRATED BY OVER 400 ENGRAVINGS_
VOLUME THE FIRST
January
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14 KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND
MDCCCXCVII
_Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
_At the Ballantyne Press_
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
TO FIRST EDITION
(1872)
The Lives of the Saints, which I have begun, is an undertaking, of
whose difficulty few can have any idea. Let it be remembered, that
there were Saints in every century, for eighteen hundred years; that
their Acts are interwoven with the profane history of their times,
and that the history, not of one nation only, but of almost every
nation under the sun; that the records of these lives are sometimes
fragmentary, sometimes mere hints to be culled out of secular history;
that authentic records have sometimes suffered interpolation, and that
some records are forgeries; that the profane history with which the
lives of the Saints is mixed up is often dark and hard to be read; and
then some idea may be formed of the difficulty of this undertaking.
After having had to free the Acts of a martyr from a late accretion of
fable, and to decide whether the passion took place under--say Decius
or Diocletian, Claudius the Elder, or Claudius the younger,--the writer
of a hagiology is hurried into Byzantine politics, and has to collect
the thread of a saintly confessor's life from the tangle of political
and ecclesiastical intrigue, in that chaotic period when emperors
rose and fell, and patriarchs succeeded each other with bewildering
rapidity. And thence he is, by a step, landed in the romance world of
Irish hagiology, where the footing is as insecure as on the dark bogs
of the Emerald Isle. Thence he strides into the midst of the wreck
of Charlemagne's empire, to gather among the splinters of history a
few poor mean notices of those holy ones living then, whose names
have survived, but whose acts are all but lost. And then the scene
changes, and he treads the cool cloister of a mediaeval abbey, to glean
materials for a memoir of some peaceful recluse, which may reflect
the crystalline purity of the life without being wholly colourless of
incident.
And then, maybe, he has to stand in the glare of the great
conflagration of the sixteenth century, and mark some pure soul passing
unscathed through the fire, like the lamp in Abraham's vision.
That one man can do justice to this task is not to be expected. When
Bellarmine heard of the undertaking of Rosweydus, he asked "What is
this man's age? does he expect to live two hundred years?" But for the
work of the Bollandists, it would have been an impossibility for me to
undertake this task. But even with this great storehouse open, the work
to be got through is enormous. Bollandus began January with two folios
in double columns, close print, of 1200 pages each. As he and his
coadjutors proceeded, fresh materials came in, and February occupies
three volumes. May swelled into seven folios, September into eight,
and October into ten. It was begun in 1643, and the fifty-seventh
volume appeared in 1861.
The labour of reading, digesting, and selecting from this library is
enormous. With so much material it is hard to decide what to omit, but
such a decision must be made, for the two volumes of January have to
be crushed into one, not a tenth of the size of one of Bollandus, and
the ten volumes for October must suffer compression to an hundredth
degree, so as to occupy the same dimensions. I had two courses open to
me. One to give a brief outline, bare of incident, of the life of every
Saint; the other to diminish the number of lives, and present them to
the reader in greater fulness, and with some colour. I have adopted
this latter course, but I have omitted no Saint of great historical
interest. I have been compelled to put aside a great number of lesser
known saintly religious, whose eventless lives flowed uniformly in
prayer, vigil, and mortification.
In writing the lives of the Saints, I have used my discretion, also,
in relating only those miracles which are most remarkable, either
for being fairly well authenticated, or for their intrinsic beauty
or quaintness, or because they are often represented in art, and are
therefore of interest to the archaeologist. That errors in judgment,
and historical inaccuracies, have crept into this volume, and may find
their way into those that succeed, is, I fear, inevitable. All I can
promise is, that I have used my best endeavours to be accurate, having
had recourse to all such modern critical works as have been accessible
to me, for the determining of dates, and the estimation of authorities.
Believing that in some three thousand and six hundred memoirs of
men, many of whose lives closely resembled each other, it would be
impossible for me to avoid a monotony of style which would become as
tedious to the reader as vexatious to myself, I have occasionally
admitted the lives of certain Saints by other writers, thereby giving a
little freshness to the book, where there could not fail otherwise to
have been aridity; but I have, I believe, in no case, inserted a life
by another pen, without verifying the authorities.
At the head of every article the authority for the life is stated,
to which the reader is referred for fuller details. The editions of
these authorities are not given, as it would have greatly extended
the notices, and such information can readily be obtained from that
invaluable guide to the historian of the Middle Ages, Potthast:
_Bibliotheca Historica Medii Aevi_, Berlin, 1862; the second part of
which is devoted to the Saints.
I have no wish that my work should be regarded as intended to supplant
that of Alban Butler. My line is somewhat different from his. He
confined his attention to the historical outlines of the saintly lives,
and he rarely filled them in with anecdote. Yet it is the little
details of a man's life that give it character, and impress themselves
on the memory. People forget the age and parentage of S. Gertrude, but
they remember the mouse running up her staff.
A priest of the Anglican Church, I have undertaken to write a book
which I hope and trust will be welcome to Roman and Anglican Catholics,
alike. It would have been unseemly to have carried prejudice,
impertinent to have obtruded sectarianism, into a work like this. I
have been called to tread holy ground, and kneel in the midst of the
great company of the blessed; and the only fitting attitude of the
mind for such a place, and such society, is reverence. In reading the
miracles recorded of the Saints, of which the number is infinite, the
proper spirit to observe is, not doubt, but discrimination. Because
much is certainly apocryphal in these accounts, we must not therefore
reject what may be true. The present age, in its vehement naturalism,
places itself, as it were, outside of the circle of spiritual
phenomena, and is as likely to deny the supernatural agency in a
marvel, as a mediaeval was liable to attribute a natural phenomenon to
spiritual causes. In such cases we must consider the evidence and its
worth or worthlessness. It may be that, in God's dealings with men, at
a time when natural means of cure were unattainable, the supernatural
should abound, but that when the science of medicine became perfected,
and the natural was rendered available to all, the supernatural should,
to some extent, at least, be withdrawn.
Of the Martyrologies referred to, it may be as well to mention the
dates of the most important. That of Ado is of the ninth century,
Bede's of the eighth;[1] there are several bearing the name of S.
Jerome, which differ from one another, they are forms of the ancient
Roman Martyrology. The Martyrology of Notker (D. 912), of Rabanus
Maurus (D. 856), of Usuardus (875), of Wandalbert (circ. 881). The
general catalogue of the Saints by Ferrarius was published in 1625,
the Martyrology of Maurolycus was composed in 1450, and published
1568. The modern Roman Martyrology is based on that of Usuardus. It
is impossible, in the limited space available for a preface, to say
all that is necessary on the various Kalendars, and Martyrologies,
that exist, also on the mode in which some of the Saints have received
apotheosis. Comparatively few Saints have received formal canonization
at Rome; popular veneration was regarded as sufficient in the mediaeval
period, before order and system were introduced; thus there are many
obscure Saints, famous in their own localities, and perhaps entered in
the kalendar of the diocese, whose claims to their title have never
been authoritatively inquired into, and decided upon. There is also
great confusion in the monastic kalendars in appropriating titles
to those commemorated; here a holy one is called "the Venerable,"
there "the Blessed," and in another "Saint." With regard also to the
estimation of authorities, the notes of genuineness of the Acts of
the martyrs, the tests whereby apocryphal lives and interpolations
may be detected, I should have been glad to have been able to make
observations. But this is a matter which there is not space to enter
upon here.
The author cannot dismiss the work without expressing a hope that it
may be found to meet a want which he believes has long been felt; for
English literature is sadly deficient in the department of hagiology.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] This only exists in an interpolated condition.
INTRODUCTION
TO THE
LIVES OF THE SAINTS
THE MARTYROLOGIES
A martyrology means, properly, a list of witnesses. The martyrologies
are catalogues in which are to be found the names of the Saints, with
the days and places of their deaths, and generally with the distinctive
character of their sanctity, and with an historic summary of their
lives. The name is incorrect if we use the word "martyr" in its
restricted sense as a witness unto death. "Hagiology" would be more
suitable, as a martyrology includes the names of many Saints who were
not martyrs. But the term "Martyrology" was given to this catalogue at
an early age, when it was customary to commemorate only those who were
properly martyrs, having suffered death in testimony to their faith; but
it is not unsuitable if we regard as martyrs all those who by their
lives have testified to the truth, as indeed we are justified in doing.
In the primitive Church it was customary for the Holy Eucharist to be
celebrated on the anniversary of the death of a martyr--if possible, on
his tomb. Where in one diocese there were several martyrs, as, for
instance, in that of Caesarea, there were many days in the year on which
these commemorations were made, and the Church--say that of
Caesarea--drew up a calendar with the days marked on which these
festivals occurred.
In his "Church History," Eusebius quotes a letter from the Church of
Smyrna, in which, after giving an account of the martyrdom of their
bishop, S. Polycarp, the disciple of S. John the Divine, the Smyrnians
observe: "Our subtle enemy, the devil, did his utmost that we should not
take away the body, as many of us anxiously wished. It was suggested
that we should desert our crucified Master, and begin to worship
Polycarp. Fools! who knew not that we can never desert Christ, who died
for the salvation of all men, nor worship any other. Him we adore as the
Son of God; but we show respect to the martyrs, as His disciples and
followers. The centurion, therefore, caused the body to be burned; we
then gathered his bones, more precious than pearls, and more tried than
gold, and buried them. In this place, God willing, we will meet, and
celebrate with joy and gladness the birthday of this martyr, as well in
memory of those who have been crowned before, as by his example to
prepare and strengthen others for the combat."[2]
S. Polycarp suffered in the year 166; he had been ordained Bishop of
Smyrna by S. John in 96. This passage is extremely interesting, for it
shows us, in the age following that of the apostles, the Church already
keeping the festivals of martyrs, and, as we may conclude from the words
of the letter, over the tombs of the martyrs. In this the Church was
following the pattern shown to S. John in vision; for he heard the cry
of the souls of the martyrs reposing under the altar in heaven. Guided,
doubtless, by this, the Church erected altars over the bodies of saints.
Among the early Christian writers there are two, S. Paulinus of Nola,
and Prudentius, whose testimony is of intrinsic value, not only from its
being curiously interesting, but because it is so full and unequivocal
as to the fact of the tombs of the martyrs being used as altars.[3] In
one of his letters to Severus, S. Paulinus encloses some verses of his
own composition, which were to be inscribed over the altar under which
was deposited the body of S. Clavus, of whom the venerable prelate says:
"Sancta sub aeternis altaribus ossa quiescunt."[4]
Before describing the basilica of Nola, the Saint proceeds to give a
sketch of another but a smaller church, which he had just erected in the
town of Fondi. After furnishing some details about this latter edifice,
he says, "The sacred ashes--some of the blessed relics of the apostles
and martyrs--shall consecrate this little basilica also in the name of
Christ, the Saint of saints, the Martyr of martyrs, and the Lord of
lords."[5] For this church two inscriptions were composed by Paulinus:
one, to accompany the painting with which he had adorned the apse; the
other, to announce that portions of the relics of the Apostle S. Andrew,
of the Evangelist S. Luke, and of S. Nazarius, and other martyrs, were
deposited under the altar. His verses may be thus rendered:
"In royal shrines, with purple marble graced,
Their bones are under lighted altars placed.
A holy band enshrined in one small chest,
Full mighty names within its tiny breast."
Prudentius visited not only the more celebrated churches in Spain built
over the bodies of the martyrs, he being a Spaniard by birth, but he
also visited those of Italy and Rome on a journey made in 405. During
his residence in the capital of Christianity, the poet frequented the
catacombs; and he has bequeathed to us a valuable record of what he
there saw. In his hymn in honour of S. Hippolytus, he tells us that he
visited the sepulchral chapel in which were deposited the remains of the
martyr; and, after having described the entrance into the cemetery, and
the frescoes that adorned it, he adds:
"In gloomy cave the martyr's corpse is placed,
And there to God with sacred altars graced,
To give the sacrament the board is spread,
And zealous guard the holy martyr's bed.
The bones are resting in this hallowed tomb,
To wait th' eternal Judge's gracious boon;
And there with holy food are nourished those
Who call on Christ where tawny Tiber flows."[6]
In his other hymns, Prudentius bears the most unequivocal testimony to
the practice, even then a long time in use, of depositing the relics of
the Saints immediately under the altar. It is unnecessary to quote more.
The assertions of ancient writers on this point have been several times
verified. The bodies of the martyrs have been discovered under the high
altars of the churches dedicated to God in their memory. The body of S.
Martina, together with those of two other martyrs, SS. Concordens and
Epiphanius, were found in 1624 under the high altar of the ancient
church near the Roman Forum, which bears the name of the Saint. The body
of S. Agnes, and that of another virgin martyr, were also ascertained to
be under the high altar of her church, denominated Fuori delle Mura.
These, however, had all been removed from the Catacombs into Rome,
within the walls.
Now this fact being established, as well as that of the annual
commemoration of the Saint reposing in the church, it follows that it
became necessary for a Church to draw up calendars marking those days in
the year which were consecrated to the memory of martyrs whose relics
were preserved in it; for instance, in the Church of Fondi, which
contained relics of S. Andrew, S. Luke, S. Nazarius, and others, the
Holy Eucharist would be celebrated over the relics on the day of S.
Andrew, on that of S. Luke, on that of S. Nazarius, and so on; and it
would be necessary for the Church to have a calendar of the days thus
set apart.
In the first centuries of the Church, not only the Saints whose bodies
reposed in the church, but also the dead of the congregation were
commemorated.
When a Roman Consul was elected, on entering on his office he
distributed among his friends certain presents, called diptychs. These
diptychs were folding tablets of ivory or boxwood, sometimes of silver,
connected together by hinges, so that they could be shut or opened like
a book. The exterior surface was richly carved, and generally bore a
portrait of the Consul who gave them away. Upon the inner surface was
written an epistle which accompanied the present, or a panegyric on
himself. They were reminders to friends, given much as a Christmas card
is now sent. The diptych speedily came into use in the Church. As the
Consul on his elevation sent one to his friends to remind them of his
exaltation, so, on a death in the congregation, a diptych was sent to
the priest as a reminder of the dead who desired the prayers of the
faithful. At first, no doubt, there was a pack of these little
memorials, each bearing the name of the person who desired to be
remembered at the altar. But, for convenience, one double tablet was
after a while employed instead of a number, and all the names of those
who were to be commemorated were written in this book. From the ancient
liturgies we gather that it was the office of the deacon to rehearse
aloud, to the people and the priest, this catalogue registered in the
public diptychs. In the "Ecclesiastical Hierarchy," attributed to S.
Dionysius the Areopagite, but really of a later date, the end of the
fifth century, the author says of the ceremonies of the Eucharist, that
after the kiss of peace, "When all have reciprocally saluted one
another, there is made the mystic recitation of the sacred tablets."[7]
In the Liturgy of S. Mark we have this, "The deacon reads the diptychs
(or catalogue) of the dead. The priest then bowing down prays: To the
souls of all these, O Sovereign Lord our God, grant repose in Thy holy
tabernacle, in Thy kingdom, bestowing on them the good things promised
and prepared by Thee," etc.
It is obvious that after a while the number of names continually
swelling would become too great to be recited at once. It became
necessary, therefore, to take some names on one day, others on another.
And this originated | 2,377.059258 |
2023-11-16 18:56:41.0566910 | 1,356 | 6 |
Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
THE FOOLISH VIRGIN
By Thomas Dixon
TO GERTRUDE ATHERTON WITH GRATITUDE AND ADMIRATION
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. A FRIENDLY WARNING
II. TEMPTATION
III. FATE
IV. DOUBTS AND FEARS
V. WINGS OF STEEL
VI. BESIDE THE SEA
VII. A VAIN APPEAL
VIII. JIM'S TRIAL
IX. ELLA'S SECRET
X. THE WEDDING
XI. "UNTIL DEATH"
XII. THE LOTOS-EATERS
XIII. THE REAL MAN
XIV. UNWELCOME GUESTS
XV. A LITTLE BLACK BAG
XVI. THE AWAKENING
XVII. THE SURRENDER
XVIII. TO THE NEW GOD
XIX. NANCE'S STOREHOUSE
XX. TRAPPED
XXI. THE DEVIL'S DISCIPLE
XXII. DELIVERANCE
XXIII. THE DOCTOR
XXIV. THE CALL DIVINE
XXV. THE MOTHER
XXVI. A SOUL IS BORN
XXVII. THE BABY
XXVIII. WHAT IS LOVE?
XXIX. THE NEW MAN
LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY
MARY ADAMS, An Old-Fashioned Girl.
JIM ANTHONY, A Modern Youth.
JANE ANDERSON, An Artist.
ELLA, A Scrubwoman.
NANCE OWENS, Jim Anthony's Mother.
A DOCTOR, Whose Call was Divine.
THE BABY, A Mascot.
THE FOOLISH VIRGIN
CHAPTER I. A FRIENDLY WARNING
"Mary Adams, you're a fool!"
The single dimple in a smooth red cheek smiled in answer.
"You're repeating yourself, Jane----"
"You won't give him one hour's time for just three sittings?"
"Not a second for one sitting----"
"Hopeless!"
Mary smiled provokingly, her white teeth gleaming in obstinate good
humor.
"He's the most distinguished artist in America----"
"I've heard so."
"It would be a liberal education for a girl of your training to know
such a man----"
"I'll omit that course of instruction."
The younger woman was silent a moment, and a flush of anger slowly
mounted her temples. The blue eyes were fixed reproachfully on her
friend.
"You really thought that I would pose?"
"I hoped so."
"Alone with a man in his studio for hours?"
Jane Anderson lifted her dark brows.
"Why, no, I hardly expected that! I'm sure he would take his easel and
palette out into the square in front of the Plaza Hotel and let you sit
on the base of the Sherman monument. The crowds would cheer and inspire
him--bah! Can't you have a little common-sense? There are a few
brutes among artists, as there are in all professions--even among the
superintendents of your schools. Gordon's a great creative genius. If
you'd try to flirt with him, he'd stop his work and send you home. You'd
be as safe in his studio as in your mother's nursery. I've known him
for ten years. He's the gentlest, truest man I've ever met. He's doing a
canvas on which he has set his whole heart."
"He can get professional models."
"For his usual work, yes--but this is the head of the Madonna. He saw
you walking with me in the Park last week and has been to my studio a
half-dozen times begging me to take you to see him. Please, Mary dear,
do this for my sake. I owe Gordon a debt I can never pay. He gave me
the cue to the work that set me on my feet. He was big and generous
and helpful when I needed a friend. He asked nothing in return but the
privilege of helping me again if I ever needed it. You can do me an
enormous favor--please."
Mary Adams rose with a gesture of impatience, walked to her window and
gazed on the torrent of humanity pouring through Twenty-third Street
from the beehives of industry that have changed this quarter of New York
so rapidly in the last five years. She turned suddenly and confronted
her friend.
"How could you think that I would stoop to such a thing?"
"Stoop!"
"Yes," she snapped, "--pose for an artist! I'd as soon think of rushing
stark naked through Twenty-third Street at noon!"
The older woman looked at her flushed face, suppressed a sharp answer,
broke into a fit of laughter and threw her arms around Mary's neck.
"Honey, you're such a hopeless little fool, you're delicious! You know
that I love you--don't you?"
The pretty lips quivered.
"Yes."
"Could I possibly ask you to do a thing that would harm a single brown
hair of your head?"
The firm hand of the older girl touched a rebellious lock with
tenderness.
"Of course not, from your point of view, Jane dear," the stubborn lips
persisted. "But you see it's not my point of view. You're older than
I----"
Jane smiled.
"Hoity toity, Miss! I'm just twenty-eight and you're twenty-four. Age is
not measured by calendars these days."
"I didn't mean that," the girl apologized. "But you're an artist. You're
established and distinguished. You belong to a different world."
Jane Anderson laid her hand softly on her friend's.
"That's just it, dear. I do belong to a different world--a big new world
of whose existence you are not quite conscious. You are living in the
old, old world in which women have groped for thousands of years. I
don't mind confessing that I undertook this job of getting you to pose
for Gordon for a double purpose. I wished to do something to repay
the debt I owe him--but I wished far more to be of help to you. You're | 2,377.076731 |
2023-11-16 18:56:41.1343240 | 1,503 | 23 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Vittoria by George Meredith, v7
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THE DESCENT OF MAN
AND
SELECTION IN RELATION TO SEX
Works by Charles Darwin, F.R.S.
Life and Letters of Charles Darwin. With an Autobiographical Chapter.
Edited by Francis Darwin. Portraits. 3 volumes 36s. Popular Edition.
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Origin of Species by means of Natural Selection; or, The Preservation of
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Britain. Palaeontographical Society.
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Palaeontographical Society.
THE DESCENT OF MAN
AND
SELECTION IN RELATION TO SEX
BY
CHARLES DARWIN, M.A., F.R.S.
Uniform with this Volume
The Origin of Species, by means of Natural Selection; or, The Preservation
of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life. Popular Edition, with a
Photogravure Portrait. Large Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
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the World, under the Command of Capt. Fitz Roy, R.N. Popular Edition, with
many Illustrations. Large Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
During the successive reprints of the first edition of this work, published
in 1871, I was able to introduce several important corrections; and now
that more time has elapsed, I have endeavoured to profit by the fiery
ordeal through which the book has passed, and have taken advantage of all
the criticisms which seem to me sound. I am also greatly indebted to a
large number of correspondents for the communication of a surprising number
of new facts and remarks. These have been so numerous, that I have been
able to use only the more important ones; and of these, as well as of the
more important corrections, I will append a list. Some new illustrations
have been introduced, and four of the old drawings have been replaced by
better ones, done from life by Mr. T.W. Wood. I must especially call
attention to some observations which I owe to the kindness of Prof. Huxley
(given as a supplement at the end of Part I.), on the nature of the
differences between the brains of man and the higher apes. I have been
particularly glad to give these observations, because during the last few
years several memoirs on the subject have appeared on the Continent, and
their importance has been, in some cases, greatly exaggerated by popular
writers.
I may take this opportunity of remarking that my critics frequently assume
that I attribute all changes of corporeal structure and mental power
exclusively to the natural selection of such variations as are often called
spontaneous; whereas, even in the first edition of the 'Origin of Species,'
I distinctly stated that great weight must be attributed to the inherited
effects of use and disuse, with respect both to the body and mind. I also
attributed some amount of modification to the direct and prolonged action
of changed conditions of life. Some allowance, too, must be made for
occasional reversions of structure; nor must we forget what I have called
"correlated" growth, meaning, thereby, that various parts of the
organisation are in some unknown manner so connected, that when one part
varies, so do others; and if variations in the one are accumulated by
selection, other parts will be modified. Again, it has been said by
several critics, that when I found that many details of structure in man
could not be explained through natural selection, I invented sexual
selection; I gave, however, a tolerably clear sketch of this principle in
the first edition of the 'Origin of Species,' and I there stated that it
was applicable to man. This subject of sexual selection has been treated
at full length in the present work, simply because an opportunity was here
first afforded me. I have been struck with the likeness of many of the
half-favourable criticisms on sexual selection, with those which appeared
at first on natural selection; such as, that it would explain some few
details, but certainly was not applicable to the extent to which I have
employed it. My conviction of the power of sexual selection remains
unshaken; but it is probable, or almost certain, that several of my
conclusions will hereafter be found erroneous; this can hardly fail to be
the case in the first treatment of a subject. When naturalists have become
familiar with the idea of sexual selection, it will, as I believe, be much
more largely accepted; and it has already been fully and favourably
received by several capable judges.
DOWN, BECKENHAM, KENT,
September, 1874.
First Edition February 24, 1871.
Second Edition September, 1874.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
PART I. THE DESCENT OR ORIGIN OF MAN.
CHAPTER I.
The Evidence of the Descent of Man from some Lower Form.
Nature of the evidence bearing on the origin of man--Homologous structures
in man and the lower animals--Miscellaneous points of correspondence--
Development--Rudimentary structures, muscles, sense-organs, hair, bones,
reproductive organs, etc.--The bearing of these three great classes of
facts on the origin of man.
CHAPTER II.
On the Manner of Development of Man from some Lower Form.
Variability of body and mind in man--Inheritance--Causes of variability--
Laws of variation the same in man as in the lower animals--Direct action of
the conditions of life--Effects of the increased use and disuse of parts--
Arrested development--Reversion--Correlated variation--Rate of increase--
Checks to increase--Natural selection--Man the most dominant animal in the
world--Importance of his corporeal structure--The causes which have led to
his becoming erect--Consequent changes of structure--Decrease in size of
the canine teeth--Increased size and altered shape of the skull--Nakedness
--Absence of a tail--Defenceless condition of man.
CHAPTER III.
Comparison of the Mental Powers of Man and the Lower Animals.
The difference in mental power between the highest ape and the lowest
savage, immense--Certain instincts in common--The emotions--Curiosity--
Imitation--Attention--Memory--Imagination--Reason--Progressive improvement
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SYNGE AND THE IRELAND OF HIS TIME
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
WITH A NOTE CONCERNING A WALK THROUGH CONNEMARA WITH HIM BY JACK BUTLER
YEATS
CHURCHTOWN DUNDRUM MCMXI
PREFACE
At times during Synge's last illness, Lady Gregory and I would speak of
his work and always find some pleasure in the thought that unlike
ourselves, who had made our experiments in public, he would leave to
the world nothing to be wished away--nothing that was not beautiful or
powerful in itself, or necessary as an expression of his life and
thought. When he died we were in much anxiety, for a letter written
before his last illness, and printed in the selection of his poems
published at the Cuala Press, had shown that he was anxious about the
fate of his manuscripts and scattered writings. On the evening of the
night he died he had asked that I might come to him the next day; and
my diary of the days following his death shows how great was our
anxiety. Presently however, all seemed to have come right, for the
Executors sent me the following letter that had been found among his
papers, and promised to carry out his wishes.
'May 4th, 1908
'Dear Yeats,
'This is only to go to you if anything should go wrong with me under
the operation or after it. I am a little bothered about my 'papers.' I
have a certain amount of verse that I think would be worth preserving,
possibly also the 1st and 3rd acts of 'Deirdre,' and then I have a lot
of Kerry and Wicklow articles that would go together into a book. The
other early stuff I wrote I have kept as a sort of curiosity, but I am
anxious that it should not get into print. I wonder could you get
someone--say... who is now in Dublin to go through them for you and do
whatever you and Lady Gregory think desirable. It is rather a hard
thing to ask you but I do not want my good things destroyed or my bad
things printed rashly--especially a morbid thing about a mad fiddler in
Paris which I hate. Do what you can--Good luck.
'J.M. Synge'
In the summer of 1909, the Executors sent me a large bundle of papers,
cuttings from newspapers and magazines, manuscript and typewritten
prose and verse, put together and annotated by Synge himself before his
last illness. I spent a portion of each day for weeks reading and
re-reading early dramatic writing, poems, essays, and so forth, and
with the exception of ninety pages which have been published without my
consent, made consulting Lady Gregory from time to time the Selection
of his work published by Messrs. Maunsel. It is because of these ninety
pages, that neither Lady Gregory's name nor mine appears in any of the
books, and that the Introduction which I now publish, was withdrawn by
me after it had been advertised by the publishers. Before the
publication of the books the Executors discovered a scrap of paper with
a sentence by J.M. Synge saying that Selections might be taken from his
Essays on the Congested Districts. I do not know if this was written
before his letter to me, which made no mention of them, or contained
his final directions. The matter is unimportant, for the publishers
decided to ignore my offer to select as well as my original decision to
reject, and for this act of theirs they have given me no reasons except
reasons of convenience, which neither Lady Gregory nor I could accept.
W.B. Yeats.
* * * * *
J.M. SYNGE AND THE IRELAND OF HIS TIME
On Saturday, January 26th, 1907, I was lecturing in Aberdeen, and when
my lecture was over I was given a telegram which said, 'Play great
success.' It had been sent from Dublin after the second Act of 'The
Playboy of the Western World,' then being performed for the first time.
After one in the morning, my host brought to my bedroom this second
telegram, 'Audience broke up in disorder at the word shift.' I knew no
more until I got the Dublin papers on my way from Belfast to Dublin on
Tuesday morning. On the Monday night no word of the play had been
heard. About forty young men had sat on the front seats of the pit, and
stamped and shouted and blown trumpets from the rise to the fall of the
curtain. On the Tuesday night also the forty young men were there. They
wished to silence what they considered a slander upon Ireland's
womanhood. Irish women would never sleep under the same roof with a
young man without a chaperon, nor admire a murderer, nor use a word
like'shift;' nor could anyone recognise the country men and women of
Davis and Kickham in these poetical, violent, grotesque persons, who
used the name of God so freely, and spoke of all things that hit their
fancy.
A patriotic journalism which had seen in Synge's capricious imagination
the enemy of all it would have young men believe, had for years
prepared for this hour, by that which is at once the greatest and most
ignoble power of journalism, the art of repeating a name again and
again with some ridiculous or evil association. The preparation had
begun after the first performance of 'The Shadow of the Glen,' Synge's
first play, with an assertion made in ignorance but repeated in
dishonesty, that he had taken his fable and his characters, not from
his own mind nor that profound knowledge of cot and curragh he was
admitted to possess, but 'from a writer of the Roman decadence.' Some
spontaneous dislike had been but natural, for genius like his can but
slowly, amid what it has of harsh and strange, set forth the nobility
of its beauty, and the depth of its compassion; but the frenzy that
would have silenced his master-work was, like most violent things
artificial, the defence of virtue by those that have but little, which
is the pomp and gallantry of journalism and its right to govern the
world.
As I stood there watching, knowing well that I saw the dissolution of a
school of patriotism that held sway over my youth, Synge came and stood
beside me, and said, 'A young doctor has just told me that he can
hardly keep himself from jumping on to a seat, and pointing out in that
howling mob those whom he is treating for venereal disease.'
II
Thomas Davis, whose life had the moral simplicity which can give to
actions the lasting influence that style alone can give to words, had
understood that a country which has no national institutions must show
its young men images for the affections, although they be but diagrams
of what it should be or may be. He and his school imagined the Soldier,
the Orator, the Patriot, the Poet, the Chieftain, and above all the
Peasant; and these, as celebrated in essay and songs and stories,
possessed so many virtues that no matter how England, who as Mitchell
said 'had the ear of the world,' might slander us, Ireland, even though
she could not come at the world's other ear, might go her way
unabashed. But ideas and images which have to be understood and loved
by large numbers of people, must appeal to no rich personal experience,
no patience of study, no delicacy of sense; and if at rare moments some
'Memory of the Dead' can take its strength from one; at all other
moments manner and matter will be rhetorical, conventional,
sentimental; and language, because it is carried beyond life
perpetually, will be as wasted as the thought, with unmeaning
pedantries and silences, and a dread of all that has salt and savour.
After a while, in a land that has given itself to agitation over-much,
abstract thoughts are raised up between men's minds and Nature, who
never does the same thing twice, or makes one man like another, till
minds, whose patriotism is perhaps great enough to carry them to the
scaffold, cry down natural impulse with the morbid persistence of minds
unsettled by some fixed idea. They are preoccupied with the nation's
future, with heroes, poets, soldiers, painters, armies, fleets, but
only as these things are understood by a child in a national school,
while a secret feeling that what is so unreal needs continual defence
makes them bitter and restless. They are like some state which has only
paper money, and seeks by punishments to make it buy whatever gold can
buy. They no longer love, for only life is loved, and at last, a
generation is like an hysterical woman who will make unmeasured
accusations and believe impossible things, because of some logical
deduction from a solitary thought which has turned a portion of her
mind to stone.
III
Even if what one defends be true, an attitude of defence, a continual
apology, whatever the cause, makes the mind barren because it kills
intellectual innocence; that delight in what is unforeseen, and in the
mere spectacle of the world, the mere drifting hither and thither that
must come before all true thought and emotion. A zealous Irishman,
especially if he lives much out of Ireland, spends his time in a
never-ending argument about Oliver Cromwell, the Danes, the penal laws,
the rebellion of 1798, the famine, the Irish peasant, and ends by
substituting a traditional casuistry for a country; and if he be a
Catholic, yet another casuistry that has professors, schoolmasters,
letter-writing priests, and the authors of manuals to make the meshes
fine, comes between him and English literature, substituting arguments
and hesitations for the excitement at the first reading of the great
poets which should be a sort of violent imaginative puberty. His
hesitations and arguments may have been right, the Catholic philosophy
may be more profound than Milton's morality, or Shelley's vehement
vision; but none the less do we lose life by losing that recklessness
Castiglione thought necessary even in good manners, and offend our Lady
Truth, who would never, had she desired an anxious courtship, have
digged a well to be her parlour.
I admired though we were always quarrelling on some matter, J.F.
Taylor, the orator, who died just before the first controversy over
these plays. It often seemed to me that when he spoke Ireland herself
had spoken, one got that sense of surprise that comes when a man has
said what is unforeseen because it is far from the common thought, and
yet obvious because when it has been spoken, the gate of the mind seems
suddenly to roll back and reveal forgotten sights and let loose lost
passions. I have never heard him speak except in some Irish literary or
political society, but there at any rate, as in conversation, I found a
man whose life was a ceaseless reverie over the religious and political
history of Ireland. He saw himself pleading for his country before an
invisible jury, perhaps of the great dead, against traitors at home and
enemies abroad, and a sort of frenzy in his voice and the moral
elevation of his thoughts gave him for the moment style and music. One
asked oneself again and again, 'Why is not this man an artist, a man of
genius, a creator of some kind?' The other day under the influence of
memory, I read through his one book, a life of Owen Roe O'Neill, and
found there no sentence detachable from its context because of wisdom
or beauty. Everything was argued from a premise; and wisdom, and style,
whether in life or letters come from the presence of what is
self-evident, from that which requires but statement, from what Blake
called 'naked beauty displayed.' The sense of what was unforeseen and
obvious, the rolling backward of the gates had gone with the living
voice, with the nobility of will that made one understand what he saw
and felt in what was now but argument and logic. I found myself in the
presence of a mind like some noisy and powerful machine, of thought
that was no part of wisdom but the apologetic of a moment, a woven
thing, no intricacy of leaf and twig, of words with no more of salt and
of savour than those of a Jesuit professor of literature, or of any
other who does not know that there is no lasting writing which does not
define the quality, or carry the substance of some pleasure. How can
one, if one's mind be full of abstractions and images created not for
their own sake but for the sake of party, even if there were still the
need, find words that delight the ear, make pictures to the mind's eye,
discover thoughts that tighten the muscles, or quiver and tingle in the
flesh, and stand like St. Michael with the trumpet that calls the body
to resurrection?
IV
Young Ireland had taught a study of our history with the glory of
Ireland for event, and this for lack, when less than Taylor studied, of
comparison with that of other countries wrecked the historical
instinct. An old man with an academic appointment, who was a leader in
the attack upon Synge, sees in the 11th century romance of Deirdre a
re-telling of the first five act tragedy outside the classic languages,
and this tragedy from his description of it was certainly written on
the Elizabethan model; while an allusion to a copper boat, a marvel of
magic like Cinderella's slipper, persuades him that the ancient Irish
had forestalled the modern dockyards in the making of metal ships. The
man who doubted, let us say, our fabulous ancient kings running up to
Adam, or found but mythology in some old tale, was as hated as if he
had doubted the authority of Scripture. Above all no man was so
ignorant, that he had not by rote familiar arguments and statistics to
drive away amid familiar applause, all those had they but found strange
truth in the world or in their mind, whose knowledge has passed out of
memory and become an instinct of hand or eye. There was no literature,
for literature is a child of experience always, of knowledge never; and
the nation itself, instead of being a dumb struggling thought seeking a
mouth to utter it or hand to show it, a teeming delight that would
re-create the world, had become, at best, a subject of knowledge.
V
Taylor always spoke with confidence though he was no determined man,
being easily flattered or jostled from his way; and this, putting as it
were his fiery heart into his mouth made him formidable. And I have
noticed that all those who speak the thoughts of many, speak
confidently, while those who speak their own thoughts are hesitating
and timid, as though they spoke out of a mind and body grown sensitive
to the edge of bewilderment among many impressions. They speak to us
that we may give them certainty, by seeing what they have seen; and so
it is, that enlargement of experience does not come from those
oratorical thinkers, or from those decisive rhythms that move large
numbers of men, but from writers that seem by contrast as feminine as
the soul when it explores in Blake's picture the recesses of the grave,
carrying its faint lamp trembling and astonished; or as the Muses who
are never pictured as one-breasted amazons, but as women needing
protection. Indeed, all art which appeals to individual man and awaits
the confirmation of his senses and his reveries, seems when arrayed
against the moral zeal, the confident logic, the ordered proof of
journalism, a trifling, impertinent, vexatious thing, a tumbler who has
unrolled his carpet in the way of a marching army.
VI
I attack things that are as dear to many as some holy image carried
hither and thither by some broken clan, and can but say that I have
felt in my body the affections I disturb, and believed that if I could
raise them into contemplation I would make possible a literature, that
finding its subject-matter all ready in men's minds would be, not as
ours is, an interest for scholars, but the possession of a people. I
have founded societies with this aim, and was indeed founding one in
Paris when I first met with J.M. Synge, and I have known what it is to
be changed by that I would have changed, till I became argumentative
and unmannerly, hating men even in daily life for their opinions. And
though I was never convinced that the anatomies of last year's leaves
are a living forest, or thought a continual apologetic could do other
than make the soul a vapour and the body a stone; or believed that
literature can be made by anything but by what is still blind and dumb
within ourselves, I have had to learn how hard in one who lives where
forms of expression and habits of thought have been born, not for the
pleasure of begetting but for the public good, is that purification
from insincerity, vanity, malignity, arrogance, which is the discovery
of style. But it became possible to live when I had learnt all I had
not learnt in shaping words, in defending Synge against his enemies,
and knew that rich energies, fine, turbulent or gracious thoughts,
whether in life or letters, are but love-children.
VII
Synge seemed by nature unfitted to think a political thought, and with
the exception of one sentence, spoken when I first met him in Paris,
that implied some sort of nationalist conviction, I cannot remember
that he spoke of politics or showed any interest in men in the mass, or
in any subject that is studied through abstractions and statistics.
Often for months together he and I and Lady Gregory would see no one
outside the Abbey Theatre, and that life, lived as it were in a ship at
sea, suited him, for unlike those whose habit of mind fits them to
judge of men in the mass, he was wise in judging individual men, and as
wise in dealing with them as the faint energies of ill-health would
permit; but of their political thoughts he long understood nothing. One
night when we were still producing plays in a little hall, certain
members of the Company told him that a play on the Rebellion of '98
would be a great success. After a fortnight he brought them a scenario
which read like a chapter out of Rabelais. Two women, a Protestant and
a Catholic, take refuge in a cave, and there quarrel about religion,
abusing the Pope or Queen Elizabeth and Henry VIII, but in low voices,
for the one fears to be ravished by the soldiers, the other by the
rebels. At last one woman goes out because she would sooner any fate
than such wicked company. Yet, I doubt if he would have written at all
if he did not write of Ireland, and for it, and I know that he thought
creative art could only come from such preoccupation. Once, when in
later years, anxious about the educational effect of our movement, I
proposed adding to the Abbey Company a second Company to play
international drama, Synge, who had not hitherto opposed me, thought
the matter so important that he did so in a formal letter.
I had spoken of a German municipal theatre as my model, and he said
that the municipal theatres all over Europe gave fine performances of
old classics but did not create (he disliked modern drama for its
sterility of speech, and perhaps ignored it) and that we would create
nothing if we did not give all our thoughts to Ireland. Yet in Ireland
he loved only what was wild in its people, and in 'the grey and wintry
sides of many glens.' All the rest, all that one reasoned over, fought
for, read of in leading articles, all that came from education, all
that came down from Young Ireland--though for this he had not lacked a
little sympathy--first wakened in him perhaps that irony which runs
through all he wrote, but once awakened, he made it turn its face upon
the whole of life. The women quarrelling in the cave would not have
amused him, if something in his nature had not looked out on most
disputes, even those wherein he himself took sides, with a mischievous
wisdom. He told me once that when he lived in some peasant's house, he
tried to make those about him forget that he was there, and it is
certain that he was silent in any crowded room. It is possible that low
vitality helped him to be observant and contemplative, and made him
dislike, even in solitude, those thoughts which unite us to others,
much as we all dislike, when fatigue or illness has sharpened the
nerves, hoardings covered with advertisements, the fronts of big
theatres, big London hotels, and all architecture which has been made
to impress the crowd. What blindness did for Homer, lameness for
Hephaestus, asceticism for any saint you will, bad health did for him
by making him ask no more of life than that it should keep him living,
and above all perhaps by concentrating his imagination upon one
thought, health itself. I think that all noble things are the result of
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[Illustration: BATTLE OF ANTIETAM.]
Edition d'Elite
Historical Tales
The Romance of Reality
By
CHARLES MORRIS
_Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors," "Tales from the
Dramatists," etc._
IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES
Volume II
American
2
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
Copyright, 1904, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
Copyright, 1908, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
_CONTENTS._
PAGE
PONCE DE LEON AND THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH 7
DE SOTO AND THE FATHER OF WATERS 13
THE LOST COLONY OF ROANOKE 23
THE THRILLING ADVENTURE OF CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH 29
THE INDIAN MASSACRE IN VIRGINIA 40
THE GREAT REBELLION IN THE OLD DOMINION 49
CHEVALIER LA SALLE THE EXPLORER OF THE MISSISSIPPI 62
THE FRENCH OF LOUISIANA AND THE NATCHEZ INDIANS 76
THE KNIGHTS OF THE GOLDEN HORSESHOE 88
HOW OGLETHORPE SAVED GEORGIA FROM SPAIN 95
A BOY'S WORKING HOLIDAY IN THE WILDWOOD 104
PATRICK HENRY, THE HERALD OF THE REVOLUTION 113
GOVERNOR TRYON AND THE CAROLINA REGULATORS 124
LORD DUNMORE AND THE GUNPOWDER 135
THE FATAL EXPEDITION OF COLONEL ROGERS 145
HOW COLONEL CLARK WON THE NORTHWEST 153
KING'S MOUNTAIN AND THE PATRIOTS OF TENNESSEE 166
GENERAL GREENE'S FAMOUS RETREAT 171
ELI WHITNEY, THE INVENTOR OF THE COTTON-GIN 185
HOW OLD HICKORY FOUGHT THE CREEKS 193
THE PIRATES OF BARATARIA BAY 206
THE HEROES OF THE ALAMO 217
HOW HOUSTON WON FREEDOM FOR TEXAS 225
CAPTAIN ROBERT E. LEE AND THE LAVA-BEDS 231
A CHRISTMAS DAY ON THE PLANTATION 241
CAPTAIN GORDON AND THE RACCOON ROUGHS 252
STUART'S FAMOUS CHAMBERSBURG RAID 261
FORREST'S CHASE OF THE RAIDERS 277
EXPLOITS OF A BLOCKADE-RUNNER 291
FONTAIN, THE SCOUT, AND THE BESIEGERS OF VICKSBURG 302
GORDON AND THE BAYONET CHARGE AT ANTIETAM 311
THE LAST TRIUMPH OF STONEWALL JACKSON 319
JOHN MORGAN'S FAMOUS RAID 331
HOME-COMING OF GENERAL LEE AND HIS VETERANS 347
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
AMERICAN. VOLUME II.
PAGE
BATTLE OF ANTIETAM _Frontispiece._
ALONG THE COAST OF FLORIDA 9
DE SOTO DISCOVERING THE MISSISSIPPI 19
POCAHONTAS 32
JAMESTOWN RUIN 54
COALING A MOVING BOAT ON THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER 73
OLD SPANISH FORT, ST. AUGUSTINE 98
HOME OF MARY WASHINGTON, FREDERICKSBURG, VA 108
HOME OF PATRICK HENRY DURING HIS LAST TWO
TERMS AS GOVERNOR OF VIRGINIA 114
ST. JOHN'S CHURCH 122
OLD MAGAZINE AT WILLIAMSBURG 138
VIEW IN THE NORTHWESTERN MOUNTAINS 155
COTTON-GIN 186
JACKSON'S BIRTHPLACE 198
THE ALAMO 218
COTTON FIELD ON SOUTHERN PLANTATION 242
COLONIAL MANSION 262
GORDON HOUSE 316
TRIUMPH OF STONEWALL JACKSON 323
LEE'S HOUSE AT RICHMOND 348
_PONCE DE LEON AND THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH._
A golden Easter day was that of the far-away year 1513, when a small
fleet of Spanish ships, sailing westward from the green Bahamas, first
came in sight of a flower-lined shore, rising above the blue Atlantic
waves, and seeming to smile a welcome as the mariners gazed with eyes of
joy and hope on the inviting arcades of its verdant forest depths. Never
had the eyes of white men beheld this land of beauty before. English
ships had sailed along the coast to the north, finding much of it bleak
and uninviting. The caravels of Columbus had threaded the glowing line
of tropic isles, and later ships had borne settlers to these lands of
promise. But the rich southlands of the continent had never before been
seen, and well was this unknown realm of beauty named Florida by the
Spanish chief, whether by this name he meant to call it the "land of
flowers" or referred to the Spanish name for Easter, Pascua Florida.
However that be, he was the first of the discoverers to set foot on the
soil of the great coming republic of the United States, and it is of
interest that this was done within the domain of the sunny South.
The weight of half a century of years lay upon the shoulders of Juan
Ponce de Leon, the discoverer, but warm hope burned in his heart, that
of winning renewed boyhood and youthful strength, for it was a magic
vision that drew him to these new shores, in whose depths he felt sure
the realm of enchantment lay. Somewhere amid those green copses or along
those liquid streams, he had been told, a living fountain sprang up
clear and sparkling from the earth, its waters of such a marvellous
quality that whoever should bathe in them would feel new life coursing
through his veins and the vigor of youth bounding along his limbs. It
was the Fountain of Youth he sought, that fabled fountain of which men
had dreamed for centuries, and which was thought to lie somewhere in
eastern Asia. Might not its waters upspring in this new land, whose
discovery was the great marvel of the age, and which men looked upon as
the unknown east of Asia? Such was the new-comer's dream.
Ponce de Leon was a soldier and cavalier of Spain in those days when
Spain stood first among the nations of Europe, first in strength and
enterprise and daring. Brave as the bravest, he had fought with
distinguished courage against the Moors of Granada at the time when
Columbus was setting out on his famous voyage over the unknown seas of
the West. Drawn by the fame of the discovery of the New World, De Leon
sailed with Columbus in his second voyage, and proved himself a gallant
soldier in the wars for the conquest of Hispaniola, of whose eastern
half he was made governor.
To the eastward lay another island, the fair tropic land ever since
known as Porto Rico. De Leon could see from the high hills of Hispaniola
the far green shores of this island, which he invaded and finally
subdued in 1509, making himself its governor. A stern oppressor of the
natives, he won great wealth from his possessions here and in
Hispaniola. But, like many men in his position, his heart was sore from
the loss of the youthful vigor which would have enabled him to enjoy to
the full his new-found wealth.
[Illustration: ALONG THE COAST OF FLORIDA.]
Could he but discover the wondrous fountain of youth and plunge in its
life-giving waters! Was not this the region in which it was said to lie?
He eagerly questioned the Indians about it, and was told by them that
they had often heard of such a fountain somewhere not far to the north.
It is probable enough that the Indians were ready to tell anything,
false or true, that would rid them of the unwelcome Spaniards; but it
may be that among their many fables they believed that such a fountain
existed. However that may be, De Leon gladly heard their story, and lost
no time in going forth like a knight errant in quest of the magic fount.
On March 3, 1513, he sailed with three ships from Porto Rico, and, after
threading the fair Bahama Islands, landing on those of rarest tropic
charm, he came on Easter Sunday, March 27, in sight of the beautiful
land to which he gave the name of Florida.
Bad weather kept him for a time from the shore, and it was not until
April 9 that he was able to land. It was near the mouth of the St. John
River, not far from where St. Augustine now stands, that he set foot on
shore, the first white man's foot to tread the soil of the coming United
States since the days of the Northmen, five centuries before. He called
his place of landing the Bay of the Cross, and took possession of the
land for the king of Spain, setting up a stone cross as a sign of
Spain's jurisdiction.
And now the eager cavalier began the search for that famous fount which
was to give him perpetual youth. It is not likely he was alone in this,
probably most of his followers being as eager as he, for in those days
magic was firmly believed in by half of mankind, and many wild fancies
were current which no one now accepts. Deep into the dense woodland they
plunged, wandering through verdant miles, bathing in every spring and
stream they met, led on and on by the hope that some one of these might
hold the waters of youth. Doubtless they fancied that the fountain
sought would have some special marks, something to distinguish it from
the host of common springs. But this might not be the case. The most
precious things may lie concealed under the plainest aspect, like the
fabled jewel in the toad's forehead, and it was certainly wisest to let
no waters pass untried.
Months passed on. Southward along the coast they sailed, landing here
and there and penetrating inland, still hopeful of finding the enchanted
spring. But wherever it might lie hidden, they found it not, for the
marks of age which nature had brought clung to them still, and a
bitterly disappointed man was Juan Ponce de Leon when he turned the
prows of his ships away from the new-found shores and sailed back to
Porto Rico.
The Will-o'-the-wisp he sought had baffled him, yet something of worth
remained, for he had made a discovery of importance, the "Island of
Florida," as he called it and thought it to be. To Spain he went with
the news of his voyage, and told the story of his discovery to King
Ferdinand, to whom Columbus had told his wonderful tale some twenty
years before. The king at once appointed him governor of Florida, and
gave him full permission to plant a colony in the new land--continent or
island as it might prove to be.
De Leon may still have nourished hopes in his heart of finding the
fabled fountain when, in 1521, he returned to plant the colony granted
by the king. But the natives of Florida had seen enough of the Spaniards
in their former visit, and now met them with arrows instead of flowers
and smiles. Fierce fights ensued, and their efforts to establish
themselves on the new shores proved in vain. In the end their leader
received so severe an arrow wound that he withdrew and left to the
victorious Indians the ownership of their land. The arrow was poisoned,
and his wound proved mortal. In a short time after reaching Cuba he
died, having found death instead of youth in the land of flowers.
We may quote the words of the historian Robertson in support of the
fancy which led De Leon in the path of discovery: "The Spaniards, at
that period, were engaged in a career of activity which gave a romantic
turn to their imagination and daily presented to them strange and
marvellous objects. A new world was opened to their view. They visited
islands and continents of whose existence mankind in former ages had no
conception. In those delightful countries nature seemed to assume
another form; every tree and plant and animal was different from those
of the ancient hemisphere. They seemed to be transported into enchanted
ground; and, after the wonders which they had seen, nothing, in the
warmth and novelty of their imagination, appeared to them so
extraordinary as to be beyond belief. If the rapid succession of new and
striking scenes made such impression on the sound understanding of
Columbus that he boasted of having found the seat of Paradise, it will
not appear strange that Ponce de Leon should dream of discovering the
fountain of youth."
All we need say farther is that the first attempt to colonize the shores
of the great republic of the future years ended in disaster and death.
Yet De Leon's hope was not fully amiss, for in our own day many seek
that flowery land in quest of youthful strength. They do not now hope to
find it by bathing in any magic fountain, but it comes to them by
breathing its health-giving atmosphere and basking in its magic clime.
_DE SOTO AND THE FATHER OF WATERS._
America was to the Spaniards the land of gold. Everywhere they looked
for the yellow metal, more precious in their eyes than anything else the
earth yields. The wonderful adventures of Cortez in Mexico and of
Pizarro in Peru, and the vast wealth in gold found by those sons of
fame, filled their people with hope and avarice, and men of enterprise
began to look elsewhere for great and rich Indian nations to subdue and
plunder.
North of the Gulf of Mexico lay a vast, mysterious region, which in time
to come was to be the seat of a great and mighty nation. To the
Spaniards it was a land of enchantment, the mystic realm of the unknown,
perhaps rich in marvels and wealthy beyond their dreams. It was fabled
to contain the magic fountain of youth, the hope to bathe in whose
pellucid waters lured Ponce de Leon to his death. Another explorer, De
Ayllon, sailed north of Florida, seeking a sacred stream which was said
to possess the same enchanted powers. A third, De Narvaez, went far into
the country, with more men than Cortez led to the conquest of Mexico,
but after months of wandering only a handful of his men returned, and
not a grain of gold was found to pay for their suffering.
But these failures only stirred the cavaliers of Spain to new thirst
for adventure and gain. They had been told of fertile plains, of
splendid tropical forests, of the beauty of the Indian maidens, of
romantic incidents and hair-breadth escapes, of the wonderful influence
exercised by a white man on tribes of dusky warriors, and who knew what
fairy marvels or unimagined wealth might be found in the deep interior
of this land of hope and mystery. Thus when Hernando de Soto, who had
been with Pizarro in Peru and seen its gold-plated temples, called for
volunteers to explore and conquer the unknown northland, hundreds of
aspiring warriors flocked to his standard, burning with love of
adventure and filled with thirst for gold.
On the 30th of May, 1539, De Soto, with nine vessels and six or seven
hundred well-armed followers, sailed into Tampa Bay, on the Gulf coast
of Florida. Here they at once landed and marched inland, greedy to reach
and grasp the spectral image of gold which floated before their eyes. A
daring but a cruel man was this new adventurer. He brought with him
blood-hounds to hunt the Indians and chains to fetter them. A drove of
hogs was brought to supply the soldiers with fresh meat. They were
provided with horses, with fire-arms, with cannon, with steel armor,
with everything to overawe and overcome the woodland savages. Yet two
things they needed; these were judgment and discretion. It would have
been wise to make friends of the Indians. Instead, by their cruelty,
they turned them into bitter and relentless enemies. So wherever they
went they had bold and fierce foes to fight, and wounds and death marked
their pathway across the land.
Let us follow De Soto and his men into the realm of the unknown. They
had not gone far before a strange thing happened. Out of a crowd of
dusky Indians a white man rode on horseback to join them, making
gestures of delight. He was a Spaniard, Juan Ortiz by name, one of the
Narvaez band, who had been held in captivity among the Indians for ten
years. He knew the Indian language well and offered himself as an
interpreter and guide. Heaven seemed to have sent him, for he was worth
a regiment to the Spaniards.
Juan Ortiz had a strange story to tell. Once his captors had sought to
burn him alive by a slow fire as a sacrifice to the evil spirit. Bound
hand and foot, he was laid on a wooden stage and a fire kindled under
him. But at this moment of frightful peril the daughter of the chieftain
begged for his life, and her father listened to her prayer. Three years
later the savage captors again decided to burn him, and again the dusky
maiden saved his life. She warned him of his danger and led him to the
camp of another chief. Here he stayed till the Spaniards came. What
became of the warm-hearted maiden we are not told. She did not win the
fame of the Pocahontas of a later day.
Many and strange were the adventures of the Spaniards as they went
deeper and deeper into the new land of promise. Misfortune tracked
their footsteps and there was no glitter of gold to cheer their hearts.
A year passed over their heads and still the land of gold lay far away.
An Indian offered to lead them to a distant country, governed by a
woman, telling them that there they would find abundance of a yellow
metal. Inspired by hope, they now pushed eagerly forward, but the yellow
metal proved to be copper instead of gold, and their high hopes were
followed by the gloom of disappointment and despair. But wherever they
went their trail was marked by blood and pillage, and the story of their
ruthless deeds stirred up the Indians in advance to bitter hostility.
Fear alone made any of the natives meet them with a show of peace, and
this they repaid by brutal deeds. One of their visitors was an Indian
queen--as they called her--the woman chief of a tribe of the South. When
the Spaniards came near her domain she hastened to welcome them, hoping
by this means to make friends of her dreaded visitors. Borne in a litter
by four of her subjects, the dusky princess alighted before De Soto and
came forward with gestures of pleasure, as if delighted to welcome her
guests. Taking from her neck a heavy double string of pearls, she hung
it on that of the Spanish leader. De Soto accepted it with the courtly
grace of a cavalier, and pretended friendship while he questioned his
hostess.
But he no sooner obtained the information he wanted than he made her a
prisoner, and at once began to rob her and her people of all the
valuables they possessed. Chief among these were large numbers of
pearls, most of them found in the graves of the distinguished men of the
tribe. But the plunderers did not gain all they hoped for by their act
of vandalism, for the poor queen managed to escape from her guards, and
in her flight took with her a box of the most valuable of the pearls.
They were those which De Soto had most prized and he was bitterly stung
by their loss.
The adventurers were now near the Atlantic, on ground which had been
trodden by whites before, and they decided to turn inland and explore
the country to the west. After months more of wandering, and the loss of
many men through their battles with the Indians, they found themselves
in the autumn of 1540 at a large village called Mavilla. It stood where
stands to-day the city of Mobile. Here a large force of Indians was
gathered.
The Indian chief or cacique met De Soto with a show of friendship, and
induced him and a few of his men to follow him within the palisades
which surrounded the village. No sooner had they got there than the
chief shouted some words of insult in his own tongue and darted into one
of the houses. A minor chief got into a dispute with a Spanish soldier,
who, in the usual Spanish fashion, carried forward the argument with a
blow from his sword. This served as a signal for hostilities. In an
instant clouds of arrows poured from the houses, and before the
Spaniards could escape nearly the whole of them were slain. Only De
Soto and a few others got out with their lives from the trap into which
they had been beguiled.
Filled with revengeful rage, the Spanish forces now invested and
assailed the town, and a furious conflict began, lasting for nine hours.
In the end the whites, from their superior weapons and organization, won
the victory. But theirs was a costly triumph, for many of them had
fallen and nearly all their property had been destroyed. Mavilla was
burned and hosts of the Indians were killed, but the Spaniards were in a
terrible situation, far from their ships, without medicine or food, and
surrounded by brave and furious enemies.
The soldiers felt that they had had enough adventure of this kind, and
clamored to be led back to their ships. De Soto had been advised that
the ships were then in the Bay of Pensacola, only six days' journey from
Mavilla, but he kept this a secret from his men, for hopes of fame and
wealth still filled his soul. In the end, despite their entreaties, he
led the men to the north, spending the winter in a small village of the
Chickasaw Indians.
When spring opened the adventurers resumed their journey into the
unknown. In his usual forcible fashion De Soto seized on Indians to
carry his baggage, and in this way he brought on a violent battle, in
which the whites met with a serious defeat and were in imminent danger
of annihilation. Not a man of them would have lived to tell the tale if
the savages had not been so scared at their own success that they drew
back just when they had the hated Spaniards in their power.
[Illustration: DE SOTO DISCOVERING THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.]
A strange-looking army was that which the indomitable De Soto led
forward from this place. Many of the uniforms of the men had been
carried off by the enemy, and these were replaced with skins and mats
made of ivy-leaves, so that the adventurers looked more like forest
braves than Christian warriors. But onward still they trudged, sick at
heart many of them, but obeying the orders of their resolute chief, and
in the blossoming month of May they made that famous discovery by which
the name of Hernando de Soto has ever since been known. For they stood
on the banks of one of the mightiest rivers of the earth, the great
Father of Waters, the grand Mississippi. From thousands of miles to the
north had come the waters which now rolled onward in a mighty volume
before their eyes, hastening downward to bury themselves in the still
distant Gulf.
A discovery such as this might have been enough to satisfy the cravings
of any ordinary man, but De Soto, in his insatiable greed for gold, saw
in the glorious stream only an obstacle to his course, "half a league
over." To build boats and cross the stream was the one purpose that
filled his mind, and with much labor they succeeded in getting across
the great stream themselves and the few of their horses that remained.
At once the old story began again. The Indians beyond the Mississippi
had heard of the Spaniards and their methods, and met them with
relentless hostility. They had hardly landed on the opposite shore
before new battles began. As for the Indian empire, with great cities,
civilized inhabitants, and heaps of gold, which Be Soto so ardently
sought, it seemed as far off as ever, and he was a sadly disappointed
man as he led the miserable remnant of his once well-equipped and
hopeful followers up the left bank of the great stream, dreams of wealth
and renown not yet quite driven from his mind.
At length they reached the region of the present State of Missouri. Here
the simple-minded people took the white strangers to be children of the
Sun, the god of their worship, and they brought out their blind, hoping
to have them restored to sight by a touch from the healing hands of
these divine visitors. Leaving after a time these superstitious tribes,
De Soto led his men to the west, lured on still by the phantom of a
wealthy Indian realm, and the next winter was passed near where Little
Rock, Arkansas, is now built.
Spring returned at length, and the weary wanderings of the devoted band
were resumed. Depressed, worn-out, hopeless, they trudged onward, hardly
a man among them looking for aught but death in those forest wilds. Juan
Ortiz, the most useful man in the band, died, and left the enterprise
still more hopeless. But De Soto, worn, sick, emaciated, was indomitable
still and the dream of a brilliant success lingered as ever in his
brain. He tried now to win over the Indians by pretending to be
immortal and to be gifted with supernatural powers, but it was too late
to make them credit any such fantastic notion.
The band encamped in an unhealthy spot near the great river. Here
disease attacked the men; scouts were sent out to seek a better place,
but they found only trackless woods and rumors of Indian bands creeping
stealthily up on all sides to destroy what remained of the little army
of whites.
Almost for the first time De Soto's resolute mind now gave way. Broken
down by his many labors and cares, perhaps assailed by the disease that
was attacking his men, he felt that death was near at hand. Calling
around him the sparse remnant of his once gallant company, he humbly
begged their pardon for the sufferings and evils he had brought upon
them, and named Luis de Alvaredo to succeed him in command. The next
day, May 21, 1542, the unfortunate hero died. Thus passed away one of
the three greatest Spanish explorers of the New World, a man as great in
his way and as indomitable in his efforts as his rivals, Cortez and
Pizarro, though not so fortunate in his results. For three years he had
led his little band through a primitive wilderness, fighting his way
steadily through hosts of savage foes, and never yielding until the hand
of death was laid upon his limbs.
Fearing a fierce attack from the savages if they should learn that the
"immortal" chief of the whites was dead, Alvaredo had him buried
secretly outside the walls of the camp. But the new-made grave was
suspicious. The prowling Indians might dig it up and discover the noted
form it held. To prevent this, Alvaredo had the body of De Soto dug up
in the night, wrapped it in cloths filled with sand, and dropped it into
the Mississippi, to whose bottom it immediately sank. Thus was the great
river he had discovered made the famous explorer's final resting-place.
With the death of De Soto the work of the explorers was practically at
an end. To the Indians who asked what had become of the Child of the
Sun, Alvaredo answered that he had gone to heaven for a visit, but would
soon return. Then, while the Indians waited this return of the chief,
the camp was broken up and the band set out again on a westward course,
hoping to reach the Pacific coast, whose distance they did not dream.
Months more passed by in hopeless wandering, then back to the great
river they came and spent six months more in building boats, as their
last hope of escape.
On the 2d of July, 1543, the scanty remnant of the once powerful band
embarked on the waters of the great river, and for seventeen days
floated downward, while the Indians on the bank poured arrows on them
incessantly as they passed. Fifty days later a few haggard, half-naked
survivors of De Soto's great expedition landed at the Spanish settlement
of Panuco in Mexico. They had long been given up as lost, and were
received as men risen from the grave.
_THE LOST COLONY OF ROANOKE._
In the year 1584 two wandering vessels, like the caravels of Columbus a
century earlier, found themselves in the vicinity of a new land; not, as
in the case of Columbus, by seeing twigs and fruit floating on the
water, but in the more poetical way of being visited, while far at sea,
by a sweet fragrance, as of a delicious garden full of perfumed flowers.
A garden it was, planted not by the hand of man, but by that of nature,
on the North Carolinian shores. For this was the first expedition sent
out by Sir Walter Raleigh, the earliest of Englishmen to attempt to
settle the new-discovered continent, and it was at that season as truly
a land of flowers as the more southern Florida.
The ships soon reached shore at a beautiful island called by the Indians
Wocokon, where the mariners gazed with wonder and delight on the scene
that lay before them. Wild flowers, whose perfume had reached their
senses while still two days' sail from land, thickly carpeted the soil,
and grapes grew so plentifully that the ocean waves, as they broke upon
the strand, dashed their spray upon the thick-growing clusters. "The
forests formed themselves into wonderfully beautiful bowers, frequented
by multitudes of birds. It was like a Garden of Eden, and the gentle,
friendly inhabitants appeared in unison with the scene. On the island
of Roanoke they were received by the wife of the king, and entertained
with Arcadian hospitality."
When these vessels returned to England and the mariners told of what
they had seen, the people were filled with enthusiasm. Queen Elizabeth
was so delighted with what was said of the beauty of the country that
she gave it the name of Virginia, in honor of herself as a virgin queen.
The next year a larger expedition was sent out, carrying one hundred and
fifty colonists, who were to form the vanguard of the British dominion
in the New World.
They found the land all they had been told. Ralph Lane, the governor,
wrote home: "It is the goodliest soil under the cope of heaven; the most
pleasing territory in the world; the continent is of a huge and unknown
greatness, and very well peopled and towned, though savagely. The
climate is so wholesome that we have none sick. If Virginia had but
horses and kine, and were inhabited by Englishmen, no realm in
Christendom were comparable with it."
But they did not find the natives so kindly disposed as in the year
before, and no wonder; for the first thing the English did after landing
on Roanoke Island was to accuse the Indians of stealing a silver cup,
for which they took revenge by burning a village and destroying the
standing corn. Whether this method was copied from the Spaniards or not,
it proved a most unwise one, for at once the colonists found themselves
surrounded by warlike foes, instead of in intercourse with confiding
friends.
The English colonists had the same fault as those of Spain. The stories
of the wonderful wealth of Mexico and Peru had spread far and wide over
Europe, and the thirst for gold was in all hearts. Instead of planting
grain and building homes, the new-comers sought the yellow evil far and
wide, almost as if they expected the soil to be paved with it. The
Indians were eagerly questioned and their wildest stories believed. As
the natives of Porto Rico had invented a magic fountain to rid
themselves of Ponce de Leon and his countrymen, so those of Roanoke told
marvellous fables to lure away the unwelcome English. The Roanoke River,
they said, gushed forth from a rock so near the western ocean that in
storms the salt sea-water was hurled into the fresh-water stream. Far
away on its banks there dwelt a nation rich in gold, and inhabiting a
city the walls of which glittered with precious pearls.
Lane himself, whom we may trust to have been an educated man, accepted
these tales of marvel as readily as the most ignorant of his people. In
truth, he had much warrant for it in the experience of the Spaniards.
Taking a | 2,378.054512 |
2023-11-16 18:56:42.2343420 | 4,698 | 6 |
Produced by David Starner, Lisa Reigel, 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.)
Transcriber's Notes: Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been
left as in the original. Words in italics in the original are surrounded
by _underscores_. Ellipses match the original.
A few typographical errors have been corrected. A complete list follows
the text.
The "how to" Series
HOW TO WRITE A NOVEL
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| V. HOW TO WRITE A NOVEL: |
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| A Practical Guide to the Art |
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The "how to" Series
HOW TO WRITE A
NOVEL
A PRACTICAL GUIDE TO THE ART
OF FICTION
LONDON
GRANT RICHARDS
9 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1901
PREFACE
This little book is one which so well explains itself that no
introductory word is needed; and I only venture to intrude a sentence or
two here with a view to explain the style in which I have conveyed my
ideas. I desired to be plain and practical, and therefore chose the
direct and epistolary form as being most suitable for the purpose in
hand.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
THE OBJECT IN VIEW
PAGE
An Inevitable Comparison 3
A Model Lesson in Novel-Writing 5
The Teachable and the Unteachable 9
CHAPTER II
A GOOD STORY TO TELL
Where do Novelists get their Stories from? 12
Is there a Deeper Question? 14
What about the Newspapers? 17
CHAPTER III
HOW TO BEGIN
Formation of the Plot 25
The Agonies and Joys of "Plot-Construction" 28
Care in the Use of Actual Events 31
The Natural History of a Plot 35
Sir Walter Besant on the Evolution of a Plot 40
Plot-Formation in Earnest 43
Characters first: Plot afterwards 45
The Natural Background 47
CHAPTER IV
CHARACTERS AND CHARACTERISATION
The Chief Character 50
How to Portray Character 52
Methods of Characterisation 55
The Trick of "Idiosyncrasies" 58
CHAPTER V
STUDIES IN LITERARY TECHNIQUE
Narrative Art 63
Movement 66
Aids to Description: The Point of View 67
Selecting the Main Features 70
Description by Suggestion 73
Facts to Remember 75
CHAPTER VI
STUDIES IN LITERARY TECHNIQUE--CONTINUED
Colour: Local and Otherwise 79
What about Dialect? 84
On Dialogue 86
Points in Conversation 91
"Atmosphere" 94
CHAPTER VII
PITFALLS
Items of General Knowledge 96
Specific Subjects 98
Topography and Geography 100
Scientific Facts 101
Grammar 103
CHAPTER VIII
THE SECRET OF STYLE
Communicable Elements 105
Incommunicable Elements 110
CHAPTER IX
HOW AUTHORS WORK
Quick and Slow 116
How many Words a Day? 119
Charles Reade and Anthony Trollope 122
The Mission of Fancy 127
Fancies of another Type 129
Some of our Younger Writers: Mr Zangwill, Mr Coulson
Kernahan, Mr Robert Barr, Mr H. G. Wells 132
Curious Methods 134
CHAPTER X
IS THE SUBJECT-MATTER OF NOVELS EXHAUSTED?
The Question Stated 138
"Change" not "Exhaustion" 142
Why we talk about Exhaustion 145
CHAPTER XI
THE NOVEL _v._ THE SHORT STORY
Practise the Short Story 154
Short Story Writers on their Art 159
CHAPTER XII
SUCCESS: AND SOME OF ITS MINOR CONDITIONS
The Truth about Success 164
Minor Conditions of Success 169
APPENDIX I
THE PHILOSOPHY OF COMPOSITION. By Edgar Allan Poe 175
APPENDIX II
BOOKS WORTH READING 201
APPENDIX III
MAGAZINE ARTICLE ON WRITING FICTION 205
HOW TO WRITE A NOVEL
CHAPTER I
THE OBJECT IN VIEW
I am setting myself a task which some people would call very ambitious;
others would call it by a name not quite so polite; and a considerable
number would say it was positively absurd, accompanying their criticism
with derisive laughter. Having discussed the possibility of teaching the
art of writing fiction with a good many different kinds of people, I
know quite intimately the opinions which are likely to be expressed
about this little book; and although I do not intend to burden the
reader with an account of their respective merits, I do intend to make
my own position as clear as possible. First of all, I will examine the
results of a recent symposium on the general question.[1:A] When asked
as to the practicability of a School of Fiction, Messrs Robert Barr, G.
Manville Fenn, M. Betham Edwards, Arthur Morrison, G. B. Burgin, C. J.
C. Hyne, and "Mr" John Oliver Hobbes declared against it; Miss Mary L.
Pendered and Miss Clementina Black--with certain reservations--spoke in
favour of such an institution. True, these names do not include all
representatives of the high places in Fiction, but they are quite
respectable enough for my purpose. It will be seen that the vote is
adverse to the object I have in view. Why? Well, here are a few reasons.
Mr Morrison affirms that writing as a trade is far too pleasant an idea;
John Oliver Hobbes is of opinion that it is impossible to teach anyone
how to produce a work of imagination; and Mr G. B. Burgin asserts that
genius is its own teacher--a remark characterised by unwitting modesty.
Now, with the spirit of these convictions I am not disposed to quarrel.
This is an age which imagines that everything can be crammed into the
limits of an academical curriculum; and there are actually some people
who would not hesitate to endow a chair of "Ideas and Imagination." We
need to be reminded occasionally that there are incommunicable elements
in all art.
An Inevitable Comparison
But the question arises: If there be an art of literature, why cannot
its principles be taught and practised as well as those of any other
art? We have schools of Painting, Sculpture, and Music--why not a school
of Fiction? Let it be supposed that a would-be artist has conceived a
brilliant idea which he is anxious to embody in literature or put on a
canvas. In order to do so, he must observe certain well-established
rules which we may call the grammar of art: for just as in literature a
man may express beautiful ideas in ungrammatical language, and without
any sense of relationship or development, so may the same ideas be put
in a picture, and yet the art be of the crudest. Now, in what way will
our would-be artist become acquainted with those rules? The answer is
simple. If his genius had been of the first order he would have known
them intuitively: the society of men and women, of great books and fine
pictures, would have provided sufficient stimuli to bring forth the best
productions of his mind. Thus Shakespeare was never taught the
principles of dramatic art; Bach had an instinctive appreciation of the
laws of harmony; and Turner had the same insight into laws of painting.
These were artists of the front rank: they simply looked--and
understood.
But if his powers belonged to the order which is called _talent_, he
would have to do one of two things: either stumble upon these rules one
by one and learn them by experience--or be taught them in their true
order by others, in which case an Institute of Literary Art would
already exist in an embryonic stage. Why should it not be developed into
a matured school? Is it that the dignity of genius forbids it, or that
pupilage is half a disgrace? True genius never shuns the marks of the
learner. Even Shakespeare grew in the understanding of art and in his
power of handling its elements. Professor Dowden says: "In the 'Two
Gentlemen of Verona,' Porteus, the fickle, is set over against
Valentine the faithful; Sylvia, the bright and intellectual, is set over
against Julia, the ardent and tender; Launce, the humorist, is set over
against Speed, the wit. This indicates a certain want of confidence on
the part of the poet; he fears the weight of too much liberty. He cannot
yet feel that his structure is secure without a mechanism to support the
structure. He endeavours to attain unity of effect less by the
inspiration of a common life than by the disposition of parts. In the
early plays structure determines function; in the later plays
organisation is preceded by life."[5:A]
A Model Lesson in Novel-Writing
When certain grumpy folk ask: "How do you propose to draw up your
lessons on 'The way to find Local Colour'; 'Plotting'; 'How to manage a
Love-Scene,' and so forth?" it is expected that a writer like myself
will be greatly disconcerted. Not at all. It so happens that a
distinguished critic, now deceased, once delivered himself on the
possibility of teaching literary art, and I propose to quote a paragraph
or two from his article. "The morning finds the master in his working
arm-chair; and seated about the room which is generally the study, but
is now the studio, are some half-dozen pupils. The subject for the hour
is narrative-construction, and the master holds in his hand a small MS.
which, as he slowly reads it aloud, proves to be a somewhat elaborate
synopsis of the story of one of his own published or projected novels.
The reading over, students are free to state objections, or to ask
questions. One remarks that the _denouement_ is brought about by a mere
accident, and therefore seems to lack the inevitableness which, the
master has always taught, is essential to organic unity. The criticism
is recognised as intelligent, but the master shows that the accident has
not the purely fortuitous character which renders it obnoxious to the
general objection. While it is technically an accident, it is in reality
hardly accidental, but an occurrence which fits naturally into an
opening provided by a given set of circumstances, the circumstances
having been brought about by a course of action which is vitally
characteristic of the person whose fate is involved. Then the master
himself will ask a question. 'The students,' he says, 'will have noticed
that a character who takes no important part in the action until the
story is more than half told, makes an insignificant and unnoticeable
appearance in a very early chapter, where he seems a purposeless and
irrelevant intrusion.' They have paper before them, and he gives them
twenty minutes in which to state their opinion as to whether this
premature appearance is, or is not, justified by the canons of narrative
art, giving, of course, the reasons upon which that opinion has been
formed. The papers are handed in to be reported upon next morning, and
the lesson is at an end."[7:A]
This is James Ashcroft Noble's idea of handling a theme in fiction; one
of a large and varied number. To me it is a feasible plan emanating from
a man who was the sanest of literary advisers. If it be objected that Mr
Noble was only a critic and not a novelist, perhaps a word from Sir
Walter Besant may add the needful element of authority. "I can conceive
of a lecturer dissecting a work, or a series of works, showing how the
thing sprang first from a central figure in a central group; how there
arose about this group, scenery, the setting of the fable; how the
atmosphere became presently charged with the presence of mankind, other
characters attaching themselves to the group; how situations, scenes,
conversations, led up little by little to the full development of this
central idea. I can also conceive of a School of Fiction in which the
students should be made to practise observation, description, dialogue,
and dramatic effects. The student, in fact, would be taught how to use
his tools." A reading-class for the artistic study of great writers
could not be other than helpful. One lesson might be devoted to the way
in which the best authors foreshadowed crises and important turns in
events. An example may be found in "Julius Caesar," where, in the second
scene, the soothsayer says:
"Beware the Ides of March!"
--a solitary voice in strange contrast with those by whom he is
surrounded, and preparing us for the dark deed upon which the play is
based. Or the text-book might be a modern novel--Hardy's "Well-Beloved"
for instance--a work full of delicate literary craftsmanship. The storm
which overtook Pierston and Miss Bencomb is prepared for--first by the
conversation of two men who pass them on the road, and one of whom
casually remarks that the weather seems likely to change; then Pierston
himself observes "the evening--louring"; finally, and most suddenly, the
rain descends in perfect fury.
The Teachable and the Unteachable
I hope my position is now beginning to be tolerably clear to the reader.
I address myself to the man or woman of talent--those people who have
writing ability, but who need instruction in the manipulation of
characters, the formation of plots, and a host of other points with
which I shall deal hereafter. As to what is teachable, and not
teachable, in writing novels, perhaps I may be permitted to use a close
analogy. Style, _per se_, is absolutely unteachable simply because it is
the man himself; you cannot teach _personality_. Can Dickens, Thackeray,
and George Meredith be reduced to an academic schedule? Never. Every
soul of man is an individual entity and cannot be reproduced. But
although style is incommunicable, the writing of easy, graceful English
can be taught in any class-room--that is to say, the structure of
sentences and paragraphs, the logical sequence of thought, and the
secret of forceful expression are capable of exact scientific treatment.
In like manner, although no school could turn out novelists to order--a
supply of Stevensons annually, and a brace of Hardys every two
years--there is yet enough common material in all art-work to be mapped
out in a course of lessons. I shall show that the two great requisites
of novel-writing are (1) a good story to tell, and (2) ability to tell
it effectively. Briefly stated, my position is this: no teaching can
produce "good stories to tell," but it can increase the power of "the
telling," and change it from crude and ineffective methods to those
which reach the apex of developed art. Of course there are dangers to
be avoided, and the chief of them is that mechanical correctness, "so
praiseworthy and so intolerable," as Lowell says in his essay on
Lessing. But this need not be an insurmountable difficulty. A truly
educated man never labours to speak correctly; being educated,
grammatical language follows as a necessary consequence. The same is
true of the artist: when he has learned the secrets of literature, he
puts away all thoughts of rule and law--nay, in time, his very ideas
assume artistic form.
FOOTNOTES:
[1:A] _The New Century Review_, vol. i.
[5:A] "Shakespeare: His Mind and Art," p. 61.
[7:A] Article in _The New Age_.
CHAPTER II
A GOOD STORY TO TELL
Where do Novelists get their Stories from?
I said a moment ago that no teaching could impart a story. If you cannot
invent one for yourself, by observation of life and sympathetic insight
into human nature, you may depend upon it that you are not called to be
a writer of novels. Then where, it may be asked, do novelists get their
stories? Well, they hardly know themselves; they say the ideas "come."
For instance, here is the way Mr Baring Gould describes the advent of
"Mehalah." "One day in Essex, a friend, a captain in the coastguard,
invited me to accompany him on a cruise among the creeks in the estuary
of the Maldon river--the Blackwater. I went out, and we spent the day
running among mud flats and low holms, covered with coarse grass and
wild lavender, and startling wild-fowl. We stopped at a ruined farm
built on arches above this marsh to eat some lunch; no glass was in the
windows, and the raw wind howled in and swept around us. That night I
was laid up with a heavy cold. I tossed in bed and was in the marshes in
imagination, listening to the wind and the lap of the tide; and
'Mehalah' naturally rose out of it all, a tragic gloomy tale."[13:A]
Exactly. "Mehalah" _rose_; that is enough! If ideas, plots of stories,
and new groupings of character do not "rise" in _your_ mind, it is
simply because you lack the power to originate them spontaneously. Take
the somewhat fabulous story of Newton and the apple. Many a man before
Sir Isaac had seen an apple fall, but not one of them used that
observation as he did. In the same way there are scores of men who have
the same experiences and live the same kind of life, but it occurs to
only one among their number to gather up these experiences into an
interesting narrative. Why should it "occur" to one and not the others?
Because the one has literary gifts and literary impetus, and the
others--haven't.
Is there a Deeper Question?
Having dealt with that side of the subject, I should like to say that
all novelists have their own methods of obtaining raw material for
stories. By raw material I mean those facts of life which give birth to
narrative ideas. It is said of Thomas Hardy that he never rides in an
omnibus or railway carriage without mentally inventing the history of
every traveller. One has to beware of fables in writing of such men, but
I have no reason to doubt the statement just made. I do not make it with
the intention of advocating anybody to go and do likewise, but as | 2,378.254382 |
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