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bathroom | Where is Mary? | "From what I have already observed," said Mr.Ellison, "you will
understand that I reject the idea, here expressed, of'recalling the
original beauty of the country.'The original beauty is never so great
as that which may be introduced.Of course, much depends upon the
selection of a spot with capabilities.What is said in respect to the
'detecting and bringing into practice those nice relations of size,
proportion and color,' is a mere vagueness of speech, which may mean
much, or little, or nothing, and which guides in no degree.That the
true'result of the natural style of gardening is seen rather in the
absence of all defects and incongruities, than in the creation of any
special wonders or miracles,' is a proposition better suited to the
grovelling apprehension of the herd, than to the fervid dreams of the
man of genius.The merit suggested is, at best, negative, and appertains
to that hobbling criticism which, in letters, would elevate Addison
into apotheosis.In truth, while that merit which consists in the mere
avoiding demerit, appeals directly to the understanding, and can thus
be foreshadowed in Rule, the loftier merit, which breathes and flames
in invention or creation, can be apprehended solely in its results.Rule
applies but to the excellences of avoidance--to the virtues which deny
or refrain.We may be
instructed to build an Odyssey, but it is in vain that we are told
how to conceive a 'Tempest,' an 'Inferno,' a 'Prometheus Bound,' a
'Nightingale,' such as that of Keats, or the 'Sensitive Plant' of
Shelley.Mary moved to the bathroom.But, the thing done, the wonder accomplished, and the capacity
for apprehension becomes universal.The sophists of the negative school,
who, through inability to create, have scoffed at creation, are now
found the loudest in applause.What, in its chrysalis condition of
principle, affronted their demure reason, never fails, in its maturity
of accomplishment, to extort admiration from their instinct of the
beautiful or of the sublime."Our author's observations on the artificial style of gardening,"
continued Mr.'A mixture of pure art
in a garden scene, adds to it a great beauty.'This is just; and the
reference to the sense of human interest is equally so.I repeat that
the principle here expressed, is incontrovertible; but there may be
something even beyond it.There may be an object in full keeping with
the principle suggested--an object unattainable by the means ordinarily
in possession of mankind, yet which, if attained, would lend a charm to
the landscape-garden immeasurably surpassing that which a merely human
interest could bestow.The true poet possessed of very unusual pecuniary
resources, might possibly, while retaining the necessary idea of art
or interest or culture, so imbue his designs at once with extent and
novelty of Beauty, as to convey the sentiment of spiritual interference.It will be seen that, in bringing about such result, he secures all the
advantages of interest or design, while relieving his work of all
the harshness and technicality of Art.In the most rugged of
wildernesses--in the most savage of the scenes of pure Nature--there
is apparent the art of a Creator; yet is this art apparent only to
reflection; in no respect has it the obvious force of a feeling.Now,
if we imagine this sense of the Almighty Design to be harmonized in a
measurable degree, if we suppose a landscape whose combined strangeness,
vastness, definitiveness, and magnificence, shall inspire the idea
of culture, or care, or superintendence, on the part of intelligences
superior yet akin to humanity--then the sentiment of interest is
preserved, while the Art is made to assume the air of an intermediate
or secondary Nature--a Nature which is not God, nor an emanation of God,
but which still is Nature, in the sense that it is the handiwork of the
angels that hover between man and God."It was in devoting his gigantic wealth to the practical embodiment of
a vision such as this--in the free exercise in the open air, which
resulted from personal direction of his plans--in the continuous and
unceasing object which these plans afford--in the contempt of ambition
which it enabled him more to feel than to affect--and, lastly, it was in
the companionship and sympathy of a devoted wife, that Ellison thought
to find, and found, an exemption from the ordinary cares of Humanity,
with a far greater amount of positive happiness than ever glowed in the
rapt day-dreams of De Stael.MAELZEL'S CHESS-PLAYER
PERHAPS no exhibition of the kind has ever elicited so general attention
as the Chess-Player of Maelzel.Wherever seen it has been an object of
intense curiosity, to all persons who think.Yet the question of its
_modus operandi is _still undetermined.Nothing has been written on this
topic which can be considered as decisive--and accordingly we find
every where men of mechanical genius, of great general acuteness, and
discriminative understanding, who make no scruple in pronouncing
the Automaton a _pure machine, _unconnected with human agency in its
movements, and consequently, beyond all comparison, the most astonishing
of the inventions of mankind.And such it would undoubtedly be, were
they right in their supposition.Assuming this hypothesis, it would be
grossly absurd to compare with the Chess-Player, any similar thing of
either modern or ancient days.Yet there have been many and wonderful
automata.In Brewster's Letters on Natural Magic, we have an account
of the most remarkable.Among these may be mentioned, as having beyond
doubt existed, firstly, the coach invented by M. Camus for the amusement
of Louis XIV when a child.A table, about four feet square, was
introduced, into the room appropriated for the exhibition.Upon this
table was placed a carriage, six inches in length, made of wood, and
drawn by two horses of the same material.One window being down, a lady
was seen on the back seat.A coachman held the reins on the box, and
a footman and page were in their places behind.M. Camus now touched
a spring; whereupon the coachman smacked his whip, and the horses
proceeded in a natural manner, along the edge of the table, drawing
after them the carriage.Having gone as far as possible in this
direction, a sudden turn was made to the left, and the vehicle was
driven at right angles to its former course, and still closely along
the edge of the table.In this way the coach proceeded until it arrived
opposite the chair of the young prince.It then stopped, the page
descended and opened the door, the lady alighted, and presented a
petition to her sovereign.The page put up the
steps, closed the door, and resumed his station.The coachman whipped
his horses, and the carriage was driven back to its original position.The magician of M. Maillardet is also worthy of notice.We copy the
following account of it from the _Letters _before mentioned of Dr.B.,
who derived his information principally from the Edinburgh Encyclopaedia."One of the most popular pieces of mechanism which we have seen, Is
the Magician constructed by M. Maillardet, for the purpose of answering
certain given questions.A figure, dressed like a magician, appears
seated at the bottom of a wall, holding a wand in one hand, and a book
in the other A number of questions, ready prepared, are inscribed on
oval medallions, and the spectator takes any of these he chooses and
to which he wishes an answer, and having placed it in a drawer ready to
receive it, the drawer shuts with a spring till the answer is returned.The magician then arises from his seat, bows his head, describes circles
with his wand, and consulting the book as If in deep thought, he lifts
it towards his face.Having thus appeared to ponder over the proposed
question he raises his wand, and striking with it the wall above his
head, two folding doors fly open, and display an appropriate answer to
the question.The doors again close, the magician resumes his original
position, and the drawer opens to return the medallion.There are twenty
of these medallions, all containing different questions, to which the
magician returns the most suitable and striking answers.The medallions
are thin plates of brass, of an elliptical form, exactly resembling each
other.Some of the medallions have a question inscribed on each side,
both of which the magician answered in succession.If the drawer is shut
without a medallion being put into it, the magician rises, consults his
book, shakes his head, and resumes his seat.The folding doors remain
shut, and the drawer is returned empty.If two medallions are put into
the drawer together, an answer is returned only to the lower one.When
the machinery is wound up, the movements continue about an hour, during
which time about fifty questions may be answered.The inventor stated
that the means by which the different medallions acted upon the
machinery, so as to produce the proper answers to the questions which
they contained, were extremely simple."The duck of Vaucanson was still more remarkable.It was _of _the size
of life, and so perfect an imitation of the living animal that all the
spectators were deceived.It executed, says Brewster, all the natural
movements and gestures, it ate and drank with avidity, performed all the
quick motions of the head and throat which are peculiar to the duck, and
like it muddled the water which it drank with its bill.It produced
also the sound of quacking in the most natural manner.In the anatomical
structure the artist exhibited the highest skill.Every bone in the
real duck had its representative In the automaton, and its wings were
anatomically exact.Every cavity, apophysis, and curvature was imitated,
and each bone executed its proper movements.When corn was thrown down
before it, the duck stretched out its neck to pick it up, swallowed, and
digested it.{*1}
But if these machines were ingenious, what shall we think of the
calculating machine of Mr.What shall we think of an engine of
wood and metal which can not only compute astronomical and navigation
tables to any given extent, but render the exactitude of its operations
mathematically certain through its power of correcting its possible
errors?What shall we think of a machine which can not only accomplish
all this, but actually print off its elaborate results, when obtained,
without the slightest intervention of the intellect of man?It will,
perhaps, be said, in reply, that a machine such as we have described
is altogether above comparison with the Chess-Player of Maelzel.By no
means--it is altogether beneath it--that is to say provided we assume
(what should never for a moment be assumed) that the Chess-Player is a
_pure machine, _and performs its operations without any immediate human
agency.Arithmetical or algebraical calculations are, from their very
nature, fixed and determinate.Certain _data _being given, certain
results necessarily and inevitably follow.These results have dependence
upon nothing, and are influenced by nothing but the _data _originally
given.And the question to be solved proceeds, or should proceed, to
its final determination, by a succession of unerring steps liable to
no change, and subject to no modification.This being the case, we can
without difficulty conceive the _possibility _of so arranging a piece
of mechanism, that upon starting In accordance with the _data _of the
question to be solved, it should continue its movements regularly,
progressively, and undeviatingly towards the required solution, since
these movements, however complex, are never imagined to be otherwise
than finite and determinate.But the case is widely different with the
Chess-Player.No one move
in chess necessarily follows upon any one other.From no particular
disposition of the men at one period of a game can we predicate their
disposition at a different period.Let us place the _first move _in
a game of chess, in juxta-position with the _data _of an algebraical
question, and their great difference will be immediately perceived.From
the latter--from the _data--_the second step of the question, dependent
thereupon, inevitably follows._It must be
_thus _and not otherwise.But from the first move in the game of
chess no especial second move follows of necessity.In the algebraical
question, as it proceeds towards solution, the _certainty _of its
operations remains altogether unimpaired.The second step having been
a consequence of the _data, _the third step is equally a consequence of
the second, the fourth of the third, the fifth of the fourth, and so
on, _and not possibly otherwise, _to the end.But in proportion to the
progress made in a game of chess, is the _uncertainty _of each ensuing
move.A few moves having been made, _no _step is certain.Different
spectators of the game would advise different moves.John went to the hallway.All is then
dependent upon the variable judgment of the players.Now even granting
(what should not be granted) that the movements of the Automaton
Chess-Player were in themselves determinate, they would be necessarily
interrupted and disarranged by the indeterminate will of his antagonist.There is then no analogy whatever between the operations of the
Chess-Player, and those of the calculating machine of Mr.Babbage, and
if we choose to call the former a _pure machine _we must be prepared
to admit that it is, beyond all comparison, the most wonderful of the
inventions of mankind.Its original projector, however, Baron Kempelen,
had no scruple in declaring it to be a "very ordinary piece of
mechanism--a _bagatelle _whose effects appeared so marvellous only from
the boldness of the conception, and the fortunate choice of the methods
adopted for promoting the illusion."But it is needless to dwell upon
this point.It is quite certain that the operations of the Automaton
are regulated by _mind, _and by nothing else.Indeed this matter is
susceptible of a mathematical demonstration, _a priori._The only
question then is of the _manner _in which human agency is brought to
bear.Before entering upon this subject it would be as well to give a
brief history and description of the Chess-Player for the benefit of
such of our readers as may never have had an opportunity of witnessing
Mr.The Automaton Chess-Player was invented in 1769, by Baron Kempelen,
a nobleman of Presburg, in Hungary, who afterwards disposed of it,
together with the secret of its operations, to its present possessor.{2*} Soon after its completion it was exhibited in Presburg, Paris,
Vienna, and other continental cities.In 1783 and 1784, it was taken to
London by Mr.Of late years it has visited the principal towns
in the United States.Wherever seen, the most intense curiosity was
excited by its appearance, and numerous have been the attempts, by men
of all classes, to fathom the mystery of its evolutions.The cut on
this page gives a tolerable representation of the figure as seen by the
citizens of Richmond a few weeks ago.The right arm, however, should lie
more at length upon the box, a chess-board should appear upon it, and
the cushion should not be seen while the pipe is held.Some immaterial
alterations have been made in the costume of the player since it
came into the possession of Maelzel--the plume, for example, was not
originally worn.{image of automaton}
At the hour appointed for exhibition, a curtain is withdrawn, or folding
doors are thrown open, and the machine rolled to within about twelve
feet of the nearest of the spectators, between whom and it (the machine)
a rope is stretched.A figure is seen habited as a Turk, and seated,
with its legs crossed, at a large box apparently of maple wood, which
serves it as a table.The exhibiter will, if requested, roll the machine
to any portion of the room, suffer it to remain altogether on any
designated spot, or even shift its location repeatedly during the
progress of a game.The bottom of the box is elevated considerably above
the floor by means of the castors or brazen rollers on which it moves,
a clear view of the surface immediately beneath the Automaton being
thus afforded to the spectators.The chair on which the figure sits
is affixed permanently to the box.On the top of this latter is a
chess-board, also permanently affixed.The right arm of |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | The left arm of the figure is bent at the elbow, and in the left
hand is a pipe.A green drapery conceals the back of the Turk, and falls
partially over the front of both shoulders.To judge from the external
appearance of the box, it is divided into five compartments--three
cupboards of equal dimensions, and two drawers occupying that portion of
the chest lying beneath the cupboards.The foregoing observations apply
to the appearance of the Automaton upon its first introduction into the
presence of the spectators.Maelzel now informs the company that he will disclose to their view
the mechanism of the machine.Taking from his pocket a bunch of keys he
unlocks with one of them, door marked ~ in the cut above, and throws the
cupboard fully open to the inspection of all present.Its whole interior
is apparently filled with wheels, pinions, levers, and other machinery,
crowded very closely together, so that the eye can penetrate but a
little distance into the mass.Leaving this door open to its full
extent, he goes now round to the back of the box, and raising the
drapery of the figure, opens another door situated precisely in the
rear of the one first opened.Holding a lighted candle at this door, and
shifting the position of the whole machine repeatedly at the same time,
a bright light is thrown entirely through the cupboard, which is now
clearly seen to be full, completely full, of machinery.The spectators
being satisfied of this fact, Maelzel closes the back door, locks it,
takes the key from the lock, lets fall the drapery of the figure, and
comes round to the front.The door marked I, it will be remembered, is
still open.The exhibiter now proceeds to open the drawer which lies
beneath the cupboards at the bottom of the box--for although there are
apparently two drawers, there is really only one--the two handles and
two key holes being intended merely for ornament.Having opened this
drawer to its full extent, a small cushion, and a set of chessmen, fixed
in a frame work made to support them perpendicularly, are discovered.Leaving this drawer, as well as cupboard No.1 open, Maelzel now unlocks
door No.3, which are discovered to be folding doors,
opening into one and the same compartment.To the right of this
compartment, however, (that is to say the spectators' right) a small
division, six inches wide, and filled with machinery, is partitioned
off.The main compartment itself (in speaking of that portion of the
box visible upon opening doors 2 and 3, we shall always call it the main
compartment) is lined with dark cloth and contains no machinery whatever
beyond two pieces of steel, quadrant-shaped, and situated one in each
of the rear top corners of the compartment.A small protuberance about
eight inches square, and also covered with dark cloth, lies on the floor
of the compartment near the rear corner on the spectators' left hand.3 open as well as the drawer, and door No.I, the exhibiter now goes round to the back of the main compartment,
and, unlocking another door there, displays clearly all the interior of
the main compartment, by introducing a candle behind it and within it.The whole box being thus apparently disclosed to the scrutiny of the
company, Maelzel, still leaving the doors and drawer open, rolls the
Automaton entirely round, and exposes the back of the Turk by lifting up
the drapery.A door about ten inches square is thrown open in the loins
of the figure, and a smaller one also in the left thigh.The interior of
the figure, as seen through these apertures, appears to be crowded with
machinery.In general, every spectator is now thoroughly satisfied of
having beheld and completely scrutinized, at one and the same time,
every individual portion of the Automaton, and the idea of any person
being concealed in the interior, during so complete an exhibition
of that interior, if ever entertained, is immediately dismissed as
preposterous in the extreme.M. Maelzel, having rolled the machine back into its original position,
now informs the company that the Automaton will play a game of chess
with any one disposed to encounter him.This challenge being accepted,
a small table is prepared for the antagonist, and placed close by the
rope, but on the spectators' side of it, and so situated as not to
prevent the company from obtaining a full view of the Automaton.From a
drawer in this table is taken a set of chess-men, and Maelzel arranges
them generally, but not always, with his own hands, on the chess board,
which consists merely of the usual number of squares painted upon the
table.The antagonist having taken his seat, the exhibiter approaches
the drawer of the box, and takes therefrom the cushion, which, after
removing the pipe from the hand of the Automaton, he places under its
left arm as a support.Then taking also from the drawer the Automaton's
set of chess-men, he arranges them upon the chessboard before the
figure.He now proceeds to close the doors and to lock them--leaving the
bunch of keys in door No.He also closes the drawer, and, finally,
winds up the machine, by applying a key to an aperture in the left end
(the spectators' left) of the box.The game now commences--the Automaton
taking the first move.The duration of the contest is usually limited
to half an hour, but if it be not finished at the expiration of this
period, and the antagonist still contend that he can beat the Automaton,
M. Maelzel has seldom any objection to continue it.Not to weary
the company, is the ostensible, and no doubt the real object of the
limitation.It Wits of course be understood that when a move is made at
his own table, by the antagonist, the corresponding move is made at
the box of the Automaton, by Maelzel himself, who then acts as the
representative of the antagonist.On the other hand, when the Turk
moves, the corresponding move is made at the table of the antagonist,
also by M. Maelzel, who then acts as the representative of the
Automaton.In this manner it is necessary that the exhibiter should
often pass from one table to the other.He also frequently goes in rear
of the figure to remove the chess-men which it has taken, and which it
deposits, when taken, on the box to the left (to its own left) of
the board.When the Automaton hesitates in relation to its move, the
exhibiter is occasionally seen to place himself very near its right
side, and to lay his hand, now and then, in a careless manner upon the
box.He has also a peculiar shuffle with his feet, calculated to induce
suspicion of collusion with the machine in minds which are more cunning
than sagacious.These peculiarities are, no doubt, mere mannerisms of
M. Maelzel, or, if he is aware of them at all, he puts them in practice
with a view of exciting in the spectators a false idea of the pure
mechanism in the Automaton.All the movements of the arm are at
right angles.In this manner, the hand (which is gloved and bent in
a natural way,) being brought directly above the piece to be moved,
descends finally upon it, the fingers receiving it, in most cases,
without difficulty.Occasionally, however, when the piece is not
precisely in its proper situation, the Automaton fails in his attempt
at seizing it.Mary moved to the bathroom.When this occurs, no second effort is made, but the arm
continues its movement in the direction originally intended, precisely
as if the piece were in the fingers.John went to the hallway.Having thus designated the spot
whither the move should have been made, the arm returns to its cushion,
and Maelzel performs the evolution which the Automaton pointed out.At
every movement of the figure machinery is heard in motion.During the
progress of the game, the figure now and then rolls its eyes, as if
surveying the board, moves its head, and pronounces the word _echec
_(check) when necessary.{*3} If a false move be made by his antagonist,
he raps briskly on the box with the fingers of his right hand, shakes
his head roughly, and replacing the piece falsely moved, in its former
situation, assumes the next move himself.Upon beating the game, he
waves his head with an air of triumph, looks round complacently upon the
spectators, and drawing his left arm farther back than usual, suffers
his fingers alone to rest upon the cushion.In general, the Turk is
victorious--once or twice he has been beaten.The game being ended,
Maelzel will again if desired, exhibit the mechanism of the box, in the
same manner as before.The machine is then rolled back, and a curtain
hides it from the view of the company.There have been many attempts at solving the mystery of the Automaton.The most general opinion in relation to it, an opinion too not
unfrequently adopted by men who should have known better, was, as we
have before said, that no immediate human agency was employed--in other
words, that the machine was purely a machine and nothing else.Many,
however maintained that the exhibiter himself regulated the movements
of the figure by mechanical means operating through the feet of the
box.Of the first of these
opinions we shall say nothing at present more than we have already said.In relation to the second it is only necessary to repeat what we have
before stated, that the machine is rolled about on castors, and will,
at the request of a spectator, be moved to and fro to any portion of the
room, even during the progress of a game.The supposition of the magnet
is also untenable--for if a magnet were the agent, any other magnet in
the pocket of a spectator would disarrange the entire mechanism.The
exhibiter, however, will suffer the most powerful loadstone to remain
even upon the box during the whole of the exhibition.The first attempt at a written explanation of the secret, at least the
first attempt of which we ourselves have any knowledge, was made in
a large pamphlet printed at Paris in 1785.The author's hypothesis
amounted to this--that a dwarf actuated the machine.This dwarf he
supposed to conceal himself during the opening of the box by thrusting
his legs into two hollow cylinders, which were represented to be (but
which are not) among the machinery in the cupboard No.I, while his body
was out of the box entirely, and covered by the drapery of the Turk.When the doors were shut, the dwarf was enabled to bring his body within
the box--the noise produced by some portion of the machinery allowing
him to do so unheard, and also to close the door by which he entered.The interior of the automaton being then exhibited, and no person
discovered, the spectators, says the author of this pamphlet, are
satisfied that no one is within any portion of the machine.This whole
hypothesis was too obviously absurd to require comment, or refutation,
and accordingly we find that it attracted very little attention.Daniel went back to the hallway.In 1789 a book was published at Dresden by M. I. F. Freyhere in which
another endeavor was made to unravel the mystery.Freyhere's book
was a pretty large one, and copiously illustrated by engravings.His supposition was that "a well-taught boy very thin and tall of his
age (sufficiently so that he could be concealed in a drawer almost
immediately under the chess-board") played the game of chess and
effected all the evolutions of the Automaton.This idea, although
even more silly than that of the Parisian author, met with a better
reception, and was in some measure believed to be the true solution of
the wonder, until the inventor put an end to the discussion by suffering
a close examination of the top of the box.These bizarre attempts at explanation were followed by others equally
bizarre.Of late years however, an anonymous writer, by a course of
reasoning exceedingly unphilosophical, has contrived to blunder upon a
plausible solution--although we cannot consider it altogether the true
one.His Essay was first published in a Baltimore weekly paper, was
illustrated by cuts, and was entitled "An attempt to analyze the
Automaton Chess-Player of M.This Essay we suppose to have
been the original of the _pamphlet to _which Sir David Brewster alludes
in his letters on Natural Magic, and which he has no hesitation in
declaring a thorough and satisfactory explanation.The _results _of the
analysis are undoubtedly, in the main, just; but we can only account
for Brewster's pronouncing the Essay a thorough and satisfactory
explanation, by supposing him to have bestowed upon it a very cursory
and inattentive perusal.In the compendium of the Essay, made use of in
the Letters on Natural Magic, it is quite impossible to arrive at any
distinct conclusion in regard to the adequacy or inadequacy of the
analysis, on account of the gross misarrangement and deficiency of the
letters of reference employed.The same fault is to be found in the
"Attempt &c.," as we originally saw it.The solution consists in a
series of minute explanations, (accompanied by wood-cuts, the whole
occupying many pages) in which the object is to show the _possibility
_of _so shifting the partitions _of the box, as to allow a human being,
concealed in the interior, to move portions of his body from one part of
the box to another, during the exhibition of the mechanism--thus eluding
the scrutiny of the spectators.There can be no doubt, as we have before
observed, and as we will presently endeavor to show, that the principle,
or rather the result, of this solution is the true one.Some person is
concealed in the box during the whole time of exhibiting the interior.We object, however, to the whole verbose description of the _manner _in
which the partitions are shifted, to accommodate the movements of the
person concealed.We object to it as a mere theory assumed in the
first place, and to which circumstances are afterwards made to adapt
themselves.It was not, and could not have been, arrived at by any
inductive reasoning.In whatever way the shifting is managed, it is of
course concealed at every step from observation.To show that certain
movements might possibly be effected in a certain way, is very far from
showing that they are actually so effected.There may be an infinity of
other methods by which the same results may be obtained.The probability
of the one assumed proving the correct one is then as unity to infinity.But, in reality, this particular point, the shifting of the partitions,
is of no consequence whatever.Sandra moved to the garden.It was altogether unnecessary to devote
seven or eight pages for the purpose of proving what no one in his
senses would deny--viz: that the wonderful mechanical genius of Baron
Kempelen could invent the necessary means for shutting a door or
slipping aside a pannel, with a human agent too at his service in actual
contact with the pannel or the door, and the whole operations carried
on, as the author of the Essay himself shows, and as we shall attempt to
show more fully hereafter, entirely out of reach of the observation of
the spectators.In attempting ourselves an explanation of the Automaton, we will, in
the first place, endeavor to show how its operations are effected,
and afterwards describe, as briefly as possible, the nature of the
_observations _from which we have deduced our result.It will be necessary for a proper understanding of the subject, that
we repeat here in a few words, the routine adopted by the exhibiter
in disclosing the interior of the box--a routine from which he _never
_deviates in any material particular.In the first place he opens the
door No.I. Leaving this open, he goes round to the rear of the box, and
opens a door precisely at the back of door No.I. To this back door he
holds a lighted candle.He then _closes the back door, _locks it, and,
coming round to the front, opens the drawer to its full extent.This
done, he opens the doors No.3, (the folding doors) and
displays the interior of the main compartment.Leaving open the main
compartment, the drawer, and the front door of cupboard No.I, he
now goes to the rear again, and throws open the back door of the main
compartment.In shutting up the box no particular order is observed,
except that the folding doors are always closed before the drawer.Now, let us suppose that when the machine is first rolled into the
presence of the spectators, a man is already within it.His body is |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | (the rear portion
of which machinery is so contrived as to slip _en masse, _from the main
compartment to the cupboard No.I, as occasion may require,) and his
legs lie at full length in the main compartment.When Maelzel opens the
door No.I, the man within is not in any danger of discovery, for
the keenest eye cannot penetrate more than about two inches into the
darkness within.But the case is otherwise when the back door of the
cupboard No.A bright light then pervades the cupboard,
and the body of the man would be discovered if it were there.The putting the key in the lock of the back door was a signal on
hearing which the person concealed brought his body forward to an angle
as acute as possible--throwing it altogether, or nearly so, into the
main compartment.This, however, is a painful position, and cannot be
long maintained.Accordingly we find that Maelzel _closes the back door._This being done, there is no reason why the body of the man may not
resume its former situation--for the cupboard is again so dark as to
defy scrutiny.Mary moved to the bathroom.The drawer is now opened, and the legs of the person
within drop down behind it in the space it formerly occupied.John went to the hallway.{*4}
There is, consequently, now no longer any part of the man in the main
compartment--his body being behind the machinery in cupboard No.1, and
his legs in the space occupied by the drawer.The exhibiter, therefore,
finds himself at liberty to display the main compartment.This
he does--opening both its back and front doors--and no person Is
discovered.The spectators are now satisfied that the whole of the box
is exposed to view--and exposed too, all portions of it at one and the
same time.They neither see the
space behind the drawer, nor the interior of cupboard No.1--the front
door of which latter the exhibiter virtually shuts in shutting its
back door.Maelzel, having now rolled the machine around, lifted up the
drapery of the Turk, opened the doors in his back and thigh, and shown
his trunk to be full of machinery, brings the whole back into its
original position, and closes the doors.The man within is now at
liberty to move about.He gets up into the body of the Turk just so
high as to bring his eyes above the level of the chess-board.It is
very probable that he seats himself upon the little square block or
protuberance which is seen in a corner of the main compartment when the
doors are open.In this position he sees the chess-board through the
bosom of the Turk which is of gauze.Daniel went back to the hallway.Bringing his right arm across his
breast he actuates the little machinery necessary to guide the left arm
and the fingers of the figure.This machinery is situated just beneath
the left shoulder of the Turk, and is consequently easily reached by
the right hand of the man concealed, if we suppose his right arm brought
across the breast.The motions of the head and eyes, and of the right
arm of the figure, as well as the sound _echec _are produced by other
mechanism in the interior, and actuated at will by the man within.The
whole of this mechanism--that is to say all the mechanism essential to
the machine--is most probably contained within the little cupboard
(of about six inches in breadth) partitioned off at the right (the
spectators' right) of the main compartment.In this analysis of the operations of the Automaton, we have purposely
avoided any allusion to the manner in which the partitions are shifted,
and it will now be readily comprehended that this point is a matter
of no importance, since, by mechanism within the ability of any common
carpenter, it might be effected in an infinity of different ways, and
since we have shown that, however performed, it is performed out of
the view of the spectators.Our result is founded upon the following
_observations _taken during frequent visits to the exhibition of
Maelzel.{*5}
I. The moves of the Turk are not made at regular intervals of time, but
accommodate themselves to the moves of the antagonist--although
this point (of regularity) so important in all kinds of mechanical
contrivance, might have been readily brought about by limiting the time
allowed for the moves of the antagonist.For example, if this limit were
three minutes, the moves of the Automaton might be made at any given
intervals longer than three minutes.The fact then of irregularity,
when regularity might have been so easily attained, goes to prove that
regularity is unimportant to the action of the Automaton--in other
words, that the Automaton is not a _pure machine._
2.Now this loss of the sense of proportion in human affairs, Sir, is a
very bad sign, and a well-nigh infallible indicator of nerve-strain and
general overpressure.But I find a yet more unmistakable evidence in support of my contention
in the extraordinary emotional sensibility revealed by these headlines
whenever some unfortunate person has been sentenced to death for
the most commonplace murder.There is clearly a profound conviction
that the jury who heard the evidence, the judge who pronounced their
verdict of guilty, the only possible conclusion they could reasonable
come to, and the HOME SECRETARY who found himself unable to recommend
a reprieve, were, one and all, engaged in a cold-blooded conspiracy
against a perfectly innocent man.The convict has said to himself, and
that seems to be considered sufficient.And so, night after night, the
authors of these headlines harrow themselves by announcing such items
as "Blank protests his innocence to his Solicitor.""Distressing Scene on the Scaffold."Consider the strain of all these alterations of hope and despair,
repeated time after time, and almost invariably without even the
consolation of deferring the fate of their _protege_ by a single hour!Is it not too much for the strongest constitution to endure?a service
which the society has no right to demand from any of its members?Yes, Sir, whether these devoted servants of the public know it or not,
they are running a most frightful risk; the word which hangs above
their heads may fall at any moment.Suppose, for example--and it is surely not wholly an imaginary danger
I foresee--suppose that some day some event should happen somewhere
of real and serious importance.Have they left themselves any epithet
in reserve capable of expressing their sensations at all adequately?They have not; they have squandered participles and adjectives in such
reckless profusion that they will discover they are reduced to the
condition of inarticulate bankrupts; and, speaking as a medical man,
acute cerebral congestion would be the very least result that I should
anticipate.Or the determining shock might come from more trivial causes.For
instance, we might lose a distinguished statesman, or an ironclad,
at the very moment when a football match was decided, or when the
professional tipster attached to their particular journal published his
"finals."Think of the mental conflict before determining the relative
importance of these events, and awarding one or the other its proper
prominence on the posters; and then ask yourself, Sir, whether it is an
ordeal that any human being of an impressionable, excitable temperament
should be required to undergo.What precise remedy should be adopted I do not profess to point out.Perhaps some one of the numerous leagues established to protect adult
citizens against themselves might take the matter up, and insist upon
these contents-bills being set up for the future in smaller type and
with epithets of a more temperate order.Perhaps Parliament or the
London County Council might be asked to interfere.All that is not
within my province, Sir, but this I do say: unless some measures are
taken _soon_, the heavy responsibility will be upon us of having
permitted a small but deserving class of our fellow-creatures to
hurry themselves into premature mental decay by the pernicious and
unwholesome nature of their employment.I am, Sir,
Your obedient servant,
HIPPOCRATES HELLEBORE, M.D., F.R.C.P.* * * * *
[Illustration: VERY HARD LINES._Young Farmer_ (_pulling up at urgent appeal of Pedestrian_).WHY, I THOUGHT YOU WERE LIVING
WITH CAPTAIN ADDLEPATE AS COACHMAN?"_Tim._ "SO I WAS, SOR; BUT 'TWASN'T A FAIR BARGIN.SHURE WE WAS NEVER
TO GET THRUNK BOTH AT WANCE, SOR!""WELL, THAT SEEMS FAIR ENOUGH, ANYWAY."_Tim._ "BUT, BEGORRA, SOR, THE CAPTIN WAS THRUNK THE WHOLE BLISSID
TOIME!"]* * * * *
The Rev.Sandra moved to the garden.GEE, Vicar of Windsor, is now installed Canon of St._Prosit!_ Our best wish for him is that, when he is
going to give an exceedingly good sermon, may this particular Gee not
discover that he is a little hoarse.* * * * *
[Illustration: MIGHT HAVE BEEN SAID OTHERWISE!_He_ (_to elderly Young Lady, after a long Waltz_)."YOU MUST HAVE BEEN
A SPLENDID DANCER!"]* * * * *
"OH, THE MISTLETOE BOUGH!"(_A New Seasonable Song to an old Seasonable Tune._)
The mistletoe hung on the brave old oak,
The sickle went clinketing stroke upon stroke;
The lads and the lasses were blithe and gay,
And gambolled in Old Father Christmas's way.Old Christmas held high with a joyous pride
The berried branch dear unto damsel and bride;
For its silvery berries they seemed to be
The stars of that goodly companie."Let her be a New Woman, but never a bride!The old custom's approval I trace
In red lip and blue eye upon every face.'Tis the way of the maid, 'tis the way of the man.'Tis also 'the way of a man with a maid,'
For Cupid's barter's the oldest trade.""They are seeking to-day every new fangled way;
Some tell us that wooing has had its day.In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest lot,
The gleam of Love's berry makes one bright spot.And years may fly, as they will fly, fast,
But one good old custom at least shall last;
And when Christmas appears still the maids will cry:--
'See!the Old Man bears the Love-berry on high!'"he cried, and he waved his sickle.fortune changes, and fashion's fickle;
And youth grows mannish, and manhood old,
And red lips wither, warm hearts grow cold:
But whenever I come, midst the Yuletide snows,
'Tis not Spring's lily, or Summer's rose
Young men and maidens demand, I trow.But old Winter's white-berried Kissing-bough.""For lilies wither, and roses pale,
But the Kissing-bough keeps up the old, old tale.John moved to the office.And dull were the world should the old tale cease!Be it kiss of passion, or kiss of peace,
The meaning when lip unto lip is laid
Is goodwill on earth to man, and maid.That's Yule's best lesson, good friends I vow,
So reck ye the rede of the Mistletoe Bough!"So they gather around him with laugh and joke,
'Neath the spreading boughs of that brave old oak,
Which hath shelter for all, from the English rose
To the whitest snow-bell from Canada's snows,
Or hot India's lotus-bud dainty and sweet.But the cry of them all, as in mirth they meet
Old Father Christmas, as ever, so now,
Is "Hands all round 'neath the Mistletoe Bough!"Our brave, bonny Mistletoe Bough!!!* * * * *
[Illustration: "OH, THE MISTLETOE BOUGH!"WITH ALL THEIR NEW-FANGLED NOTIONS, HERE'S
ONE OLD CUSTOM ALL AGREE IN KEEPING UP!"]* * * * *
CURIOUS ACCIDENT TO MRS.Strolling through Pimlico the other day Mrs.R. was attracted by
evidence of a sale by auction going forward in one of the residences in
that desirable quarter.Having half an hour to spare she thought she
would look in."I was quite surprised," she writes to her son, "when I
entered the room to see a gentleman standing in a pulpit which I knew
was Mr.PIPCHOSE, leastway, his whiskers were not so mutton-choppy;
but I could not mistake him, though meeting him only once at tea at
Mrs.BROWN'S where he was very pressing with the muffins.He looked
at me in just the same meaning way as when he said, 'Mrs.won't
you take another piece of sugar, though as I know it's carrying coals
to Newcastle?'I'm not above recognising my friends, wherever I meet
them, and gave him a friendly nod, and before I knew where I was, I
found I had bought for L3 9_s._ 6_d._ a wool mattress; a pair of tongs
(rather bent); a barometer (with the quicksilver missing); a small iron
bedstead; a set of tea-things (mostly cracked); an armchair, and a sofa
warranted hair-stuffed, but certainly having only three legs.PIPCHOSE at all, as I might have known if I had taken another look
at his whiskers, but only a forward auctioneer."* * * * *
"The Chinese Government," observed the _City Times_ last week, "is
seeking new channels for money."Decidedly China is in straits, and
will soon be apparently quite at sea.* * * * *
TO MELENDA.(_A Repentance in Triolets._)
I swore to you, dear, there was mistletoe there,
Though I knew all the time there was none.As I stole a sweet kiss from you out on the stair
I swore to you, dear, there was mistletoe there.I have plenty of sins on my soul, dear, to bear,
But at least I've confessed now to one.I swore to you, dear, there was mistletoe there
Though I knew all the time there was none.I never will do it again,
And please am I fully forgiven?In the future from falsehood I mean to refrain.I never will do it again,
But look at yourself in your glass to explain
Why to mistletoe tale I was driven.I never will do it again,
And please am I fully forgiven?There's an answer you'll send if you're thoroughly kind,
That will make me feel free from all blame.I hope you'll be glad, dear MELENDA, to find
There's an answer you'll send if you're thoroughly kind.It's this, "Though the mistletoe was but a blind,
Still with none I'd have done just the same."Sandra journeyed to the bathroom._There_'s the answer you'll send if you're thoroughly kind
That will make me feel free from all blame.[Illustration]
* * * |
office | Where is Daniel? | No better collection of books as a
Christmas present for anyone with a regard to a future of literary
enjoyment.Nos omnesne laudamus Nimmo?Et respondit Echo: "Immo."I don't go to a Westminster Play for nothing quoth the Baron;"
though he added _sotto voce_, "Yes I do though, as I'm a guest."* * * * *
FIRST IMPRESSIONS.[Illustration]
Genoa in November.Put on thin suit, drink my _cafe
au lait_ by open window, and stroll out into beautiful Genoa, basking
in the sunshine._Dejeuner_ in the garden of a restaurant, among the
old palaces.Think of all the poor
people in London.Wonder if anyone is having a frugal lunch at the
funny little open-air restaurant in Hyde Park.Mary moved to the bathroom.Lemonade and a bath bun
in a fog.In Venice there are so many Germans that one might as
well be in Germany.Sitting out on the Piazza, one hears incessantly
their monotonous, guttural chatter, always in the same tone of voice,
without inflections, without emotion, and, worst of all, without end.Watched at the hotel _table d'hote_ a German lady sitting between two
German gentlemen.One man talked loudly without ceasing, mouth full
or mouth empty, from soup to dessert.The other man, rather older
and feebler, also talked without ceasing, but he could not equal the
other's noise; he only added to it.As for the lady, her lips moved all
the time; one could imagine the _ja wohl_, the _ach, so?_ the _ja, ja,
ja_, but one could not hear a word.At Florence, at Milan, on the Lakes
it is the same.If by chance one hears a Frenchman speak, his charming
language sounds more vivacious and melodious than ever before.So it
is good to be in Genoa, where even the best hotel is kept by Italians.Apparently every other good hotel in Italy is kept by HERR SCHMIDT,
or HERR WEBER, or HERR SOMETHINGOROTHER, and all the servants are
German also.There is one hotel in Genoa kept by a German.All night long there are whistles, screams, bangs, rumblings,
bumps, roars, and other sounds from trains, ships, and tramways.All
day long there is the same noise, only more of it.But the Germans
do not mind; they talk just the same, and they make each other hear
through it all.Charming place, Genoa, with a town hall that is the gayest imaginable.Marble staircases, vestibules adorned with palms, beautiful little
gardens, at all sorts of levels, outside the windows of the various
offices.If the town rates in Genoa are paid at
the Town Hall, the paying of them must be almost pleasant.One would
go with that horrible demand note, if that is used also in Italy, and
fancy that one was arriving at a ball.The palm-decorated entrance
looks just like it.It only needs a lady rate collector, such as one
hears of in England, and one surely, in whatever manner the Italians
may say it, would beg the charming signora to give one the honour and
pleasure of a dance, and scribble her name on the programme--I mean the
demand note.And no doubt, the Italian officials being leisurely and
the space being ample, one could find time for a waltz in the intervals
of rate paying, or at least sit it out in one of the delightful little
gardens of this ideal Palazzo Municipale.And so farewell to sunny Genoa, and off to Turin.German hotel again,
German proprietor, German servants.Solitary German visitor drinking
his morning coffee.The hotels of Turin are not crowded; he and I are
alone.John went to the hallway.He must talk his awful language
to someone.He shan't talk it to me, for I will pretend I do not
understand even one word.The
considerate proprietor, thoughtful of his countryman's needs, enters;
he stands by the visitor's table, and the talk begins.When it ends I
cannot say, for I leave them, well started and in good voice, and hear,
as I think, their sweetly melodious phrases for the last time in Italy.There is not much more of Italy now, for
here is the Mont Cenis tunnel.Daniel went back to the hallway.Farewell, beautiful country, beautiful
pictures, beautiful language!There is someone leaning out of the next
carriage window.No doubt he is also saddened; he is speaking to others
inside, his voice is cheerful, he is evidently trying not to give way
to despair.Now I hear what he says, "_Da werde ich ein Glas Bier
trinken, ja, ja, ja!_"
A FIRST IMPRESSIONIST.* * * * *
WANTED!a Perfect Cure for the incompatibility of Judges' sentences.* * * * *
[Illustration: PREHISTORIC PEEPS.DURING A CONSIDERABLE PORTION OF THE YEAR THE SKATING WAS EXCELLENT,
AND WAS MUCH ENJOYED BY ALL CLASSES.]* * * * *
[Illustration: INDEX]
Ad Jovem Pluvium, 263
Afterpart a la L. C. C.(An), 302
"After the Health Congress is over," 71
Airs Resumptive, 45, 66, 83, 165, 205
All my Eye!258
"All up with the Empire," 183
Alpine Railway (An), 95
Amare, O!263
Anglo-Russian Echo (An), 95
Another Man's Ears, 165
Apple of Discord (The), 39
Art of Naval Platitude (The), 216
As we like it, 25
At Last!18
At the Westminster Play, 303
"Automatic" Conscience (The), 147
"Auxiliary Assistance" in the Provinces, 105
Awful Outlook (An), 177
"Awkward Customer" (An), 210
Ballade of Imitations, 11
Ballade of Three Volumes (A), 39
Ballade to Order, 298
"B. and S."at the Savoy (A), 292
Bank Holiday Dream-Book (The), 57
Battle of the Budget (The), 3
Bayard and Bobby, 201
Beauties of Bologna, 215
Betting Man on Cricket (A), 65
Blue Gardenia (The), 185
Bowl me no more!155
British Lions, 185
Broken China, 192
Bygones, 85
Cabby's Answers, 5
Cant _v._ Cant, 207
Certain Cure (A), 145
"Challenge" (The), 219
Chief Mourner (The), 222
Chronicles of a Rural Parish (The), 217, 237, 250, 263, 265, 288, 299
Clerical Question for Exeter (A), 183
Clio at Salcombe, 215
"Clubs!77
Coincidence's Long Arm, 167
Complaint of the Modern Lover, 167
Compliments of the Season, 301
Copperation at Winser (The), 46
"Copy," 297
Corean Cock-fight (The), 54
Counting Noses, 257
Counting the Catch, 90
Crossed!Sandra moved to the garden.251
Cryptogrammatist Wanted, 72
Curios for the Cricketing Exhibition, 298
Curious Accident to Mrs.John moved to the office.R., 336
Curse (The), 118
Dangerous Doctrine, 120
Day of Small Things (The), 213, 255
Day's Ride, a Law's Romance (A), 155
Decadent Guys (The), 225
Demi-French Octave (A), 47
Diary of a Duck, 274
Dilemma of the Headless Spectre, 213
Ditto to Mr.Courtney, 83
Diurnal Feminine (The), 13
Dog on his Day (A), 302
Dog's Meet, 118
Don't "Come unto these Yellow Sands"!Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.114
Doom of the Minor Poets (The), 251
Eastward Ho!63
Ejaculations, 141
Embarras de Richesses, 87
End of the Opera Season (The), 57
Engagement (An), 264
English as she is Crammed, 292
Essence of Parliament, 11, 23, 35, 48, 59, 71, 84, 95, 108
"Evicted Tenants," 42
Extract (An), 281
Fancy Portrait, 15
Farewell to McGladstone, 46
Fashion and Felony, 232
Femina Dux Facti, 221
"Finest English," 113
Finishing Touches, 221
First Impressions, 192, 204, 238, 252, 264, 273, 287, 289, 309
Fizz and Fuss, 298
Fly Route to Castles in the Air, 83
Following Footsteps, 125
Fool's Vade Mecum (The), 273
For Arms or Alms?Mary moved to the hallway.162
"Fourth R" (The), 243
Fragment of a Police "Report d'Arthur," 177
Friend in Need (A), 30
From the Birmingham Festival, 186
Future Fame, 203
Gaiety "Sans-Gene," 9
Gay Widow Courted (A), 221
General Literary Review Company (Limited), 168
Generosity under Difficulties, 291
Gilbert and Carr-icature, 240
Gismonda, 233
Good News, 121
"Good Time coming" (A), 27
Good Wishes, 36
Gossip without Words, 189
"Grand National" Trust (The), 47
Guesses at Goodwood, 37
Hanwellia's Answer, 179
Hardy Annual at Henley, 15
Hawarden Pastoral (A), 96
Haymarket Heroine (The), 241
Helmholtz, 141
Henley Notes, 22
Herrick on Rational Dress, 147
Hint for the Alpine Season, 74
Hopeless Case (A), 135
Hopeless Quest (A), 206
House-Agent's Dream (The), 270
How it will be done hereafter, 89
Ichabod, 253
If not, why not?169
"I'm getting a Big Girl now!"171
Improved and Improving Dialogues, 269
Inconvenienced Traveller's Phrase-Book, 82, 125
Infant Phenomenon (The), 291
In Memoriam, 102; Comte de Paris, 126
In Nuce, 159
In Paris out of the Season, 133
In Praise of Boys, 107
Ins and Outs, 213
Inter-University Football, 285
In the Museum, 141
In Three Volumes, 101
Invasion of Woman (The), 145
Is the Bar a Profitable Profession?109
<DW61> the Giant-Killer, 150
John Bull a la Russe, 264
John Walter, 232
"Judgment of 'Parish'" (The), 267
"Justice as she is Spoken in France," 75
Ladas!141
La Femme de Claude, 42
Latest Great Yacht-Race, 29
Latest Parliamentary Betting, 25
Latest War Intelligence, 276
Law of the (Social) Jungle (The), 111
Lay of the Explorer (The), 33
Lay of the Vigilant (The), 204
Lessons in Laughter, 174
Letters from a Debutante, 168, 180, 183
Letters to a Debutante, 229
Lex Talionis, 141
Light in Darkness, 162
Lines by a Lazy Body, 120
Lines in Pleasant Places, 21, 49, 74, 131, 153
Lines to a Lady, 253
Links (The), 213
Literary Intelligence, 121
Little Ah Sid, 183
Little Flirtation (A), 147
Little Holiday (A), 69
"Little too Previous!"Daniel travelled to the office.(A), 102
"Living Pictures," 197
Local Colour, 210
London Bicyclists, 49
Lord Ormont's Mate and Matey's Aminta, 37, 57, 61
Lord Rosebery in the North, 159
Lost in London, 285
"Lost Rings," 149
Love's Labour Not Lost, 279
Lowered!71
Lower Education of Women (The), 11
Lunnon Twang (The), 159
"Lying Low," 294
Lyre and Lancet, 4, 16, 28, 40, 52, 64, 76, 88, 100, 112, 124, 136,
148, 160, 172, 184, 196, 208, 220, 239, 244, 256, 268, 280
Making of a Man (The), 293
Making the Running with the Derby Winner, 169
"Man in Armour" to the Multitude, 228
March of Civilisation (The), 61
Mary Jones, 285
"Matrimonial Obedience," 179
Matron's Hiss (The), 178
Mayen-aisy-now!233
Mayennaise _v._ Mayonnaise, 203, 209
Message from Mars (The), 81
Midsummer Day-Dream (A), 30
Minx (The), 33
Moan from Mitcham (A), 135
Mobilised Mandarin (The), 141
Modern Madame (A), 27
Modern Mangers, 183
Modern Society Play (The), 285
Modern Tragedy (A), 93
Morbidezza, 204
More Ornamental than Useful, 73
More She-Notes, 249, 276
Morgenlied, 145
"Moving about in Worlds not realised," 192
"Mowing them Down!"Punch on Billiards, 238
Mr.Punch on Peeler Piper, 135
Mr.Punch to Two Noble Sportsmen, 22
Mrs.Prowlina Pry, 195
Much Ado about Nothing, 279
Muddy Milan, 171
Music with a Future (The), 251
"Mutes and Liquids," 121
New Air (The), 87
New and Old, 241
New Candidate (The), 209
New Departure (A), 216
New Fashion (The), 167
New Heroine (The), 293
New Honours, 276
New Lamps for Old, 137
New Man (The), 167
New Nectar (The), 286
New Newness (The), 84
New Party (The), 18
News from Norwich, 131
Next War (The), 94
Noble Half-Hundred!94
Noblesse Oblige, 1, 75
"Nobody Looking!"246
Nomine Tantum, 21
Nominis Umbra, 253
Notices to Correspondents, 286
Not Master of himself though China fall, 74
Novelist's Vade Mecum (The), 261
Novelties in Gastronomy, 251
O. B. C.(Limited) (The), 177
Ode for the Marriage Season, 131, 142
Ode on a Distant Partridge, 138
Ode on Sacrifice, 49
Ode to Ixion, 82
Of Vain Colours, 288
"Oh, the Mistletoe Bough!"306
"Oh, you Wicked Story!"99
"Old Offender" (An), 282
Old Three-Vol., 63
Oliver Wendell Holmes, 191
Ollendorfian, 258
On a Clumsy Cricketer, 106
One Man One Job, 297
On the War in the East, 133
Operatic Notes, 17
Origin of the Blush-Rose, 206
Our |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | 119
Oxford and Yale, 48
Oyster and the Sparrow (The), 93
Page from "Rosebery's History of the Commonwealth," 106
Partially Unreported Dialogue, 11
Pat the Patriot, 215
Perils of a Jesting Premier (The), 298
"Personally Conducted," 51
Phalse Note on George the Fourth, 204
Phosphorescence in Art, 24
Pier of the Empire (A), 189
Pious Lyncher's Creed (The), 120
Plague of Poets (The), 121
Plaint of the Unwilling Peer (The), 82
Polite Guide to the Civil Service (The), 207, 227, 234
Political Conference, 231
Polychrome English, 193
Possible Developments, 203
Princely Offer (A), 144
Professor of the Period (The), 153
Puff and a Blow (A), 21
Pullman Car (The), 107
Punch to the New Attorney-General, 205
"Putting his Foot in it," 78
Queer Queries, 83, 101, 107, 117, 246, 297
Question and Answer, 135
Ranelagh in Rain, 47
Rational Dress, 101
Reading between the Lines, 305
Reflections, 167
Remnants, 63
"Rhymes," 109
Rhyme to Rosebery, 96
Rider's Vade Mecum (The), 51
Riverside Lament (A), 25
Robert and Grinnidge, 94
Robert and Unifikashun, 281
Robert Louis Stevenson, 303
Robert on Amerrycans, 120
Robert on the Wonderful Bridge again, 9
Robert's Picter, 145
Robert's Sollem Adwise, 217
"Room for a Big One!"99
Royal Welsh Bard (The), 86
Rubenstein, 255
Rule, "Britannia," 33
Runner Nuisance (The), 125
Sapphics on Traffic, 117
Saturday Pops, 71
School-Board Apple-Pie (The), 219
Scott on the New Woman, 73
Sea-Fairies (The), 122
Sea-quence of Sonnets (A), 153
Seasons (The), 274
Sitting on Our Senate, 106
Sequel to the Story of Ung (A), 300
Seven Ages of Rosebery (The), 165
"Shaky!"270
Silly Seasoning, 110
Slight Adaptation (A), 228
Slow and not quite Sure, 165
Snubbed Professional's Vade Mecum, 289
Society for the Advancement of Literature, 89
Soft Answer (A), 11
Song for the Slogger (A), 117
Song of the Impecunious Bard, 131
Song of the Leaders (The), 201
Song of the Twentieth Century (A), 22
Songs of the Streets, 5, 16
Sounding the Antitoxin, 274
Sport for Ratepayers, 49
State Aid for Matrimony, 13
St.Leger Coincidence (A), 135
Suggested Addendum (A), 126
Sunday Lecture Case (The), 285
Tale of a Vote (The), 201
Tale of Two Telegrams (The), 97
Talk a la Mode de Londres, 261
Talk in Court, 22
Teddie the Tiler, 192
Tempora Mutantur, 131
"Terrible in his Anger!"159
Terrible Transformation (A), 145
Thanks to the "Bystander," 133
That Advanced Woman!142
Those Lancers, 303
"Three Cheers for the Emperor," 297
Three Christmas Greetings, 301
Tips, 144
To a Lady, 294
To Althea in Church, 145
To Althea in the Stalls, 33
To Amanda, 180
To a Philanthropist, 105
To a Pretty Unknown, 192
To a Scorcher, 142
To a Surrey Hostess, 85
To a Would-be Authoress, 93
To a Would-be Despot, 215
To a Venetian Policeman, 195
To a Veteran Champion, 83
"To be taken as read," 77
To Dorothy, 108
To Hanwellia from Earlswood, 137
To her Mother, 120
To Lettina, 209
To Melenda, 309
To Molly, 229
To my Beef Tea, 77
To Philadelphia, 302
To Sentiment, 144
To the Oxford Cricket Captain, 17
Touching Appeal (A), 234
Tree with Variegated Leaves, 277
"Tripping Merrily," 143
Triumph of the School Board (A), 265
True Glory, 276
Truisms of Life (The), 287, 293
Trust to be Trusted (A), 149
Two "General" Favourites, 203
Two Ways of Auditing, 206
Unrest!Mary moved to the bathroom.174
Vacuous Time (The), 119
Vade Mecum for the Naval Manoevres, 37
Vagabond Verses, 219
Venetian Flower-Sellers, 191
Verse and Choral Summing-up, 203
Verses to the Weather Maiden, 93
"Vested Interests," 186
Village Blacksmith (The), 282
"Vive la Republique!"6
Voice from "the Upper Suckles" (A), 85
Volunteer's Vade Mecum (The), 25
Vote of Thanks (A), 65
Voyage of Alfred (The), 113
Waiting their Turn, 18
War Cry (The), 54
Wet-Willow, 107
What's in a Name, indeed?47
What we may expect soon, 27
Wheel and Whoa!137
Where are you going, revolting Maid?198
Where to go, 82
Whims of Amphitryon (The), 245
Whither Away?9
"Wigs on the Green!"John went to the hallway.126
"Winding'em up," 198
With Kind Regards, 277
Words to the Wise Women, 275
Ye Gentlemen of Holland, 78
Yellow Age (The), 66
Yellow Riding-Habit (The), 94
Yet another Memoir of Napoleon, 13
Young Pretender (The), 138
Yule Gretynge (A), 300
LARGE ENGRAVINGS.Daniel went back to the hallway.259
"Awkward Customer" (An), 211
Chief Mourner (The), 223
Corean Cockfight (The), 55
Counting the Catch, 91
Don't "Come unto these Yellow Sands"!115
"Evicted Tenants," 43
"For Example!"Sandra moved to the garden.163
"Friend in Need----" (A), 31
<DW61> the Giant-killer, 151
"Little too Previous!"(A), 103
"Lying Low," 295
"Mowing them Down!"John moved to the office.247
"Oh, the Mistletoe Bough!"Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.67
"Old Offender" (An), 283
"Putting his Foot in it," 79
"Shaky!"271
Touching Appeal (A), 235
Unrest!175
"Vested Interests," 187
"Vive la Republique!"Mary moved to the hallway.7
Waiting their Turn, 19
"Wigs on the Green," 127
"Winding'em up!"199
Young Pretender (The), 139
SMALL ENGRAVINGS.Admiral and his Beard, 275
Ambiguous Invitation to the Major, 251
Andrew dividing the Orange, 49
Animals' Stroll in the Zoo, 81
'Arry and Grass Seeds at Bisley, 29
'Arry and Li Hung Chang's Feather, 180
'Arry and the "Brighton A's," 231
'Arry introducing 'Arriet to Bill, 193
'Arry on the Lords and the Ladies, 261
'Arry photographed on Horseback, 75
Art Critic and Child's Sketch, 6
Baby and Grandpapa's Microscope, 234
Bad Dancer's Opinion of Girls, 22
Bishop and Boating Clergyman, 215
Boy's Mamma who Snores, 126
Boy who Lost all his Buttons, 286
British Farmer and Ceres, 134
British Farmer's Luck turning, 26
Broken Venus of Milo, 11
Brown's "pretty Flat," 232
Bullet-proof Coat for Pet Dog, 41
Caddie's Idea of Excitement (A), 59
Change of Name at Marriage, 167
Chick-a-leary Cochin, 201
Child Patient and Hospital Nurse, 102
Civilisation and War in the East, 62
Climbing the Araucaria, 303
Clubber's Club, 157
Coachman well known at West End, 42
Colonel's Nephew's Man-Servant, 155
"Constant Reader" writing to Papers, 209
Contrasted Couples at Sea-side, 114
Country Lady and Major Visitor, 198
Cow Stamp on the Butter, 74
Cromwell and the Statues, 98
Curate at an Otter-hunt, 39
Curate sings "The Brigand's Revenge," 283
Cyclist startling Fox-hunter, 304
Dancing Ostrich (The), 165
Discussing a Beastly Book, 227
Engagement Ring weights the Boat, 53
Epicure to his Love (An), 181
Eton Boy and the Floods, 253
Fat Diner's Hungry Acquaintance, 297
Fisherman's Empty Flask, 73
Fond Wife and the Stupid Paper, 82
Forgetting whom he took into Dinner, 210
French Lady and our Artist's Wife, 30
German Emperor's Song (The), 178
Giving Hunting Mare her Head, 267
Gladstone and the Microscope, 254
Gladstone and the "Twelfth," 61
Gladstonius sings to Roseberius, 230
Golfers playing Spillikins, 27
Grandma's Friend of Forty Years ago, 150
Gutter Children and Cheap Gloves, 121
Hair-dressing Room in the Commons, 202
Harcourt as "Old Kaspar," 2
Harcourt's Bills personally conducted, 50
Hippopotamus Policeman, 141
Hodge and the Apple of Power, 266
Housewife and Lazy Tramp, 15
Hunter's Seedy Tale (A), 171
Hunting Party at a Deep Brook, 279
Infant's Contempt of Court, 13
Invalid and her Lady Visitor, 57
Invalided Weather-Girl, 107
Irish Chamber of Horrors, 166
Irish Jarvey and the Scenery, 24
<DW61> Lectures on the Art of War, 290
Johnny and Pills in a Pear, 65
Jones not Dining anywhere, 36
Jones's Handsome Umbrella, 87
Justin McCarthy's Anger, 158
Juveniles discussing Hats in Church, 138
Keeper's Dog's Force of Habit, 301
Keeper's Remark on Strong Birds, 147
Kitchen Improvements in the House, 214
Ladies "at Home" to Visitors, 246
Lady Vocalist's Small Chest (A), 277
Laureateship Apple of Discord (The), 38
Little Ah Sid and the Butterfly Bee, 182
Little Boy and "'Maginations," 207
Little Girls and Fairy Tale, 5
Little Girl and Five-days' Foal, 69
Little Girl and German Doctor, 191
Little Girl's Matrimonial "Hint," 107
Little Girl's Message to Shoemaker, 144
London Boy and J.'s Knickerbockers, 71
London Passenger and Paris Porters, 119
London Schoolgirl and little Friend, 273
Major's Cheap Burgundy, 94
Mamma and Missie's Age, 78
Master discharging his Coachman, 142
Maud's Country Cousin on Horseback, 21
Miss Golightly and her Partner, 153
Miss Grace at a Golf Match, 159
Miss Roland's Two Hansoms, 258
Miss Unified London's Toys, 170
Mr.'s Flirtation with Miss C., 146
Mr.Daniel travelled to the office.Punch at White Lodge, 1
Mr.John went back to the garden.Simpkin's Misquotation at Dinner, 54
Mrs.Jinks on the effect of Liqueurs, 263
Mrs.Pry entering the Empire, 194
Mrs.Weaver and the New Chimes, 238
Music blending with Conversation, 18
Nervous Amateur and Stage Fright, 118
Nervous Youth and a Clever Beauty, 174
New Lord Chief Justice and Punch, 14
Newly-Upholstered Room (A), 186
"New Woman" Rabbit-Shooter, 111
Norfolk Bathers' Scotch Friend, 156
Nothing stops a Hard-mouthed Grey, 51
Old Crossing-Sweeper's Obstinacy, 83
Old Lady of Threadneedle Street's Gold, 86
Orlando and Rosalind Cycling, 25
Ostentatiously Good Fences, 219
Parliamentary Flying Machine, 217
Parliamentary Swimming-Bath, 58
Pat and the Kicking Horse, 255
"Perambulators not admitted," 131
Police making way for Perambulator, 45
Postman and Nursery-Maids, 63
Prehistoric Cricket-Match (A), 34
Prehistoric Dragon-shooting, 262
Prehistoric Football Match (A), 190
Prehistoric Henley Regatta, 10
Prehistoric Highland Stalking, 154
Prehistoric Lord Mayor's Show, 226
Prehistoric Naval Manoeuvres, 70
Prehistoric Seaside Resort, 130
Prehistoric Skating, 310
Professor and Atlas Omnibuses, 287
Punch and the Prince on Muscovy, 278
Punch and the Sirens, 122
Pupil Farmer thrown on his Head, 243
Putting O'Flaherty into a Novel, 298
Rat-tailed Hunter in the Rain, 195
Reduced Noblemen in Disguise, 110
Result of Sal's Re-marrying, 105
Rosebery as Bob Acres, 218
Row at the Schoolboard (The), 242
Rugby Footballer at a Dance, 270
Schoolboy and Tragedian, 123
Scotch Landlady on Salmon-poaching, 299
Scotchman threatens to go to Law, 265
Scotch Parishioner and Whisky, 250
Scotch Tourists in Search of Dinner, 183
Shopping, not Buying, 245
Short 'Arry and Long Alf, 149
"Shot Over" Pony (A), 237
Sea-Lion Ashore (The), 177
Seven Miles from Peebles, 95
Snapdragon Galop (The), 302
Society Crush at Hyde Park Corner, 3
Stork as he might have been (The), 213
Stout Citizen and Irish Beggar, 229
Swell compliments Splendid Dancer, 306
Swells discussing Behaviour, 185
Swell's Opinion about Stout Ladies, 162
Swell suffering from Insomnia, 203
Taking Lady's Skirt for 'Bus Apron, 291
Temperance Enthusiast and Boatman, 274
Three Lovers, 90
Tommy and his Aunt's Age, 179
Two or Three Nice Americans, 66
Two Sons passing Examinations, 289
Vicar's Daughter on Snoring, 294
Volunteer Sentry and Rustic, 249
Vulgar Boy and little Dog's Tail, 285
Yokel's Impression of London, 106
Washing St.John moved to the bedroom.Paul's suggested, 206
Winning Jockey and Irish Stable-boy, 99
Young Couple residing in Hill Street, 222
Young Farmer and Groom, 305
Young Lady's Ball Presents, 97
* * * * *
[Illustration: FINIS]
* * * * *
LONDON: BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., LIMITED.PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS
|
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | 1 29.908 S.E.3.5
2 .912 S.E.3.5
3 .915 S.E.3.5
4 .917 S.E.2.5
5 .914 S.E.2.5
6 .913 E.S.E.2.5
7 .909 S.E.2.5
8 .899 E.S.E.9 .886 S.E.10 .878 E. by S.11 .869 E..860 E.1 .852 E.3.5
2 .853 E.3.5
3 .848 E.3.2
4 .834 E.5 .817 E.N.E.6 29.808 E.N.E.7 .810 N.E.8 .812 N.E.3.5
9 .812 N.E.3.5
10 .806 N.E.3.5
11 .795 E.N.E.3.5
12 .784 E.N.E.Sandra travelled to the office.3.5
18th August.1 29.779 E. by N.3.5
2 .771 E. by N.3.2
3 .762 E. by N.3.2
4 .758 E. by N.3.2
5 .751 E. by N.3.5
6 .740 N.E.3.5
7 .721 N.E.8 .696 N.E.4.5
9 29.666 N.E.10 .640 N.E.5.2
11 .612 N.E..581 N.E.6.5
1 .548 N.E.2 .526 N.E.6.5
3 .50 N.7.5
4 .482 N. by E.5 .459 N.E.7.5
6 .435 N.E.7 .421 N.E.8 .411 N.E.9 .408 N.E.10 .405 N.E.8.5
11 .401 N.E.Sandra went to the bathroom.8.7
12 .375 N.E.8.7
19th August.1 29.306 N.E.5.7
2 .319 N. by E.3 .335 N. by E.4 .351 N.7.5
5 .364 N.7.2
6 .376 N.7.2
7 .383 N. by W.6.5
8 .376 N. by W.7.2
9 .361 N.N.W.7.7
10 .347 N.N.W.11 29.324 N.W..295 N.W.1 .268 N.W.7.7
2 .252 N.W.7.5
3 .238 N.W.7.7
4 .223 N.W.7.7
5 .220 W. by N.6 .221 W. by N.7 .225 W. by N.8 .229 W. by N.8.5
9 .233 W.8.5
10 .243 W.8.5
11 .256 W.8.5
12 .282 W. by S.1 29.351 W. by S.2 .363 W. by S.3 .375 W. by S.4 .413 W. by S.5 .437 W.S.W.7.5
6 .457 S.W.7 .457 S.W.8 .471 S.W.9 .489 S.W.6.5
10 .505 S.W.6.5
11 .512 S.W..515 S.W.6.5
The barometric readings are corrected to the freezing-point density of the
atmosphere, as also to the level of the ocean, and are further reduced by
comparison with the Standard Barometer at the New Observatory.They are
also relieved of a source of error arising from the regular decline for
each day of the barometer, as evidenced by the observations made during
June and July, 1858, in mean latitude 23 deg.52' N., mean longitude 119 deg.12'
E. This downward tendency will be apparent from the following readings for
each hour:--for 1h.- 0.018, noon - 0.015, 1h.These
quantities are to be read as implying that when added to or deducted from
those supplied by actual observations, they result in the quantities
already assigned as the corrected averages for the day.The direction as
well as strength of the wind are copied from the averages as calculated by
the Commodore from the ship's log, the meteorological journals and the
daily postings made by the Commodore himself.* * * * *
According to the delineation of the path of the cyclone, as prepared from
the observations recorded, the following table, already referred to, gives
the approximative distance of the ship at stated points from such central
path, as compared with that deduced from barometrical observations,
allowing for the differences already mentioned.In the case of the
wind-pressure, the average is deduced from the mean of successive
observations taken every hour, and for the most part divided into
intervals of three hours each.Distance
pressure.according
to curve.1 17th August 4 A.M.336 29.915 in.336
2 " " noon.297 .860 0.055 300
3 18th " midnight.265 .783 .132 257
4 " " 6 A.M.230 .736 .178 233
5 " " 9 A.M.205 .667 .248 205
6 " " 6 P.M.153 .438 .477 153
7 19th " 3 A.M.140 .335 .580 138
8 " " 5 A.M.148 .364 .551 142
9 " " |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | 146 .373 .542 143
10 " " noon.125 .296 .619 130
11 " " 3 P.M.123 .238 .677 122
12 " " 6 P.M.134 .222 .693 138
13 " " 9 P.M.148 .235 .680 144
14 20th " midnight.183 .296 .619 183
15 " " 6 A.M.Sandra travelled to the office.313 .450 .465 313
The minimum pressure according to the curve would be 28.975, but must
actually have been less.According to the strict reading it would result
that all radii before reaching the point where nearest the central path,
as also all those in the same half-circle after such central line has been
crossed, should have the same value, whatever the direction, which if
rigidly asserted cannot be correct, since the motion of a cyclone is truly
circular only in the immediate vicinity of its central point.As that
point is receded from, the motion becomes more or less elliptical, as is
attested by the barometric differences, which had the cyclone been a true
circle in all its parts ought to be similar for similar distances.Sandra went to the bathroom.This it
is admitted is not the case, as the barometric pressure shows a marked
decline in the earlier part of a cyclone the more rapidly the central line
is approached, just as it rises again once that line has been passed.For this reason the distances as assigned upon a line of curves deduced
from the foregoing observations must be too great, especially those which
are calculated at right angles to the path of the typhoon, because
perpendiculars drawn at right angles to the varying directions of the wind
must intersect each other at points more distant than the actual central
point of the cyclone itself.* * * * *
To the foregoing may be appended a few extracts recounting the damage done
by the great typhoon of 27th July, 1862, from which some idea may be
formed of the tremendous violence and destructive effects of this
description of atmospheric agency._From London and China Telegraph, 29th Sept., 1862._
"A dreadful typhoon occurred at Canton on 27th July, 1862.The destruction
of life and property is immense, the loss of life in the city and
neighbourhood being estimated at about forty thousand.In the telegram
which was received a few days ago announcing this event, a query was
placed, and very reasonably, after the number stated; but the press state
that as far as inquiries have been made at present it is probably correct.The loss of life has chiefly occurred amongst the junk population, and the
fine new fleet of forty Imperial junks, intended for the Yang-tse-kiang,
has been destroyed.The water rose till the streets of Honam had three
feet in them, but the buildings suffered less than might have been
expected; some two or three hundred feet of the granite wall at Shameen
was washed away, and blocks of stone were driven about as if they had been
billets of wood; houses in the city had also been blown down, and trees
rooted up; the rice crops have suffered severely; and the total damage may
be estimated in millions of dollars.Gaillard, an American Missionary,
was killed by the falling in of his house; and the residences of the Rev.Bonney and Piercey were thrown down, a large junk having been
driven up against them.At Whampoa the docks were all flooded, while the
workshops attached were unroofed and otherwise injured.From the _China
Mail_, which gives a long and graphic description of this disastrous
visitation, we extract the following:--'The British brig _Mexicana_
capsized in Hall and Co.'s dock, and lies on her beam-ends; the British
ship _Dewa Gungadhur_ is lying on her side in Gow and Co.'s dock; the
British steamer _Antelope_, in the Chinese dock at the corner of Junk
River, has her bow run up over the head of the dock, and her stern at an
angle of thirty degrees into it; the British steamer _Bombay Castle_ was
washed off the blocks in Couper's wooden dock, and was scuttled by her
captain to save her from being floated out of the dock; the American ship
_Washington_ is aground, blocking up the entrance to the Chinese dock in
Junk River; the American ship _Jacob Bell_ and British barque _Cannata_
are high on a mud flat, dry at low water--the latter making water, and
discharging her cargo; the new British steamer _Whampoa_ broke from her
moorings and went ashore, but has since been got off without injury.Several chops sunk, and five of the foreign Customs' inspectors were
drowned.Bamboo-town is entirely
destroyed, the water having flooded it to the depth of six feet, and swept
off a great number of its inhabitants.It is greatly to be feared that the
disasters among the shipping outside will prove something frightful, and
that many vessels now anxiously expected have either been driven on the
rocks and gone to pieces or have foundered at sea.Already, it will have
been observed, one dismasted vessel, the Danish brig _Hercules_, has come
in; and more may be looked for in the course of the next fortnight.The
_Iskandershah_ is on shore in the river, close to Tiger Island, a little
above the Bogue.'One writer says the city looks just as it did after the
bombardment by Admiral Seymour, and that there has not been such a typhoon
since 1832."The typhoon which visited Canton so severely also committed great ravages
at the port of Macao.Many junks were
sunk or driven ashore, and their crews drowned.The _Chilo_, a British
ship engaged in the rice trade, went ashore, and is a total wreck; and
another vessel was also reported lost.The wharves have suffered severely,
and houses were blown down.A letter, dated 28th July, says:--'Yesterday
morning a very strong typhoon did a great deal of damage here.The new sea
wall on the Praia Grande stood it well, except in one place; but the old
one, which has stood so many typhoons before, is now nearly entirely
broken down; also Messrs.Some houses have come
down, and trees on the Praia and other places have lost nearly all their
branches.The British barque _Chilo_ got ashore outside, and has parted
amidships; about 100 piculs copper cash have been saved from her cargo.The steamer _Syce_ is ashore in the inner harbour, but without damage.A
good many junks and boats have capsized or been dismasted, and a great
many lives lost.The appearance of the Praia Grande after the typhoon was
really astonishing.We had a very short notice or indication of a typhoon.On Saturday night the wind commenced to blow from N.E., but not before
Sunday morning, about a quarter past four, did the barometer go down, and
it stood at 8 A.M.it was
blowing hardest from S.W., and caused the greatest damage.'"_The following reprint (by permission) from the columns of the
"Spectator" of 11th Oct.and 25th Oct., 1862, conveys so
accurate an idea of the achievements of the gallant and lamented
Burke and Wills, and of the mismanagement that led to their
disastrous fate, that no apology is needed for inserting it
here._
THE AUSTRALIAN EXPLORING EXPEDITION OF 1860.[159]
(_Spectator, 11th and 25th Oct., 1862._)
"Those who are interested--and who is not?--in the history of the latest
and most successful of Australian exploring expeditions will find the
principal materials requisite for the satisfaction of their curiosity in
the small volume now before us.The special interest attaching to this
particular expedition lies in the striking contrast which it presents
between the perfect success of its leaders and their melancholy end.Having accomplished their arduous task of traversing the Australian
continent from south to north, Messrs.Burke and Wills returned to their
starting-point, only to find that the depot which they had established
there had been abandoned by their companions less than twelve hours before
their arrival.Utterly broken down by privation and fatigue, and
disappointed of the succour on which they had confidently relied, they
were unable to traverse the comparatively trifling distance which
separated them from the settled districts, and, after some weeks of
hopeless wandering, they were literally starved to death when almost
within sight of aid.The story of these few weeks, as contained in the
scanty records left by Messrs.Burke and Wills, and in the statement made
by their sole surviving companion, is one of the most touching narratives
of human fortitude that we have ever met with.The feeling of sympathy,
almost painful in its intensity, which it necessarily excites, is
immediately followed by a desire to ascertain the precise quarter in
which the gross neglect which alone could have rendered such a
catastrophe possible can justly be charged.It is to this point that we
propose mainly to direct the remarks which we have to make on Mr.Mary went to the bedroom.Jackson's volume; and we shall recapitulate the history of the expedition
only so far as is absolutely necessary to render our observations
generally intelligible."The exploring party left Melbourne on August 20, 1860.It was accompanied
by a number of camels, which had been imported for the purpose, on the
supposition that these animals would be peculiarly fitted to bear the
privations incidental to such a journey.Landells, who had charge of the camels, was
second in command; and the third officer was Mr.William John Wills, who
also acted as astronomical and meteorological observer to the expedition.On September 23 they reached Menindie, on the Darling river, about 400
miles from Melbourne.Landells, in consequence of some
disagreement with Mr.Burke, resigned his post; and Dr.Beckler, the
medical officer to the expedition, declined to go any further.Hereupon
Burke appointed Wills in Landells' place, and divided his party, leaving
one section at Menindie, in charge of Beckler, while he, with Wills and
six others, pushed on, on October 19, for Cooper's Creek, about 400 miles
further north, under the guidance of one Wright, a man acquainted with the
country, whom he met with on the spot.On October 31, when about half-way
between Menindie and Cooper's Creek, Burke appointed Wright third officer,
and sent him back to the Darling, with instructions to bring up the
remainder of the party and stores to Cooper's Creek without delay.He then
pushed on, and reached the Creek on November 11.He remained here about a
month, and then again divided his party.Three men, six camels, and twelve
horses were left at the depot on the Creek, under the command of Mr.Brahe, whose instructions were to remain till Burke's return, or until he
was forced to retreat by want of provisions.Burke started on December 16,
taking with him Wills, King, and Gray, six camels, one horse, and
provisions for three months, which was the time he expected to be absent;
but he told Brahe that he might be away four months, or even more.On
February 11, 1861, he reached a point only a few miles from the shore of
the Gulf of Carpentaria, and thus accomplished his mission of entirely
crossing the Australian Continent from south to north.He at once retraced
his steps, and arrived at the depot in Cooper's Creek on April 21,
accompanied by Wills and King, Gray having died a few days before.They
found that Brahe had quitted his post that very morning, and started for
the Darling, leaving some provisions buried at the foot of a tree, on
which he had cut an inscription indicating the fact.The exhausted
explorers debated what they had best do.Wills and King wished to make for
Menindie; but Burke, thinking that, weak as they were, it was hopeless to
try to overtake Brahe, decided to push for the nearest settled districts
of South Australia, distant about 150 miles.This they did on April 23,
having left a note in Brahe's _cache_, but without adding anything to his
inscription on the tree, or leaving any distinct intimation that they had
ever been there.They were
so weak that they could not advance more than five or six miles a day;
their camels knocked up, their provisions ran short; and, finally, Burke
died on July 1st, Wills having succumbed a day or two earlier.King, the
sole survivor, fell in with the natives, who treated him kindly; and he
was rescued on September 15th by a party sent from Melbourne in search of
him, under the guidance of Mr.Wright, and see how he carried out the
instructions given him by his chief.Burke, as we have already said,
sent him back to Menindie on October 31, 1860; and he reached that place
on November 5.Here, in the teeth of Burke's orders to bring the rest of
the party on to Cooper's Creek _without delay_, he remained inactive until
January 26, 1861, when he appears to have moved northward.He never,
however, got further than Bullo, a place about sixty miles south of
Cooper's Creek, where Mr.Brahe fell in with him on April 29, and at once
placed himself under his orders.Two days later Wright left Bullo, and
moved a few miles further south, "not seeing the utility of pushing on the
depot to Cooper's Creek for the purpose of remaining there the few weeks
their stores would last."On May 3, at Brahe's suggestion, Wright and he
returned to the depot on Cooper's Creek, taking no stores with them.They
remained there a quarter of an hour, did not examine the _cache_, and
then, seeing no signs of Burke having been there, rejoined the rest of
their party, and made their way back to the Darling, whence Brahe at once
proceeded to Melbourne.On hearing his report, the Exploration Committee
lost no time in despatching the relief party, under Mr.Daniel moved to the hallway.Howitt, which, as
we have already said, discovered King in the following September."After the foregoing brief summary of the facts of the case, the reader
will probably have but little difficulty in coming to the conclusion that
the death of Messrs.Burke and Wills was, in great measure, owing to Mr.Wright's having so unaccountably neglected to obey the distinct
instructions of his chief.Jackson, indeed, holds that no one but
Wright was at all to blame in the matter.Nay, he even goes so far as to
accuse Wright of having wilfully and deliberately left the leaders of the
expedition to a fate which he must have known would be the natural result
of his inaction.'Can any reasonable person,' he asks, 'doubt that Wright
knew perfectly well the exact nature of his instructions, and foresaw the
disastrous consequences almost certain to ensue should they be
disregarded.'This very serious charge is based upon a passage in a
despatch from Mr.Wright to the Exploration Committee at Melbourne, dated
Dec.19th, in which he says:--'As I have every reason to believe that Mr.Burke has pushed on from Cooper's Creek, relying upon finding the depot
stores at that water-course upon his return, there is room for the most
serious apprehensions as to the safety of himself and party, should he
find that he has miscalculated.' |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | This passage seems at least to prove that
Wright had fully comprehended both the meaning and the object of the
instructions he had received, _to return to Menindie, and bring up the
stores as rapidly as possible to Cooper's Creek_.In the teeth of these
positive orders he remained at Menindie no less than eighty-two days, from
Nov.26th, 1861, doing literally nothing at all.There
was, as far as we can see, nothing to prevent him from reaching Cooper's
Creek with a portion of the stores before the end of 1860.The distance
from Menindie to the Creek is about 400 miles, and Mr.Burke had traversed
it without difficulty in twenty-three days.When Burke left Cooper's Creek
on December 16th, he was in daily expectation of Wright's arrival.Had
this reasonable expectation been fulfilled, there would then have been no
reason why Brahe should not have remained at the depot for six months, or
even a longer time.Wright appears to have spent a considerable portion of
the time which he wasted at Menindie in making trips to see his wife and
family, who were at a station about twenty-one miles off, being troubled
with fears that they would not get safely and comfortably to Adelaide,
whither he wished to send them.The explanation by which he subsequently
endeavoured to account for his delay was anything but satisfactory.In the
despatch already referred to, dated Dec.29th, he alleged that he 'delayed
starting merely because the camels left behind by Mr.Brahe were too few
in number, and too inferior in carrying powers, to carry out a really
serviceable quantity of provisions.'When, however, he was examined by the
Commissioners appointed to inquire into the affair, he stated that he
remained at Menindie because he was waiting for the confirmation of his
appointment as third officer.When pressed to reconcile these two
statements, and reminded that, unless he could do so satisfactorily, he
'stood in an awkward position before the Commission,' he made no reply.When at last he did set out from Menindie, we have seen that he advanced
no further than Bullo, where he was joined by Brahe on April 29th.In
explanation of this circumstance, he urges that Burke had left Menindie at
a favourable season, when water was abundant; while when he started the
advance of summer had dried up all the water-courses, and the ravages of
scurvy had reduced the effective strength of his party to an alarming
extent.Sandra travelled to the office.This statement is, no doubt, substantially true; but we need
hardly observe that it rather aggravates than extenuates his offence.Since he was well acquainted with the country, and knew that the advance
of summer would immensely increase the difficulty of traversing it, he is
all the more inexcusable for not having attempted the journey before the
hot weather set in.When, after having been joined by Brahe, he paid a
final visit to Cooper's Creek, the careless manner in which he conducted
the search almost drives us to the conclusion that he was completely
indifferent to its result.It was at Brahe's suggestion that he went back
at all.Then though both he and Brahe were mounted, and were accompanied
by a spare pack-horse, he did not, although the contingency of finding
Burke's party was the sole object of his journey, attempt to provide for
it by taking with him any stores of any kind.On reaching the depot, he
stayed there only a quarter of an hour, and then, having failed in that
time to discover any trace of Burke's party, at once turned his back on
the Creek.It is scarcely possible to imagine how, under such
circumstances, he could have omitted to examine the _cache_ made by Brahe
a few days before, in which case he would have discovered that Burke's
party had returned to the Creek, and would have learnt the direction in
which they had gone.When questioned on this point by the Commissioners,
he replied that he had noticed traces of natives about the place, and
feared that if he disturbed the ground where the stores were hid they
would see that something was buried there, and would plunder the _cache_.He 'had not the presence of mind,' he went on, to add any mark of his own
to the inscription which Brahe had cut upon the tree.He seems, in fact,
to have been thoroughly sick of the whole business, and to have thought of
nothing but getting back to the settled districts with all possible speed."We must now inquire what amount of blame can be fairly attached to Mr.Brahe, whose departure from Cooper's Creek was the immediate cause of the
melancholy end of Messrs.Sandra went to the bathroom.He appears to have received
instructions to remain at the Creek until the return of Burke's party, or,
at any rate, until the failure of his provisions obliged him to retreat.Burke fixed three months as the probable duration of his absence; but
Wills seems to have impressed upon Brahe that it was quite possible they
might have been away for at least four months.Brahe did actually remain
there more than four months--from December 16th to April 21st;--but he
left before he was absolutely compelled to do so.Even supposing him not
to have overrated the supply of provisions necessary to carry his party
back to the Darling, he could clearly have remained until he had consumed
the stores which he left behind him at the Creek.But we must not forget
that he was placed in a very difficult position.One of his companions was
dangerously ill, and had for some time beset him with entreaties to return
to Menindie; and all his party seem to have thought it very doubtful
whether Burke would return that way at all.In Brahe's diary, on April
18th, we find the entry, 'There is no probability of Mr.Here the observation suggests itself that, had this been his
real conviction, there was no occasion for him to deprive himself of the
stores which he left behind him.Jackson points out that the letter
left by Brahe in the _cache_ at the Creek did not give a true account of
the condition of his party.In it Brahe said that they were all quite
well except one, and that the camels and horses were in good working
condition.It was this intelligence which induced Burke to decide to make
a push for South Australia.Had he known that Brahe's party, both men and
beasts, were really in a weak and exhausted state, as the slowness of
their rate of progression appears to prove, he would probably have decided
to follow in their track.Since Brahe was under Wright's command at the
time of their final return to Cooper's Creek, the lamentable carelessness
which, as we have already said, was displayed on that occasion, cannot
fairly be laid to his charge.It is almost impossible for us, with the
full knowledge of all the circumstances which we now possess, not to allow
our judgment to be influenced by the fact that, if Brahe had postponed his
departure for a few hours only, the melancholy catastrophe would not have
occurred.If, however, we wish to judge him fairly, we must not forget
that this is a fact of which, at the time of his departure, he was
necessarily ignorant.On the whole, we are inclined to agree with the
verdict pronounced in his case by the Commissioners who were appointed to
inquire into the affair.'His decision,' they say, 'was most unfortunate;
but we believe he acted from a conscientious desire to discharge his duty,
and we are confident that the painful reflection that twenty-four hours'
further perseverance would have made him the rescuer of the explorers, and
gained for himself the praise and approbation of all, must be of itself an
agonizing thought, without the addition of censure he might feel himself
undeserving of.'"We have now to inquire into the manner in which Mr.Burke discharged his
duties as leader of the expedition, with a view of ascertaining whether
its melancholy termination can, in any degree, be traced to any fault,
whether of omission or of commission, on his part.If we are willing to
submit ourselves absolutely to Mr.Jackson's guidance, we may, indeed,
spare ourselves this trouble; for he asserts most distinctly that Mr.Burke invariably did what was best under existing circumstances, and that
he never neglected any precaution which could tend in any way to bring his
undertaking to a successful issue.Jackson
comes forward as the avowed advocate of Mr.Burke; and, while we are not
one whit behind him in enthusiastic admiration for the energy and
self-devotion displayed by his hero, we must not allow our respect for
these qualities to blind us to any defects which we think we can detect in
the conduct of the expedition.The report of the Commission, appointed by
the Victorian Government to inquire into the circumstances connected with
the death of Burke and Wills, finds fault with Burke on several points,
which we will proceed to consider in detail.In the first place, it
pronounces that Burke acted'most injudiciously' in dividing his party at
Menindie.We are not sure that we can entirely concur in this verdict.We
do not see any evidence that Burke intended the depot at Menindie to be a
permanent one.On the contrary, it seems clear that he intended it to have
been transferred bodily to Cooper's Creek.On his arrival at Menindie, Dr.Beckler's refusal to proceed further placed him in an awkward position.As
Beckler had no objection to remain at Menindie, Burke resolved to make his
services available as far as possible, and left him there with a section
of the party in charge of the heavier stores, while he himself pushed on
towards Cooper's Creek under the guidance of Mr.The division of
the party did not in any way <DW44> or imperil Burke's arrival at Cooper's
Creek; and he seems to have looked forward to the union of all his forces
at that place before he proceeded further.As soon as he was convinced
that Wright was worthy of confidence, he appointed him third officer of
the expedition, and sent him back to bring the remainder of the party to
Cooper's Creek without delay, at the same time accepting Beckler's
resignation, and relieving him from any further charge.We cannot
therefore see that the division of the party at Menindie was directly
productive of any evil consequences, nor would any harm have resulted from
it, but for Wright's flagrant neglect of the instructions of his chief.In
the next place, the report pronounces that 'it was an error of judgment on
the part of Mr.Wright to an important command in the
expedition, without a previous personal knowledge of him.'Mary went to the bedroom.On this point
we think there is good ground for the censure of the Commission.That
Burke was, as it were, driven into a corner by the resignation of Landells
and Beckler is quite true; but it is difficult to imagine that he should
not have been able (supposing him to possess any insight into character at
all) to detect, during the time that he and Wright were together, some
indication of the gross incompetence which the latter subsequently
displayed.Jackson endeavours to shift the blame from Mr.Burke's
shoulders to those of the Exploration Committee, by observing that the
Committee knew of Wright's appointment by Dec.3, and so had plenty of
time, if they had had any objection to him, to replace him by some one
else.What objection could the Committee possibly have to a man whose name
they had never heard before that moment?Clearly they are not to blame for
relying upon the judgment of the leader whom they had selected, and
confirming his appointment of a man who he assured them 'was well
qualified for the post, and bore the very highest character.'Whatever
blame may attach to the selection of Mr.Wright for a post of trust must
rest entirely upon Mr.Burke for finally departing from Cooper's Creek before the arrival of the
depot party from Menindie, and for undertaking so extended a journey with
an insufficient supply of provisions.On both these points there is
something to be said in Mr.As regards the first, his
conduct was the natural result of his misplaced confidence in Wright,
combined with the consideration that the success of his journey depended
in great measure upon the rapidity with which it was prosecuted.With
respect to the second, we must remember that on an expedition of this
kind, when the carrying power is limited, and every ounce of weight has to
be considered, it is almost as important to exclude everything that is
superfluous as it is to leave behind nothing that is strictly necessary.Burke was guilty of an error in
judgment, in underrating the time which the journey from Cooper's Creek to
Carpentaria was likely to require.Daniel moved to the hallway.Finally, the Commissioners draw
attention to the fact that it does not appear that Burke kept any regular
journal, or that he gave written instructions to his officers.'Had he,'
they observe on this point--and we fully concur in their
remark--'performed these essential portions of the duties of a leader,
many of the calamities of the expedition might have been averted, and
little or no room would have been left for doubt in judging of the conduct
of those subordinates, who pleaded unsatisfactory and contradictory verbal
orders and statements.'"We are unable, the reader will perceive, to concur in Mr.Jackson's
repeatedly expressed opinion, that there are no grounds whatever for any
of the censures which the Commissioners found it their duty to pronounce
on some points connected with Mr.The fact is, that after a careful consideration of all the circumstances
of the case, we incline to the conclusion that Mr.Burke did not possess
the qualifications necessary for the successful leadership of such an
enterprise; and that, consequently, some blame must rest with the
Exploration Committee, who selected a comparatively unfit person for a
position of such responsibility and importance.We appreciate and admire,
as enthusiastically as Mr.John went to the garden.Jackson himself can possibly do, the courage
and self-devotion displayed by Mr.Burke; but we cannot forget that
gallantry and daring are not the only qualities required in the leader of
an exploring expedition through an unknown and difficult country.The
choice of the Committee was, we believe, mainly dictated by the
consideration that Mr.John travelled to the office.Burke had, while employed in the police-force of
the colony, shown himself to be possessed of a considerable talent for
organization, and of no little aptitude for command.Gustavus and the Winter-King were
his Brothers-in-law; Gustavus wedded to his Sister, he to Winter-King's.His relations to Poland, feudal superior of Preussen, were delicate; and
Gustavus was in deadly quarrel with Poland.And then Gustavus's sudden
laying-hold of Pommern, which had just escaped from Wallenstein and
the Kaiser?It must be granted, poor George Wilhelm's case demanded
circumspectness.One can forgive him for declining the Bohemian-King speculation, though
his Uncle of Jagerndorf and his Cousins of Liegnitz were so hearty
and forward in it.Pardonable in him to decline the Bohemian
speculation;--though surely it is very sad that he found himself so
short of "butter and firewood" when the poor Ex-King, and his young
Wife, then in a specially interesting state, came to take shelter with
him![Solltl _(Geschichte des Dreissigjahrigen Krieges,_--a trivial
modern Book) gives a notable memorial from the Brandenburg RATHS,
concerning these their difficulties of housekeeping.Their real object,
we perceive, was to get rid of a Guest so dangerous as the Ex-King,
under Ban of the Empire, had now become.]But when Gustavus landed, and
flung out upon the winds such a banner as that of his,--truly it was
required of a Protestant Governor of men to be able to read said
banner in a certain degree.A Governor, not too IMperfect, would have
recognized this Gustavus, what his purposes and likelihoods were; the
feeling would have been, checked by due circumspectness: "Up, my men,
let us follow this man; let us live and die in the Cause this man goes
for!Live otherwise with honor, or die otherwise with honor, we
cannot, in the pass things have come to!"--And thus, at the very worst,
Brandenburg would have had only one class of enemies to ravage it; and
might have escaped with, arithmetically speaking, HALF the harrying it
got in that long Business.But Protestant Germany--sad shame to it, which proved lasting sorrow
as well--was all alike torpid; Brandenburg not an exceptional case.No Prince stood up as beseemed: or only one, and he not a great one;
Landg |
office | Where is John? | Wilhelm of Hessen all along;--and a few
wild hands, Christian of Brunswick, Christian of Anhalt, Johann George
of Jagerndorf, who stormed out tumultuously at first, but were
soon blown away by the Tilly-Wallenstein TRADE-WINDS and regulated
armaments:--the rest sat still, and tried all they could to keep out of
harm's way.The "Evangelical Union" did a great deal of manifestoing,
pathetic, indignant and other; held solemn Meetings at Heilbronn, old
Sir Henry Wotton going as Ambassador to them; but never got any redress.Had the Evangelical Union shut up its inkhorns sooner; girt on its
fighting-tools when the time came, and done some little execution with
them then, instead of none at all,--we may fancy the Evangelical Union
would have better discharged its function.It might have saved immense
wretchedness to Germany.In fact, had there been no better Protestantism than that of Germany,
all was over with Protestantism; and Max of Bavaria, with fanatical
Ferdinand II.Sandra travelled to the office.as Kaiser over him, and Father Lammerlein at his right
hand and Father Hyacinth at his left, had got their own sweet way in
this world.But Protestant Germany was not Protestant Europe, after
all.Over seas there dwelt and reigned a certain King in Sweden; there
farmed, and walked musing by the shores of the Ouse in Huntingdonshire,
a certain man;--there was a Gustav Adolf over seas, an Oliver Cromwell
over seas; and "a company of poor men" were found capable of taking
Lucifer by the beard,--who accordingly, with his Lammerleins, Hyacinths,
Habernfeldts and others, was forced to withdraw, after a tough
struggle!--
Chapter XVI.-- THIRTY-YEARS WAR.The enormous Thirty-Years War, most intricate of modern Occurrences in
the domain of Dryasdust, divides itself, after some unravelling, into
Three principal Acts or Epochs; in all of which, one after the other,
our Kurfurst had an interest mounting progressively, but continuing to
be a passive interest.Act FIRST goes from 1620 to 1624; and might be entitled "The Bohemian
King Made and Demolished."Personally the Bohemian King was soon
demolished.His Kingship may be said to have gone off by explosion;
by one Fight, namely, done on the Weissenberg near Prag (Sunday, 8th
November, 1620), while he sat at dinner in the City, the boom of the
cannon coming in with interest upon his high guests and him.He had
to run, in hot haste, that night, leaving many of his important
papers,--and becomes a Winter-King.Winter-King's account was soon
settled.But the extirpating of his Adherents, and capturing of his
Hereditary Lands, Palatinate and Upper-Palatinate, took three years
more.Hard fighting for the Palatinate; Tilly and Company against the
"Evangelical-Union Troops, and the English under Sir Horace Vere."Evangelical-Union Troops, though marching about there, under an Uncle of
our Kurfurst (Margraf Joachim Ernst, that lucky Anspach Uncle, founder
of "the Line"), who professed some skill in soldiering, were a mere
Picture of an Army; would only "observe," and would not fight at all.So that the whole fighting fell to Sir Horace and his poor handful of
English; of whose grim posture "in Frankendale" [Frankenthal, a little
Town in the Palatinate, N.W.and other
Strongholds, for months long, there is talk enough in the old English
History-Books.Then there were certain stern War-Captains, who rallied from the
Weissenberg Defeat:--Christian of Brunswick, the chief of them, titular
Bishop of Halberstadt, a high-flown, fiery young fellow, of terrible
fighting gifts; he flamed up considerably, with "the Queen of Bohemia's
glove stuck in his Hat:" "Bright Lady, it shall stick there, till I get
you your own again, or die!"[1621-1623, age not yet twenty-five; died
(by poison), 1626, having again become supremely important just then._"Gottes Freund, der Pfaffen Feind_ (God's Friend, Priests' Foe);"
_"Alles fur Ruhm und Ihr (All for Glory and Her,"_--the bright Elizabeth,
become Ex-Queen), were mottoes of his.--Buddaus IN VOCE (i.Christian of Brunswick, George of Jagerndorf (our
Kurfurst's Uncle), Count Mansfeldt and others, made stormy fight once
and again, hanging upon this central "Frankendale" Business, till they
and it became hopeless.For the Kaiser and his Jesuits were not in
doubt; a Kaiser very proud, unscrupulous; now clearly superior in
force,--and all along of great superiority in fraud.Christian of Brunswick, Johann George and Mansfeldt were got rid
of: Christian by poison; Johann George and Mansfeldt by other
methods,--chiefly by playing upon poor King James of England, and
leading him by the long nose he was found to have.The Palatinate became
the Kaiser's for the time being; Upper Palatinate (OBER-PFALZ) Duke Max
of Bavaria, lying contiguous to it, had easily taken."Incorporate
the Ober-Pfalz with your Bavaria," said the Kaiser, "you, illustrious,
thrice-serviceable Max!And let Lammerlein and Hyacinth, with their
Gospel of Ignatius, loose upon it.Nay, as a still richer reward,
be yours the forfeited KUR (Electorship) of this mad Kur-Pfalz,
or Winter-King.Sandra went to the bathroom.I will hold his Rhine-Lands, his UNTER-PFALZ: his
Electorship and OBER-PFALZ, I say, are yours, Duke, henceforth KURFURST
Maximilian!"[Kohler, _Reichs-Historie,_ p.Which was a hard
saying in the ears of Brandenburg, Saxony and the other Five, and of
the Reich in general; but they had all to comply, after wincing.For the
Kaiser proceeded with a high hand.He had put the Ex-King under Ban of
the Empire (never asking "the Empire" about it); put his Three principal
Adherents, Johann George of Jagerndorf one of them, Prince Christian of
Anhalt (once captain at the Siege of Juliers) another, likewise under
Ban of the Empire; [22d Jan.and in short had
flung about, and was flinging, his thunder-bolts in a very Olympian
manner.Under all which, what could Brandenburg and the others do; but
whimper some trembling protest, "Clear against Law!"The Evangelical Union did not now any more than formerly draw out its
fighting-tools.Mary went to the bedroom.In fact, the Evangelical Union now fairly dissolved
itself; melted into a deliquium of terror under these thunder-bolts that
were flying, and was no more heard of in the world.--
SECOND ACT, OR EPOCH, 1624-1629.A SECOND UNCLE PUT TO THE BAN, AND
POMMERN SNATCHED AWAY.Except in the "NETHER-SAXON CIRCLE" (distant Northwest region, with its
Hanover, Mecklenburg, with its rich Hamburgs, Lubecks, Magdeburgs, all
Protestant, and abutting on the Protestant North), trembling Germany lay
ridden over as the Kaiser willed.Foreign League got up by France, King
James, Christian IV.of Denmark (James's Brother-in-law, with whom he
had such "drinking" in Somerset House, long ago, on Christian's visit
hither [Old Histories of James I.)]), went to water, or
worse.Only the "Nether-Saxon Circle" showed some life; was levying an
army; and had appointed Christian of Brunswick its Captain, till he was
got poisoned;--upon which the drinking King of Denmark took the command.Act SECOND goes from 1624 to 1627 or even 1629; and contains drunken
Christian's Exploits.Which were unfortunate, almost to the ruin of
Denmark itself, as well as of the Nether-Saxon Circle;--till in the
latter of these years he slightly rallied, and got a supportable
Peace granted him (Peace of Lubeck, 1629); after which he sits quiet,
contemplative, with an evil eye upon Sweden now and then.The beatings
he got, in quite regular succession, from Tilly and Consorts, are
not worth mentioning: the only thing one now remembers of him is his
alarming accident on the ramparts of Hameln, just at the opening of
these Campaigns.At Hameln, which was to be a strong post, drunken
Christian rode out once, on a summer afternoon (1624), to see that the
ramparts were all right, or getting all right;--and tumbled, horse and
self (self in liquor, it is thought), in an ominous alarming manner.Taken up for dead;--nay some of the vague Histories seem to think he was
really dead:--but he lived to be often beaten after that, and had many
moist years more.Our Kurfurst had another Uncle put to the Ban in this Second
Act,--Christian Wilhelm Archbishop of Magdeburg, "for assisting
the Danish King;" nor was Ban all the ruin that fell on this poor
Archbishop.What could an unfortunate Kurfurst do, but tremble and
obey?There was still a worse smart got by our poor Kurfurst out of Act
Second; the glaring injustice done him in Pommern.Does the reader remember that scene in the High Church of Stettin a
hundred and fifty years ago?How the Burgermeister threw sword and
helmet into the grave of the last Duke of Pommern-Stettin there; and a
forward Citizen picked them out again in favor of a Collateral Branch?Never since, any more than then, could Brandenburg get Pommern according
to claim.Collateral Branch, in spite of Friedrich Ironteeth, in spite
even of Albert Achilles and some fighting of his; contrived, by pleading
at the Diets and stirring up noise, to maintain its pretensions: and
Treaties without end ensued, as usual; Treaties refreshed and new-signed
by every Successor of Albert, to a wearisome degree.The sum of which
always was: "Pommern does actual homage to Brandenburg; vassal of
Brandenburg;--and falls home to it, if the now Extant Line go extinct."Daniel moved to the hallway.Nay there is an ERBVERBRUDERUNG (Heritage-Fraternity) over and above,
established this long time, and wearisomely renewed at every new
Accession.Hundreds of Treaties, oppressive to think of:--and now the
last Duke, old Bogislaus, is here, without hope of children; and the
fruit of all that haggling, actual Pommern to wit, will at last fall
home?John went to the garden.For the Kaiser having so triumphantly swept off the Winter-King, and
Christian IV.in the rear of him, and got Germany ready for converting
to Orthodoxy,--wished now to have some hold of the Seaboard, thereby
to punish Denmark; nay thereby, as is hoped, to extend the blessings of
Orthodoxy into England, Sweden, Holland, and the other Heretic States,
in due time.This is the Kaiser's fixed wish,
rising to the rank of hope now and then: all Europe shall become <DW7>
again by the help of God and the Devil.So the Kaiser, on hardly any
pretext, seized Mecklenburg from the Proprietors,--"Traitors, how durst
you join Danish Christian?"Duke of
Mecklenburg, "Admiral of the EAST SEA (Baltic);" and set to
"building ships of war in Rostock,"--his plans going far.[Kohler,
_Reichs-Historie,_ pp, 524, 525.]John travelled to the office.This done, he seized Pommern, which
also is a fine Sea-country,--stirring up Max of Bavaria to make
some idle pretence to Pommern, that so the Kaiser might seize it "in
sequestration till decided on."Under which hard treatment, George
Wilhelm had to sit sad and silent,--though the Stralsunders would not.Hence the world-famous Siege of Stralsund (1628); fierce Wallenstein
declaring, "I will have the Town, if it hung by a chain from Heaven;"
but finding he could not get it; owing to the Swedish succor, to the
stubborn temper prevalent among the Townsfolk, and also greatly to the
rains and peat-bogs.A second Uncle of George Wilhelm's, that unlucky Archbishop of Magdeburg
above mentioned, the Kaiser, once more by his own arbitrary will, put
under Ban of the Empire, in this Second Act: "Traitor, how durst you
join with the Danes?"The result of which was Tilly's Sack of Magdeburg
(10-12th May, 1631), a transaction never forgettable by mankind.--As
for Pommern, Gustav Adolf, on his intervening in these matters, landed
there: Pommern was now seized by Gustav Adolf, as a landing-place and
place-of-arms, indispensable for Sweden in the present emergency; and
was so held thenceforth.Pommern will not fall to George Wilhelm at this
time.THIRD ACT, AND WHAT THE KURFURST SUFFERED IN IT.And now we are at Act THIRD:--Landing of Gustav Adolf "in the Isle of
Usedom, 24th June, 1630," and onward for Eighteen Years till the Peace
of Westphalia, in 1648;--on which, as probably better known to the
reader, we will not here go into details.In this Third Act too, George
Wilhelm followed his old scheme, peace at any price;--as shy of Gustav
as he had been of other Champions of the Cause; and except complaining,
petitioning and manifestoing, studiously did nothing.Poor man, it was his fate to stand in the range of these huge
collisions,--Bridge of Dessau, Siege of Stralsund, Sack of Magdeburg,
Battle of Leipzig,--where the Titans were bowling rocks at one another;
and he hoped, by dexterous skipping, to escape share of the game.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.To keep well with his Kaiser,--and such a Kaiser to Germany and to
him,--this, for George Wilhelm, was always the first commandment.If the
Kaiser confiscate your Uncles, against law; seize your Pommern; rob you
on the public highways,--George Wilhelm, even in such case, is full of
dubitations.Nay his Prime-Minister, one Schwartzenberg, a Catholic,
an Austrian Official at one time,--Progenitor of the Austrian
Schwartzenbergs that now are,--was secretly in the Kaiser's interest,
and is even thought to have been in the Kaiser's pay, all along.Gustav, at his first landing, had seized Pommern, and swept it clear
of Austrians, for himself and for his own wants; not too regardful of
George Wilhelm's claims on it.He cleared out Frankfurt-on-Oder, Custrin
and other Brandenburg Towns, in a similar manner,--by cannon and
storm, when needful;--drove the Imperialists and Tilly forth of these
countries.Advancing, next year, to save Magdeburg, now shrieking under
Tilly's bombardment, Gustav insisted on having, if not some bond of
union from his Brother-in-law of Brandenburg, at least the temporary
cession of two Places of War for himself, Spandau and Custrin,
indispensable in any farther operation.Which cession Kurfurst George
Wilhelm, though giving all his prayers to the Good Cause, could by
no means grant.Daniel travelled to the hallway.Gustav had to insist, with more and more emphasis;
advancing at last, with military menace, upon Berlin itself.He was met
by George Wilhelm and his Council, "in the woods of Copenick," short way
to the |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | [_OEvres de Frederic le Grand_ (Berlin, 1846-1856 et seqq.:
_Memoires de Brandebourg_), i.For the rest, Friedrich's Account of
the Transaction is very loose and scanty: see Pauli (iv.For many hours so; round the inflexible Gustav,--who
was there like a fixed milestone, and to all questions and comers had
only one answer!--_"Que faire; ils ont des canons?Sandra travelled to the office."_ This was the
3d May, 1631.This probably is about the nadir-point of the
Brandenburg-Hohenzollern History.The little Friedrich, who became
Frederick the Great, in writing of it, has a certain grim banter in
his tone; and looks rather with mockery on the perplexities of his poor
Ancestor, so fatally ignorant of the time of day it had now become.On the whole, George Wilhelm did what is to be called nothing, in the
Thirty-Years War; his function was only that of suffering.He followed
always the bad lead of Johann George, Elector of Saxony; a man of no
strength, devoutness or adequate human worth; who proved, on these
negative grounds, and without flagrancy of positive badness, an
unspeakable curse to Germany.Not till the Kaiser fulminated forth his
Restitution-Edict, and showed he was in earnest about it (1629-1631),
"Restore to our Holy Church what you have taken from her since the
Peace of Passau!"--could this Johann George prevail upon himself to join
Sweden, or even to do other than hate it for reasons he saw.Seized by
the throat in this manner, and ordered to DELIVER, Kur-Sachsen did, and
Brandenburg along with him, make Treaty with the Swede.[8th February,
1631 (Kohler, _Reichs-Historie,_ pp.in consequence of which
they two, some months after, by way of co-operating with Gustav on
his great march Vienna-ward, sent an invading force into Bohemia,
Brandenburg contributing some poor 3,000 to it; who took Prag, and some
other open Towns; but "did almost nothing there," say the Histories,
"except dine and drink."It is clear enough they were instantly
scattered home [October, 1633 (Stenzel, i.Sandra went to the bathroom.at the first glimpse
of Wallenstein dawning on the horizon again in those parts.Gustav having vanished (Field of Lutzen, 6th November, 1632 [Pauli,
iv.]), Oxenstiern, with his high attitude, and "Presidency" of the
"Union of Heilbronn," was rather an offence to Kur-Sachsen, who used to
be foremost man on such occasions.Kur-Sachsen broke away again; made
his Peace of Prag, [1635, 20th May (Stenzel, i.Mary went to the bedroom.whom Brandenburg
again followed; Brandenburg and gradually all the others, except the
noble Wilhelm of Hessen-Cassel alone.Miserable Peace; bit of Chaos
clouted up, and done over with Official varnish;--which proved to be the
signal for continuing the War beyond visible limits, and rendering peace
impossible.After this, George Wilhelm retires from the scene; lives in Custrin
mainly; mere miserable days, which shall be invisible to us.He died in
1640; and, except producing an active brave Son very unlike himself, did
nothing considerable in the world._"Que faire; ils ont des canons!"_
Among the innumerable sanguinary tusslings of this War are counted Three
great Battles, Leipzig, Lutzen, Nordlingen.Under one great Captain,
Swedish Gustav, and the two or three other considerable Captains, who
appeared in it, high passages of furious valor, of fine strategy and
tactic, are on record.But on the whole, the grand weapon in it, and
towards the latter times the exclusive one, was Hunger.The opposing
Armies tried to starve one another; at lowest, tried each not to starve.Each trying to eat the country, or at any rate to leave nothing eatable
in it: what that will mean for the country, we may consider.As the
Armies too frequently, and the Kaiser's Armies habitually, lived without
commissariat, often enough without pay, all horrors of war and of being
a seat of war, that have been since heard of, are poor to those then
practised.The detail of which is still horrible to read.Germany, in
all eatable quarters of it, had to undergo the process;--tortured, torn
to pieces, wrecked, and brayed as in a mortar under the iron mace of
war.[Curious incidental details of the state it was reduced to, in the
Rhine and Danube Countries, turn up in the Earl of Arundel and Surrey's
TRAVELS ("Arundel of the Marbles") as _Ambassador Extraordinary to the
Emperor Ferdinando II.in 1636_ (a small Volume, or Pamphlet, London,
1637).]Brandenburg saw its towns sieged and sacked, its country
populations driven to despair, by the one party and the other.Three
times,--first in the Wallenstein Mecklenburg period, while fire and
sword were the weapons, and again, twice over, in the ultimate stages of
the struggle, when starvation had become the method--Brandenburg fell to
be the principal theatre of conflict, where all forms of the dismal
were at their height.In 1638, three years after that precious "Peace of
Prag," the Swedes (Banier VERSUS Gallas) starving out the Imperialists
in those Northwestern parts, the ravages of the starving Gallas and his
Imperialists excelled all precedent; and the "famine about Tangermunde
had risen so high that men ate human flesh, nay human creatures ate
their own children."Daniel moved to the hallway._"Que faire; ils ont des
canons!_"
Chapter XVII.-- DUCHY OF JAGERNDORF.This unfortunate George Wilhelm failed in getting Pommern when due;
Pommern, firmly held by the Swedes, was far from him.But that was not
the only loss of territory he had.Jagerndorf,--we have heard of Johann
George of Jagerndorf, Uncle of this George Wilhelm, how old Joachim
Friedrich put him into Jagerndorf, long since, when it fell home to
the Electoral House.Jagerndorf is now lost; Johann George is under
REICHS-ACHT (Ban of Empire), ever since the Winter-King's explosion, and
the thunder-bolts that followed; and wanders landless;--nay he is long
since dead, and has six feet of earth for a territory, far away in
Transylvania, or the RIESEN-GEBIRGE (Giant Mountains) somewhere.DUKE OF JAGERNDORF, ELECTOR'S UNCLE, IS PUT UNDER BAN.Johann George, a frank-hearted valiant man, concerning whom only good
actions, and no bad one, are on record, had notable troubles in the
world; bad troubles to begin with, and worse to end in.He was second
Son of Kurfurst Joachim Friedrich, who had meant him for the Church.[1577-1624: Rentsch, p.John went to the garden.The young fellow was Coadjutor of
Strasburg, almost from the time of getting into short-clothes.He
was then, still very young, elected Bishop there (1592); Bishop of
Strasburg,--but only by the Protestant part of the Canons; the Catholic
part, unable to submit longer, and thinking it a good time for revolt
against a Protestant population and obstinately heterodox majority,
elected another Bishop,--one "Karl of the House of Lorraine;" and there
came to be dispute, and came even to be fighting needed.Fighting;
which prudent Papa would not enter into, except faintly at second-hand,
through the Anspach Cousins, or others that were in the humor.John travelled to the office.Troublesome times for the young man; which lasted a dozen years or
more.At last a Bargain was made (1604); Protestant and Catholic Canons
splitting the difference in some way; and the House of Lorraine
paying Johann George a great deal of money to go home again.[_OEuvres completes de Voltaire,_ 97 vols.(Paris, 1825-1832),
xxxiii.284.--Kohler (_Reichs-Historie,_ p.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.487) gives the authentic
particulars.]Poor Johann George came out of it in that way; not
second-best, think several.He was then (1606) put into Jagerndorf, which had just fallen vacant;
our excellent fat friend, George Friedrich of Anspach, Administrator
of Preussen, having lately died, and left it vacant, as we saw.George
Friedrich's death yielded fine apanages, three of them in all: FIRST
Anspach, SECOND, Baireuth, and this THIRD of Jagerndorf for a still
younger Brother.There was still a fourth younger Brother, Uncle of
George Wilhelm; Archbishop of Magdeburg this one; who also, as we have
seen, got into REICHS-ACHT, into deep trouble in the Thirty-Years War.He was in Tilly's thrice-murderous Storm of Magdeburg (10th May, 1631);
was captured, tumbled about by the wild soldiery, and nearly killed
there.Poor man, with his mitre and rochets left in such a state!In
the end he even became CATHOLIC,--from conviction, as was evident, and
bewilderment of mind;--and lived in Austria on a pension; occasionally
publishing polemical pamphlets.[1587; 1628; 1665 (Rentsch, pp.--
As to Johann George, he much repaired and beautified the Castle of
Jagerndorf, says Rentsch: but he unfortunately went ahead into the
Winter-King's adventure; which, in that sad battle of the Weissenberg,
made total shipwreck of itself, drawing Johann George and much else
along with it.Johann George was straightway tyrannously put to the
Ban, forfeited of life and lands: [22d January, 1621 (Kohler,
_Reichs-Historie,_ p.518: and rectify Hubner, t.Johann George
disowned the said Ban; stood out fiercely for self and Winter-King; and
did good fighting in the Silesian strongholds and mountain-passes: but
was forced to seek temporary shelter in SIEBENBURGEN (Transylvania); and
died far away, in a year or two (1624), while returning to try it
again.Sleeps, I think, in the "Jablunka Pass;" the dumb Giant-Mountains
(RIESEN-GEBIRGE) shrouding up his sad shipwreck and him.Daniel travelled to the hallway.Jagerndorf was thus seized by Ferdinand II.of the House of Hapsburg;
and though it was contrary to all law that the Kaiser should keep
it,--poor Johann George having left Sons very innocent of treason, and
Brothers, and an Electoral.Nephew, very innocent,--to whom, by old
compacts and new, the Heritage in defect of him was to fall,--neither
Kaiser Ferdinand II.nor any Kaiser would let
go the hold; but kept Jagerndorf fast clenched, deaf to all pleadings,
and monitions of gods or men.Till at length, in the fourth generation
afterwards, one "Friedrich the Second," not unknown to us,--a sharp
little man, little in stature, but large in faculty and renown, who is
now called "Frederick the Great,"--clutched hold of the Imperial fist
(so to speak), seizing his opportunity in 1740; and so wrenched and
twisted said close fist, that not only Jagerndorf dropped out of it,
but the whole of Silesia along with Jagerndorf, there being other claims
withal.And the account was at last settled, with compound interest,--as
in fact such accounts are sure to be, one way or other.John went to the bedroom.And so we leave
Johann George among the dumb Giant-Mountains again.-- FRIEDRICH WILHELM, THE GREAT KURFURST, ELEVENTH OF THE
SERIES.John travelled to the office.Brandenburg had again sunk very low under the Tenth Elector, in the
unutterable troubles of the times.But it was gloriously raised up again
by his Son Friedrich Wilhelm, who succeeded in 1640.This is he whom
they call the "Great Elector (GROSSE KURFURST);" of whom there is much
writing and celebrating in Prussian Books.As for the epithet, it is not
uncommon among petty German populations, and many times does not mean
too much: thus Max of Bavaria, with his Jesuit Lambkins and Hyacinths,
is, by Bavarians, called "Maximilian the Great."Friedrich Wilhelm,
both by his intrinsic qualities and the success he met with, deserves it
better than most.His success, if we look where he started and where he
ended, was beyond that of any other man in his day.He found Brandenburg
annihilated, and he left Brandenburg sound and flourishing; a great
country, or already on the way towards greatness.Undoubtedly a most
rapid, clear-eyed, active man.There was a stroke in him swift as
lightning, well-aimed mostly, and of a respectable weight, withal; which
shattered asunder a whole world of impediments for him, by assiduous
repetition of it for fifty years.[1620; 1640; 1688.]There hardly ever came to sovereign power a young man of twenty under
more distressing, hopeless-looking circumstances.Political significance
Brandenburg had none; a mere Protestant appendage dragged about by a
<DW7> Kaiser.His Father's Prime-Minister, as we have seen, was in the
interest of his enemies; not Brandenburg's servant, but Austria's.The very Commandants of his Fortresses, Commandant of Spandau more
especially, refused to obey Friedrich Wilhelm, on his accession; "were
bound to obey the Kaiser in the first place."He had to proceed softly
as well as swiftly; with the most delicate hand to get him of Spandau by
the collar, and put him under lock-and-key, him as a warning to others.For twenty years past, Brandenburg had been scoured by hostile armies,
which, especially the Kaiser's part of which, committed outrages new
in human history.In a year or two hence, Brandenburg became again the
theatre of business; Austrian Gallas advancing thither again (1644),
with intent "to shut up Torstenson and his Swedes in Jutland," where
they had been chastising old Christian IV., now meddlesome again, for
the last time, and never a good neighbor to Sweden.Gallas could by
no means do what he intended: on the contrary, he had to run from
Torstenson, what feet could do; was hunted, he and his MERODE-BRUDER
(beautiful inventors of the "Marauding" Art), "till they pretty much all
died (CREPERTIN)," says Kohler.[_Reichs-Historie,_ p.No great loss to society, the death of these Artists: but we can
fancy what their life, and especially what the process of their dying,
may have cost poor Brandenburg again!--
Friedrich Wilhelm's aim, in this as in other emergencies, was sun-clear
to himself, but for most part dim to everybody else.He had to walk very
warily, Sweden on one hand of him, suspicious Kaiser on the other; he
had to wear semblances, to be ready with evasive words; and advance
noiselessly by many circuits.More delicate operation could not be
imagined.With extraordinary
talent, diligence and felicity the young man wound himself out of
this first fatal position: got those foreign Armies pushed out of his
Country, and kept them out.His first concern had been to find some
vestige of revenue, to put that upon a clear footing; and by loans or
otherwise to scrape a little ready money together. |
bathroom | Where is John? | On the strength of
which a small body of soldiers could be collected about him, and drilled
into real ability to fight and obey.This as a basis: on this followed
all manner of things: freedom from Swedish-Austrian invasions, as the
first thing.He was himself, as appeared by and by, a fighter of the first quality,
when it came to that: but never was willing to fight if he could help
it.Preferred rather to shift, manoeuvre and negotiate; which he did in
a most vigilant, adroit and masterly manner.But by degrees he had grown
to have, and could maintain it, an Army of 24,000 men: among the best
troops then in being.With or without his will, he was in all the great
Wars of his time,--the time of Louis XIV., who kindled Europe four times
over, thrice in our Kurfurst's day.The Kurfurst's Dominions, a long
straggling country, reaching from Memel to Wesel, could hardly keep out
of the way of any war that might rise.He made himself available, never
against the good cause of Protestantism and German Freedom, yet always
in the place and way where his own best advantage was to be had.had often much need of him: still oftener, and more pressingly, had
Kaiser Leopold, the little Gentleman "in scarlet stockings, with a red
feather in his hat," whom Mr.Savage used to see majestically walking
about, with Austrian lip that said nothing at all.[_A Compleat History
of Germany,_ by Mr.Savage (8vo, London, 1702), p.Prefixed to the volume is the Portrait
of a solid Gentleman of forty: gloomily polite, with ample wig and
cravat,--in all likelihood some studious subaltern Diplomatist in the
Succession War.His little Book is very lean and barren: but faithfully
compiled,--and might have some illumination in it, where utter darkness
is so prevalent.Most likely, Addison picked his story of the _Siege of
Weinsberg_ ("Women carrying out their Husbands on their back,"--one
of his best SPECTATORS) out of this poor Book.]His 24,000 excellent
fighting-men, thrown in at the right time, were often a thing that could
turn the balance in great questions.They required to be allowed for at
a high rate,--which he well knew how to adjust himself for exacting and
securing always.WHAT BECAME OF POMMERN AT THE PEACE; FINAL GLANCE INTO CLEVE-JULICH.When the Peace of Westphalia (1648) concluded that Thirty-Years
Conflagration, and swept the ashes of it into order again, Friedrich
Wilhelm's right to Pommern was admitted by everybody: and well insisted
on by himself: but right had to yield to reason of state, and he could
not get it.The Swedes insisted on their expenses: the Swedes held
Pommern, had all along held it,--in pawn, they said, for their expenses.Nothing for it but to give the Swedes the better half of Pommern.FORE-Pommern (so they call it, "Swedish Pomerania" thenceforth), which
lies next the Sea: this, with some Towns and cuttings over and above,
was Sweden's share: Friedrich Wilhelm had to put up with HINDER-Pommern,
docked furthermore of the Town of Stettin, and of other valuable
cuttings, in favor of Sweden.Much to Friedrich Wilhelm's grief and just
anger, could he have helped it.They gave him Three secularized Bishoprics, Magdeburg, Halberstadt,
Minden, with other small remnants, for compensation; and he had to be
content with these for the present.But he never gave up the idea
of Pommern: much of the effort of his life was spent upon recovering
Fore-Pommern: thrice-eager upon that, whenever lawful opportunity
offered.To no purpose then: he never could recover Swedish Pommern;
only his late descendants, and that by slowish degrees, could recover it
all.Readers remember that Burgermeister of Stettin, with the helmet and
sword flung into the grave and picked out again:--and can judge whether
Brandenburg got its good luck quite by lying in bed!--
Once, and once only, he had a voluntary purpose towards War, and
it remained a purpose only.Soon after the Peace of Westphalia,
old Pfalz-Neuburg, the same who got the slap on the face, went into
tyrannous proceedings against the Protestant part of his subjects
in Julich-Cleve: who called to Friedrich Wilhelm for help.Friedrich
Wilhelm, a zealous Protestant, made remonstrances, retaliations: ere
long the thought struck him, "Suppose, backed by the Dutch, we threw out
this fantastic old gentleman, his Papistries, and pretended claims and
self, clear out of it?"This was Friedrich Wilhelm's thought; and he
suddenly marched troops into the Territory, with that view.But Europe
was in alarm, the Dutch grew faint: Friedrich Wilhelm saw it would not
do.He had a conference with old Pfalz-Neuburg: "Young gentleman,
we remember how your Grandfather made free with us and our august
countenance!Nevertheless we--" In fine, the "statistic of Treaties" was
increased by One: and there the matter rested till calmer times.In 1666, as already said, an effective Partition of these litigated
Territories was accomplished: Prussia to have the Duchy of Cleve-Proper,
the Counties of Mark and Ravensburg, with other Patches and Pertinents:
Neuburg, what was the better share, to have Julich Duchy and Berg Duchy.Furthermore, if either of the Lines failed, in no sort was a collateral
to be admitted: but Brandenburg was to inherit Neuburg, or Neuburg
Brandenburg, as the case might be.A clear Bargain
this at last: and in the times that had come, it proved executable so
far.But if the reader fancies the Lawsuit was at last out in this way,
he will be a simple reader!In the days of our little Fritz, the Line
of Pfalz-Neuburg was evidently ending: but that Brandenburg and not a
collateral should succeed it, there lay the quarrel,--open still, as if
it had never been shut: and we shall hear enough about it!--
THE GREAT KURFURST'S WARS: WHAT HE ACHIEVED IN WAR AND PEACE.Friedrich Wilhelm's first actual appearance in War, Polish-Swedish War
(1655-1660), was involuntary in the highest degree: forced upon him for
the sake of his Preussen, which bade fair to be lost or ruined, without
blame of his or its.Nevertheless, here too he made his benefit of
the affair.The big King of Sweden had a standing quarrel with his big
Cousin of Poland, which broke out into hot War; little Preussen lay
between them, and was like to be crushed in the collision.Swedish King
was Karl Gustav, Christina's Cousin, Charles Twelfth's Grandfather; a
great and mighty man, lion of the North in his time: Polish King was
one John Casimir; chivalrous enough, and with clouds of forward Polish
chivalry about him, glittering with barbaric gold.Ralph wanted
to keep a clear slate, and here was a bad break, right at the
threshold of his new railroad career.All he thought of, however, were the delays, all he cared for at this
particular moment was to get back to the main tracks on his way for
Bridgeport, with a chance to make up lost time.A sudden vague
suspicion flashing through his mind added to his mental disquietude:
was there a plot to purposely <DW36> or delay his train, so that he
would be defeated in his efforts to make a record run?"What's this tangle, Fairbanks?"shouted out the conductor sharply, as
he arrived breathless and excited at the side of the cab.His name was Danforth, and he was a model employee of long experience,
always very neat and dressy in appearance and exact and systematic in
his work.Any break in routine nettled him, and he spoke quite
censuringly to the young engineer, whom, however, he liked greatly."Any damage?--I see," muttered the conductor, going forward a few
steps and surveying the scratched, bruised face of the locomotive."There's a gondola derailed and a derrick smashed where we struck,"
reported Ralph."I acted on my duplicate orders, Mr.Danforth," he
added earnestly, "and had the clear signal almost until I passed it
and shot the siding.""I don't understand it at all," remarked the conductor in a troubled
and irritated way."You had the clear signal, you say?""Back slowly, we'll see the station man about this."The conductor mounted to the cab step, and No.As
they neared the end of the siding the train was again halted.All down
its length heads were thrust from coach windows.There was some
excitement and alarm, but the discipline of the train hands and the
young engineer's provision had prevented any semblance of panic.The conductor, lantern in hand, ran across the tracks to the station.Ralph saw him engaged in vigorous conversation with the man on duty
there.The conductor had taken out a memorandum book and was jotting
down something.The station man with excited gestures ran inside the
depot, and the signal turned to clear tracks."I should think the conductor
would give us an inkling of how all this came about.""Oh, we'll learn soon enough," said Ralph."There will have to be an
official report on this."Guess I'll go back and worm out an explanation," spoke
Clark.As Clark left the cab on one side Fogg came up on the other.He had
been looking over the front of the locomotive.Ralph noticed that he
did not seem to have suffered any damage from his wild jump beyond a
slight shaking up.He was wet and spattered to the waist, however, and
had lost his cap.Lemuel Fogg's eyes wore a frightened, shifty expression as he stepped
to the tender.His face was wretchedly pale, his hands trembled as he
proceeded to pile in the coal.Every vestige of unsteadiness and
maudlin bravado was gone.He resembled a man who had gazed upon some
unexpected danger, and there was a half guiltiness in his manner as if
he was responsible for the impending mishap.The fireman did not speak a word, and Ralph considered that it was no
time for discussion or explanations.The injury to the locomotive was
comparatively slight, and with a somewhat worried glance at the clock
and schedule card the young railroader focussed all his ability and
attention upon making up for lost time.Soon Ralph was so engrossed in his work that he forgot the fireman,
young Clark, the accident, everything except that he was driving a
mighty steel steed in a race against time, with either the winning
post or defeat in view.There was a rare pride in the thought that
upon him depended a new railway record.There was a fascinating
exhilaration in observing the new king of the road gain steadily half
a mile, one mile, two miles, overlapping lost time.A smile of joy crossed the face of the young engineer, a great
aspiration of relief and triumph escaped his lips as No.They were twenty-one minutes ahead of
time.Fogg," shouted Ralph across to the fireman's seat, "you're a
brick!"It was the first word that had passed between them since the mishap at
the siding, but many a grateful glance had the young engineer cast at
his helper.It seemed as if the shake-up at Plympton had shaken all
the nonsense out of Lemuel Fogg.Before that it had been evident to
Ralph that the fireman was doing all he could to queer the run.He
had been slow in firing and then had choked the furnace.His movements
had been suspicious and then alarming to Ralph, but since leaving
Plympton he had acted like a different person.Ralph knew from
practical experience what good firing was, and he had to admit that
Fogg had outdone himself in the splendid run of the last one hundred
miles.He was therefore fully in earnest when he enthusiastically
designated his erratic helper as a "brick."It was hard for Fogg to come out from his grumpiness and cross-grained
malice quickly.Half resentful, half shamed, he cast a furtive, sullen
look at Ralph.he muttered, "it isn't any brick that did it--it was the
briquettes.""Them," and with contemptuous indifference Fogg pointed to a coarse
sack lying among the coal."Why, yes, I heard about that," said Ralph quickly.Full of pitch, oil and sulphur, I understand.They say they
urge up the fire."They are great steam makers, and no
question," observed Fogg."Won't do for a regular thing, though."insinuated Ralph attentively, glad to rouse his grouchy helper
from his morose mood."Used right along, they'd burn out any crown sheet.Mary went to the bedroom.What's more, wait
till you come to clean up--the whole furnace will be choked with
cinders.""I see," nodded Ralph, and just then they rounded near Macon for a
fifteen minutes wait.As Fogg went outside with oil can and waste roll, Mervin Clark came
into the cab."Glad to get back where it's home like," he sang out in his chirp,
brisk way."Say, Engineer Fairbanks, that monument of brass buttons
and gold cap braid is the limit.why, he works on springs
and you have to touch a button to make him act.I had to chum with the
brakeman to find out what's up."inquired Ralph a trifle uneasily.The conductor has been writing a ten-page report on the
collision.It's funny, but the station man at Plympton----"
"New man, isn't he?""Just transferred to Plympton yesterday mornin'," explained Clark."Well, he swears that your front signals were special at the curves
and flashed green just as you neared the semaphore.""That's what the conductor says, too," said Clark.he told the
station agent and challenged him to find green lights on No.He says he
knew a special was on the list, but being new to this part of the road
he acted on Rule 23 when he saw the green lights.He sticks to that,
says that he will positively swear to it.He says he knows some one
will be slated, but it won't be him.""He says Rule 23 doesn't apply, as the white lights prove.If there
was any trickery or any mistake, then it's up to the fireman, not to
the engineer."At that moment, happening to glance past Clark, the young engineer
caught sight of Lemuel Fogg.The latter, half crouching near a drive
wheel, was listening intently.The torch he carried illuminated a
pale, twitching face.His eyes were filled with a craven fear, and
Ralph tried to imagine what was passing through his mind.There was something mysterious about Fogg's actions, yet Ralph
accepted the theory of the conductor that the station man had made a
careless blunder or was color blind."You see, it isn't that the smash up amounts to much," explained
Clark, "but it might have, see?"John journeyed to the bathroom."Yes, I see," replied Ralph thoughtfully."Then again," continued Clark, "the conductor says that it delayed a
test run, and there's a scratched locomotive and a busted construction
car.""I'm thankful that no one was hurt," said Ralph earnestly.When the next start was made, Fogg was taciturn and gloomy-looking,
but attended strictly to his duty.Ralph voted him to be a capital
fireman when he wanted to be.As an hour after midnight they spurted
past Hopeville forty minutes to the good, he could not help shouting
over a delighted word of commendation to Fogg."I said you were a brick, Mr."You're more than
that--you're a wonder."It looked as if he was half minded
to come out of his shell and give some gracious response, but
instantly the old sullenness settled down over his face, accompanied
by a gloomy manner that Ralph could not analyze.He half believed,
however, that Fogg |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | "Maybe he is genuinely sorry for his tantrums," reflected Ralph, "and
maybe our narrow escape at the siding has sobered him into common
sense."What the glum and gruff fireman lacked of comradeship, the young
passenger made up in jolly good cheer.He found opportunity to tell Ralph several rattling good
stories, full of incident and humor, of his amateur railroad
experiences, and the time was whiled away pleasantly for these two
acquaintances.Ralph could not repress a grand, satisfied expression of exultation as
No.999 glided gracefully into the depot at Bridgeport, over
forty-seven minutes ahead of time.The station master and the assistant superintendent of the division
came up to the cab instantly, the latter with his watch in his hand."Worth waiting for, this, Fairbanks," he called out cheerily--he was
well acquainted with the young railroader, for Ralph had fired
freights to this point over the Great Northern once regularly for
several weeks."I'll send in a bouncing good report with lots of
pleasure.""You have, Fairbanks," returned the official commendingly."Only, don't lay any stress on my part of it," said Ralph."Any
engineer could run such a superb monarch of the rail as No.If
you don't tell them how much the experiment depended on our good
friend, Fogg, here, I will have to, that's all."His eyes had a momentary pleased expression, and
he glanced at Ralph, really grateful.He almost made a move as if to
heartily shake the hand of his unselfish champion."You're too modest, Fairbanks," laughed the assistant superintendent,
"but we'll boost Fogg, just as he deserves.It's been a hard, anxious
run, I'll warrant.We've got a relief crew coming, so you can get to
bed just as soon as you like."The passenger coaches were soon emptied of the through passengers.A
local engineer, fireman and brakeman took charge of the train to
switch the China & Japan Mail car over to another track, ready to
hitch on to the Overland express, soon to arrive, sidetrack the other
coaches, and take No.CHAPTER IV
A WARNING
Ralph doffed his working clothes, washed up at the tender spigot, and
joined Clark, who stood waiting for him on the platform.Fogg, without
tidying up, in a sort of tired, indifferent way was already some
distance down the platform."Six-fifteen to-night, Mr.spoke Ralph, more to say
something than anything else."That's right," returned Fogg curtly."Griscom directed me to a neat, quiet lodging house," added Ralph."Can't--got some friends waiting for me," responded the fireman.Ralph followed him seriously and sadly with his eyes.Fogg was making
for Railroad Row, with its red saloon signs, and Ralph felt sorry for
him."See here," spoke Clark, as they walked along together, "headed for a
bunk, I suppose?""John Griscom, that's our veteran engineer,
and a rare good friend of mine, told me about a cheap, comfortable
lodging house to put up at.It's some distance from the depot, but I
believe I shall go there.""I've been in some of those railroad
men's hotels yonder, and they're not very high toned--nor clean.""Got to sleep, I suppose, so, if I'm not too much of a bore and it's
pleasing to you, I'll try the place your friend recommends."Within half-an-hour both tired lads tumbled into their beds in rooms
adjoining in a private house about half a mile from the depot.Ralph
stretched himself luxuriously, as he rested after the turmoil and
labor of what he considered the most arduous day in his railroad
career.The young engineer awoke with the bright sun shining in his face and
was out of bed in a jiffy.These lay-over days had always been prized
by the young railroader, and he planned to put the present one to good
use.He went to the closed door communicating with the next room and
tapped on it.he hailed briskly, "time to get up," then, no response
coming, he opened the door to find the apartment deserted."An early bird, it seems," observed Ralph.John Griscom had told Ralph all about the house he was in, and the
young engineer soon located the bathroom and took a vigorous cold
plunge that made him feel equal to the task of running a double-header
special.Ralph had just dressed when Marvin Clark came bustling into
the room."You didn't take a two hundred mile run, or you wouldn't be up for
four," challenged Ralph."Guess that's so," admitted Clark."A dandy--wheat cakes with honey, prime country sausages and Mocha,
all for twenty cents.""We'll take air line for that right away."Clark chattered like a magpie as they proceeded to the street.It was
evident that he had taken a great fancy to Ralph.For the son of a wealthy railroad magnate, Clark was
decidedly democratic.The one subject he seemed glad to avoid was any
reference to his direct family and friends.He was full of life, and Ralph found him very entertaining.Some bad
breaks in grammar showed, indeed, that he had not amounted to much at
school.Some of his adventures also suggested that the presence and
power of money had not always been at his command.Ralph noticed some
inconsistencies in his stories here and there, but Clark rattled on so
fast and jumped so briskly from one subject to another, that it was
hard work to check him up.As they reached the porch of the house Clark gave Ralph a deterring
touch with his hand."I want to find out something before we go out into the street," and
the speaker glided down the walk to the gate, peered down the street,
and then beckoned to his companion."They're still there, though," he added, his
tones quite impressive.Mary went to the bedroom."Just dally at the gate here and take a look past the next street
corner--near where there's an alley, see?"questioned Ralph, following his companion's
direction."Yes, that gang of hoodlums," responded Clark bluntly, "for that is
what they are.""We're not, but they may become interested in us.""Mightily, if I don't mistake my cue," asserted Clark."You are pretty mysterious," hinted Ralph, half-smiling.They don't know me, and I don't know them."John journeyed to the bathroom."Not much acquainted at Bridgeport, eh?"I've laid over here several times when I was firing on
the fast freight.I know a few railroad men, that's all.""Then I'm the first one to enlighten you.When I went out to find a
restaurant I passed that crowd you see.I noticed that they drew
together and scanned me pretty closely.Then I heard one of them say,
'That's not Fairbanks.'Sandra journeyed to the hallway.'Yes, it is, didn't he come out of the place
we're watching?''Aw, let up,' spoke a third voice.'Billy Bouncer will know, and we don't want to spoil his game."That's strange," said Ralph musingly."What are you going to do about it?""Oh, I'm not at all alarmed," replied Ralph, "barely interested,
that's all.We'll walk by the crowd and see if they won't throw some
further light on the subject.""Tell you, Fairbanks," said Clark quite seriously, "I'm putting two
and two together.""Well," laughed Ralph, "that makes four--go ahead."That crowd, as I said, for some reason
is laying for you.They have been put up to it by
some one.You know, you told me incidentally that you had some enemies
on account of the big boost you've got in the service.You said, too,
that your friend, Engineer Griscom, warned you on just that point.I
haven't said much so far, but the actions of that grouch fireman of
yours, Fogg, looked decidedly queer and suspicious to me."He had his own ideas on the subject,
but did not feel warranted in fully expressing them."I believe that Fogg started out on your run yesterday to queer it.Why he changed tactics later, I can't tell.Maybe he was scared by the
smash-up on the siding.Anyhow, I never saw such mortal malice in the
face of any man as that I saw in his when I came aboard No.This
crowd down the street is evidently after you.Some one has put them up
to it.""Oh, you can't mean Fogg!""I can't believe that he would plot against me that far," declared
Ralph."A malicious enemy will do anything to reach his ends," said Clark."Doesn't he want you knocked out?What
would suit his plans better than to have you so mauled and battered,
that you couldn't show up for the return trip to Stanley Junction this
afternoon?"I certainly shall not show the white feather by going out of my way,"
replied Ralph."Well, if that's your disposition, I'm at your call if they tackle
us," announced Clark.They proceeded down the street, and Ralph as they advanced had a good
view of the crowd, which, according to the views of his companion,
was laying in wait for him.There were about fifteen of them, ranging
from selfish-faced lads of ten or so up to big, hulking fellows of
twenty.They represented the average city gang of idlers and hoodlums.They were hanging around the entrance to the alley as if waiting for
some mischief to turn up.Ralph noticed a rustling among them as he
was observed.He fancied one or two of them
pointed at him, but there was no further indication of belligerent
attention as he and Clark approached nearer to the crowd."I fancy Billy Bouncer, whoever he is, hasn't arrived yet," observed
Clark.Just then one of the mob set up a shout.he hailed, and some additional jeers went up from
his fellows.Their attention seemed directed across the street, and
Ralph and Clark glanced thither.CHAPTER V
AT BAY
A queer-looking boy about eighteen years of age was proceeding slowly
down the pavement.He was stockily built, and had an unusually massive
head and great broad shoulders.He was a boy who would be remarked
about almost anywhere.His hair was long, and this gave him a somewhat
leonine aspect.The hat of this boy was pushed far back on his head, and his eyes were
fixed and his attention apparently deeply absorbed upon an object he
held in his hand.This was a thin wooden rod with two cardboard wheels
attached to it.These he would blow, causing them to revolve rapidly.Then he would study their gyrations critically, wait till they had run
down, and then repeat the maneuver.His side coat pockets were bulging, one with a lot of papers.From the
other protruded what seemed to be a part of a toy, or some real
mechanical device having also wheels in its construction."Well, there's a queer make-up!""He is certainly eccentric in his appearance," said Ralph."No, what he can be," corrected Clark, "for he's an odd genius of some
kind, I'll wager."The object of their interest and curiosity had heard the derisive hail
from across the street.He halted dead short, stared around him like a
person abruptly aroused from a dream, traced the call to its source,
thrust the device with which he had been experimenting into his
pocket, and fixing his eyes on his mockers, started across the street.The hoodlum crowd nudged one another, blinked, winked, and looked as
if expecting developments of some fun.The object of their derision
looked them over in a calculating fashion."No, Wheels--it was the birdies calling you!""You sort of suggest something, somehow," drawled the lad in an
abstracted, groping way.Ah,
perhaps I've made a memorandum of it."Finally he unearthed a card
which seemed to be all written over, and he ran his eye down this.The
crowd chuckled at the profound solemnity of his manner."H'm," observed the boy designated as "Wheels."No, that's for an uptown call.'Buy Drummond on
Superheated Steam.'you young villain, I remember
you well enough now," and with an activity which could scarcely be
anticipated from so easy-going an individual, Wheels made a dive for a
big hulking fellow on the edge of the crowd.He chased him a few feet,
and planted a kick that lifted the yelling hoodlum a foot from the
ground.Then, calmly taking out a pencil, he crossed off the
memorandum--"Kick Jim Scroggins"--gave the crowd a warning glance, and
proceeded coolly down the sidewalk, resuming his occupation with the
contrivance he had placed in his pocket.A sight of the massive arms and
sledge hammer fists of the young giant they had derided, and his
prompt measures with one of their cronies, dissuaded them from any
warlike move.commented Clark in an exultant undertone, and he fairly
leaned against his companion in a paroxysm of uncontrollable laughter.Say Engineer Fairbanks, I don't
know who that fellow Wheels is, but I'd be interested and proud to
make his acquaintance.Now steam up and air brake ready, while we pass
the crossing!""Passing the crossing," as Clark designated it, proved, however, to be
no difficult proceeding.The crowd of hoodlums had got a set-back from
the boy with the piston-rod arm, it seemed.They scanned Ralph and
Clark keenly as they passed by, but made no attempt to either hail or
halt them."We've run the gauntlet this time," remarked Clark.The vigilant companion of the young engineer was glancing over his
shoulder as he made this sudden and forcible remark."Say," replied Clark, edging close to Ralph, "just take a careless
backward look, will you?About half the square down on the opposite
side of the street you'll see Fogg."inquired Clark, as Ralph followed out
the suggestion he had made.He had made out Fogg as Clark had described.The fireman was walking along in the direction they were proceeding.There was something stealthy and sinister in the way in which he kept
close to the buildings lining the sidewalk."That's four times I've noticed Fogg in this vicinity this morning,"
reported Clark."I discovered him opposite the lodging house when I
first came out this morning.When I came back he was skulking in an
open entry, next door.When we left the house together I saw him a
block away, standing behind a tree."I can't understand his motive," said Ralph thoughtfully."It's no theory at all, it's a dead certainty," insisted Clark."Your
fireman and that gang of hoodlums hitch together in some way, you mark
my words.I'm hungry as a bear, and
here's the restaurant."It was a neat and inviting place, and with appetizing zeal the two
boys entered and seated themselves at a table and gave their order for
wheat cakes with honey and prime country sausages.Just as the waiter
brought in the steaming meal, Clark, whose face was toward the street,
said:
"Fogg just passed by, and there goes the crowd of boys.I'm thinking
they'll give us a chance to settle our meal, Engineer Fairbanks!""All right," responded Ralph quietly, "if that's the first task of the
day, we'll be in trim to tackle it with this fine meal as a
foundation."Their youthful, healthy appetites made a feast of the repast.Clark
doubled his order, and Ralph did full credit to all the things set
before him."I was thinking," he remarked, as they paid their checks at the
cashier's counter, "that we might put in the day looking around the
town.""Why, yes," assented his companion approvingly, "that is, if you're
going to let me keep with you.""You seem to think I may need a guardian."John journeyed to the garden."I've got nothing to do but put in the time, and get a signed voucher
from you that I did so in actual railroad service and in good
company," explained Clark."I think I will go back to Stanley Junction
on your return run, if it can be arranged.""It is arranged already, if you say so," said Ralph."We seem to get
on together pretty well, and I'm glad to have you with me."" |
bathroom | Where is John? | "There's
some moving picture shows in town here, open after ten o'clock, and
there's a mechanics' library with quite a museum of railroad
contrivances.We've got time to take it all in.Unless that
crowd stops us, we'll start the merry program rolling.No one in
sight," the youth continued, as they stepped into the street and he
glanced its length in both directions."Have the enemy deserted the
field, or are they lying in ambush for us?"They linked arms and sauntered down the pavement.They had proceeded
nearly two squares, when, passing an alley, both halted summarily.here's business, I guess," said Clark, and he and Ralph
scanned closely the group they had passed just before the breakfast
meal.The hoodlum gang had suddenly appeared from the alleyway, and forming
a circle, surrounded them.He was a rowdy-looking chunk of a fellow, and
the swing of his body, the look on his face and the expression in his
eyes showed that he delighted in thinking himself a "tough customer."Backed by his comrades, who looked vicious and expectant, he marched
straight up to Ralph, who did not flinch a particle.Mary went to the bedroom."You look like Fairbanks to me--Fairbanks, the engineer," he observed,
fixing a glance upon Ralph meant to dismay."Yes, that is my name," said Ralph quietly."Well," asserted the big fellow, "I've been looking for you, and I'm
going to whip the life out of you."CHAPTER VI
FOUR MEDALS
Marvin Clark stepped promptly forward at the announcement of the
overgrown lout, who had signified his intention of whipping the young
engineer of No.Clark had told Ralph that athletics was his
strong forte.He looked it as he squared firmly before the bully."Going to wallop somebody, are you?""Watch the
system-cylinder"--and the speaker gave to his arms a rotary motion so
rapid that it was fairly dizzying, "or piston rods," and one fist met
the bulging breast of the fellow with a force that sent him reeling
backwards several feet.you keep out of this, if you don't want to be
massacreed!"spoke a voice at Clark's elbow, and he was seized by
several of the rowdy crowd and forced back from the side of Ralph.shouted Clark, and he cleared a circle about him with a
vigorous sweep of his arms."Don't you mix in a fair fight, then," warned a big fellow in the
crowd, threateningly."Ah, it's going to be a fair fight, is it?""I'll see to it that it is," remarked Clark briefly.The fellow he had dazed with his rapid-fire display of muscle had
regained his poise, and was now again facing the young engineer.he demanded, hunching up his shoulders and staring
viciously at Ralph."I am, and don't you forget it.John journeyed to the bathroom.I happen to have got a tip from my
uncle, John Evans, of Stanley Junction."I do," announced Ralph bluntly, "and if you are as mean a specimen of
a boy as he is of a man, I'm sorry for you."roared the young ruffian, raising his fists."I do, and it's mighty dirty, I can tell you."I guess you don't know who I am.Champion,
see?--light-weight champion of this burg, and I wear four medals, and
here they are," and Bouncer threw back his coat and vauntingly
displayed four gleaming silver discs pinned to his vest."If you had four more, big as cartwheels, I don't see how I would be
interested," observed Ralph.yelled Bouncer, hopping mad at failing to dazzle this new
opponent with an acquisition that had awed his juvenile cohorts and
admirers."Why, I'll grind you to powder!With this Bouncer threw off his coat, and there was a scuffle among
his minions to secure the honor of holding it."I don't intend to strip," remarked Ralph, "and I don't want to strike
you, but you've got to open a way for myself and my friend to go about
our business, or I'll knock you down.""You'll----Fellows, hear him!"shrieked Bouncer, dancing from foot to
foot.The young engineer saw that it was impossible to evade a fight.The
allusion of Bouncer to Jim Evans was enlightening.It explained the
animus of the present attack.If Lemuel Fogg had been bent on queering the special record run to
Bridgeport out of jealousy, Evans, a former boon companion of the
fireman, had it in for Ralph on a more malicious basis.The young
railroader knew that Evans was capable of any meanness or cruelty to
pay him back for causing his arrest as an incendiary during the recent
railroad strike on the Great Northern.There was no doubt but what Evans had advised his graceless nephew of
the intended visit of Ralph to Bridgeport.During the strike Evans had
maimed railroad men and had been guilty of many other cruel acts of
vandalism.Ralph doubted not that the plan was to have his precious
nephew "do" him in a way that he would not be able to make the return
trip with No.The young engineer was no pugilist, but he knew how to defend himself,
and he very quickly estimated the real fighting caliber of his
antagonist.He saw at a glance that Billy Bouncer was made up of bluff
and bluster and show.The hoodlum made a great ado of posing and
exercising his fists in a scientific way.He was so stuck up over some
medal awards at amateur boxing shows, that he was wasting time in
displaying his "style."demanded Bouncer, doing a quickstep and making a
picturesque feint at his opponent."Wow, when I've eaten you up, maybe!""Since you will have it, then," observed Ralph quietly, "take that for
a starter."Sandra journeyed to the hallway.The young engineer struck out once--only once, but he had calculated
the delivery and effect of the blow to a nicety.There was a thud as
his fist landed under the jaw of the bully, so quickly and so
unexpectedly that the latter did not have time to put up so much as a
pretense of a protection.Back went Billy Bouncer, his teeth rattling, and down went Billy
Bouncer on a backward slide.He snatched the arm of his new acquaintance and tried to force his way
to the alley opening.Thus they proceeded a few feet, but only a few.A hush had fallen over Bouncer's friends, at the amazing sight of
their redoubtable champion gone down in inglorious defeat, but only
for a moment.One of the largest boys in the group rallied the
disorganized mob.Ralph pulled, or rather forced his companion back against two steps
with an iron railing, leading to the little platform of the alley
door of a building fronting on the street."No show making a break," he continued in rapid tones.At the call of their new leader, the crowd to its last member whipped
out their weapons.They were made of some hard substance like lead,
and incased in leather.They were attached to the wrist by a long
loop, which enabled their possessors to strike a person at long range,
the object of the attack having no chance to resist or defend
himself."Grab the railing," ordered Clark, whom Ralph was beginning to
recognize as a quick-witted fellow in an emergency."Now then, keep
side by side--any tactics to hold them at bay or drive them off."The two friends had secured quite a tactical position, and they
proceeded to make the most of it.John journeyed to the garden.The mob with angry yells made for
them direct.They jostled one another in their eager malice to strike
a blow.They crowded close to the steps, and their ugly weapons shot
out from all directions.One of the weapons landed on Ralph's hand grasping the iron railing,
and quite numbed and almost crippled it.A fellow used his weapon as a
missile, on purpose or by mistake.At all events, it whirled from his
hand through the air, and striking Clark's cheek, laid it open with
quite a ghastly wound.Clark reached over and snatched a slungshot
from the grasp of another of the assaulting party.He handed it
quickly to his companion."Use it for all it's worth," he suggested rapidly."Don't let them
down us, or we're goners."As he spoke, Clark, nettled with pain, balanced himself on the railing
and sent both feet flying into the faces of the onpressing mob.These
tactics were wholly unexpected by the enemy.One of their number went
reeling back, his nose nearly flattened to his face.Half-a-dozen of his cohorts sprang up the steps.They managed to grab
Ralph's feet.Ralph realized that if
he ever got down into the midst of that surging mob, or under their
feet, it would be all over with him.gasped Clark with a startled stare down the
alley.The heart of the young engineer sank somewhat as he followed the
direction of his companion's glance.Sure enough, the fireman of
No.999 had put in an appearance on the scene.He was bareheaded, and he
looked wild and uncanny.Somewhere he had picked up a long round
clothes pole or the handle to some street worker's outfit.With this
he was making direct for the crowd surrounding Ralph and Clark.Just
then a slungshot blow drove the latter to his knees.Two of the crowd
tried to kick at his face.Ralph was nerved up to desperate action
now.He caught the uplifted foot of one of the vandals and sent him
toppling.The other he knocked flat with his fist, but overpowering
numbers massed for a headlong rush on the beleaguered refugees.Half blinded by a blow dealt between the eyes by
a hurling slungshot, the young engineer could discern a break in the
program, the appearance of a new element that startled and astonished
him.He had expected to see the furious Fogg join the mob and aid them
in finishing up their dastardly work.Instead, like some madman, Fogg
had waded into the ranks of the group, swinging his formidable weapon
like a flail.It rose, it fell, it swayed from side to side, and its
execution was terrific.The fireman mowed down the amazed and scattering forces of Billy
Bouncer as if they were rows of tenpins.He knocked them flat, and
then he kicked them.And, in many ways that will
suggest themselves to the reader who has mastered the contents of the
earlier chapters of this book, the phenomena of Dynamic Thought in the
case of the Atoms, and Particles, may be, and are duplicated in the case
of Individual Minds of Men.The reader will see, readily, that this theory of Dynamic Thought, and
the facts noted in the consideration thereof, give an intelligent
explanation for the respective phenomena of Hypnotism, Mesmerism,
Suggestion, Thought-transference, Telepathy, etc., as well as of Mental
Healing, Magnetic Healing, etc., all of which are manifestations of
"Dynamic Thought."Not only do we see, as Prentice Mulford said, that
"Thoughts are Things," but we may see "_just why_" they are Things.And
we may see and understand the laws of their production and operation.This theory of Dynamic Thought will throw light into many dark corners,
and make plain many "hard sayings" that have perplexed you in the past.The writer believes that it gives us the key to many of the great
Riddles of Life.It is no ephemeral thing, doomed to "die
a-borning."It will be taken up by others and polished, and added to,
and shaped, and "decorated"--but the fundamental principles will stand
the stress of Time and Men.It may be
laughed at at first, not only by the "man on the street," but also by
the scientists.But it will outlive this, and in time will come to its
own--perhaps long after the writer and the book have been forgotten.This must be so--for the idea of "Dynamic Thought" underlies the entire
Universe, and is the cause of all phenomena.Not only is all that we see
as Life and Mind, and Substance illustrations of the Law, but even that
which lies back of these things must evidence the same Law.Is it too
daring a conception to hazard the thought that perhaps the Universe
itself is _the result of the Dynamic Thought of The Infinite_?Oh, Dynamic Thought, we see in thee the instrument by which all Form and
Shape are created, changed and destroyed--we see in thee the source of
all Energy, Force and Motion--we see thee Always--present and
Everywhere--present, and always in Action.Verily, thou art Life in
Action.Thou art the embodiment of Action and Motion, of which Zittel
hath said: "Wherever our eyes dwell on the Universe; whithersoever we
are carried in the flight of thought, everywhere we find Motion."John journeyed to the bathroom.Suns,
planets, worlds, bodies, atoms, and particles, move, and act at thy
bidding.Amidst all the change of Substance--among the play of
Forces--and among and amidst all that results therefrom--there art thou,
unchanged, and constant.As though fresh from the hand of The Infinite,
thou hast maintained thy vigor and strength, and power, throughout the
aeons of Time.And, likewise, Space has no terrors for thee, for thou
hath mastered it.Thou art a symbol of the Power of The Infinite--thou
art Its message to doubting Man!Let us close this book with the thought of the Greatness of this Thing
that we call Dynamic Thought--which, great as it is, is but as the
shadow of the Absolute Power of The Infinite One, which is the Causeless
Cause, and the Causer of Causes.And in thus parting company, reader,
let us murmur the words of the German poet, who has sung:
"Dost thou ask for rest?See then how foolish is thy desire; the stern
yoke of motion holds in harness the whole Universe."Nowhere in this age canst thou ever find rest, and no power can
deliver thee from the doom of Activity."Rest is not to be found either in heaven or on earth, and from death
and dying break forth new growth,--new birth."All the life of Nature is an ocean of Activity; following on her
footsteps, without ceasing, thou must march forward with the whole."Even the dark portal of death gives thee no rest, and out of thy
coffin will spring blossoms of a new life."SUCCESS-THOUGHT
The desire of every reader is to get, hot from his pen, all that a
progressive writer has to say.Readers of this book will be interested
in knowing that Mr.William Walker Atkinson is on the regular editorial
staff of THE SEGNOGRAM, and that the choicest of his "I Can and I Will"
preachments are appearing in each issue of that magazine.THE SEGNOGRAM is a monthly magazine for Success-Thought Thinkers and
Readers.It has one mission to fill--the upbuilding--the betterment of
man.Sandra journeyed to the garden.It has no time to quarrel with any creed, sect, doctrine or belief.The Law of Love is its controlling influence--it has none other.To read
it is to be imbued with its high teachings.It is a Success Magazine
that teaches how to win Success without preaching about it.It believes
in doing things, because in doing things we win Success.Do you want to join our circle of
thousands of Success readers?Do you want to get the cream of
Success--thought?Keep to the front by
keeping in touch with Mr.A. Victor
Segno and H.M.The price of the magazine is 50 cents a year, five cents the copy.Write
for sample copy if you never have seen it.ADDRESS
The Segnogram Publishing Co.TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Obvious typos and printer errors have been corrected without comment.In
addition to obvious errors, the following changes have been made:
Page 17: Missing word "are" was added to the phrase, "And he believes
that there are Beings in existence...."
Page 86: Missing word "the" was added to the phrase, "... one of the
Atoms of our molecule...."
Page 100: Missing |
bathroom | Where is John? | Page 107: Missing word "be" was added for meaning in the phrase, "...
the Atom was supposed to be a vortex-ring...."
Page 189: 'incon-constant' changed to 'inconstant' in the phrase, "...
are changeable, disconnected, and inconstant...."
Page 209: 'difference' changed to 'distance' in the phrase, "And just
as Particles are influenced at a distance by other Particles, so are
Men influenced at a distance by other Men."Other than the above changes, no attempt has been made to correct common
spelling, punctuation, grammar, etc.The author's usage is preserved as
printed in the original publication.Tide running down,
presently comes a Cockney couple, the man flirting and pulling,
the lady sitting and smiling; when they reach the chosen spot, the
tight line catches the Cockney Corydon on the back of his head, and
tumbles him forward at the feet of his Phyllis; in a twinkling,
the same effect is produced on the lady, with this single simple
difference, that the cord catches _her_ under the chin, and tumbles
her backwards.In the confusion of the moment, tide ebbing fast, the
happy pair are swept down the stream, and having, after the lapse of
a few minutes, set themselves to rights again, begin to wonder what
has happened, and of course never think of trying back against tide
to ascertain the cause; which, however, if they did, would assist
them little, for the moment you have caught your Cockneys, you cast
off the line from the peg, and the cause of the mischief disappears
from the sight--_probatum est_.""That seems rather a serious joke," said I.replied Daly; "perhaps you would prefer keeping the line, but
for my part I am not particular."Every moment added fresh
evidence to the fearful fact; I was yet unprepared for what was to
come."I wish," said my friend, as he plied the oar, "that we had stayed
a little longer at Richmond.I think one more bottle of claret,
_tête-à-tête_, would have been vastly agreeable.""I should not have disliked it myself," said I."Is it impossible to
repair the mischief?--is there no agreeable retreat on these shores,
in which we may solace ourselves for our imprudence?"Mary went to the bedroom."No," said my friend; "the Eel-pie House is a wretched hole--the inns
at Twickenham are all inland--there is nothing marine short of the
Toy, and we are to part long before I reach that much-loved spot.""Then," said I, "we must make up our minds to the evil, and bear it
as well as we can."At this moment we were under the bank of a beautiful garden, upon
which opened a spacious bow-windowed dinner-room, flanked by an
extensive conservatory.Within the circle of the window was placed a
table, whereon stood bottles and decanters, rising, as it were, from
amidst a cornucopia of the choicest fruits.Around this table were
seated a highly-respectable family; a portly gentleman, whose cheeks
and chin gave ample evidence that such refections were "his custom
always in the afternoon," and near him a lady, evidently his better,
if not his larger half--on either side bloomed two young creatures,
unquestionably the daughters of the well-fed pair.Our appearance,
although the lawn was some twenty or thirty yards in depth, had
caught their attention, as their respective forms and figures had
attracted our notice."There," said I, "this scene is exhibited to us by our evil genius,
to tantalize us with the prospect we may not enjoy.""You are wrong," said Daly, "quite wrong--be quiet--beautiful girls,
cool wine, and agreeable society, are worth making a dash for.Those girls will we become acquainted with--that society will we
join--those wines will we imbibe.""Never saw them by any chance in my life," said Daly; "but here
goes--the thing is settled--arranged--done.John journeyed to the bathroom.Have you a pocket-book
and a pencil about you?if you have, lend them to _me_; say nothing,
and I will manage the rest.Assent to all I assert, and stay in the
boat till we are invited to partake of the collation.""But, my dear sir," said I."Mum," said Daly, at the same moment pulling the head of his funny
'chock block,' as the sailors say, into the bank of the garden, upon
whose velvet surface he jumped with the activity of an opera dancer.I sat in amazement, doubting what he was about to do, and what I
should do myself.The first thing I saw was my friend pacing in
measured steps along the front of the terrace.He then affected to
write down something in my book--then he stopped--raised his hand to
his eyes, as if to make an horizon in order to obtain a level--then
noted something more--and then began to pace the ground afresh."Bring the staff out of the boat," said he to me, with an air of
command, which was so extremely well assumed, that I scarcely knew
whether he were in joke or in earnest.I obeyed, and landed with
the staff.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.Without any further ceremony, he stuck the pole into the
lawn--a measure which, as he whispered to me, while in the act of
taking it, he felt assured would bring things to a crisis.Sure enough, after a certain ringing of the dinner-room bell, which
we heard, and which conveyed to Daly's mind a conviction that he had
created a sensation, a butler, _bien poudre_, in a blue coat, white
waistcoat, and black _et ceteras_, followed at a properly-graduated
distance by a strapping footman, in a blue-and-scarlet livery, were
seen approaching.I thought the next step would be our sudden and
unceremonious expulsion from the Eden he had trespassed upon--not so
my friend, who continued pacing, and measuring, and "jotting down,"
until the minister for the home department was at his elbow."I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said the butler, "but--my master's
compliments, begs to know what your pleasure here is--it is not usual
for strangers to land--and----"
"Exactly like the man in the boat, sir," said Daly, "only quite the
reverse.I am not here for pleasure--business calls me here--duty,
sir--duty.Higgins, carry the staff to that stump."These words were addressed to me, and I, completely
infatuated--fascinated, like the bird by the rattle-snake--did as I
was told, not daring to rebel, lest a _dénoûment_ might ensue, which
would _éclater_ in our being jointly and severally kicked into the
river, in which case, from the very little, or rather the very great
deal, which I had seen of my companion during our short acquaintance,
I felt perfectly certain that _I_ should sink, and _he_ would swim;
and that, while I was floundering in all the agonies of ignominy and
disgrace, he would be capering and flourishing with the two pretty
girls in the dining-room, laying all the blame of the affair upon my
most incompetent shoulders, and cracking his jokes upon the tyro who
had so blunderingly botched the business.The butler, who found that he made very little impression upon Daly,
seemed inclined to come at _me_, which, as I had not the slightest
idea of the game my companion was playing, nor the faintest notion
what he expected to be the result, alarmed me considerably.Daly was
too much on the alert, however, to permit me to be cross-questioned."Sir," said he to the butler, "present my compliments to your
master, and make my humble apologies for the liberty I am obliged
to take.I am the acting deputy-assistant surveyor of the Grand
Junction Paddington Canal Company, and an Act of Parliament is just
about to be applied for, to construct and cut a branch from the
basin at Brentford into the river Thames, near this point.A great
deal depends upon my decision as to the line it will take, and I
should not have ventured to land without apprising your master of my
business, but that no time is to be lost, inasmuch as my plan for
the cut must be ready for the committee to-morrow.""Cut a canal through my master's grounds, sir?"John journeyed to the garden."Right through," said Daly, poking the fore-finger of his right
hand very nearly into the butler's left eye; "and what I am now so
particular about is, I am most anxious that the line should not take
down the corner of the conservatory."John journeyed to the bathroom."Dear me, sir," said the man, "my mistress would go mad at the very
thought of such a thing.Will you just wait, sir, while I speak to
Sir Timothy?""Certainly," said he; "and assure him--assure Sir Timothy--that I
will do all I can to preserve the elevation of his mansion; for, as
it all depends upon my opinion, I shall, of course, be extremely
scrupulous how I decide.""I am sure, sir," said the astounded and mollified butler, "Sir
Timothy will be greatly obliged to you.Saying which, the butler returned to the house, and giving a
significant look at the strapping footman, with the grenadier
shoulders and balustrade legs, which seemed to imply that he need not
kick us into the water till he had consulted his master, the fellow
followed him, which afforded me an opportunity of asking my volatile
friend what the deuce he was at."Leave me alone," said he,--
"'Women and wine compare so well,
They run in a perfect parallel.'I am the company's acting deputy-assistant surveyor, and having
surveyed this company, I mean to be made a participator in those good
things of which they seem to be in full possession.Gurney,
as King Arthur says--
'It is our royal will and pleasure to be drunk;
And this, our friend, shall be as drunk as we.'Who knows but we may make an agreeable and permanent acquaintance
with this interesting family?"Sandra journeyed to the garden."But," said I, "you don't even know their name.""You are in error," replied Daly; "the man's name _is_ known to me.""Then perhaps you are known to _him_," said I."That is a _non sequitur_," said Daly; "I knew nothing of him before
I landed here--now I am _au-fait_--my friend in the powder and
sticking-plasters calls his master Sir Timothy.There are hundreds of
Sir Timothies; but what do I, upon hearing this little distinctive
appellation, but glance my eye to the livery-button of the
lacquey--and what do I see there?a serpent issuing from and piercing
a garb or gerb.The crest is unique--_ergo_, my new acquaintance is
neither more nor less than Sir Timothy Dod.""Why," said I, "you are, like myself, a bit of a herald, too!""Exactly," replied Daly; "in my composition are
'Arts with _arms_ contending;'
I am a bit of every thing; but somehow all my accomplishments are
so jumbled, and each is so minute in itself, that they are patched
together in my mind like the squares of a harlequin's jacket, only
to make their master ridiculous.Here, however, comes Sir Timothy
himself.Sandra went back to the bedroom.You are my clerk--keep the staff and the joke up, and you
shall be repaid with some of Tim's very best Lafitte, or I'm an ass.""Good-day, sir," said Sir Timothy, somewhat warmed with the
intelligence given him by the butler, and the exertion of trotting
him across his lawn.Daniel travelled to the bathroom."My servant tells me that you are here for
the purpose of deciding upon the line of some new branch of the
Paddington Canal;--it is very extraordinary I never should have heard
of it!""You ought, Sir Timothy," said Daly, "to have been apprised of it.Do
you understand much of ground-plans, Sir Timothy?""No, sir; very little indeed," replied the worthy knight."So much the better," I heard Daly distinctly say, for he could not
resist an impulse."If you will just cast your eye over this paper, I
will endeavour to explain, sir.A, there you see;--A is your house,
Sir Timothy; B is the conservatory; C is the river,--that perhaps you
will think strange?""No, sir," said Sir Timothy, "not at all.""Then, sir, D, E, F, and G are the points, from which I take the
direct line from the bridge at Brentford; and thus you perceive, by
continuing that line to the corner of Twickenham churchyard, where
the _embouchure_ is to be----"
"The what, sir?""The mouth, sir,--the entrance to the new branch, the canal will clip
your conservatory diagonally to the extent of about eighteen feet six
inches, and leave it deprived of its original dimensions somewhat in
the shape of a cocked-hat box.You see--so, sir,--H, I, K.""I give you my honour, sir," said Sir Timothy, "such a thing would
drive Lady Dod mad!""I admit it would be a dreadful cut," said Daly; "and then the
noise of the bargemen and the barge-horses close under the
windows,--clanking chains,--horrible oaths,--disgusting language----"
"My daughters' bed-rooms are at that end of the house," said Sir
Timothy.Are the
magistrates--are the----"
"No, sir," said Daly, with a face of the most imperturbable gravity;
"all that would be perfectly unavailing.The decision as to the
line rests entirely with me; and, as I said to Mr.Higgins, my
assistant,--Higgins," continued he, calling me to him, "let me
present you to Sir Timothy Dod,--I said to Higgins, what a pity it
would be to disturb the Dods,--what a cut at their comforts;--it goes
against my heart to send in the plan, but the line is so decidedly
the shortest.says Higgins to me, with a deep sigh, I
assure you,--'but _do_ consider the conservatory.'""I'm sure, sir," said Sir Timothy, extending his hand to me, "I feel
very grateful for your kindness.It would indeed be a sad thing; and
must the decision be made so soon?""Immediately, sir," said Daly; "but we are keeping you out here in
the open air without your hat.I am afraid, sir, you may catch cold.""Oh no, sir," said Sir Timothy; "don't mind that.Perhaps, gentlemen,
you will do me the kindness to walk in.The servants shall take care
of your boat.I will introduce you to Lady Dod, she must try what
_her_ influence can effect, and I am sure you have the disposition
to serve us.Here, Philip, James, George, some of you, come and make
this boat fast, and stay down by her while the gentlemen stop.Let me
show you the way, gentlemen."I never shall forget the look which Daly gave me as we followed the
respectable knight to his lady and family,--the triumphant chuckle
of his countenance, the daring laugh in his eyes; while I, who only
saw in the success of the design the beginning of a signal defeat,
scarce knew whether I was walking on my head or my heels: resistance
or remonstrance was equally vain under the circumstances, and in a
few minutes we found ourselves in the presence of Lady Dod and her
daughters, breathing an atmosphere redolent with the fumes of the
departed dinner, and the still remaining fruit and wine.I never was
so abashed in my life.My friend, on the contrary, seemed perfectly
at home; and, placing himself beside her lad |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | Never did I see two
more lovely girls.The courtesy of Sir Timothy, the sweetness of my lady, and the
constrained fun of the girls, were, I admit, when I recovered my
composure in some degree, a good treat; while Daly, "helping himself
and passing the bottle" to _me_, kept up a fire of conversation,
which, if the senior Dods had known anything of the world, would
have convinced them in ten minutes that the part of acting
deputy-assistant measurer was an assumed one.It certainly was a
sight to see the respectable lady of the house pleading the cause of
her conservatory, and piling the choicest fruits upon the plate of
the arbiter of her destinies, while Fanny's civilities to me were
displayed with equal zeal and far superior grace.I would have given
the world to have owned the truth; and I am sure, if we had done
so, we should not have been the worse received; for, independently
of the excellence of the joke and the impudence of the proceeding,
the relief which would have been afforded to the minds of the whole
Doddery would have ensured us their eternal favour and affection.Daly having finished the claret, and taken a last "stopper over all"
(as the sailors say) of sherry, gave me the signal for departure.Mary went to the bedroom.I,
too, gladly took the hint, and drew back my chair.Fanny looked as if
she thought we were in a hurry; however, it was getting late, and my
master had some distance to pull.We accordingly rose and prepared
to take leave.I bowed my adieu to the girls, and shook hands with
Fanny, at which I saw Augusta toss back her head and throw up her
sparkling eyes, as much as to say, "Well, Fanny," meaning exactly the
reverse.John journeyed to the bathroom.I bowed low to my Lady Dod, and Sir Timothy attended us to
our boat.I stepped in; Daly was at the bow; Sir Timothy desired the
man who had been left in charge of the funny to go away; and then
I saw, with doubt and trepidation, the respectable dupe of Daly's
consummate impudence shake him by the hand with a peculiarity of
manner which particularly attracted my attention.I saw him in the
execution of this manœuvre press upon his palm a bank-note, with a
flourish in the corner like the top of a raspberry tartlet.If Daly took this bribe for saving
the corner of the conservatory, it was an act of swindling.The
strawberries, grapes, and claret, were fit matters of joke, although
I admit that it was carrying the joke a little too far; but
money,--if he took _that_, I was resolved to avow the whole affair
to Sir Timothy, show up my companion, and leave him to the fate
he deserved.Judge my mingled delight and horror when I heard him
say,----
"Sir!what I have done in your house or in your society to induce
you to believe me capable of taking a bribe to compromise my duty,
I really don't know.Higgins, I call you to witness that this
person has had the insolence to put a fifty-pound bank-note into my
hand.Witness, too, the manner in which I throw it back to him."Here
he suited the word to the action.Sandra journeyed to the hallway."Learn, old gentleman," continued
he, with an anger so well feigned that I almost believed him in
earnest, "that neither fifty nor fifty thousand pounds will warp
an honest man from the duty he owes to his employers; and so, sir,
good-night, and rely upon it, your conservatory goes,--rely upon it,
Sir Timothy;--it comes in the right line, and the short line, and
down it goes--and I feel it incumbent on me not only to tell the
history of your petty bribe, but to prove my unimpeachable integrity
by running the canal right under your dining-room windows; and so,
sir, good-night."Saying which he jumped into the boat, and, pulling away manfully,
left his unfortunate victim in all the horrors of defeated
corruption, and the certainty of the destruction of his most
favourite object, for the preservation of which he had actually
crammed his betrayers, and committed himself to a perfect stranger.Not being at this present writing in love with any opera dancer, we
can see with "eyes unprejudiced," that the performances to which we
allude (_ballets_) are in the highest possible degree objectionable
as referring to taste, and disgusting as relating to decency.First, then, as to taste--nobody upon earth, we should think, can be
bold enough to assert that the horizontal elevation of the female
leg, and the rapid twisting of the body--the subsequent attitude and
expansion of the arms--are graceful--we mean merely as to dancing.No
man certainly, except those whose intellects and appetites are more
debased than those of men in general, can feel either amusement or
gratification in such an exhibition.Woman is so charming, so fascinating, so winning, and so ruling by
the attractions which properly belong to her--by her delicacy--her
gentleness--and her modesty--that we honestly confess, whenever we
see a lovely girl doing that which degrades her, which must lower her
even in her own estimation, we feel a pang of regret, and lament to
find conduct applauded to the very echo which reduces the beautiful
creatures before us to a mere animal in a state of exhibition.But if there really be men who take delight in the "_Ionici motus_"
of the Italian Opera, surely _our own_ women should be spared the
sight of such indelicacies: nothing which the Roman satirist mentions
as tending to destroy the delicate feelings of the female sex could
possibly be worse than those which week after week may be seen in the
Haymarket.John journeyed to the garden.We have strenuously attacked, for its unnatural indecency, the custom
of dressing actresses in men's attire upon the English stage, but a
lady in small clothes is better on a public theatre than a lady with
no clothes at all.We are quite ready to admit, without in the smallest degree
lamenting, the superiority of foreigners over the natives of England
in the art and mystery of cutting capers, and if the ladies and
gentlemen annually imported jumped as high as the volteurs in
Potier's "Danaides" at the Porte St.Martin, neither would our envy
nor our grief be excited; but we certainly do eye with mistrust and
jealousy the avidity with which "foreign manners," "foreign customs,"
and "foreign morality," are received into our dear and much-loved
country.While custom sanctions the nightly commission of waltzing in our best
society, it perhaps is only matter of consolation to the matrons who
permit their daughters to be operated upon in the mysteries of that
dance, to see that women can be found to commit grosser indelicacies
even on a public stage.A correspondent of the _Spectator_, in the 67th Number, Vol.I.,
describes accurately under another name the mechanical part of the
foreign waltz of these days, and says:--"I suppose this diversion was
first invented to keep up a good understanding between young men and
women; but I am sure, had you been here, you would have seen great
matter for speculation."We say so now; but the waltz has proved a bad speculation to the
very dowagers who allow it to be committed; for, as can be proved
by reference to fashionable parish registers, there have been fewer
marriages in good society by one half, annually upon the average,
since the introduction of this irritating indecency into England.If, therefore, the public dances at the King's Theatre are looked at,
merely as authorities for the conduct of private balls, the matter is
still worse; but we have too high an opinion of our countrywomen in
general to think this of them, and we are sure that we are speaking
the sentiment of the most amiable and the most charming when we raise
the voice of rebuke against the dress and deportment of the Italian
_Corps de Ballet_.One advocate we are certain to have in the person of an old
gentlewoman next to whom we sat last Saturday se'nnight, who clearly
had never been at the Opera during the whole course of her long and
doubtlessly respectable life, till that very evening.When the ballet commenced, she appeared delighted; but when one of
the principal females began to elevate her leg beyond the horizontal,
she began evidently to fidget, and make a sort of see-saw motion with
her head and body, in pure agitation; at every lofty jump I heard
her ejaculate a little "Oh!"at a somewhat lengthened _pirouette_
she exclaimed, _sotte voce_, "Ah!"with a sigh; but at length, when
a tremendous whirl had divested the greater part of the performer's
figure of drapery--the band ceasing at the moment to give time to the
twirl--the poor old lady screamed out, "Oh, la!"John journeyed to the bathroom.--which was heard all
over the house, and caused a shout of laughter at the expense of a
poor, sober-minded Englishwoman, whose nerves had not been screwed
up to a sufficiently fashionable pitch to witness what she saw was a
perfect, but thought must have been an accidental exposure, of more
of a woman's person than is usually given to the gaze of the million.Whitlings and whipsters, dandies, demireps, and dancers may rank us
with our fat friend in the tabby silk, to whom we have just referred,
if they please; but we will always run the risk of being counted
unfashionable rather than immoral.So few people moving in the world take the trouble of thinking for
themselves, that it is necessary to open their eyes to their own
improprieties; the natural answer to a question, "How can you suffer
your daughters to witness such exhibitions?"is, "Why, everybody
else goes, why should not they?"Sandra journeyed to the garden.And then, the numerous avocations
of an Opera-house evening divert the attention from the stage.True;
but there is a class of women differently situated, who are subject
to the nuisance, merely because those who do not care about it are
indifferent to its correction; we mean the daughters and wives of
respectable aldermen and drysalters, and tradesmen of a superior
class, who are rattled and shaken to the Opera once or twice in the
season, in a hackney-coach, and come into the pit all over finery,
with long straws abstracted from "their carriage," sticking in their
flounces.Who is there that does not know that the Lady Patronesses of Almack's
have interdicted pantaloons, tight or loose, at their assemblies?never was printed)
from this mighty conclave, announcing their fiat in these words:
"_Gentlemen will not be admitted without breeches and stockings!_"
No sooner was this mandate, in whatever terms the published one was
couched, fulminated from King Street, than the "lean and slippered
pantaloon" was exterminated, and, as the Directresses directed,
"short hose" were the order of the day.Sandra went back to the bedroom.If the same lovely and honourable ladies were to take the Opera House
under their purifying control, and issue, in the same spirit at
least, an order that "Ladies will not be permitted to appear without
----" (whatever may be the proper names for the drapery of females)
we are quite convinced that they would render a great service to
society, and extricate the national character from a reproach which
the tacit endurance of such grossnesses has, in the minds of all
moderate people, unfortunately cast upon it at present.--_John Bull_,
1823.TOLL-GATES AND THEIR KEEPERS.Few persons can have passed through life, or London, without having
experienced more or less insult from the authoritative manner and
coarse language of the fellows who keep the different toll-bars round
the metropolis; but even were those persons uniformly civil and
well-behaved, the innumerable demands which they are authorised to
make, and the necessary frequency of their conversation and appeals
to the traveller, are of themselves enough to provoke the impatience
of the most placid passenger in Christendom.[Illustration: AT THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.John went to the office.Hook, in his letter to Broderip (facsimile given elsewhere) suggests
that as they are going to Ascot races _tête-à-tête_, it might be as
well to speak of it as _neck-and-neck_.A rough sketch is enclosed of
the Zoological Gardens, Hook pointing with pride to the _necks_ of
the giraffes.]We will select one line of about three or four miles, which will
answer by way of an example of what we mean: A man, driving himself
(without a servant), starts from Bishopsgate-street for Kilburn.The
day is cold and rainy--his fingers are benumbed; his two coats
buttoned up; his money in tight pantaloon-pockets; his horse restive,
apt to kick if the reins touch his tail; his gloves soaked with wet;
and himself half-an-hour too late for dinner.He has to pull up in
the middle of the street in Shoreditch, and pay a toll;--he means to
return, therefore he takes a ticket, letter A. On reaching Shoreditch
Church, he turns into the Curtain Road, pulls up again, drags off
his wet glove with his teeth, his other hand being fully occupied in
holding up the reins and the whip; pays again; gets another ticket,
number 482; drags on his glove; buttons up his coats, and rattles
away into Old Street Road; another gate; more pulling and poking, and
unbuttoning and squeezing.He pays, and takes another ticket, letter
L. The operation of getting all to rights takes place once more, nor
is it repeated until he reaches Goswell Street Road; here he performs
all the ceremonies we have already described, for a fourth time, and
gets a fourth ticket, 732, which is to clear him through the gates in
the New Road, as far as the bottom of Pentonville;--arrived there,
he performs once more all the same evolutions, and procures a fifth
ticket, letter X, which, unless some sinister accident occur, is to
carry him clear to the Paddington Road; but opening the fine space of
the Regent's Park, at the top of Portland Street, the north breeze
blowing fresh from Hampstead, bursts upon his buggy, and all the
tickets which he had received from all the gates which he has paid,
and which he had stuffed _seriatim_ between the cushion and lining
of his dennet, suddenly rise, like a covey of partridges, from the
corner, and he sees the dingy vouchers for his expenditure proceeding
down Portland Street at full speed.They are rescued, however,
muddy and filthy as they are, by the sweeper of the crossing, who
is, of course, rewarded by the driver for his attention with a
larger sum than he had originally disbursed for all the gates; and
when deposited again in the vehicle, not in their former order of
arrangement, the unfortunate traveller spends at least ten minutes
at the next gate in selecting the particular ticket which is there
required to insure his free passage.Mary moved to the office.Conquering all these difficulties, he reaches Paddington Gate, where
he pays afresh, and obtains a ticket, 691, with which he proceeds
swimmingly until stopped again at Kilburn, to pay a toll, which would
clear him all the way to Stanmore, if he were not going to dine at
a house three doors beyond the very turnpike, where he pays for the
seventh time, and where he obtains a seventh ticket, letter G.
He dines and "wines;" and the bee's-wing from the citizen's port
gives new velocity to Time.The dennet was ordered at eleven;
and, although neither tides nor the old gentleman just mentioned,
wait for any man, except Tom Hill, horses and dennets will.It is
nearer midnight than eleven when the visitor departs, even better
buttoned up than in the morning, his lamps giving cheerfulness to the
equipage, and light to the road; and his horse whisking along (his
nostrils pouring forth breath like smoke from safety-valves), and the
whole affair actually in motion at the rate of ten miles |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | --"Won't do."--"G?"--(The
horse fidgety all this time, and the driver trying to read the dirty
tickets by the little light which is emitted through the _tops_ of
his lamps,)--"X?"--"It's no letter, I tell you?"--"482,"--"No."At
this juncture the clock strikes twelve--the driver is told that
his reading and rummaging are alike useless, for that a new day
has begun.The coats are, therefore, unbuttoned--the gloves pulled
off--the money to be fished out--the driver discovers that his last
shilling was paid to the ostler at the inn where his horse was fed
and that he must change a sovereign to pay the gate.This operation
the toll-keeper performs; nor does the driver discover, until the
morning, that one of the half-crowns and four of the shillings which
he has received, are bad.Satisfied, however, with what has occurred,
he determines at all hazards to drive home over the stones,
and avoid all further importunities from the turnpike-keepers.Accordingly, away he goes along Oxford Street, over the pavement,
working into one hole and tumbling into another, like a ball on a
_trou madame_ table, until, at the end of George Street, St.Giles's,
snap goes his axle-tree; away goes his horse, dashing the dennet
against a post at the corner of Plumtree Street, leaving the driver,
with his collar-bone and left arm broken, on the pavement, at the
mercy of two or three popish bricklayers and a couple of women of the
town, who humanely lift him to the coach-stand, and deposit him in
a hackney-chariot, having previously cut off the skirts of both his
coats, and relieved him, not only of his loose change, but of a gold
repeater, a snuff-box, and a pocket-book full of notes and memoranda,
of no use but to the owner.The unhappy victim at length reaches home, in agonies from the
continued roughness of the pre-adamite pavement, is put to
bed--doctors are sent for, the fractures are reduced, and in seven
weeks he is able to crawl into his counting-house to write a cheque
for a new dennet, and give his people orders to shoot his valuable
horse, who has so dreadfully injured himself on the fatal night as to
be past recovery.TOM SHERIDAN'S ADVENTURE.[66]
Tom Sheridan was staying at Lord Craven's at Benham (or rather
Hampstead), and one day proceeded on a shooting excursion, like
Hawthorn, with only "his dog and his gun," on foot, and unattended by
companion or keeper; the sport was bad--the birds few and shy--and he
walked and walked in search of game, until, unconsciously, he entered
the domain of some neighbouring squire.A very short time after, he perceived advancing towards him, at the
top of his speed, a jolly, comfortable-looking gentleman, followed
by a servant, armed, as it appeared, for conflict.Tom took up a
position, and waited the approach of the enemy.you sir," said the squire, when within half-earshot, "what
are you doing here, sir, eh?""I'm shooting, sir," said Tom."Do you know where you are, sir?""I'm here, sir," said Tom."Here, sir," said the squire, growing angry; "and do you know where
here _is_, sir?These, sir, are _my_ manors; what d'ye think of that,
sir, eh?""Why, sir, as to your manners," said Tom, "I can't say they seem over
agreeable.""I don't want any jokes, sir," said the squire, "I hate jokes.Who
are you, sir?--what are you?""Why, sir," said Tom, "my name is Sheridan--I am staying at Lord
Craven's--I have come out for some sport--I have not had any, and I
am not aware that I am trespassing."said the squire, cooling a little; "oh, from Lord
Craven's, eh?Well, sir, I could not know _that_, sir--I----'
"No, sir," said Tom, "but you need not have been in a passion."Sheridan," said the squire, "you don't know,
sir, what these preserves have cost me, and the pains and trouble I
have been at with them; it's all very well for _you_ to talk, but if
you were in _my_ place I should like to know what _you_ would say
upon such an occasion.""Why, sir," said Tom, "if I were in _your_ place, under all the
circumstances, I should say--'I am convinced, Mr.Sheridan, you did
not mean to annoy me; and, as you look a good deal tired, perhaps
you'll come up to my house and take some refreshment?'"The squire was hit hard by this nonchalance, and (as the newspapers
say), "it is needless to add," acted upon Sheridan's suggestion."So far," said poor Tom, "the story tells for me,--now you shall hear
the sequel."Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.After having regaled himself at the squire's house, and having said
five hundred more good things than he swallowed; having delighted his
host, and more than half won the hearts of his wife and daughters,
the sportsman proceeded on his return homewards.In the course of his walk he passed through a farm-yard; in the front
of the farm-house was a green, in the centre of which was a pond, in
the pond were ducks innumerable swimming and diving; on its verdant
banks a motley group of gallant cocks and pert partlets, picking and
feeding--the farmer was leaning over the hatch of the barn, which
stood near two cottages on the side of the green.Tom hated to go back with an empty bag; and having failed in his
attempts at higher game, it struck him as a good joke to ridicule the
exploits of the day himself, in order to prevent any one else from
doing it for him, and he thought to carry home a certain number of
the domestic inhabitants of the pond and its vicinity would serve the
purpose admirably.Accordingly, up he goes to the farmer and accosts
him very civilly--
"My good friend," says Tom, "I'll make you an offer.""Why," replies Tom, "I've been out all day fagging after birds, and
haven't had a shot--now, both my barrels are loaded--I should like to
take home something; what shall I give you to let me have a shot with
each barrel at those ducks and fowls--I standing here--and to have
whatever I kill?""Fairish," said Tom, "fairish.""And to _have_ all you kill?""Half a guinea," said the farmer."I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll give
you a seven-shilling piece, which happens to be all the money I have
in my pocket.""Well," said the man, "hand it over."The payment was made--Tom, true to his bargain, took his post by the
barn-door, and let fly with one barrel and then with the other; and
such quacking and splashing, and screaming and fluttering, had never
been seen in that place before.Away ran Tom, and, delighted at his success, picked up first a hen,
then a chicken, then fished out a dying duck or two, and so on, until
he numbered eight head of domestic game, with which his bag was nobly
distended."Those were right good shots, sir," said the farmer."Yes," said Tom, "eight ducks and fowls were more than you
bargained for, old fellow--worth rather more, I suspect, than seven
shillings--eh?""Why, yes," said the man, scratching his head--"I think they be; but
what do I care for that--_they are none of them mine_!""Here," said Tom, "I was for once in my life _beaten_, and made off
as fast as I could, for fear the right owner of my game might make
his appearance--not but that I could have given the fellow that took
me in seven times as much as I did for his cunning and coolness."POLLY HIGGINBOTTOM.[67]
In Chester's town a man there dwelt,
Not rich as Crœsus, but a buck;
The pangs of love he clearly felt--
His name was _Thomas Clutterbuck_.The lady he did most approve
Most guineas gold had got 'em;
And Clutterbuck fell deep in love
With _Polly Higginbottom_.And then he thought to ask what were the four things
the four grey old women were holding like great treasures, but he could
not think of the right words to bring out.Then the first of the old women rose up, holding the cauldron between
her two hands, and she said ‘Pleasure,’ and Hanrahan said no word.Then
the second old woman rose up with the stone in her hands, and she said
‘Power’; and the third old woman rose up with the spear in her hand,
and she said ‘Courage’; and the last of the old women rose up having
the sword in her hands, and she said ‘Knowledge.’ And everyone, after
she had spoken, waited as if for Hanrahan to question her, but he said
nothing at all.And then the four old women went out of the door,
bringing their four treasures with them, and as they went out one of
them said, ‘He has no wish for us’; and another said, ‘He is weak, he
is weak’; and another said, ‘He is afraid’; and the last said, ‘His
wits are gone from him.’ And then they all said ‘Echtge, daughter of
the Silver Hand, must stay in her sleep.It is a pity, it is a great
pity.’
And then the woman that was like a queen gave a very sad sigh, and
it seemed to Hanrahan as if the sigh had the sound in it of hidden
streams; and if the place he was in had been ten times grander and more
shining than it was, he could not have hindered sleep from coming on
him; and he staggered like a drunken man and lay down there and then.When Hanrahan awoke, the sun was shining on his face, but there was
white frost on the grass around him, and there was ice on the edge of
the stream he was lying by, and that goes running on through Daire-caol
and Druim-da-rod.He knew by the shape of the hills and by the shining
of Lough Greine in the distance that he was upon one of the hills of
Slieve Echtge, but he was not sure how he came there; for all that had
happened in the barn had gone from him, and all of his journey but the
soreness of his feet and the stiffness in his bones.* * * * *
It was a year after that, there were men of the village of Cappaghtagle
sitting by the fire in a house on the roadside, and Red Hanrahan that
was now very thin and worn and his hair very long and wild, came to the
half-door and asked leave to come in and rest himself; and they bid him
welcome because it was Samhain night.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.He sat down with them, and they
gave him a glass of whiskey out of a quart bottle; and they saw the
little inkpot hanging about his neck, and knew he was a scholar, and
asked for stories about the Greeks.He took the Virgil out of the big pocket of his coat, but the cover was
very black and swollen with the wet, and the page when he opened it was
very yellow, but that was no great matter, for he looked at it like a
man that had never learned to read.Some young man that was there began
to laugh at him then, and to ask why did he carry so heavy a book with
him when he was not able to read it.It vexed Hanrahan to hear that, and he put the Virgil back in his
pocket and asked if they had a pack of cards among them, for cards were
better than books.When they brought out the cards he took them and
began to shuffle them, and while he was shuffling them something seemed
to come into his mind, and he put his hand to his face like one that is
trying to remember, and he said: ‘Was I ever here before, or where was
I on a night like this?’ and then of a sudden he stood up and let the
cards fall to the floor, and he said, ‘Who was it brought me a message
from Mary Lavelle?’
‘We never saw you before now, and we never heard of Mary Lavelle,’
said the man of the house.‘And who is she,’ he said, ‘and what is it
you are talking about?’
‘It was this night a year ago, I was in a barn, and there were men
playing cards, and there was money on the table, they were pushing
it from one to another here and there—and I got a message, and I was
going out of the door to look for my sweetheart that wanted me, Mary
Lavelle.’ And then Hanrahan called out very loud: ‘Where have I been
since then?Where was I for the whole year?’
‘It is hard to say where you might have been in that time,’ said the
oldest of the men, ‘or what part of the world you may have travelled;
and it is like enough you have the dust of many roads on your feet; for
there are many go wandering and forgetting like that,’ he said, ‘when
once they have been given the touch.’
‘That is true,’ said another of the men.‘I knew a woman went wandering
like that through the length of seven years; she came back after, and
she told her friends she had often been glad enough to eat the food
that was put in the pig’s trough.And it is best for you to go to the
priest now,’ he said, ‘and let him take off you whatever may have been
put upon you.’
‘It is to my sweetheart I will go, to Mary Lavelle,’ said Hanrahan; ‘it
is too long I have delayed, how do I know what might have happened her
in the length of a year?’
He was going out of the door then, but they all told him it was best
for him to stop the night, and to get strength for the journey; and
indeed he wanted that, for he was very weak, and when they gave him
food he eat it like a man that had never seen food before, and one of
them said, ‘He is eating as if he had trodden on the hungry grass.’ It
was in the white light of the morning he set out, and the time seemed
long to him till he could get to Mary Lavelle’s house.But when he came
to it, he found the door broken, and the thatch dropping from the roof,
and no living person to be seen.And when he asked the neighbours what
had happened her, all they could say was that she had been put out
of the house, and had married some labouring man, and they had gone
looking for work to London or Liverpool or some big place.And whether
she found a worse place or a better he never knew, but anyway he never
met with her or with news of her again.THE TWISTING OF THE ROPE
HANRAHAN was walking the roads one time near Kinvara at the fall of
day, and he heard the sound of a fiddle from a house a little way
off the roadside.He turned up the path to it, for he never had the
habit of passing by any place where |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | The man of the house was standing at the
door, and when Hanrahan came near he knew him and he said: ‘A welcome
before you, Hanrahan, you have been lost to us this long time.’ But
the woman of the house came to the door and she said to her husband:
‘I would be as well pleased for Hanrahan not to come in to-night, for
he has no good name now among the priests, or with women that mind
themselves, and I wouldn’t wonder from his walk if he has a drop of
drink taken.’ But the man said, ‘I will never turn away Hanrahan of the
poets from my door,’ and with that he bade him enter.There were a good many neighbours gathered in the house, and some of
them remembered Hanrahan; but some of the little lads that were in the
corners had only heard of him, and they stood up to have a view of him,
and one of them said: ‘Is not that Hanrahan that had the school, and
that was brought away by Them?’ But his mother put her hand over his
mouth and bade him be quiet, and not be saying things like that.‘For
Hanrahan is apt to grow wicked,’ she said, ‘if he hears talk of that
story, or if anyone goes questioning him.’ One or another called out
then, asking him for a song, but the man of the house said it was no
time to ask him for a song, before he had rested himself; and he gave
him whiskey in a glass, and Hanrahan thanked him and wished him good
health and drank it off.The fiddler was tuning his fiddle for another dance, and the man of
the house said to the young men, they would all know what dancing was
like when they saw Hanrahan dance, for the like of it had never been
seen since he was there before.Hanrahan said he would not dance, he
had better use for his feet now, travelling as he was through the
five provinces of Ireland.Just as he said that, there came in at
the half-door Oona, the daughter of the house, having a few bits of
bog deal from Connemara in her arms for the fire.She threw them on
the hearth and the flame rose up, and showed her to be very comely
and smiling, and two or three of the young men rose up and asked for
a dance.But Hanrahan crossed the floor and brushed the others away,
and said it was with him she must dance, after the long road he had
travelled before he came to her.And it is likely he said some soft
word in her ear, for she said nothing against it, and stood out with
him, and there were little blushes in her cheeks.Then other couples
stood up, but when the dance was going to begin, Hanrahan chanced to
look down, and he took notice of his boots that were worn and broken,
and the ragged grey socks showing through them; and he said angrily it
was a bad floor, and the music no great things, and he sat down in the
dark place beside the hearth.But if he did, the girl sat down there
with him.The dancing went on, and when that dance was over another was called
for, and no one took much notice of Oona and Red Hanrahan for a while,
in the corner where they were.But the mother grew to be uneasy, and
she called to Oona to come and help her to set the table in the inner
room.But Oona that had never refused her before, said she would come
soon, but not yet, for she was listening to whatever he was saying
in her ear.The mother grew yet more uneasy then, and she would come
nearer them, and let on to be stirring the fire or sweeping the hearth,
and she would listen for a minute to hear what the poet was saying
to her child.And one time she heard him telling about white-handed
Deirdre, and how she brought the sons of Usnach to their death; and
how the blush in her cheeks was not so red as the blood of kings’ sons
that was shed for her, and her sorrows had never gone out of mind;
and he said it was maybe the memory of her that made the cry of the
plover on the bog as sorrowful in the ear of the poets as the keening
of young men for a comrade.And there would never have been that memory
of her, he said, if it was not for the poets that had put her beauty
in their songs.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.And the next time she did not well understand what he
was saying, but as far as she could hear, it had the sound of poetry
though it was not rhymed, and this is what she heard him say: ‘The sun
and the moon are the man and the girl, they are my life and your life,
they are travelling and ever travelling through the skies as if under
the one hood.He made your life
and my life before the beginning of the world, he made them that they
might go through the world, up and down, like the two best dancers that
go on with the dance up and down the long floor of the barn, fresh and
laughing, when all the rest are tired out and leaning against the wall.’
The old woman went then to where her husband was playing cards, but
he would take no notice of her, and then she went to a woman of
the neighbours and said: ‘Is there no way we can get them from one
another?’ and without waiting for an answer she said to some young men
that were talking together: ‘What good are you when you cannot make
the best girl in the house come out and dance with you?And go now
the whole of you,’ she said, ‘and see can you bring her away from the
poet’s talk.’ But Oona would not listen to any of them, but only moved
her hand as if to send them away.Then they called to Hanrahan and said
he had best dance with the girl himself, or let her dance with one of
them.When Hanrahan heard what they were saying he said: ‘That is so, I
will dance with her; there is no man in the house must dance with her
but myself.’
He stood up with her then, and led her out by the hand, and some of the
young men were vexed, and some began mocking at his ragged coat and his
broken boots.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.But he took no notice, and Oona took no notice, but they
looked at one another as if all the world belonged to themselves alone.But another couple that had been sitting together like lovers stood out
on the floor at the same time, holding one another’s hands and moving
their feet to keep time with the music.But Hanrahan turned his back on
them as if angry, and in place of dancing he began to sing, and as he
sang he held her hand, and his voice grew louder, and the mocking of
the young men stopped, and the fiddle stopped, and there was nothing
heard but his voice that had in it the sound of the wind.And what he
sang was a song he had heard or had made one time in his wanderings on
Slieve Echtge, and the words of it as they can be put into English were
like this:
O Death’s old bony finger
Will never find us there
In the high hollow townland
Where love’s to give and to spare;
Where boughs have fruit and blossom
At all times of the year;
Where rivers are running over
With red beer and brown beer.An old man plays the bagpipes
In a gold and silver wood;
Queens, their eyes blue like the ice,
Are dancing in a crowd.And while he was singing it Oona moved nearer to him, and the colour
had gone from her cheek, and her eyes were not blue now, but grey with
the tears that were in them, and anyone that saw her would have thought
she was ready to follow him there and then from the west to the east of
the world.But one of the young men called out: ‘Where is that country he is
singing about?Mind yourself, Oona, it is a long way off, you might
be a long time on the road before you would reach to it.’ And another
said: ‘It is not to the Country of the Young you will be going if you
go with him, but to Mayo of the bogs.’ Oona looked at him then as if
she would question him, but he raised her hand in his hand, and called
out between singing and shouting: ‘It is very near us that country is,
it is on every side; it may be on the bare hill behind it is, or it may
be in the heart of the wood.’ And he said out very loud and clear: ‘In
the heart of the wood; oh, death will never find us in the heart of
the wood.And will you come with me there, Oona?’ he said.But while he was saying this the two old women had gone outside the
door, and Oona’s mother was crying, and she said: ‘He has put an
enchantment on Oona.Can we not get the men to put him out of the
house?’
‘That is a thing you cannot do,’ said the other woman, ‘for he is a
poet of the Gael, and you know well if you would put a poet of the Gael
out of the house, he would put a curse on you that would wither the
corn in the fields and dry up the milk of the cows, if it had to hang
in the air seven years.’
‘God help us,’ said the mother, ‘and why did I ever let him into the
house at all, and the wild name he has!’
‘It would have been no harm at all to have kept him outside, but there
would great harm come upon you if you put him out by force.But listen
to the plan I have to get him out of the house by his own doing,
without anyone putting him from it at all.’
It was not long after that the two women came in again, each of them
having a bundle of hay in her apron.Hanrahan was not singing now, but
he was talking to Oona very fast and soft, and he was saying: ‘The
house is narrow but the world is wide, and there is no true lover
that need be afraid of night or morning or sun or stars or shadows
or evening, or any earthly thing.’ ‘Hanrahan,’ said the mother then,
striking him on the shoulder, ‘will you give me a hand here for a
minute?’ ‘Do that, Hanrahan,’ said the woman of the neighbours, ‘and
help us to make this hay into a rope, for you are ready with your
hands, and a blast of wind has loosened the thatch on the haystack.’
‘I will do that for you,’ said he, and he took the little stick in his
hands, and the mother began giving out the hay, and he twisting it, but
he was hurrying to have done with it, and to be free again.The women
went on talking and giving out the hay, and encouraging him, and saying
what a good twister of a rope he was, better than their own neighbours
or than anyone they had ever seen.And Hanrahan saw that Oona was
watching him, and he began to twist very quick and with his head high,
and to boast of the readiness of his hands, and the learning he had
in his head, and the strength in his arms.And as he was boasting, he
went backward, twisting the rope always till he came to the door that
was open behind him, and without thinking he passed the threshold and
was out on the road.And no sooner was he there than the mother made
a sudden rush, and threw out the rope after him, and she shut the door
and the half-door and put a bolt upon them.She was well pleased when she had done that, and laughed out loud, and
the neighbours laughed and praised her.But they heard him beating
at the door, and saying words of cursing outside it, and the mother
had but time to stop Oona that had her hand upon the bolt to open it.She made a sign to the fiddler then, and he began a reel, and one of
the young men asked no leave but caught hold of Oona and brought her
into the thick of the dance.And when it was over and the fiddle had
stopped, there was no sound at all of anything outside, but the road
was as quiet as before.As to Hanrahan, when he knew he was shut out and that there was neither
shelter nor drink nor a girl’s ear for him that night, the anger and
the courage went out of him, and he went on to where the waves were
beating on the strand.He sat down on a big stone, and he began swinging his right arm and
singing slowly to himself, the way he did always to hearten himself
when every other thing failed him.And whether it was that time or
another time he made the song that is called to this day ‘The Twisting
of the Rope,’ and that begins, ‘What was the dead cat that put me in
this place,’ is not known.But after he had been singing awhile, mist and shadows seemed to gather
about him, sometimes coming out of the sea, and sometimes moving upon
it.It seemed to him that one of the shadows was the queen-woman he had
seen in her sleep at Slieve Echtge; not in her sleep now, but mocking,
and calling out to them that were behind her: ‘He was weak, he was
weak, he had no courage.’ And he felt the strands of the rope in his
hand yet, and went on twisting it, but it seemed to him as he twisted,
that it had all the sorrows of the world in it.And then it seemed to
him as if the rope had changed in his dream into a great water-worm
that came out of the sea, and that twisted itself about him, and held
him closer and closer, and grew from big to bigger till the whole of
the earth and skies were wound up in it, and the stars themselves were
but the shining of the ridges of its skin.Sandra moved to the garden.And then he got free of it,
and went on, shaking and unsteady, along the edge of the strand, and
the grey shapes were flying here and there around him.And this is what
they were saying, ‘It is a pity for him that refuses the call of the
daughters of the Sidhe, for he will find no comfort in the love of the
women of the earth to the end of life and time, and the cold of the
grave is in his heart for ever.It is death he has chosen; let him die,
let him die, let him die.’
HANRAHAN AND CATHLEEN THE DAUGHTER OF HOOLIHAN
IT was travelling northward Hanrahan was one time, giving a hand to a
farmer now and again in the hurried time of the year, and telling his
stories and making his share of songs at wakes and at weddings.Sandra went back to the kitchen.He chanced one day to overtake on the road to Collooney one Margaret
Rooney, a woman he used to know in Munster when he was a young man.She
had no good name at that time, and it was the priest routed her out of
the place at last.He knew her by her walk and by the colour of her
eyes, and by a way she had of putting back the hair off her face with
her left hand.She had been wandering about, she said, selling herrings
and the like, and now she was going back to Sligo, to the place in the
Burrough where she was living with another woman, Mary Gillis, who
had much the same story as herself.She would be well pleased, she
said, if he would come and stop in the house with them, and be singing
his songs to the bacachs and blind men and fiddlers of the Burrough.She remembered him well, she said, and had a wish for him; and as to
Mary Gillis, she had some of his songs off by heart, so he need not be
afraid of not getting good treatment, and all the bacachs and poor men
that heard him would give him a |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | He was glad enough to go with her, and to find a woman to be listening
to the story of his troubles and to be comforting him.It was at the
moment of the fall of day when every man may pass as handsome and
every woman as comely.She put her arm about him when he told her of
the misfortune of the Twisting of the Rope, and in the half light she
looked as well as another.They kept in talk all the way to the Burrough, and as for Mary Gillis,
when she saw him and heard who he was, she went near crying to think of
having a man with so great a name in the house.Hanrahan was well pleased to settle down with them for a while, for he
was tired with wandering; and since the day he found the little cabin
fallen in, and Mary Lavelle gone from it, and the thatch scattered, he
had never asked to have any place of his own; and he had never stopped
long enough in any place to see the green leaves come where he had seen
the old leaves wither, or to see the wheat harvested where he had seen
it sown.It was a good change to him to have shelter from the wet, and
a fire in the evening time, and his share of food put on the table
without the asking.He made a good many of his songs while he was living there, so well
cared for and so quiet.The most of them were love songs, but some were
songs of repentance, and some were songs about Ireland and her griefs,
under one name or another.Every evening the bacachs and beggars and blind men and fiddlers would
gather into the house and listen to his songs and his poems, and his
stories about the old time of the Fianna, and they kept them in their
memories that were never spoiled with books; and so they brought his
name to every wake and wedding and pattern in the whole of Connaught.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.He was never so well off or made so much of as he was at that time.One evening of December he was singing a little song that he said he
had heard from the green plover of the mountain, about the fair-haired
boys that had left Limerick, and that were wandering and going astray
in all parts of the world.There were a good many people in the room
that night, and two or three little lads that had crept in, and sat
on the floor near the fire, and were too busy with the roasting of a
potato in the ashes or some such thing to take much notice of him;
but they remembered long afterwards when his name had gone up, the
sound of his voice, and what way he had moved his hand, and the look
of him as he sat on the edge of the bed, with his shadow falling on
the whitewashed wall behind him, and as he moved going up as high as
the thatch.And they knew then that they had looked upon a king of the
poets of the Gael, and a maker of the dreams of men.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.Of a sudden his singing stopped, and his eyes grew misty as if he was
looking at some far thing.Mary Gillis was pouring whiskey into a mug that stood on a table beside
him, and she left off pouring and said, ‘Is it of leaving us you are
thinking?’
Margaret Rooney heard what she said, and did not know why she said it,
and she took the words too much in earnest and came over to him, and
there was dread in her heart that she was going to lose so wonderful a
poet and so good a comrade, and a man that was thought so much of, and
that brought so many to her house.‘You would not go away from us, my heart?’ she said, catching him by
the hand.Sandra moved to the garden.‘It is not of that I am thinking,’ he said, ‘but of Ireland and the
weight of grief that is on her.’ And he leaned his head against his
hand, and began to sing these words, and the sound of his voice was
like the wind in a lonely place.The old brown thorn trees break in two high over Cummen Strand
Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand;
Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies,
But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes
Of Cathleen the daughter of Hoolihan.The wind has bundled up the clouds high over Knocknarea
And thrown the thunder on the stones for all that Maeve can say;
Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat,
But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet
Of Cathleen the daughter of Hoolihan.The yellow pool has overflowed high upon Clooth-na-Bare,
For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air;
Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood,
But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood
Is Cathleen the daughter of Hoolihan.While he was singing, his voice began to break, and tears came rolling
down his cheeks, and Margaret Rooney put down her face into her hands
and began to cry along with him.Then a blind beggar by the fire shook
his rags with a sob, and after that there was no one of them all but
cried tears down.RED HANRAHAN’S CURSE
ONE fine May morning a long time after Hanrahan had left Margaret
Rooney’s house, he was walking the road near Collooney, and the sound
of the birds singing in the bushes that were white with blossom set
him singing as he went.It was to his own little place he was going,
that was no more than a cabin, but that pleased him well.For he was
tired of so many years of wandering from shelter to shelter at all
times of the year, and although he was seldom refused a welcome and a
share of what was in the house, it seemed to him sometimes that his
mind was getting stiff like his joints, and it was not so easy to him
as it used to be to make fun and sport through the night, and to set
all the boys laughing with his pleasant talk, and to coax the women
with his songs.And a while ago, he had turned into a cabin that some
poor man had left to go harvesting and had never come to again.And
when he had mended the thatch and made a bed in the corner with a few
sacks and bushes, and had swept out the floor, he was well content to
have a little place for himself, where he could go in and out as he
liked, and put his head in his hands through the length of an evening
if the fret was on him, and loneliness after the old times.One by one
the neighbours began to send their children in to get some learning
from him, and with what they brought, a few eggs or an oaten cake or a
couple of sods of turf, he made out a way of living.And if he went for
a wild day and night now and again to the Burrough, no one would say a
word, knowing him to be a poet, with wandering in his heart.It was from the Burrough he was coming that May morning, light-hearted
enough, and singing some new song that had come to him.But it was not
long till a hare ran across his path, and made away into the fields,
through the loose stones of the wall.And he knew it was no good sign a
hare to have crossed his path, and he remembered the hare that had led
him away to Slieve Echtge the time Mary Lavelle was waiting for him,
and how he had never known content for any length of time since then.‘And it is likely enough they are putting some bad thing before me
now,’ he said.And after he said that, he heard the sound of crying in the field
beside him, and he looked over the wall.And there he saw a young girl
sitting under a bush of white hawthorn, and crying as if her heart
would break.Her face was hidden in her hands, but her soft hair and
her white neck and the young look of her, put him in mind of Bridget
Purcell and Margaret Gillane and Maeve Connelan and Oona Curry and
Celia Driscoll, and the rest of the girls he had made songs for and had
coaxed the heart from with his flattering tongue.She looked up, and he saw her to be a girl of the neighbours, a
farmer’s daughter.‘What is on you, Nora?’ he said.‘Nothing you could
take from me, Red Hanrahan.’ ‘If there is any sorrow on you it is I
myself should be well able to serve you,’ he said then, ‘for it is I
know the history of the Greeks, and I know well what sorrow is and
parting, and the hardship of the world.And if I am not able to save
you from trouble,’ he said, ‘there is many a one I have saved from it
with the power that is in my songs, as it was in the songs of the
poets that were before me from the beginning of the world.And it is
with the rest of the poets I myself will be sitting and talking in some
far place beyond the world, to the end of life and time,’ he said.The
girl stopped her crying, and she said, ‘Owen Hanrahan, I often heard
you have had sorrow and persecution, and that you know all the troubles
of the world since the time you refused your love to the queen-woman in
Slieve Echtge; and that she never left you in quiet since.But when it
is people of this earth that have harmed you, it is yourself knows well
the way to put harm on them again.Sandra went back to the kitchen.And will you do now what I ask you,
Owen Hanrahan?’ she said.‘I will do that indeed,’ said he.‘It is my father and my mother and my brothers,’ she said, ‘that are
marrying me to old Paddy Doe, because he has a farm of a hundred acres
under the mountain.And it is what you can do, Hanrahan,’ she said,
‘put him into a rhyme the same way you put old Peter Kilmartin in one
the time you were young, that sorrow may be over him rising up and
lying down, that will put him thinking of Collooney churchyard and
not of marriage.Daniel travelled to the office.And let you make no delay about it, for it is for
to-morrow they have the marriage settled, and I would sooner see the
sun rise on the day of my death than on that day.’
‘I will put him into a song that will bring shame and sorrow over him;
but tell me how many years has he, for I would put them in the song?’
‘O, he has years upon years.He is as old as you yourself, Red
Hanrahan.’ ‘As old as myself,’ sang Hanrahan, and his voice was as if
broken; ‘as old as myself; there are twenty years and more between
us!It is a bad day indeed for Owen Hanrahan when a young girl with
the blossom of May in her cheeks thinks him to be an old man.And my
grief!’ he said, ‘you have put a thorn in my heart.’
He turned from her then and went down the road till he came to a stone,
and he sat down on it, for it seemed as if all the weight of the years
had come on him in the minute.And he remembered it was not many days
ago that a woman in some house had said: ‘It is not Red Hanrahan you
are now but yellow Hanrahan, for your hair is turned to the colour of a
wisp of tow.’ And another woman he had asked for a drink had not given
him new milk but sour; and sometimes the girls would be whispering and
laughing with young ignorant men while he himself was in the middle of
giving out his poems or his talk.And he thought of the stiffness of
his joints when he first rose of a morning, and the pain of his knees
after making a journey, and it seemed to him as if he was come to be
a very old man, with cold in the shoulders and speckled shins and his
wind breaking and he himself withering away.And with those thoughts
there came on him a great anger against old age and all it brought with
it.And just then he looked up and saw a great spotted eagle sailing
slowly towards Ballygawley, and he cried out: ‘You, too, eagle of
Ballygawley, are old, and your wings are full of gaps, and I will put
you and your ancient comrades, the Pike of Dargan Lake and the Yew of
the Steep Place of the Strangers into my rhyme, that there may be a
curse on you for ever.’
There was a bush beside him to the left, flowering like the rest, and
a little gust of wind blew the white blossoms over his coat.‘May
blossoms,’ he said, gathering them up in the hollow of his hand, ‘you
never know age because you die away in your beauty, and I will put you
into my rhyme and give you my blessing.’
He rose up then and plucked a little branch from the bush, and carried
it in his hand.But it is old and broken he looked going home that day
with the stoop in his shoulders and the darkness in his face.Sandra went back to the hallway.When he got to his cabin there was no one there, and he went and lay
down on the bed for a while as he was used to do when he wanted to make
a poem or a praise or a curse.And it was not long he was in making it
this time, for the power of the curse-making bards was upon him.And
when he had made it he searched his mind how he could send it out over
the whole countryside.Some of the scholars began coming in then, to see if there would be
any school that day, and Hanrahan rose up and sat on the bench by the
hearth, and they all stood around him.They thought he would bring out the Virgil or the Mass book or the
primer, but instead of that he held up the little branch of hawthorn he
had in his hand yet.‘Children,’ he said, ‘this is a new lesson I have
for you to-day.‘You yourselves and the beautiful people of the world are like this
blossom, and old age is the wind that comes and blows the blossom away.And I have made a curse upon old age and upon the old men, and listen
now while I give it out to you.’ And this is what he said—
The poet, Owen Hanrahan, under a bush of may
Calls down a curse on his own head because it withers grey;
Then on the speckled eagle cock of Ballygawley Hill,
Because it is the oldest thing that knows of cark and ill;
And on the yew that has been green from the times out of mind
By the Steep Place of the Strangers and the Gap of the Wind;
And on the great grey pike that broods in Castle Dargan Lake
Having in his long body a many a hook and ache;
Then curses he old Paddy Bruen of the Well of Bride
Because no hair is on his head and drowsiness inside.Then Paddy’s neighbour, Peter Hart, and Michael Gill, his friend,
Because their wandering histories are never at an end.And then old Shemus Cullinan, shepherd of the Green Lands
Because he holds two crutches between his crooked hands;
Then calls a curse from the dark North upon old Paddy Doe,
Who plans to lay his withering head upon a breast of snow,
Who plans to wreck a singing voice and break a merry heart,
He bids a curse hang over him till breath and body part;
But he calls down a blessing on the blossom of the may,
Because it comes in beauty, and in beauty blows away.He said it over to the children verse by verse till all of them could
say a part of it, and some that were the quickest could say the whole
of it. |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.‘That will do for to-day,’ he said then.‘And what you have to do now
is to go out and sing that song for a while, to the tune of the Green
Bunch of Rushes, to everyone you meet, and to the old men themselves.’
‘I will do that,’ said one of the little lads; ‘I know old Paddy Doe
well.Last Saint John’s Eve we dropped a mouse down his chimney, but
this is better than a mouse.’
‘I will go into the town of Sligo and sing it in the street,’ said
another of the boys.‘Do that,’ said Hanrahan, ‘and go into the
Burrough and tell it to Margaret Rooney and Mary Gillis, and bid them
sing to it, and to make the beggars and the bacachs sing it wherever
they go.’ The children ran out then, full of pride and of mischief,
calling out the song as they ran, and Hanrahan knew there was no
danger it would not be heard.He was sitting outside the door the next morning, looking at his
scholars as they came by in twos and threes.They were nearly all come,
and he was considering the place of the sun in the heavens to know
whether it was time to begin, when he heard a sound that was like the
buzzing of a swarm of bees in the air, or the rushing of a hidden river
in time of flood.Then he saw a crowd coming up to the cabin from the
road, and he took notice that all the crowd was made up of old men, and
that the leaders of it were Paddy Bruen, Michael Gill and Paddy Doe,
and there was not one in the crowd but had in his hand an ash stick or
a blackthorn.As soon as they caught sight of him, the sticks began to
wave hither and thither like branches in a storm, and the old feet to
run.He waited no longer, but made off up the hill behind the cabin till he
was out of their sight.After a while he came back round the hill, where he was hidden by the
furze growing along a ditch.And when he came in sight of his cabin he
saw that all the old men had gathered around it, and one of them was
just at that time thrusting a rake with a wisp of lighted straw on it
into the thatch.‘My grief,’ he said, ‘I have set Old Age and Time and Weariness and
Sickness against me, and I must go wandering again.And, O Blessed
Queen of Heaven,’ he said, ‘protect me from the Eagle of Ballygawley,
the Yew Tree of the Steep Place of the Strangers, the Pike of Castle
Dargan Lake, and from the lighted wisps of their kindred, the Old Men!’
HANRAHAN’S VISION
IT was in the month of June Hanrahan was on the road near Sligo, but he
did not go into the town, but turned towards Beinn Bulben; for there
were thoughts of the old times coming upon him, and he had no mind to
meet with common men.The attack languished, and at length the leaders of the besieging host
gave the signal for retreat.A certain number of the assailants had remained alive in the power of
the besieged, and Sigild gave orders that they should be guarded and not
put to death.As to the wounded lying within the ramparts, they were
killed.Towards the middle of the night fires were seen to be lighted in the
woods, about a thousand paces from the camp.The besieged had lost a few
men only, but the ditch was filled with the enemy's dead and wounded.The groans of the latter were the only interruption to the quiet of the
night.Sigild slept not; he kept half the warriors on vigorous guard during the
third quarter of the night, and the other half during the last quarter.Those who were not on guard slept around the fires.The Brenn, when the
assault was over, had sent messengers to the chiefs of the eight tribes
to acquaint them with the happy result of this first engagement.At break of day the Brenn had the prisoners brought before him.Two or
three of them spoke the language of the valley, but with a foreign
accent.Clothed in drawers laced around, and a tunic of undyed wool, with a
broad strap which served them for a girdle, they looked not unlike some
of those merchants who occasionally came into the valley to barter
yellow amber and bronze for corn, cheese, tanned hides, and wool."Why
do you come to attack us?""We have been driven from the
lands we have inhabited from the most ancient times, by hordes from the
north.These men have killed many of us, taken away our wives, and
murdered our children: the stronger among us have combined together,
and crossing a wide river on rafts, we have travelled onwards towards
the setting sun, seeking a home.Two days' journey from this spot we
were told that this country is good and can afford sustenance to many;
so we have come hither."When our chiefs saw that you shut yourselves up in this place,
regarding us as enemies, they told us we must first make ourselves
masters of the camp.We are only doing to you what has been
done to us.""Why not have sent some of your number to ask of us what
you required?""You have come as enemies, and as
enemies we have received you."Go
seek your chiefs and tell them that if by nightfall their entire host
have not quitted the land of Avon, the captives we have made here shall
suffer.""Because our chiefs will not leave this
land.Put us to death; for if any of your party have fallen into the
hands of our men, they are doomed to death to avenge our comrades killed
this night."Sigild ordered that the captives should be fettered
till he had decided on their fate.The Brenn was very anxious that the enemy should take up a position
towards the north, opposite to the weak point of the Oppidum.Accordingly he was continually reconnoitring on the eastern and western
fronts as far as the river and the other side of the rivulet, to prevent
the besiegers from establishing themselves in either quarter.Upon the
steep sides of the plateau, opposite the burnt bridge, Sigild had placed
a small camp guarded by two hundred men.The reconnoitring parties,
which he sent out in large numbers, had orders to bring back into the
camp all the fodder and strayed cattle they could find, engaging the
enemy only when they encountered them in small bodies.But the invaders did not seem to be contemplating another assault.They
took up their quarters in the woods to the north and on the <DW72>s of
the hills, right and left, leaving between them and the camp the river
and the rivulet; marauding parties might also be seen in the valley,
foraging, and pillaging the deserted dwellings.On the other side of the
destroyed bridge they formed a wide palisading strengthened by
barricading of timber; and two days afterwards they had constructed a
floating bridge on the river, formed with trunks of trees fastened
together and kept in place by a kind of dam made with piles of timber
fixed in the bed of the river and inclined up the stream.It was evident that the besiegers were in no hurry; that they were
living upon the provisions left in the valley; and that it was their
intention to reduce the besieged by famine.In fact the inhabitants of the Val d'Avon had been able to carry with
them only a small quantity of provisions.They had their cattle, but
these being badly fed and crowded together were dying in great numbers;
the cows ceased to give milk, and the store of forage was rapidly
diminishing.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.On the sixth day of the investment, the chiefs of the tribes proposed to
the Brenn to cut their way through the enemy's lines while their men
still preserved their strength entire, and not to wait till the utter
failure of provisions should place them at the mercy of the invaders.Of
course the Brenn opposed this proposition, declaring that the day of
deliverance would come, and that they must have patience.Nevertheless
it was of great consequence to him that the enemy should concentrate his
forces on the northern side.Accordingly, one evening at nightfall, he
collected two bodies of men, one at the eastern, the other at the
western gate.He had observed that the enemy used to prepare their
morning meal just before noon, and that of the evening at sunset.After
the evening repast they were heard singing and shouting.When the opportune moment arrived he divided each of his bodies into
two.The first two halves were to march along the ramparts parallel to
one another till they reached the woods; there they were to rush on the
two flanks of the besiegers' outposts; they were not to prolong the
attack, but to fall back with all speed to the northern salient of the
Oppidum.In the meantime, the two
other halves would unite, provided with stakes, before this salient,
where, with the aid of palisading, they would make an advanced work
(Fig.7) and then fall back one hundred paces to the right and left.The men who guarded the north front had orders to cut an opening in the
rampart twenty paces wide, and to throw fascines and clods of turf into
the ditch, and have wattles ready to close the opening instantly.The first two detachments, therefore, set out in silence; that on the
western side left a little before the one on the east, so as to arrive
at the same time on the enemy's flank.The two other detachments
preceded them, and stationing themselves at the northern extremity of
the Oppidum, drove in their stakes according to the instructions given,
and then fell back to right and left.A fine autumnal rain was falling,
and the ground was slippery.Some time elapsed before the two
detachments found themselves in sight of the enemy's camp.The besiegers
had no outposts; but their army encamped in front of the Oppidum, and at
a distance of about six hundred paces from it, was intrenched behind
barricades of timber; the intrenchment presented an extended front.Their men might be seen around the fires, talking loudly, singing, and
drinking cider and mead, of which they had found abundance in the houses
of the valley.An attack on this front was not to be thought of; they
must get round it.So the two detachments separated farther and farther
from each other, and advanced with the greatest difficulty along the
bogs and under the woods in momentary fear of being seen by the enemy.At length the one which was manoeuvring on the right reached the end of
the front, got under cover, and awaited the signal, which was to be
given by the one on the left by the blowing of a horn; for the Brenn had
calculated that the former would reach the extremity of the front before
the latter.Sandra moved to the garden.The time, however, was getting on, and Sigild, who had advanced with
several warriors on horseback along the verge of the wood, still heard
nothing.He sent two of his warriors to ascertain where the two
detachments were; they had great difficulty in making their way through
the wood, while the enemy's fires, which they saw in the distance
through the trees, only added to their difficulties, by preventing them
from seeing the ground they were riding over.The right front of the
enemy towards the river formed a lengthened curve, and the left
detachment kept advancing parallel with the front without finding a
point of attack.Midnight had passed when this detachment found itself at last before an
opening left in the barricade, but this opening formed an interior
angle, which rendered the attack very hazardous.Sandra went back to the kitchen.The detachment waited
until all was silent in the camp.The fires, fed only at irregular
intervals, cast here and there a fluctuating light, and fewer shadows
were passing before the braziers.One of the warriors sent by Sigild was approaching; he considered that
the attack on this point should not be deferred, and that the enemy must
be surprised during his first sleep.One of the men gave the signal agreed upon, and the troops rushed
through the opening, slaying all before them with terrific shouts,
scattering the fires and forming in triangle, so as to prevent the enemy
from getting round them.They did not proceed very far, for at the cries
of the assailants and of the wounded, men were seen to rise up on every
side and hasten towards the point of attack.The little troop then
closed, and ceasing to advance, turned and fled back towards the
Oppidum, following the verge of the wood along the steep banks of the
river.A long-continued shout was then heard on the enemy's left; the
attack had begun on that side also.Daniel travelled to the office.Whether the enemy, which had started in pursuit of the left detachment,
had succeeded in getting round it, or whether the detachment itself lost
its way in the darkness, it was unable to regain the plateau in time,
and continued to follow the course of the river.Sandra went back to the hallway.As to the troop detached on the right, being less distant from the
Oppidum, directly it found itself pressed by a numerous body of the
enemy, it retired in good order, and went direct to the angle of the
intrenchments, as had been arranged, hotly pursued by the crowd of
besiegers.Daniel journeyed to the hallway.At the same time most of the enemy's forces that had started
in pursuit of the left detachment were coming on the ground.Daniel went to the bathroom.The Brenn had anticipated the contingency of the attack which he had
arranged not succeeding in every point.Despite the darkness, he saw
that his people were not in advance, as they ought to have been, of the
hostile warriors who were making their appearance on his left; he
therefore quickly retired within the outwork of stakes which had been
formed by his orders, and commanded the straw fires to be lighted.The two detachments in ambuscade to the right and left outside the
rampart had orders to refrain from attack till a signal agreed upon had
been given.At the barrier of stakes, then, there arrived at the same
time the right detachment in flight, that portion of the enemy who were
in close pursuit of them, and those who were looking for the errant left
detachment.A great number entered pell-mell into the triangular space formed by the
stakes.It became the scene of an indescribable _melee_; those who were
defending the wattling which closed the breach dared not make any
openings for their brethren-in-arms whom they saw engaged with the
enemy.The Brenn struck into the midst of the crowd trying to rally his
men.He succeeded in cutting his way up to the wattling, against which
he leaned his back; and the warriors of the right detachment being
encouraged by his example, presented a head to the enemy, whose numbers,
however, continually augmented.A few minutes more and they would have
been swept down by the multitude of the assailants; the last comers were
urging on those in front of them, and the wattling and the warriors who
defended it would have been borne down by the tide.The Brenn, with his
long sword, was making a circle of dead and wounded around him.Then
shouting over the parapet to give the signal, the sound of trumpets
arose above the yells of the combatants.The enemy seemed to hesitate
for a moment; then, closing into a compact body, they rushed upon the
barricade, which gave way as if swept by a torrent.At the same instant loud shouts were heard on each of the enemy's
flanks; the two troops in ambuscade attacked the confused column outside
the rampart....
The combat did not cease until daybreak.Those of the enemies who had
succeeded in penetrating into the Oppidum were killed or captured.The
triangle of broken stakes was strewn in every direction with the dead.The enemy, disconcerted by the two simultaneous flank attacks, and
finding himself cut in two, was no longer able in the darkness to
concert an assault, and retired.Nevertheless, those who had been taken
in the outwork and at the gap of the Oppidum fought obstinately to the
last, and the captives who were driven before the Brenn were all more
less severely wounded.Sigild was covered with blood and dirt; his great black horse had been
killed in the last _melee_, and he himself had been trampled on.He ascended the nearest tower, and saw that the enemy remained not far |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | Their attitude was threatening, and it was to be
feared that they meditated another attack.The Brenn, therefore, had the
gap immediately repaired and the parapet strengthened with strong
stakes about two feet apart.Besides this, he sunk a second ditch with
intrenchment in a concave line, within the northern salient of the
Oppidum.This intrenchment could not be seen from without.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.He contrived
an egress at either end against a tower.The object was attained; the
enemy was concentrating himself in front of the weak salient of the
Oppidum, and was drawing nearer.The defenders, however, ignorant of the
motives which had induced the Brenn to attempt the hazardous sortie of
the previous night, shook their heads and appeared anxious.If two or
three hundred of the enemy had been killed, they had lost nearly as
many.The women whose husbands were dead were filling the camp with their
lamentations.Yet it was essential that Sigild should possess the
confidence of his brethren in arms till the _denoument_ he had prepared
should arrive."You see
plainly," said he, "that we cannot break through the lines which inclose
the camp.The enemy are very numerous and daring, and not to be
disconcerted.Besides, can we think of leaving here the aged, the women,
and the children to become their prey!Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.It is very certain that even if a
troop of brave warriors could cut their way through such a host of
enemies, the women, the aged, and the children could not follow them."My object in the sortie of last night was to force the enemy to
concentrate all his forces towards the north; which he will be all the
more disposed to do, as it is the weakest point of the Oppidum.When we
have thus drawn him to that side, obliging him to withdraw from the
hill-sides, we will go down on a dark night into the valley, cross the
river by a bridge which I shall have in readiness and which fifty men
will be able to put in place, and fly towards the river.When we find
that we have no more provisions left than we are able to take with us,
friends with whom I am in communication will guide us to some
neighbouring tribes of our race, and who will give us a hearty welcome,
because they want help in cultivating the broad lands they possess.Sandra moved to the garden.You
may therefore bid the tribes and the warriors take courage: every
contingency is provided for.But if the plan is to succeed, we must not
allow the enemy a moment's peace while we remain here."Having nothing better to suggest, the chiefs of the tribes appeared to
put faith in Sigild's words.His confident air, his good looks, the
energy he displayed, and the care he took to make himself acquainted
with everything, continued to secure for him the sympathy of the
unfortunate refugees.In the little camp above the burnt bridge he had, in accordance with the
plan stated, some light rafts made which could be readily fastened
together.He went frequently to see the work, and appeared to attach
great importance to it.He ordered that the captives who were badly
wounded should be killed; the others taken in the last engagement were
supplied with food in abundance.Confined in a sort of pit surrounded by
stakes, they could not observe what was going on in the camp.Well
guarded in the daytime, they were by Sigild's orders scarcely watched
during the night, on the supposition that some would contrive to escape
and would make the enemy believe that there was no scarcity of
provisions, which was exactly what happened.One night, three of the
stoutest captives succeeded in getting out of the pit, and gliding along
the ramparts, regained the besieger's camp.Of the warriors not engaged in guarding the ramparts, the Brenn had
formed four corps of three to five hundred men each; and at certain
times of the day and night he sent them down by one or other of the
gates to harass the enemy on one side of his camp, or at both sides at
once.Neither party suffered much loss in these skirmishes, whose only
result was to keep the besiegers in constant suspense, to weary them and
oblige them to concentrate their forces.Sandra went back to the kitchen.It was also evident that the
enemy were preparing for a general assault.They were seen accumulating
<DW19>s, cutting long poles, and making wicker screens.On the morning of the fourteenth day of the siege only a few scattered
parties were seen on the surrounding hills, while in the valley the
palisading formed opposite to the ruined bridge and the raft bridge were
alone still occupied by a considerable number of troops."It is
certain," said Sigild, to the chiefs of the tribes, "that the enemy is
preparing to attack us.Daniel travelled to the office.We must resist this assault with vigour, and
then we will take advantage of his exhaustion and disorder to carry out
our plan of flight."The besieger's preparations appeared formidable,
and the camp opposite the northern salient of the Oppidum presented a
busy scene.Sigild on his part neglected no means of resistance, though
he calculated on the arrival of the troops summoned to their relief in
the evening.He had the towers well supplied with stones and darts: on
the ramparts he strengthened the wattle parapet, and increased the
number of inclines for reaching it easily.The intrenchment made
behind the salient was well manned, and the Brenn trained his men to
pass out in a body through the two egresses formed at the extremities of
the intrenchment, so as to take the assailants in flank.At sunset the Brenn ascended
one of the towers, and attentively examined the horizon.His attendants
thought he was watching the movements of the enemy; he was, in fact,
waiting for Tomar's signal.Repressing all signs of the serious anxiety that had oppressed him
through this tedious night, the sun had no sooner arisen than the Brenn
disposed his men at the points he thought likely to be attacked.The enemy had formed in two large bodies three hundred paces from the
Oppidum; they had accumulated in front of them an immense quantity of
<DW19>s, beams, and wattles.The sun was already high above the horizon
when they began to move.First came a line of warriors under cover of
wicker shields, which protected them from darts and stones.In this way they reached the counterscarp of the ditch, despite of
missiles from the towers.There they fixed the wicker shields, and
behind these a great number of the enemy bearing <DW19>s gradually
posted themselves.Then over this screen they threw a great quantity of
these <DW19>s into the ditch.When they judged that there were enough of
them, they threw flaming brands upon them.The besieged had no means of counteracting this kind of attack.They
showered darts and stones in abundance upon the assailants, but only
wounded a few of them; nor did they seem to mind these missiles.The
wind blew from the north-west.The <DW19>s were soon kindled, and the
smoke and sparks blinded the defenders.Three of the towers took fire,
as well as the wattling of the ramparts.Sigild, calm and unmoved, had withdrawn his men behind the second
intrenchment."The enemy," said he, "will not be able to pass till all
is consumed; that will take time; let him mount the rampart and cry
victory.Sandra went back to the hallway.In fact, the green wood
burned badly, and produced much smoke; the besieged threw bushes and
chips on the red-hot <DW19>s to feed the fire, and it continued burning.The enemy were becoming impatient; the besieged looked on cheerfully.About the middle of the afternoon, however, the fire went out at some
points; the besiegers threw earth and trunks of trees into the ditch,
and, perceiving no defenders, thought that the ramparts being intenable
were abandoned.With shouts they rushed on to the <DW72>s, leaped the
half-consumed wattling, and meeting with no resistance, descended in a
close body into the camp (Fig.There they were greeted by a sudden
shower of darts and stones; but they unhesitatingly rushed upon the
intrenchment, which presented only a slight elevation and a shallow
ditch, thinking to carry it easily.But the intrenchment was strong, and furnished with thick pointed
stakes.Daniel journeyed to the hallway.The assailants, urging forward and aiding each other, gained its
ridge; they were received with swords and pikes, and fell back dying
upon their comrades; others filled their places.The bodies of the
wounded, which in some places gradually filled up the ditch, afforded
them a passage.Many of the enemy had succeeded in throwing themselves
into the midst of the defenders, and in opening deep passages among them
which were instantly occupied by the most daring.The deep front which
the Brenn had formed behind the intrenchment was broken.Then it was
that he unmasked the two egresses at the extremities, sending out from
both the troops of chosen warriors, who, keeping close along the
deserted rampart, fell upon the dense stream of assailants.So compact
was the crowd, and so great the pressure against the intrenchment, that
they had scarcely room to move.Daniel went to the bathroom.The two detachments above mentioned were
mowing away before them to enable them to advance.But the enemy kept
pouring in, and the space regained was immediately filled with fresh
assailants, who, disregarding the attacks on their flanks, pushed
furiously on to the centre.John travelled to the garden.The bodies of the slain and the <DW19>s had filled the ditch for the
length of a hundred paces, and the loosened stakes formed but a slight
protection to the defenders.The noise of the attack brought a great
number of women hurrying to the spot.They might be seen with bare arms,
raising stones above their heads, and hurling them with shrill cries
against the breasts of the assailants, or despatching the wounded that
had fallen inside the intrenchment with the culinary wooden pestles used
for pounding herbs and flesh in hollow stones.A shout was raised, the
crowd of assailants opened, and a hundred men were seen steadily
advancing, bearing on their shoulders an enormous trunk of a tree, and
surrounded by warriors armed with axes.This column overthrowing all in
its passage, whether friend or foe, made a wide lane in the
intrenchment, strewn with dead and wounded.The beam was already more
than half way through on the inside of the defences when the women ran
in, and rushing like she-wolves on the flanks of the column, passed
between the warriors, and clung to the legs of the bearers.The enormous
beam swayed, toppled over, and bore down in its fall both assailants and
defenders by its vast weight.Sigild profiting by the confusion, then
dashed into the breach, followed by a troop of warriors which he had not
without difficulty kept in reserve.In his return he cut himself a
passage through the crowd of assailants.Seeing this movement, the
warriors who had issued from the two ends of the inner intrenchment
redoubled their efforts.Others rushed on to the rampart-walk by the
side issues of the intrenchment, and fell upon the enemies within or
without the rampart.The latter, cramped within this narrow space, and
with their centre broken through, were unable to use their arms.Those who were on the projecting part of the
rampart began to turn and fly into the midst of their advancing
comrades, who not seeing what was taking place behind the rampart, were
for compelling them to return to the battle.The crowd fell into confusion, and disregarding the voice of the chiefs,
accumulated in such masses in the ditch, the escarpments and the
rampart-walk, that it could act only by its weight, and offered itself
to attack without power of defence.Most threw down their bucklers which
hampered their movements.Sigild kept advancing, and all the warriors not engaged in defending the
intrenchment formed behind him in a column which became denser each
moment.As soon as they were outside the intrenchment, these warriors
turned about and threw themselves on the bulk of the assailants, who
were separated into two masses.Caught as in a pair of pincers by
Sigild's band, and by those coming from the terminal egresses of the
intrenchment, they were slaughtered without resistance.In vain did the chiefs of the enemy sound a retreat.The bulk of
assailants, who were massed between the rampart and the intrenchment,
could neither advance nor recede.Very few succeeded in rejoining their
companions.Fatigue alone stayed the defenders; it was no longer a
combat but a massacre.Although the warriors of the Val d'Avon had suffered considerable loss,
the success of the defence had intoxicated them, and they were eager to
take advantage of the disorder of the enemy to sally forth from the
Oppidum and fall upon them.Sigild was obliged to swear to them by the
most terrible of oaths, that their vengeance would be more effective by
delay.He told them, moreover, that the enemy were very numerous, and that the
losses they had suffered had not weakened them to such a degree as to
render them contemptible; that they were burning for revenge, and that
to attack them in their camp was to give them the very opportunity they
desired.The authority of the chiefs of the tribes of the Druids had,
however, to be appealed to, to keep the warriors within the Oppidum.Daniel moved to the hallway.Night fell on the narrow battle-field covered with the dead and wounded.The Brenn took re-possession of the ramparts, had the wattle parapet
hastily repaired, the enemy's wounded put to death, and his own carried
into the middle of the camp, where they were consigned to the care of
the women; then he ascended one of the unburnt towers of that front,
hoping to perceive Tomar's signal.But the night was hazy, and the fires
of the enemy three or four hundred paces distant were scarcely visible.It was evident that Tomar could not have lighted his fire, or if he had
lighted it, it was impossible to see it through the haze.The warriors after the laborious day, chilled by the autumn fog, were
sleeping around their fires.The cries of victory had been exchanged for
a death-like silence, broken only by the groans of some of the wounded
who had been forgotten.The Brenn was considering whether it would not be wise to follow the
plan which he had indicated to the chiefs of the tribes--to leave the
camp before daybreak by crossing the river on a line of rafts, before
the enemy had time to effect a fresh assault."One more day," he said to himself; "and if I have no news of Tomar, I
still must consider it."Then he went out and ordered to the point
attacked a body of warriors some hundreds strong, who, having guarded
the unbroken part of the ramparts during the assault, and having taken
no part in the conflict, were fresh and vigorous.He enjoined all of them to give the alarm vigorously
if they saw the enemy approaching the ramparts, so as to rouse the
sleeping warriors.He despatched several of his trusty friends to the
other fronts of the camp, with injunctions to watch the approaches, and
to send out scouts through the gates to ascertain any movements outside,
and to light fires a little way from the ramparts, so as to illuminate
the immediate vicinity.He proceeded towards the southern extremity of
the Oppidum, and saw that the little camp above the bridge that had been
destroyed was guarded; but also perceived through the mist the fires of
the enemy in the valley opposite this point.It was midnight, and Sigild, exhausted by fatigue, returned to the
northern side and retired to rest beneath one of the towers.Some of his
friends kept watch outside around a large fire.The Brenn was sleeping, when a hand placed on his shoulder awaked him.By the light of a resin torch he saw Tomar standing by him."Is it
really thou, Tomar?""Alone here; the warriors are down there; the fog rendered the
signal useless: I am come.""Thy warriors sleep,
no one has recognised me; a woman told me thou wert here.""Ditovix has assembled a thousand warriors.""Ah, Ditovix is with
them."A cloud passed over the brow of the Brenn."He is a noble
fellow," said he, after a pause."Thou knowest that we were attacked
yesterday?""I know it; I saw the field of the slain.The enemy are
|
bathroom | Where is John? | "Then Ditovix is to
fall upon them before midday, when he knows the conflict is begun.""If I do not go back to Ditovix, or if he hears nothing from
you, he will make the attack.""Remain with us, then; thou art sure that
we shall be assailed in the morning?""I passed along the enemy's
camp--they are preparing for a fresh assault; and there are warriors
following the course of the river to attack the west side also."Sigild called his friends together, and
informed them that a final effort must be made--that the enemy, harassed
on their rear by neighbouring tribes, must either get possession of the
Oppidum that very day or perish.Tomar was represented as having passed
the previous day in the besiegers' camp, and become acquainted with the
position of affairs.No one doubted the veracity of Tomar, who, so far from exaggerating,
never told a quarter of what he knew.Sigild scarcely had at his disposal, after the various assaults that had
taken place, three thousand men in a condition to fight, deducting the
troop stationed opposite the burnt bridge.He divided his forces into
three bodies, one of about twelve hundred men to defend the northern
ramparts, the second of eight hundred posted on the western rampart, and
the third of a thousand men which he kept in the centre of the Oppidum
under his own direct command.At the other posts around the Oppidum he placed men unaccustomed to
fight and unprovided with arms, but who were yet able to offer some
resistance if the enemy should present themselves.Women were posted in
the towers away from the points of expected attack.Their only duty was
to hurl stones at the assailants.The day broke slowly owing to the thick vapours obscuring the sky;
nevertheless the warriors, encouraged by the words of the Brenn and by
their success the day before, awaited the enemy full of ardour.The
Druids, informed by Sigild of the arrival of help, traversed the camp
announcing that the hour of deliverance had come, and that the souls of
those who should fall were secure of the most glorious future.The
Druidesses, with dishevelled hair, fastened sacred boughs to the
wattling of the ramparts.A body of the enemy about two thousand strong now became distinctly
visible opposite the western front of the Oppidum, with the river at its
back.Towards the end of the first quarter of the day, this troop
climbed the escarpment and stopped an arrow's flight off.It then
divided itself into eight parties, each of which, provided with <DW19>s,
proceeded towards one of the towers.The assailants were received with
a shower of arrows and stones.They advanced nevertheless without
wavering, and heaped up the <DW19>s at the foot of the towers, not
without considerable loss on their side; for the besieged hurled on them
over the parapets large pebbles and trunks of trees.The assailants tried several times to set fire to the <DW19>s, but the
wood was damp, and the defenders threw baskets of wet earth on the
incipient flames.The assault on the western side had continued for some time, when a vast
number of the enemy threw themselves on the northern salient, whose
towers were partly destroyed.As on the previous day, they rushed in such a compact mass upon the
salient, that they were not long in effecting a breach.Sigild then sent out five hundred men by the western gate to take the
assaulting column in flank, whilst he proceeded with the five hundred of
the reserve body straight to the salient.By the time he had reached
this point the enemy was already within the rampart, and his forces were
sheltered behind the intrenchment.On seeing the heaps of the slain with which this quarter was strewed,
the fury of the enemy appeared to be redoubled, and they swept along
like a flood through a wide breach.Thinking themselves at last masters
of the Oppidum, they fell in disorder upon the troops led by Sigild.This body, disposed crescent-wise, formed as it were a second
intrenchment, which the assailants vainly endeavoured to break through.The five hundred men who had gone out by the eastern gate had reached
the left flank of the throng of besiegers, when a tremendous shout arose
from the enemy's camp.Horsemen came galloping at the top of their speed towards the Oppidum.Assailed on their flank they made scarcely
any resistance, and a movement of disorderly retreat became more and
more clearly manifest.Those who had gained a footing within the rampart, seeing themselves no
longer supported, or rather forced on by new-comers, turned and fled
with all haste towards the wood.Sigild perceived that Ditovix was making his attack; then, collecting
his warriors and summoning all the men from the various parts of the
defences, he formed a dense column, and overthrowing the assailants who
were betwixt him and the rampart, passed it and rejoined the warriors
already outside: "Now," cried he, "forward!the enemy is ours; let not
one escape."The wretched besiegers, hemmed in between the warriors of Ditovix and
those led by Sigild, although twice as numerous as the forces of their
opponents united, became utterly disorganized, no longer thought of
defending themselves, and rushing now to one side, now to the other, met
death everywhere.Many attempted to fly towards the river or the rivulet; but at an
intimation from Sigild, Tomar, who had remained in the Oppidum, sent the
warriors posted on the ramparts in pursuit of them.The assailants on the western front, seeing the disorder into which
their party had been thrown on the plateau, had got down towards the
banks.On that side the warriors poured forth by the western gate, broke
the bridge of rafts, and fell upon the enemy hemmed in by the river.Those of the besiegers who did not meet their death that day, perished
of cold or hunger in the endeavour to escape pursuit.Mary moved to the garden.A thousand,
however, were taken; among others those who guarded the palisade in the
valley.They were slain in the Nemede in presence of the Druids and
Druidesses.Most of the bodies were thrown into the river, and for
several days the dwellers on the banks of the river found corpses
entangled among the reeds._THE COST OF DEFENDERS._
Ditovix and his warriors had done their duty bravely; the tribes of the
Val d'Avon regarded them as saviours, and when the unfortunate besieged
went back to their devastated homes, they cheerfully divided the little
that remained to them with the new-comers.In the enemy's camp were found provisions, the fruits of pillage, and
upon the bodies of the slain a little gold, and arms; and all this was
equally distributed.But winter was approaching, the fodder that had
been collected was dispersed, the animals lost or consumed, the stores
of grain destroyed.The means of subsistence had to be procured from the
merchants, and the allies to be fed.Scarcity prevailed in this valley,
so prosperous a month before.Its saviours were exacting, and began to
ask where was that wealth and plenty which had been promised them.We have described the three kinds of porcelain made in Hizen for
exportation to Europe, and we have seen that by the middle of the
seventeenth century this commerce, in the hands of the Dutch, and to
some extent of the Chinese, had already attained large proportions.Before turning to the kilns that sprung up in other parts of Japan
during the eighteenth century--of these the origin in every case can be
traced back directly or indirectly to the early Hizen factories--we must
say a word about some other varieties of porcelain made in the same
neighbourhood, but not destined for foreign use.The village or town of Arita, of which the better-known Imari is the
port, lies about fifty miles to the north-east of Nagasaki, and it may
almost be regarded as the King-te-chen of Japan.The clay and
china-stone used there is now brought, for the most part, from the
adjacent islands, from Hirado, from Amakusa, and even from the more
remote Goto islands.By a combination of some of the most important
potters of the district, and with the assistance of some wealthy
merchants, a company, the _Koransha_, was formed some twenty-five years
ago,[123] and an attempt was made to keep up the quality of the
porcelain produced, at least from a technical point of view.It was
certainly time for some such effort to be made, for about that period,
just after the Philadelphia Exhibition, the arts of Japan reached
perhaps their nadir.MIKÔCHI OR HIRADO WARE.--It was with a somewhat similar object that,
long before this--about the middle of the eighteenth century--the feudal
lord of Hirado had taken some of the kilns near Arita under his
patronage, and had also attempted to regulate the wasteful and careless
way in which the materials were quarried on the <DW72>s of Idzumi Yama.This was the origin of the beautiful Mikôchi (_Mi-ka-uchi_) ware, which
was at first produced only for the use of the prince and of his friends,
or for presentation to the Shogun.To understand the important influence of this aristocratic patronage
upon the scattered kilns of Japan (only a few of these, indeed, produced
porcelain), I cannot do better than quote the words of Captain Brinkley,
perhaps our first authority on Japanese ceramics: ‘During the two
centuries that represent the golden age of Japanese ceramic art, that is
to say, from 1645 to 1845, every factory of any importance was under the
direct patronage either of the nobleman in whose fief it lay, or of some
wealthy amateur whose whole business in life was comprised in the
cultivation of the _Cha-no-yu_.The wares produced, if they did not
represent the independent efforts of artists seeking to achieve or
maintain celebrity, were undertaken in compliance with the orders of the
workman’s liege lord, or of some other exalted personage.Considerations
of cost were entirely set aside, no expenditure of time and toil were
deemed excessive, and the slightest blemish sufficed to secure the
condemnation of the piece.’ All these conditions were swept away by the
revolution of 1868 and by the opening of the country to foreigners.John journeyed to the bathroom.‘Codes of subtle æsthetics and criticisms of exacting amateurs had no
longer to be considered, but in their stead the artist found himself
confronted by the Western market with all its elements of sordid haste
and superficial judgment.’
To return to the Mikôchi porcelain, this Hirado ware, for it was known
also by that name, produced at the prince’s kilns, six miles to the
south of Arita, was for more than a hundred years regarded as the _ne
plus ultra_ among Japanese porcelain, and its value was enhanced by the
fact that the ware never found its way into commerce.In the _sous
couverte_ blue it was sought to imitate the paler type of the old Ming
ware.The best-known examples of this blue decoration are seen on the
little cups delicately painted with Chinese boys at play under
pine-trees--the more the boys the better the ware, it is said.Careful
manipulation of the clay and finish of surface has never been carried to
a higher point than in the varieties of this porcelain worked with
pierced patterns and ornaments in relief, so prized by Japanese
collectors.On these we find, in addition to the blue, a peculiar tint
of pale brown.Of this ware there are some good specimens at
South Kensington.ÔKÔCHI OR NABESHIMA WARE.--The same high technical finish has been
attained in the Ôkôchi porcelain made at the village of that name
(_Ô-kawa-uchi_) three miles to the north of Arita.The kilns here were
patronised by the Nabeshima princes, who belonged to one of the greatest
feudal families of old Japan.In this case also, the small highly
finished pieces were destined for presents only and were never sold.This ware is generally to be identified by the comb-like pattern
(Japanese _Kushi-ki_), painted in blue round the base of the cups and
bowls.[124] Like the little Chinese boys of the Mikôchi ware, this
pattern is often seen on very inferior ware of quite modern manufacture.A peculiar kind of finely crackled celadon was also made at Ôkôchi.In the Arita district are many other factories, some of which, as those
at Matsugawa, have at times produced excellent ware.Of most of these
private kilns, however, the chief outturn has always been confined to
the blue and white _sometsuke_ for domestic use.* * * * *
We have now to follow the steps by which the knowledge of porcelain was
carried from the western island to other parts of Japan.We had better
pass at once to the Kioto kilns, for although the manufacture of
porcelain was not introduced at the old capital so early as at some
other places in the main island, yet the skill of its artist potters and
their connection with the imperial court led, in the course of the
eighteenth century, to the spread of their influence in every direction.Kioto was already in the sixteenth century the seat of more than one
ceramic industry, but it was not so much the problem of the materials
for a true porcelain, as the questions connected with the
enamels lately brought over from the West, that excited the curiosity of
the Kioto potter at this time.The story goes that one Aoyama Koyemon (I
quote again from _The Chrysanthemum_, April 1883), who came to Kioto
from the porcelain district of Hizen, to obtain orders for the new
enamelled ware, allowed the secret of its manufacture to be wormed out
of him by a crafty Kioto dealer, and that for this breach of trust the
wretched ‘traveller’ was crucified by his liege lord on his return to
Arita.This occurred just before the death of the great ceramic artist
Ninsei (about 1660), and the old potter at once obtained the knowledge
of the new enamelling process from the above-mentioned crockery
merchant.This man, we should add--the dealer--is said to have gone mad
when he heard the dreadful fate of his friend Koyemon--a fate for which
he was in so large a measure responsible.Such stories as this, and
there are other similar ones in the annals of Japanese ceramics, call to
mind the adventures of the experts of the eighteenth century, who
trafficked with the German princes in the _arcana_ of the newly
introduced porcelain, but for these German experts the penalties for
breach of confidence were not of so severe a nature.Nomomura Ninsei is generally held to be the greatest ceramic artist that
Japan has produced.The decorated stoneware and pottery that he turned
out late in life may be regarded as the common source from which the
wares produced in the two main groups of kilns in the neighbourhood of
Kioto took their origin.With one of these groups, with the wares
produced in the factories around Awata, we are not concerned here, for
no porcelain was ever produced in that suburb of Kioto.But to the other
group of kilns, called after the beautiful temple of Kiyomidzu, to the
north of Kioto, belong some of the most artistic specimens of porcelain
in our collections.It was here that this somewhat uncongenial material
was forced for the first time to adapt itself to the fanciful genius of
the people.It was to this district that the great original artist
Kenzan, the brother of the still more famous Ogata Korin, came towards
the end of the seventeenth century.It is true that little of this
artist’s work is executed in a true porcelain, but his picturesque
signature, scrawled in black, is sometimes found on the so-called more
noble ware (PL.Like his brother Korin, Kenzan obtained his
effects by the simplest means, sometimes by mere patches of colour
|
garden | Where is Mary? | The work of both these men has
of late found many admirers and imitators in France.It was not till the beginning of the eighteenth century that we have any
definite record of the manufacture of porcelain in Kioto.About that
time Yeisen devoted himself to the imitation of Chinese celadon.If we
are to find any common note in the wares produced in the various Kioto
potteries, it would be in a certain studied rudeness both in shape and
decoration, the very opposite of the delicately finished products of the
Hizen kilns.The rare pieces of Ming porcelain with decoration
were eagerly sought for and copied, not in a slavish way, but rather so
as to catch the spirit of their design.In fact these Japanese copies
might be made to throw some light on that rather obscure subject, the
origin of enamel decoration in China in the days of the later Ming
emperors.An apparently early class of Chinese enamelled ware, somewhat rudely
painted with a predominant iron red combined with a subordinate green,
was a great favourite with the Kioto potters, but we find also copies of
the Wan-li ‘pentad,’ the designs in this case sparely scattered over the
ground, generally in formal patterns of a textile type.The blue and
purple ware with ribbed _cloisons_ which the Japanese associate with
their mysterious land of Kochi was also in favour, but at Kioto, I
think, this ware was not copied in porcelain.So of the blue and white
made at this time at Kiyomidzu, it is distinguished from both the Hizen
and the Seto wares by a certain rudeness in the shape and decoration, a
character preserved by a great deal of the _sometsuke_ still made in
this district.Quite a different spirit was, however, brought in by Zengoro Riyozen,
the tenth descendant of a famous family of potters.This Zengoro was a
potter of universal genius, the foremost ceramic artist indeed of the
peaceful and luxurious period at the beginning of the nineteenth
century, when the Tokugawa Shogun at Tokiyo set an example of an
extravagant expenditure and brilliant display which was only too readily
followed at the courts of the great feudal nobles.In the art work of
that time, in spite of the unsurpassed perfection of execution and love
of gorgeous decoration, we can already trace the signs of a coming
decay.Zengoro, besides reviving with some success the deep sapphire
blue, _sous couverte_, of Ming times, succeeded in producing from an
iron-oxide a red ground which vied with the famous coral reds of the
previous century in China.But it was rather the Ming red, _sous
couverte_, that made from ‘powdered rubies of the West,’ that he
professed to copy.Over the red ground of his plates and little bowls he
painted his design in gold of the finest quality, and on the white
ground of the inside placed a scant decoration of his under-glaze
sapphire blue.Some of these dainty little cups are shown in a
table-case in the British Museum, but if we compare them with the
exquisite Ming bowls of a deep red derived from copper in the same
collection, the difference of the quality of the two tints is at once
apparent.As, however, it was a matter of _convenance_ to go back to a
Ming model, it was with the latter ware that Zengoro’s work was
compared.It was for his success in this kind of decoration (produced
about the years 1806-1817) that the great Kioto potter received from his
patron, the prince of Kishiu, a seal with the character _yeiraku_, or
reading in modern Chinese _Yung-lo_, the name of the Ming emperor
(1402-24) with whom the red copper glaze is traditionally associated
(PL.[125] This, then, is the origin of the name _Yeiraku
kinrande_ for the ‘gold brocade’ ware of Zengoro.At a later time this
form of decoration was carried by Zengoro’s son to Kaga, where in a
debased form it became characteristic of a ware with which our markets
were at one time flooded.KISHIU WARE.--This _kinrande_, however, is not the only kind of
porcelain with which the name of this protean artist is associated.Although the name Yeiraku given him by the Prince Nariyuki is generally
connected with his brilliant red and gold ware, it was a porcelain of
quite another kind that our Zengoro the tenth, or perhaps his son Hozen,
the eleventh of the family, turned out from the kilns that had been
erected by that prince in the garden (the _Ô-niwa_) of his palace near
Wakayama.The Japanese tell us that this well-known Ô-niwa or Kishiu
ware was made in imitation of a kind of porcelain or fayence brought
long ago from Kochi, a name generally rendered as Cochin-China, in any
case a country to the south of China.We have seen grounds for
associating this _Ô-niwa yaki_ rather with an early type of Chinese
polychrome ware, painted on the biscuit with glazes of three or perhaps
four colours.In any case, in the Japanese ware the turquoise, the
purple, and the straw- yellow (this last quite subordinate) are
applied in a similar fashion, and this is indeed practically the only
Japanese ware on which we find the turquoise colour that has played so
important a part in other countries.It is here the most important
colour of the triad, but occasionally we find it replaced by a deep,
rich green.On this Kishiu or Ô-niwa ware, known also to the Japanese as
_Kairaku_ from another seal used by Zengoro (PL.20), the decoration
is formed by ribs or lines which separate the surface into shallow
_cloisons_.In other cases the turquoise or the aubergine purple is
found alone as a monochrome glaze.Very few, however, of the large vases of this ware that have been
exported of late years to Europe, and especially to America (where the
turquoise blue has always been a favourite, as in the case of Chinese
porcelain), can have come from the kilns in the ‘prince’s garden.’ This
ware has, indeed, for some time since, been imitated at many other
places--at Tokiyo, and since 1870 especially at Kobe, where vast
quantities have been manufactured for exportation.These copies have
gone through the stages of degradation in design and colour that usually
accompany a large commercial production.Another famous potter, Mokubei, who worked at Kioto about the same time,
is said to have made great improvements in the moulds employed by him,
especially in those used for copying old Chinese pieces.But we
certainly cannot accept the statement that he was the first potter in
Japan to use moulds.This same Mokubei is said to have copied the richly
glazed stoneware of Kochi, a ware that had long been prized by the
Japanese, and to which, or rather to the kindred porcelain, we have
already referred.It is described as a hard pottery, with archaic
moulded decorations, coated with lustrous glazes of green, purple,
yellow, and golden-bronze.Mokubei also worked for the prince of Kishiu,
and it would be interesting to know what relation, if any, he had with
Zengoro and his Ô-niwa yaki.[126]
SANDA CELADON.--The kilns set up at Sanda, a small town to the
north-west of Osaka, by the feudal lord of the district, have acquired
in Japan a great name on account of the celadon ware there made.This
_Sanda-seiji_ was first produced at the end of the seventeenth century,
and followed more closely the famous old heavy wares of Lung-chuan than
did the more delicately finished celadon porcelain made about the same
time at Ôkôchi in Hizen.Mary moved to the garden.In addition to these wares, the Japanese lay
claim to an ancient celadon of native manufacture, and much ink has been
spilt in Japan upon the question of the origin of certain archaic pieces
preserved in temples and private collections.The bulk of the Sanda
celadon, we should say, is a solid useful ware with small artistic
pretensions.THE WARES OF OWARI AND MINO.--If, leaving Kioto, we take the old
high-road to Yedo--the Tokaido--we pass through a succession of villages
where the local wares are displayed in the stalls lining the route.Some
of this pottery is not without merit, and historical associations give
interest to more than one variety.But it is not till we have passed
Nagoya, a large industrial town at the head of the Gulf of Owari, that
we enter a true porcelain district--the only district in Japan that has
vied with Hizen in the production of porcelain for domestic use and for
exportation.Not far off is the village of Seto, the home of Toshiro; it
was here that on his return from China, early in the thirteenth century,
he set up the first kiln that produced in Japan a ware with any claims
to artistic merit.But, as we have said at the beginning of this
chapter, the ware made by Toshiro was no true porcelain, although the
expression _Seto-mono_, derived from his native village, is used rather
for porcelain than for other kinds of pottery.John journeyed to the bathroom.The term is, in fact,
about equivalent to our word ‘china.’
It was not till nearly six hundred years after Toshiro’s day that the
village of Seto again became prominent, when in the year 1807 the art of
making porcelain was, after many difficulties, successfully introduced
from Hizen.This was thanks to the energy of the potter Tamakichi, who
ventured a journey to Hizen to find out the secrets of the manufacture.As a reward for his services the privilege of wearing two swords and the
rights of a _samurai_ were granted to Tamakichi by the lord of Owari.Here again we find the new industry established under the fostering care
of the local prince.Over a wide district, more especially to the east on the borders of the
province of Mikawa, the decomposing granite furnishes an excellent raw
material, and centres for the manufacture of porcelain have sprung up
sporadically over a tract stretching away to the north, as far as the
province of Mino.But most of these kilns have never produced anything
better than a common blue and white ware.In composition the paste of the Owari porcelain is much closer to the
normal type than that of the Hizen wares (see note, p.Of late
years the Owari potters have succeeded in turning out pieces of
unprecedented size, in the shape especially of dishes and of slabs for
the tops of tables.Sandra moved to the office.From the artistic side, however, little can be said
in favour of this ware: the blue is generally crude in quality, often
resembling that found on the commoner European porcelain of later days.Another art was revived some years ago in the neighbourhood of Nagoya,
the chief town of this district--I mean that of enamelling in metallic
_cloisons_ (the _Shipô_, or ‘seven treasures’ of the Japanese), and of
late years the two industries have been combined by applying the
metallic _cloisons_ and the enamel to the surface of porcelain.A
similar ware has also been made at Kioto, but in this case the soft
fayence of Awata has been used as a base.Enormous quantities of both
these varieties of _cloisonné_ have been brought to Europe, and when we
consider the amount of skilled labour required in the manufacture, we
can only marvel at the prices for which this ware is retailed in London.Much of the cheap Japanese blue and white sold in Europe comes from this
Owari district, but of late years more ambitious things have been
attempted there--monochrome glazes of the _grand feu_, including a
curious variety of _flambé_ ware with a chocolate- ground.KUTANI WARE.--There only remains one important centre of porcelain
manufacture for us to describe.This lies far away among the mountains
that skirt the western coast of Japan.The feudal lords of that country,
however, the princes of Kaga, were reputed to be the most wealthy of all
the daimios of Japan.A junior branch of this family, the lords of
Daichoji, as early as the first half of the seventeenth century
established a kiln at the mountain village of Kutani.In the year 1660
an emissary was despatched to Hizen to spy out the land and learn what
he could of the new processes lately introduced there.The story of his
difficulties is only another version of that told of Tamakichi, the
Seto potter.After many adventures, abandoning the wife that he had been
forced to marry at Arita and the child he had had by her, he returned to
Kaga, equipped with the desired information and experience.He succeeded
in making a true porcelain with a white ground, decorated in a style
founded, it is said, both on the contemporary Hizen ware and on the
enamelled stoneware of Kochi.Morikaga, a famous artist of Kioto, was
retained to furnish designs for the decoration.We have in the British
Museum a spherical vase, painted in the five colours with a series of
spirited figures, which may well date from that time (PL.Examples of this period are rare, but some of the old drug-pots,
jealously guarded by their owners, that were still, a few years ago, to
be seen in the druggists’ and herbalists’ shops of Osaka and Sakai, may
perhaps be traced back to the potters of the seventeenth century, either
those of Kaga or those of Hizen.John moved to the kitchen.At this time, in fact, the Kaga ware
had hardly differentiated itself from that of the parent province.It
was not till the beginning of the eighteenth century that the typical
Kutani ware, one of the most original and decorative ever turned out
from Japanese kilns, was produced.On a greyish paste, hardly to be reckoned as porcelain, the lustrous,
full-bodied enamels, almost unctuous in quality, are laid with a full
brush.The whole surface is generally covered, and a dark, juicy green
is the prevailing colour, over which a design of black lines is drawn.Next in importance among the enamels there comes first purple, then a
heavy blue enamel which somewhat clashes with the other colours, and
finally a full-toned yellow.It would seem from Japanese accounts that
this kind of ware was not made after 1730, when there ensued a period of
decay, but it is difficult to believe the statement that the manufacture
was not revived till 1810.The picturesquely decorated bowls
[Illustration: _PLATE XXVI._ JAPANESE, KAGA WARE]
and plates showing the greyish ground are probably later than those
wholly covered with the green enamel, and it might be possible to trace
the date of introduction of fresh means of decoration--gilding skilfully
and boldly applied or the use of white enamel in relief, especially for
the petals of flowers.Later, but still on ware of fine decorative
effect, we find these white petals tinged with pink, and this apparently
is the earliest appearance of the _rouge d’or_ among Japanese enamels.When did this new colour come in, and from what source?We may perhaps
associate its first use with the wonderful period, early in the
nineteenth century, of which we have already spoken, when all the
restraints to which the Japanese artist had been so long subjected were
removed, the crabbed critic with his tradition of Ming times was
silenced, and a free rein at length given to native exuberance in the
use of gay colours and naturalistic designs.But this was the end; as in
the other arts, a period of decline set in before the middle of the
century, a decline that was accelerated, but not first originated, by
the throwing open of the country to |
kitchen | Where is John? | With the Kutani potter, the beginning of the end seems to have coincided
with the introduction of the iron-red and gold decoration.This was
brought about when the assistance of one of the Zengoro family, Zengoro
the eleventh or Hozen, probably, was obtained from Kioto.At the same
time the brilliant decoration in enamel colours was still carried on,
often enough with happy effect, and this was kept up to quite a late
period.In these latter days the use of a true white porcelain again
became prevalent--indeed the materials are at the present day brought
from Amakusa and other islands off the coast of Hizen.There are two marks that have always been associated with the Kaga
ware--first, the character for Kutani, the ‘Nine Valleys,’ the name of
the little mountain village where the ware was first made; second, the
Chinese word _Fu_ (Japanese _Fuku_), meaning ‘prosperity’ or ‘wealth,’
written in the seal character.We find this last mark painted in black
on the back of the old pieces covered with a green glaze (PL.Mary moved to the garden.* * * * *
In our account of Japanese porcelain we have been hampered by the
restrictions imposed by our subject.Among Japanese ceramic products
there is a big middle class, what we have called kaolinic stoneware.Wares of this kind, when made in neighbouring kilns and differing in
their decoration in no way from what may be classed as true
porcelain--and this is the case in the pottery districts of Kaga and
around Kioto--have naturally found their way within our limits.Other
kinds quite as near to true porcelain, such as the picturesque fayence
of Inuyama or many of the old Raku wares, have remained unmentioned.The
temptation to overstep the line has been great, inasmuch as so many of
the wares showing originality and real artistic merit lie distinctly on
the further side.We may say finally that a closer acquaintance with Japanese ceramics
will confirm what may be observed in the case of other branches of
Japanese art--in their painting, for example, and in their lacquer-ware.I mean the important part played by the critic, using that term in a
wide sense, in restraining the native exuberance of the artist.The
first tendency of the European connoisseur is to regret the hampering
influence of Chinese tradition and the restrictions imposed upon all new
developments.But when these influences have for a time been removed,
the facile productiveness of the Japanese artist has always tended to
land him in that pretty and over-decorated style that has found its way
into middle-class drawing-rooms at home.We find a tendency to this
unrestrained decoration and reckless association of colours creeping
into favour long
[Illustration: _PLATE XXVII._ JAPANESE, KAGA WARE]
before the opening of the country.Indeed, centuries ago at Kioto, and
even perhaps in the old Nara days, a somewhat similar love of the
trifling and effeminate may be recognised now and again.The services
rendered by the severe traditions of the old Chinese schools of the Tang
and Sung dynasties, and by the ascetic spirit of the _Cha-no-yu_ in
keeping within bounds the native tendency to luxuriant overgrowth, must
not be overlooked.When these influences were removed, the arts soon ran
to seed.CHAPTER XIII
FROM EAST TO WEST
We have now followed the steps by which the dependants and the
neighbours of the ‘Middle Kingdom’ to the North, the East and the South,
acquired the essentially Chinese art of the manufacture of porcelain.The next stage in our history brings us at one step to Europe.Before
making this stride of more than a thousand leagues from Japan to Central
Germany, it will be convenient to bring together some of the scattered
references to the porcelain of China that have been laboriously
disinterred from the works of the Arab and Christian writers of the
Middle Ages, and to compare these statements with the scant account of
the trade with Western lands to be found in the Chinese books of that
time.We shall then trace rapidly the history of the stages by which the
European nations became better acquainted with the porcelain of the Far
East so as finally to master the secret of the manufacture.For the earlier period we are dependent almost entirely upon Arab and
Chinese sources.The love of the marvellous, the spirit of Sindbad the
Sailor, has to be discounted in the first, and we have seen what
reservations we have to make in accepting the statements of the latter.There is no doubt that it is in the extraordinary development of trade
that followed the wave of Arab conquest in the seventh century that we
must find the first possibilities of direct communication with the Far
East.The great advance made by China in the early and palmy days of the
Tang dynasty (618-907) no doubt opened the way for this intercourse.At
that time China was in possession of a civilisation in many respects as
advanced as that to be found either at Constantinople or at Bagdad.As early as the year 700 of our era we find mention of a foreign
settlement at Canton, so that that town can claim a longer record than
any other Chinese port.But it was rather at Khanfu, as the Arabs called
Hangchow (or rather its port), the Kinsai of Marco Polo, that, in the
time of the next dynasty, the Sung (960-1279), the chief trade was
carried on.Thus we find that Edrisi, who wrote a work on geography
(_c._ 1153) for Roger, the Norman king of Sicily, is eloquent upon the
riches of this port of Khanfu and the neighbouring town Susak (perhaps
Suchow), ‘where they make an unequalled kind of porcelain called
_ghazar_ by the Chinese.’
At this time, though many Arab merchants were settled at the ports of
Canton, Zaitun, and Kinsai, the bulk of the commerce, it would seem, was
carried on in the larger and stronger junks of the Chinese, and the best
account that we have of the intercourse of China with foreign countries
is to be found in the report on external trade, written by Chao Ju-kua,
early in the thirteenth century.[127] This Chao was ‘inspector of
foreign shipping’ at Chüan-chou Fu, a town on the coast of Fukien, which
may perhaps be identified with the Zaitun of Marco Polo.In any case it
was, at that time, the principal starting-point for foreign commerce.We
have in his report a curious account of the trade with Bruni, on the
north-west coast of Borneo, an island with which the Chinese had
already had some intercourse for several centuries, and ‘green
porcelain’ is mentioned by him in the list of the merchandise there
imported.We need not dwell here on the well-known passion of the Dyaks of Borneo
for celadon porcelain, and the big prices that they are prepared to give
for fine old pieces (_Cf._ Bock, _The Head Hunters of Borneo_, p.Of the specimens of celadon and other wares brought from this
island we shall speak shortly.Modern travellers tell us that the larger
jars, ‘decorated with lizards and serpents’ (probably the early
smooth-skinned dragon of the Chinese), are preserved as heirlooms.Besides their medicinal value they are a complete protection from evil
spirits for the house in which they are stored.From later Chinese
writers (of the sixteenth century) we learn that these large jars were
used in Borneo in place of coffins, and it is a significant fact that a
similar mode of burial is still in use in Fukien, the district from
which these vessels were exported, but not elsewhere in China.To return to our Sung inspector of trade, as quoted by Dr.Hirth, Chao
tells us that at the ports of Cambodja, of Annam, and of Java, the
Chinese bartered both green and white porcelain against pepper and other
local products.But at that time the great emporium for the Western
trade was the port known to the Arabs as Sarbaya, the modern Palembang
in the island of Sumatra.Here, or at Lambri, in the same island, the
junks laid up for the winter, and in the spring the Chinese goods were
carried further west to Quilon, on the Malabar coast of the Deccan, this
time probably in Arab bottoms.The porcelain and the other Chinese
exports were now distributed to the various lands with which the Arabs
traded at that time.Chao Ju-kua, in this connection, mentions Guzerate,
and an island that most probably can be identified with Zanzibar.At
any rate, at this last spot fragments of celadon porcelain have been
discovered in recent days in association with Chinese ‘cash’ of the
tenth and eleventh centuries.There are scattered notices of this Sinico-Arab trade in the works of
Arab geographers and travellers, from Edrisi to Ibn Batuta.The last
writer, indeed, states that Chinese porcelain has found its way as far
west as Morocco.John journeyed to the bathroom.It was a happy idea of the Director of the
Ethnographical Museum, in the Zwinger at Dresden, to collect from every
available quarter specimens of Chinese porcelain with the object of
illustrating the wide distribution of the ware in early days, apart from
and mostly previous to that brought about by European agencies.Sandra moved to the office.In this
collection the heavy celadon or ‘martabani’ occupies, as we might
expect, a prominent place, but the later enamelled wares, including even
some special types that may be included under the _famille rose_ of the
eighteenth century, have been found both in Cairo and in Siam.John moved to the kitchen.Here we
see large, heavy celadon plates, with thick glaze of pea-soup colour,
from the Celebes, from Mindanoa and Luzon in the Philippine group, from
Ceram and from other islands of the further Indies.On some of these
plates the glaze covers the whole foot, and the unglazed ring, of deep
red colour, on the upper surface, points to a primitive method of
support in the kiln similar to that formerly in use in Siam.Other
celadon plates (there are some huge ones, nearly a yard in diameter, in
the collection), differing little from those found in these southern
islands, came on the one hand from Cairo, and on the other from Korea
and from Japan.From Korea there are also specimens of a curious
crackle-ware with brownish glaze and a rough decoration in blue, and
from Java a figure of Kwan-yin of a native type, covered with a pale,
almost white, celadon glaze.In the same collection we find plates
roughly decorated with red and green enamels, a style of decoration
which may perhaps be traced back to the earlier enamels of Ming times.Sandra went to the hallway.Examples of this type of ware--some at least appear to be of
porcelain--have been found both in the Philippines and in Ceylon.To
come down to more recent times, pieces decorated with large
peony-flowers, enamelled with an opaque white tinted by the _rouge
d’or_, on a bright green ground of leaves, come from the Celebes, from
Siam, and especially from Cairo.[128]
At Gotha, in the public museum, is a collection of Chinese porcelain
brought together by the late Duke of Edinburgh.It is remarkable for the
number of fine pieces of early celadon that it contains.As the unique
collection of Lung-chuan, of Ko yao and of other Sung wares formed by
Dr.Hirth, is now comprised in it, this is probably the most important
assemblage of early Chinese porcelain in Europe.These two German
collections, in the Zwinger at Dresden and at Gotha, complement and
illustrate each other.But we have in England, scattered through our
different museums and private collections, the materials for a series of
at least equal interest--I mean as a commentary on the history of the
spread of Chinese porcelain over the world, a subject to which we must
now return.In the early days of the Ming dynasty the commercial expeditions of the
Chinese took on a more aggressive character.In the time of Yung-lo
(1402-25) the eunuch Chêng-ho sailed with a fleet as far as Ceylon, and
exacted homage, so the Chinese records say, from the king of that
island.In the next reign, that of Hsuan-te (1425-35), the same admiral
conducted a more peaceful expedition to Hormus, at the entrance of the
Persian Gulf, and in company with merchantmen from India, traded with
the ports of the Red Sea, from Aden as far up as Jeddah.Both in Ceylon
and at Jeddah (Tien-fong is perhaps rather Mecca itself) we find mention
of green porcelain among the goods imported, and at this last port the
Indian and Chinese merchants established their factories at the very
centre of the Mohammedan world.Mary travelled to the bedroom.(I follow the extracts from the Ming
Annals given by Dr.Still more important was the trade with Hormus and other ports of the
Persian Gulf.We hear incidentally, at a later time, of a large fleet of
Chinese junks at anchor in these waters.To us the Chinese trade with
Persia is of special interest, for when, after a brief interval of
Portuguese rule, Hormus fell into our hands, it was in a measure through
the medium of the Persian ports, and of similar depôts and factories on
the Indian coast (as, for instance, Surat) that we in England obtained
our earliest specimens of Chinese porcelain.And now we must take up another thread of our inquiry and return to the
China of the thirteenth century, the China of Kublai Khan, the greatest
of the Mongol rulers, as described in the book of the Venetian traveller
Marco Polo.Here, in what is for us a classical passage, we find the
first known instance of the use of the word porcelain.Marco Polo has
been describing the wonders and riches of Zaitun, and he proceeds in his
inconsequent way--we will quote first from the old French text, probably
the earliest--‘Et sachiez que pres de ceste cité de Çayton a une autre
cité qui a nom Tiunguy, là où l’en fait moult d’escuelles et de
pourcelainnes qui sont moult belles.Et en nul autre port on n’en fait,
fors que en cestuy; et en y a l’en moult bon marchie’ (Pauthier, _Marco
Polo_, chapter clvi.).he demanded quizzically, lolling
out his tongue and peeping past Helm so as to get a glimpse of the
English line.Have they all gone to breakfas'?"The last question set Helm off again cursing and swearing in the most
melodramatic rage.Oncle Jazon turned to Beverley and said in rapid French: "Surely the
man's not going to fight those fellows yonder?""Well," added the old man, fingering his rifle's stock and taking
another glance through the gate, "I can't shoot wo'th a cent, bein'
sort o' nervous like; but I'll stan' by ye awhile, jes' for luck.I
might accidentally hit one of 'em."When a man is truly brave himself there is nothing that touches him
like an exhibition of absolutely unselfish gameness in another.A rush
of admiration for Oncle Jazon made Beverley feel like hugging him.Meantime the young British officer showed a flag of truce, and, with a
file of men, separated himself from the line, now stationary, and
approached the stockade.At a hundred yards he halted the file and came
on alone, waving the white clout.He boldly advanced to within easy
speaking distance and shouted:
"I demand the surrender of this fort.""Well, you'll not get it, young man," roared Helm, his profanity well
mixed in with the |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | "Ye'd better use sof' soap on 'im, Cap'n," said Oncle Jazon in English,
"cussin' won't do no good."While he spoke he rubbed the doughty
Captain's arm and then patted it gently.Helm, who was not half as excited as he pretended to be, knew that
Oncle Jazon's remark was the very essence of wisdom; but he was not yet
ready for the diplomatic language which the old trooper called "soft
soap.""No," said the officer, "but I speak for him."Mary moved to the garden."Not to me by a damned sight, sir.Tell your commander that I will hear
what he has to say from his own mouth.No understrapper will be
recognized by me."The young officer, evidently indignant,
strode back to his line, and an hour later Hamilton himself demanded
the unconditional surrender of the fort and garrison.Hamilton held a confab with his officers, while his forces, under cover
of the town's cabins, were deploying so as to form a half circle about
the stockade.Some artillery appeared and was planted directly opposite
the gate, not three hundred yards distant.One blast of that battery
would, as Helm well knew, level a large part of the stockade."S'posin' I hev' a cannon, too, seein' it's the fashion," said Oncle
Jazon.John journeyed to the bathroom."I can't shoot much, but I might skeer 'em.He set his rifle against the wall and with Beverley's help rolled one
of the swivels alongside the guns already in position.In a few minutes Hamilton returned under the white flag and shouted:
"Upon what terms will you surrender?""All the honors of war," Helm firmly replied."It's that or fight, and
I don't care a damn which!"Hamilton half turned away, as if done with the parley, then facing the
fort again, said:
"Very well, sir, haul down your flag."Helm was dumfounded at this prompt acceptance of his terms.Indeed the
incident is unique in history.As Hamilton spoke he very naturally glanced up to where la banniere
d'Alice Roussillon waved brilliantly.Someone stood beside it on the
dilapidated roof of the old blockhouse, and was already taking it from
its place.His aid, Captain Farnsworth, saw this, and the vision made
his heart draw in a strong, hot flood It was a girl in short skirts and
moccasins, with a fur hood on her head, her face, thrillingly
beautiful, set around with fluffs of wind-blown brown-gold hair.Farnsworth was too young to be critical and too old to let his eyes
deceive him.Every detail of the fine sketch, with its steel-blue
background of sky, flashed into his mind, sharp-cut as a cameo.Alice had come in by way of the postern.She mounted to the roof
unobserved, and made her way to the flag, just at the moment when Helm,
glad at heart to accept the easiest way out of a tight place, asked
Oncle Jazon to lower it.Beverley was thinking of Alice, and when he looked up he could scarcely
realize that he saw her; but the whole situation was plain the instant
she snatched the staff from its place; for he, too, recollected what
she had said at the river house.The memory and the present scene
blended perfectly during the fleeting instant that she was visible.He
saw that Alice was smiling somewhat as in her most mischievous moods,
and when she jerked the staff from its fastening she lifted it high and
waved it once, twice, thrice defiantly toward the British lines, then
fled down the ragged roof-<DW72> with it and disappeared.The vision
remained in Beverley's eyes forever afterward.The English troops,
thinking that the flag was taken down in token of surrender, broke into
a wild tumult of shouting.Oncle Jazon intuitively understood just what Alice was doing, for he
knew her nature and could read her face.His blood effervesced in an
instant.Vive la banniere d'Alice Roussillon!"he
screamed, waving his disreputable cap round his scalpless head.Hurrah for Alice Roussillon's flag!"Helm surrendered himself and Beverley with full
honors.As for Oncle Jazon, he disappeared at the critical moment.It
was not just to his mind to be a prisoner of war, especially under
existing conditions; for Hamilton's Indian allies had some old warpath
scores to settle with him dating back to the days when he and Simon
Kenton were comrades in Kentucky.Sandra moved to the office.When Alice snatched the banner and descended with it to the ground, she
ran swiftly out through the postern, as she had once before done, and
sped along under cover of the low bluff or swell, which, terrace-like,
bounded the flat "bottom" lands southward of the stockade.She kept on
until she reached a point opposite Father Beret's hut, to which she
then ran, the flag streaming bravely behind her in the wind, her heart
beating time to her steps.It was plainly a great surprise to Father Beret, who looked up from his
prayer when she rushed in, making a startling clatter, the loose
puncheons shaking together under her reckless feet.He opened wide his shrewd, kindly eyes; but did not fairly comprehend
her meaning.She was panting, half laughing, half crying.Her hair, wildly
disheveled, hung in glorious masses over her shoulders.John moved to the kitchen."They are taking the fort," she breathlessly added, again urging the
flag upon him, "they're going in, but I got this and ran away with it.Hide it, Father, hide it, quick, quick, before they come!"The daring light in her eyes, the witching play of her dimples, the
madcap air intensified by her attitude and the excitement of the
violent exercise just ended--something compounded of all these and
more--affected the good priest strangely.Involuntarily he crossed
himself, as if against a dangerous charm."Mon Dieu, Father Beret," she exclaimed with impatience, "haven't you a
grain of sense left?Take this flag and hide it, I tell you!They saw me take it, they may
be following me.He comprehended now, rising from his knees with a queer smile
broadening on his face.She put the banner into his hands and gave him
a gentle push."Hide it, I tell you, hide it, you dear old goose!"Without sneaking he turned the staff over and over in his hand, until
the flag was closely wrapped around it, then stooping he lifted a
puncheon and with it covered the gay roll from sight.Alice caught him in her arms and kissed him vigorously on the cheek.Sandra went to the hallway."Don't you dare to let any person have it!He pushed her from him with both hands and hastily crossed himself; but
his eyes were laughing."You ought to have seen me; I waved the flag at them--at the
English--and one young officer took off his hat to me!Oh, Father
Beret, it was like what is in a novel.They'll get the fort, but not
the banner!I've saved it, I've saved it!"Her enthusiasm gave a splendor to her countenance, heightening its
riches of color and somehow adding to its natural girlish expression an
audacious sweetness.The triumphant success of her undertaking lent the
dignity of conscious power to her look, a dignity which always sits
well upon a young and somewhat immaturely beautiful face.Father Beret could not resist her fervid eloquence, and he could not
run away from her or stop up his ears while she went on.So he had to
laugh when she said:
"Oh, if you had seen it all you would have enjoyed it.There was Oncle
Jazon squatting behind the little swivel, and there were Captain Helm
and Lieutenant Beverley holding their burning sticks over the big
cannon ready to shoot--all of them so intent that they didn't see
me--and yonder came the English officer and his army against the three.When they got close to the gate the officer called out: 'Surrender!'and then Captain Helm yelled back: 'Damned if I do!Come another step
and I'll blow you all to hell in a second!'I was mightily in hopes
that they'd come on; I wanted to see a cannon ball hit that English
commander right in the face; he looked so arrogant."Father Beret shook his head and tried to look disapproving and solemn.Mary travelled to the bedroom.Meantime down at the fort Hamilton was demanding the flag.He had seen
Alice take it down, and supposed that it was lowered officially and
would be turned over to him.Now he wanted to handle it as the best
token of his bloodless but important victory."I didn't order the flag down until after I had accepted your terms,"
said Helm, "and when my man started to obey, we saw a young lady snatch
it and run away with it.""I do not inform on women," said Helm.Hamilton smiled grimly, with a vexed look in his eyes, then turned to
Captain Farnsworth and ordered him to bring up M. Roussillon, who, when
he appeared, still had his hands tied together.Mary moved to the office."Tell me the name of the young woman who carried away the flag from the
fort.You saw her, you know every soul in this town.It was a hard question for M. Roussillon to answer.Although his
humiliating captivity had somewhat cowed him, still his love for Alice
made it impossible for him to give the information demanded by
Hamilton.He choked and stammered, but finally managed to say:
"I assure you that I don't know--I didn't look--I didn't see--It was
too far off for me to--I was some-what excited--I--"
"Take him away.We'll see how long it will take to refresh his mind.We'll puncture the
big windbag."While this curt scene was passing, the flag of Great Britain rose over
the fort to the lusty cheering of the victorious soldiers.Hamilton treated Helm and Beverley with extreme courtesy.He was a
soldier, gruff, unscrupulous and cruel to a degree; but he could not
help admiring the daring behavior of these two officers who had wrung
from him the best terms of surrender.He gave them full liberty, on
parole of honor not to attempt escape or to aid in any way an enemy
against him while they were prisoners.Nor was it long before Helm's genial and sociable disposition won the
Englishman's respect and confidence to such an extent that the two
became almost inseparable companions, playing cards, brewing toddies,
telling stories, and even shooting deer in the woods together, as if
they had always been the best of friends.Hamilton did not permit his savage allies to enter the town, and he
immediately required the French inhabitants to swear allegiance to
Great Britain, which they did with apparent heartiness, all save M.
Roussillon, who was kept in close confinement and bound like a felon,
chafing lugubriously and wearing the air of a martyr.His prison was a
little log pen in one corner of the stockade, much open to the weather,
its gaping cracks giving him a dreary view of the frozen landscape
through which the Wabash flowed in a broad steel-gray current.Helm,
who really liked him, tried in vain to procure his release; but
Hamilton was inexorable on account of what he regarded as duplicity in
M. Roussillon's conduct."No, I'll let him reflect," he said; "there's nothing like a little
tyranny to break up a bad case of self-importance.He'll soon find out
that he has over-rated himself!"CHAPTER X
M. ROUSSILLON ENTERTAINS COLONEL HAMILTON
A day or two after the arrival of Hamilton the absent garrison of
buffalo hunters straggled back to Vincennes and were duly sworn to
demean themselves as lawful subjects of Great Britain.Rene de Ronville
was among the first to take the oath, and it promptly followed that
Hamilton ordered him pressed into service as a wood-chopper and
log-hauler during the erection of a new blockhouse, large barracks and
the making of some extensive repairs of the stockade.Nothing could
have been more humiliating to the proud young Frenchman.Every day he
had to report bright and early to a burly Irish Corporal and be ordered
about, as if he had been a slave, cursed at, threatened and forced to
work until his hands were blistered and his muscles sore.The bitterest
part of it all was that he had to trudge past both Roussillon place and
the Bourcier cabin with the eyes of Alice and Adrienne upon him.Hamilton did not forget M. Roussillon in this connection.The giant
orator soon found himself face to face with a greater trial even than
Rene's.He was calmly told by the English commander that he could
choose between death and telling who it was that stole the flag."I'll have you shot, sir, to-morrow morning if you prevaricate about
this thing any longer," said Hamilton, with a right deadly strain in
his voice.John moved to the garden."You told me that you knew every man, woman and child in
Vincennes at sight.I know that you saw that girl take the flag--lying
does not serve your turn.I give you until this evening to tell me who
she is; if you fail, you die at sunrise to-morrow."In fact, it may be that Hamilton did not really purpose to carry out
this blood-thirsty threat; most probably he relied upon M. Roussillon's
imagination to torture him successfully; but the effect, as time
proved, could not be accurately foreseen.Captain Farnsworth had energy enough for a dozen ordinary men.Before
he had been in Vincennes twelve hours he had seen every nook and corner
of its surface.Nor was his activity due altogether to military ardor,
although he never let pass an opportunity to serve the best interests
of his commander; all the while his mind was on the strikingly
beautiful girl whose saucy countenance had so dazzled him from the
roof-top of the fort, what time she wrenched away the rebel flag."I'll find her, high or low," he thought, "for I never could fail to
recognize that face.It was not in Alice's nature to hide from the English.They had held
the town and fort before Helm came, and she had not found them
troublesome under Abbott.She did not know that M. Roussillon was a
prisoner, the family taking it for granted that he had gone away to
avoid the English.Nor was she aware that Hamilton felt so keenly the
disappearance of the flag.What she did know, and it gladdened her
greatly, was that Beverley had been well treated by his captor.With
this in her heart she went about Roussillon place singing merry
snatches of Creole songs; and when at the gate, which still hung
lop-sided on account of Beverley's force in shutting it, she came
unexpectedly face to face with Captain Farnsworth, there was no great
surprise on her part.He lifted his hat and bowed very politely; but a bold smile broke over
his somewhat ruddy face.He spoke in French, but in a drawling tone and
with a bad accent:
"How do you do, Mademoiselle; I am right glad to see you again."She was quick to understand his
allusion, and she shrank from him, fearing that he was going to inquire
about the flag.I never did hurt
a girl in all my life.In fact, I am fond of them when they're nice.""I am not in the least afraid," she replied, assuming an air of
absolute dismissal, "and you don't look a bit ferocious, Monsieur.You
may pass on, if you please."He flushed and bit his lip, probably to keep back some hasty retort,
and thought rapidly for a moment.She looked straight at him with eyes
that stirred and dazzled him.He was handsome in a coarse way, like a
fine young animal, well groomed, well fed, magnetic, forceful; but his
boldness, being of a sort to which she had not been accustomed,
disturbed her vaguely and strangely."Suppose that I don't pass on?"he presently ventured, with just a
suspicion of insolence in his attitude, but laughing until he showed
teeth of remarkable beauty and whiteness."Suppose that I should wish
to have a little chat with you, Mademoiselle?" |
office | Where is John? | "I have been told that there are men in the world who think themselves
handsome, and clever, and brilliant, when in fact they are but
conceited simpletons," she remarked, rather indifferently, muffling
herself in her fur wrap."You certainly would be a fairly good
hitching-post for our horses if you never moved."Then she laughed out
of the depth of her hood, a perfectly merry laugh, but not in the least
flattering to Captain Farnsworth's vanity.He felt the scorn that it
conveyed.His face grew redder, while a flash from hers made him wish that he had
been more gracious in his deportment.Mary moved to the garden.Here, to his surprise, was not a
mere creole girl of the wild frontier.Her superiority struck him with the force of a captivating revelation,
under the light of which he blinked and winced.She laid a shapely hand on the broken gate and pushed it open."I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle;" his manner softened as he spoke; "I
beg your pardon; but I came to speak to you about the flag--the flag
you took away from the fort."John journeyed to the bathroom.She had been half expecting this; but she was quite unprepared, and in
spite of all she could do showed embarrassment."I have come to get the flag; if you will kindly bring it to me, or
tell me where it is I--"
She quickly found words to interrupt him with, and at the same time by
a great effort pulled herself together."You have come to the wrong place," she flung in."I assure you that I
haven't the flag.""You took it down, Mademoiselle.""With bewitching grace you did, Mademoiselle.The finality in her voice belied her face, which beamed without a ray
of stubbornness or perversity.He did not know how to interpret her;
but he felt that he had begun wrong.He half regretted that he had
begun at all."More depends upon returning that flag than you are probably aware of,"
he presently said in a more serious tone."In fact, the life of one of
your townsmen, and a person of some importance here I believe, will
surely be saved by it.You'd better consider, Mademoiselle.You
wouldn't like to cause the death of a man."She did not fairly grasp the purport of his words; yet the change in
his manner, and the fact that he turned from French to English in
making the statement, aroused a sudden feeling of dread or dark
apprehension in her breast.The first distinct thought was of
Beverley--that some deadly danger threatened him."It's the Mayor, the big man of your town, Monsieur Roussillon, I think
he calls himself.He'll be shot
to-morrow morning if that flag is not produced.Governor Hamilton has
so ordered, and what he orders is done.""I assure you that I speak the plain truth.""You will probably catch Monsieur Roussillon before you shoot him.""He is already a prisoner in the fort.""Monsieur, is this true?""Are you
telling me that to--"
"You can verify it, Mademoiselle, by calling upon the commander at the
fort.I am sorry that you doubt my veracity.If you will go with me I
will show you M. Roussillon a tightly bound prisoner."Jean had crept out of the gate and was standing just behind Alice with
his feet wide apart, his long chin elevated, his head resting far back
between his upthrust shoulders, his hands in his pockets, his uncanny
eyes gazing steadily at Farnsworth.Sandra moved to the office.He looked like a deformed frog
ready to jump.Alice unmistakably saw truth in the Captain's countenance and felt it
in his voice.The reality came to her with unhindered effect.John moved to the kitchen.M.
Roussillon's life depended upon the return of the flag.She put her
hands together and for a moment covered her eyes with them."I will go now, Mademoiselle," said Farnsworth; "but I hope you will be
in great haste about returning the flag."He was profoundly touched and felt that to say
more would be too brutal even for his coarse nature; so he simply
lifted his hat and went away.Jean took hold of Alice's dress as she turned to go back into the house.What did you do with the flag, Alice?"he whined, in his peculiar,
quavering voice.Sandra went to the hallway."Father Beret hid it under his floor," she answered, involuntarily, and
almost unconsciously."I shall have to take it back and give it up.""No--no--I wouldn't," he quavered, dancing across the veranda as she
quickened her pace and fairly spun him along."I wouldn't let 'em have
it at all."Her imagination took
strong grip on the situation so briefly and effectively sketched by
Captain Farnsworth.Don't tell Mama Roussillon a
thing.She was gone before Jean could say a word.She meant to face Hamilton
at once and be sure what danger menaced M. Roussillon.Of course, the
flag must be given up if that would save her foster father any pain;
and if his life were in question there could not be too great haste on
her part.She ran directly to the stockade gate and breathlessly informed a
sentinel that she must see Governor Hamilton, into whose presence she
was soon led.Captain Farnsworth had preceded her but a minute or two,
and was present when she entered the miserable shed room where the
commander was having another talk with M. Roussillon.The meeting was a tableau which would have been comical but for the
pressure of its tragic possibilities.Hamilton, stern and sententious,
stood frowning upon M. Roussillon, who sat upon the ground, his feet
and hands tightly bound, a colossal statue of injured innocence.Alice, as soon as she saw M. Roussillon, uttered a cry of sympathetic
endearment and flung herself toward him with open arms.She could not
reach around his great shoulders; but she did her best to include the
whole bulk.she chirruped between the kisses that she
showered upon his weather-beaten face.Hamilton and Farnsworth regarded the scene with curious and surprised
interest.M. Roussillon began speaking rapidly; but being a Frenchman
he could not get on well with his tongue while his hands were tied.He
could shrug his shoulders; that helped him some."I am to be shot, MA PETITE," he pathetically growled in his deep bass
voice; "shot like a dog at sunrise to-morrow."Alice kissed M. Roussillon's rough cheek once more and sprang to her
feet facing Hamilton."You are not such a fiend and brute as to kill Papa Roussillon," she
cried.Mary travelled to the bedroom."Why do you want to injure my poor, good papa?""I believe you are the young lady that stole the flag?"Hamilton
remarked, smiling contemptuously.She looked at him with a swift flash of indignation as he uttered these
words.You
understand me, Monsieur.""Tell where it is and your father's life will be spared."She glanced at M. Roussillon."No, Alice," said he, with a pathetically futile effort to make a fine
gesture, "don't do it.You would not have me
act the coward."No onlooker would have even remotely suspected the fact that M.
Roussillon had chanced to overhear a conversation between Hamilton and
Farnsworth, in which Hamilton stated that he really did not intend to
hurt M. Roussillon in any event; he merely purposed to humiliate the
"big wind-bag!""Ah, no; let me die bravely for honor's sake--I fear death far less
than dishonor!They can shoot me, my little one, but they cannot break
my proud spirit."He tried to strike his breast over his heart."Perhaps it would be just as well to let him be shot," said Hamilton
gruffly, and with dry indifference."I don't fancy that he's of much
value to the community at best.He'll make a good target for a squad,
and we need an example.""Do you mean it?--you ugly English brute--would you murder him?""Not if I get that flag between now and sundown.Otherwise I shall
certainly have him shot.It is all in your hands, Mademoiselle.You can
tell me where the flag is."Hamilton smiled again with exquisite
cruelty.Farnsworth stood by gazing upon Alice in open admiration.Her presence
had power in it, to which he was very susceptible."You look like a low, dishonorable, soulless tyrant," she said to
Hamilton, "and if you get my flag, how shall I know that you will keep
your promise and let Papa Roussillon go free?""I am sorry to say that you will have to trust me, unless you'll take
Captain Farnsworth for security.The Captain is a gentleman, I assure
you.Will you stand good for my veracity and sincerity, Captain
Farnsworth?"Alice felt the irony; and her perfectly frank nature preferred to trust
rather than distrust the sincerity of others.She looked at Farnsworth,
who smiled encouragingly."The flag is under Father Beret's floor," she said."No, under the floor of his house.""Untie the prisoner," Hamilton ordered, and it was quickly done."Monsieur Roussillon, I congratulate you upon your narrow escape.Go to
the priest's house, Monsieur, and bring me that flag.It would be well,
I assure you, not to be very long about it.Captain Farnsworth, you
will send a guard with Monsieur Roussillon, a guard of honor, fitting
his official dignity, a Corporal and two men.The honorable Mayor of
this important city should not go alone upon so important an errand."Permit me to go myself and get it," said Alice, "I can do it quickly."Why, certainly, Mademoiselle, certainly.Captain Farnsworth, you will
escort the young lady.""It is not necessary, Monsieur.""Oh, yes, it is necessary, my dear young lady, very necessary; so let's
not have further words.I'll try to entertain his honor, the Mayor,
while you go and get the flag.I feel sure, Mademoiselle, that you'll
return with it in a few minutes.Alice set forth immediately, and Farnsworth, try as hard as he would,
could never reach her side, so swift was her gait.When they arrived at Father Beret's cabin, she turned and said with
imperious severity:
"Don't you come in; you stay out here: I'll get it in a minute."The door was wide open, but Father Beret was not inside; he had gone to
see a sick child in the outskirts of the village.She knew the very puncheon that covered the flag; but
she shrank from lifting it.There seemed nothing else to do, however;
so, after some trouble with herself, she knelt upon the floor and
turned the heavy slab over with a great thump.She peeped under the other puncheons.The only thing
visible was a little ball of paper fragments not larger than an egg.Farnsworth heard her utter a low cry of surprise or dismay, and was on
the point of going in when Father Beret, coming around the corner of
the cabin, confronted him.The meeting was so sudden and unexpected
that both men recoiled slightly, and then, with a mutual stare, saluted."I came with a young lady to get the flag," said Farnsworth.She says the flag is
hidden under your floor."Father Beret said nothing, but frowning as if much annoyed, stepped
through the doorway to Alice's side, and stooping where she knelt, laid
a hand on her shoulder as she glanced up and recognized him."Oh, Father, where is the flag?""No, you see it isn't there!The priest stood as if dumfounded, gazing into the vacant space
uncovered by the puncheon.They turned up all the floor to no avail.La banniere d'Alice
Roussillon had disappeared, and Captain Farnsworth went forthwith to
report the fact to his commander.When he reached the shed at the angle
of the fort he found Governor Hamilton sitting stupid and dazed on the
ground.One jaw was inflamed and swollen and an eye was half closed and
bloodshot.He turned his head with a painful, irregular motion and his
chin sagged.Farnsworth sprang to him and lifted him to his feet; but he could
scarcely stand.The Governor rubbed his forehead trying to recollect."He struck me," he presently said with difficulty.Mary moved to the office."He hit me with his
fist Where--where is he?""That big French idiot--that Roussillon--go after him, take him, shoot
him--quick!I have been stunned; I don't know how long he's been gone.Hamilton, as he gathered his wits together, began to foam with rage,
and his passion gave his bruised and swollen face a terrible look.The story was short, and may be quickly told.John moved to the garden.M. Roussillon had taken
advantage of the first moment when he and Hamilton were left alone.One
herculean buffet, a swinging smash of his enormous fist on the point of
the Governors jaw, and then he walked out of the fort unchallenged,
doubtless on account of his lordly and masterful air.he exclaimed, shaking himself and lifting his shoulders, when
he had passed beyond hearing of the sentinel at the gate, "ziff!I can
punch a good stiff stroke yet, Monsieur le Gouverneur.and
he blew like a porpoise.Every effort was promptly made to recapture M. Roussillon; but his
disappearance was absolute; even the reward offered for his scalp by
Hamilton only gave the Indians great trouble--they could not find the
man.Such a beginning of his administration of affairs at Vincennes did not
put Hamilton into a good humor.He was overbearing and irascible at
best, and under the irritation of small but exceedingly unpleasant
experiences he made life well-nigh unendurable to those upon whom his
dislike chanced to fall.Beverley quickly felt that it was going to be
very difficult for him and Hamilton to get along agreeably.With Helm
it was quite different; smoking, drinking, playing cards, telling good
stories--in a word, rude and not unfrequently boisterous conviviality
drew him and the commandant together.Under Captain Farnsworth's immediate supervision the fort was soon in
excellent repair and a large blockhouse and comfortable quarters for
the men were built.Every day added to the strength of the works and to
the importance of the post as a strategic position for the advance
guard of the British army.Hamilton was ambitious to prove himself conspicuously valuable to his
country.He was dreaming vast dreams and laying large plans.The
Indians were soon anxious to gain his favor; and to bind them securely
to him he offered liberal pay in rum and firearms, blankets, trinkets
and ammunition for the scalps of rebels.He kept this as secret as
possible from his prisoners; but Beverley soon suspected that a
"traffic in hair," as the terrible business had been named, was going
on.Savages came in from far away with scalps yet scarcely dry dangling
at their belts.It made the young Virginian's blood chill in his heart,
and he regretted that he had given Hamilton his parole of honor not to
attempt to escape.Among the Indians occasionally reporting to Hamilton with their ghastly
but valuable trophies was Long-Hair, who slipped into the fort and out
again rather warily, not having much confidence in those Frenchmen who
had once upon a time given him a memorable run for his life.Winter shut down, not cold, but damp, changeable, raw.The work on the
fort was nearly completed, and Rene de Ronville would have soon been
relieved of his servile and exasperating employment under the Irish
Corporal; but just at the point of time when only a few days' work
remained for him, he became furious, on account of an insulting remark,
and struck the Corporal over the head with a handspike.This happened
in a wood some miles from town, where he was loading logs upon a sled.John journeyed to the office.There chanced to be no third person present when the deed was done, and
some hours passed before they found the officer quite cold and stiff
beside the sled.Sandra went to the office.Hamilton, now thoroughly exasperated, began to look upon the French
inhab |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | He increased his
military vigilance, ordered the town patrolled day and night, and
forbade public gatherings of the citizens, while at the same time he
forced them to furnish him a large amount of provisions.When little Adrienne Bourcier heard of Renews terrible act, followed by
his successful escape to the woods, and of the tempting reward offered
by Hamilton for his scalp, she ran to Roussillon place well-nigh crazed
with excitement.She had always depended upon Alice for advice,
encouragement and comfort in her troubles; but in the present case
there was not much that her friend could do to cheer her.With M.
Roussillon and Rene both fugitives, tracked by wily savages, a price on
their heads, while every day added new dangers to the French
inhabitants of Vincennes, no rosy view could possibly be taken of the
situation.Alice did her best, however, to strengthen her little
friend's faith in a happy outcome.She quoted what she considered
unimpeachable authority to support her optimistic argument."Lieutenant Beverley says that the Americans will be sure to drive
Hamilton out of Vincennes, or capture him.Probably they are not so
very far away now, and Rene may join them and come back to help punish
these brutal Englishmen.Don't you wish he would, Adrienne?"He's armed, I know that," said Adrienne, brightening a little, "and
he's brave, Alice, brave as can be.He came right back into town the
other night and got his gun and pistols.He was at our house, too, and,
oh!--"
She burst out crying again.It breaks my heart to think that
the Indians will kill him.Do you think they will kill him, Alice?""He'll come nearer killing them," said Alice confidently, with her
strong, warm arms around the tiny lass; "he's a good woodsman, a fine
shot--he's not so easy to kill, my dear.If he and Papa Roussillon
should get together by chance they would be a match for all the Indians
in the country.Anyway, I feel that it's much better for them to take
their chances in the woods than to be in the hands of Governor
Hamilton.If I were a man I'd do just as Papa Roussillon and Rene did;
I'd break the bigoted head of every Englishman that mistreated me, I'll
do it, girl as I am, if they annoy me, see if I don't!"She was thinking of Captain Farnsworth, who had been from the first
untiring in his efforts to gain something more than a passing
acquaintance.As yet he had not made himself unbearable; but Alice's
fine intuition led her to the conclusion that she must guard against
him from the outset.Adrienne's simple heart could not grasp the romantic criterion with
which Alice was wont to measure action.Her mind was single, impulsive,
narrow and direct in all its movements.She loved, hated, desired,
caressed, repulsed, not for any assignable reason more solid or more
luminous than "because."She adored Rene and wanted him near her.He
was a hero in her imagination, no matter what he did.Little difference
was it to her whether he hauled logs for the English or smoked his pipe
in idleness by the winter fire--what could it matter which flag he
served under, so that he was true to her?Or whom he served if she
could always have him coming to see her and calling her his little pet?And in
the middle, presenting his stark bronze feet, the brown,
mummied-looking, wicked pope, with great nose under his tiara.An
insane thing--more so than any Bernini monument, I thought.Perhaps it
was the presence of that man praying away outside which affected me to
think this.There he was, as little likely to move away, apparently,
as the bronze pope stretched out, soles protruded, among the absurd
allegories.I went also to see the Pieta, and then stayed a long while
walking up and down; but still the man was kneeling there, and might
be kneeling, doubtless, till now or till doomsday, if the vergers had
not, in closing the doors, turned him out.Yesterday the Grotte Vaticane, the Crypts of St.Peter's, a horrible
disappointment, and on the whole absurd impression.Mary moved to the garden.That of being
conducted (down a little staircase carpeted with stair cloth) through
the basement of a colossal hotel, with all the electric light turned
on at midday--a basement with lumber-rooms full of rather tawdry
antiquities giving off its corridors, and other antiquities (as we see
them in Italian inns) crammed against walls and into corners.Donatello and Mino bas-reliefs become sham by their surroundings,
apocryphal Byzantine mosaics, second-rate pictures.Even empty
sarcophagi and desecrated tombs just as at Riettis or Della Torres at
Venice, and with seventeenth-century gilding and painting obbligato
overhead.And then into wider corridors, whitewashed, always with that
glare of electricity from the low roof; corridors where you expect
automatic trucks of coals, or dinner lifts; and where the vague
whitewashed cubes of masonry against the walls suggest new-fangled
washing or heating apparatus.they are the resting-place
of the Stuarts, only labels telling us so, or of mediaeval popes.And
that vague arched thing with wooden cover, painted to imitate
porphyry, is the tomb of the Emperor Otho; and there, as we go on, it
grows upon one that the carved and mitred figures tucked away under
arches are not warehoused for sale to forestiere, but lying on the
sarcophagus, over the bones or the _praecordia_ of Boniface VIII.Waiting at the head of that staircase for the beadle, faint strains of
music come from very far.Peter's a great choral service like
this one going on in the left-hand chapel, becomes a detail lost as in
the life of a whole city.San Stefano Rotondo on that rainy afternoon, the extraordinary
grandeur of this circular church filled with diffuse white light.Architecturally one of the most beautiful Roman churches, certainly,
with its circle of columns surrounding the great central well, where
two colossal pillars carry the triumphal arch, carry a great blank
windowed wall above it, immensely high up.Those columns, that wall,
pearly white, of carved and broken marble against pure chalky
brilliancy of whitewash, seem in a way the presiding divinities of
this great circular sanctuary in the church's centre; or is it the
white light, the solemn pure emptiness among them?An immanent
presence, greater certainly than could be any gigantic statue.Afterwards, in fitful rain, we went to the Tombs and the little
roofless basilica near them in the Via Latina; and walked up and down,
a melancholy little party enough, grubbing up marbles and picking them
out of the rubbish heap among the quickening grass.The delicate grey
sky kept dissolving in short showers; the corn and ploughed purple
earth (_that compost!_) were drenched and fragrant with new life; and
the air was full of the twitter of invisible larks.But in this warm
soft renewal there was, for us, only the mood of lost things and
imminent partings; and the song of the peasants in the field hard by
told not, as it should, of their mountains, but of this sad, wet
landscape traversed by endless lines of ruins.Suddenly in the clouds,
a solid dark spot appeared; the top, the altar slab of Mons Latialis.And little by little the clouds slipped lower, the whole mountain
range of hills stepped forth from the vapours, with its great peaceful
life and strength.Yesterday, after D. Laura's, took Du B. that walk through the Ghetto,
along the Tiber quays by the island; a stormy, wet day.As
we stood by the worn Januses of the bridge and looked into the
swirling water, thinking of how that Terme Apollo had lain there, the
Tiber, like Marsyas, flaying one fair flank of the god; I felt Rome
and its unchanging meaning grip me again, and liberate me from the
frettings of my own past and present.We went in to see some people who are furnishing an apartment in
Palazzo Orsini.A very Roman impression this: the central court of
that fortified palace built into the theatre of Marcellus; lemons
spaliered and rows of Tangerine trees, with little Moorish-looking
fountains between; only the sky above, only the sound of the bubbling
fountains.You look out of a window and behold, close by, the unspeakable
rag-fair of that foul quarter, with its yells and cries rising up and
stench of cheap cooking.We saw some small Renaissance closets, still
with their ceilings and fire-places, where tradition says a last
Savelli was stabbed.A feudal fortress this, and, like those of the
hills round Rome which these ruins mimic, raising its gardens and
pompous rooms above the squalor of the mediaeval village.Immediately
below, the corridors of the theatre; below that, the shops, where
pack-saddles, ploughs, scythes, wooden pails--the things of a
village--are for sale in the midst of those black arches.And then the
dining-room, library, bath-rooms of excellent New Englanders crowning
it all; and in the chapel, their telephone!"Take care," I said, "the
message will come some day--not across space, but across time._Con
chi parlo?_" Well, say, _The White Devil of Italy!_
In that Campitelli quarter, the constant blind turnings behind the
great giant palaces; places for cut-throats, for the sudden onslaught
of bravos.I feel very often that if one lived in all this picturesqueness, the
horrors of the past, the vacuity of the present, would drive one I
know not whither.I have had, more than ever this time, the sense of
horror at the barbarism of Rome, of civilisation being encamped in all
this human refuse, and doing nothing for it; and the feeling of horror
at this absorbing Italy, and at one's liking it!They are impressions
of the sort I had at Tangier.And the face of an idiot beggar--the
odd, pleased smile above his filth--suddenly brought back to me that
special feeling, I suppose of the East.We are wretched, transitional
creatures to be so much moved by such things, by this dust-heap of
time, and to be pacified in spirit by the sight of all this litter of
ages; 'tis a Hamlet and the gravedigger's attitude; and the attitude
of Whitman in the fertile field of _This Compost_ is a deal better.Yesterday morning, while looking through, with a view to copying out,
my Roman notes of the last eighteen years, I felt, with odd vividness,
the various myselfs who suffered and hoped while writing them.And,
even more, I felt the presence of the beloved ones who, unmentioned,
not even alluded to, had been present in those various successive
Romes of mine.All of them have changed; some are dead, others were
never really living.But while I turned over my note-books, there they
were back.Back with their feeling of _then_; back with their presence
(in one case the presence of a distant companion, to whom I could show
these things only in thought); their complete realisation, or their
half explicit charm, their still unshattered promise.Of all these I
find not a word, barely a name; nothing telling of them to others.Only to me, in these sites, impersonal and almost eternal, on these
walls which have stood two thousand years and may stand two thousand
more, and these hillsides and roads full of the world's legend--there
appear, visible, distinct, the shadows cast by my own life; the forms
and faces of those changed, gone, dead ones; and my own.FLORENCE, _April_, 1905.TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
The edition from which this text was drawn is volume 4175 of the
Tauchnitz Edition of British Authors, where it appeared together with
_Laurus Nobilis_, also by Vernon Lee.Section IV in under Spring 1902 is not named in the original book.Do
you get that Al, a real family?Well Al I am to happy to do no more writeing to-night but I wanted you
to be the 1st to get the news and I would of sent you a telegram only I
did not want to scare you.Your pal, JACK._Chicago, Illinois, July 2._
OLD PAL: Well old pal I just come back from St.Florrie and the baby is out to
Allen's and we will stay there till I can find another place.was out to look at the baby this A.M.and the baby was waveing his
arm round in the air.And Florrie asked was they something the matter
with him that he kept waveing his arm.says No he was just
getting his exercise.Well Al I noticed that he never waved his right arm but kept waveing
his left arm and I asked the Dr.says I
guess he must be left handed.That made me sore and I says I guess you
doctors don't know it all.And then I turned round and beat it out of
the room.Well Al it would be just my luck to have him left handed and Florrie
should ought to of knew better than to name him after Allen.and see what he has to say because they must
be some way of fixing babys so as they won't be left handed.And if
nessary I will cut his left arm off of him.Of coarse I would not do
that Al.But how would I feel if a boy of mine turned out like Allen
and Joe Hill and some of them other nuts?Louis to-morrow and a double header on the 4th
of July.I guess probily Callahan will work me in one of the 4th of
July games on account of the holiday crowd.Your pal, JACK.Maybe I should ought to leave the kid left handed so as he can
have some of their luck.CHAPTER V
THE BUSHER'S KID
_Chicago, Illinois, July 31._
FRIEND AL: Well Al what do you think of little Al now?But I guess I
better tell you first what he done.Maybe you won't believe what I am
telling you but did you ever catch me telling you a lie?I guess you
know you did not Al.Well we got back from the East this A.M.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.and I
don't have to tell you we had a rotten trip and if it had not of been
for me beating Boston once and the Athaletics two times we would of
been ashamed to come home.I guess these here other pitchers thought we was haveing a vacation and
when they go up in the office to-morrow to get there checks they should
ought to be arrested if they take them.I would not go nowheres near
Comiskey if I had not of did better than them others but I can go and
get my pay and feel all O.K.about it because I done something to ern
it.Me loseing that game in Washington was a crime and Callahan says so
himself.This here Weaver throwed it away for me and I would not be
surprised if he done it from spitework because him and Scott is pals
and probily he did not want to see me winning all them games when Scott
was getting knocked out of the box.And no wonder when he has not got
no stuff.I wish I knowed for sure that Weaver was throwing me down and
if I knowed for sure I would put him in a hospital or somewheres.But I was going to tell you what the kid done Al.We are
still liveing at Allen's and his wife.So I and him come home together
from the train.Well Florrie and Marie was both up and the baby was up
too--that is he was not up but he was woke up.I beat it right into the
room where he was at and Florrie come in with me.I says Hello Al and
what do you suppose he done.Well Al he did not say Hello pa or nothing
like that because he is not only one month old.But he smiled at me
just like as if he was glad to see me and I guess maybe he was at that.I was tickled to death |
bedroom | Where is John? | Then she says They is
something the matter with his stumach.I says I suppose because a baby
smiles that is a sign they is something the matter with his stumach
and if he had the toothacke he would laugh.She says You think your
smart but I am telling you that he was not smileing at all but he was
makeing a face because they is something the matter with his stumach.I
says I guess I know the difference if somebody is smileing or makeing a
face.And she says I guess you don't know nothing about babys because
you never had none before.And then she
got sore and beat it out of the room.I did not care because I wanted to be in there alone with him and see
would he smile at me again.Then I called
Allen in and when the baby seen him he begin to cry.So you see I was
right and Florrie was wrong.It don't take a man no time at all to get
wise to these babys and it don't take them long to know if a man is
there father or there uncle.When he begin to cry I chased Allen out of the room and called Florrie
because she should ought to know by this time how to make him stop
crying.But she was still sore and she says Let him cry or if you know
so much about babys make him stop yourself.And she says I was just telling you that he had a pane in his stumach
or he would not of made that face that you said was smileing at you.I says Do you think we should ought to call the doctor but she says No
if you call the doctor every time he has the stumach acke you might
just as well tell him he should bring his trunk along and stay here.She says All babys have collect and they is not no use fusing about it
but come and get your breakfast.Well Al I did not injoy my breakfast because the baby was crying all
the time and I knowed he probily wanted I should come in and visit with
him.So I just eat the prunes and drunk a little coffee and did not
wait for the rest of it and sure enough when I went back in our room
and started talking to him he started smileing again and pretty soon he
went to sleep so you see Al he was smileing and not makeing no face and
that was a hole lot of bunk about him haveing the collect.But I don't
suppose I should ought to find fault with Florrie for not knowing no
better because she has not never had no babys before but still and all
I should think she should ought to of learned something about them by
this time or ask somebody.Well Al little Al is woke up again and is crying and I just about got
time to fix him up and get him asleep again and then I will have to go
to the ball park because we got a poseponed game to play with Detroit
and Callahan will probily want me to work though I pitched the next
to the last game in New York and would of gave them a good beating
except for Schalk dropping that ball at the plate but I got it on these
Detroit babys and when my name is announced to pitch they feel like
forfiting the game.I won't try for no strike out record because I want
them to hit the first ball and get the game over with quick so as I can
get back here and take care of little Al.Your pal, JACK.Babys is great stuff Al and if I was you I would not wait no
longer but would hurry up and adopt 1 somewheres._Chicago, Illinois, August 15._
OLD PAL: What do you think Al.Kid Gleason is comeing over to the flat
and look at the baby the day after to-morrow when we don't have no game
skeduled but we have to practice in the A.M.I had a hard time makeing him promise to come but he is comeing
and I bet he will be glad he come when he has came.I says to him in
the clubhouse Do you want to see a real baby?And he says You're real
enough for me Boy.He says Oh I thought you was
talking about ice cream soda or something.I says No I want you to come
over to the flat to-morrow and take a look at my kid and tell me what
you think of him.He says I can tell you what I think of him without
takeing no look at him.I says What do you
mean out of luck.But he just laughed and would not say no more.I asked him again would he come over to the flat and look at the baby
and he says he had troubles enough without that and kidded along for
a while but finally he seen I was in ernest and then he says he would
come if I would keep the missus out of the room while he was there
because he says if she seen him she would probily be sorry she married
me.Mary moved to the garden.He was just jokeing and I did not take no excepshun to his remarks
because Florrie could not never fall for him after seeing me because he
is not no big stropping man like I am but a little runt and look at how
old he is.But I am glad he is comeing because he will think more of me
when he sees what a fine baby I got though he thinks a hole lot of me
now because look what I done for the club and where would they be at
if I had jumped to the Federal like I once thought I would.I will tell
you what he says about little Al and I bet he will say he never seen no
prettyer baby but even if he don't say nothing at all I will know he is
kidding.The Boston Club comes here to-morrow and plays 4 days includeing the
day after to-morrow when they is not no game.So on account of the off
day maybe I will work twice against them and if I do they will wish the
grounds had of burned down.Yours truly, JACK._Chicago, Illinois, August 17._
AL: Well old pal what did I tell you about what I would do to that
Boston Club?And now Al I have beat every club in the league this year
because yesterday was the first time I beat the Boston Club this year
but now I have beat all of them and most of them severel times.This should ought to of gave me a record of 16 wins and 0 defeats
because the only games I lost was throwed away behind me but instead of
that my record is 10 games win and 6 defeats and that don't include the
games I finished up and helped the other boys win which is about 6 more
alltogether but what do I care about my record Al?because I am not
the kind of man that is allways thinking about there record and playing
for there record while I am satisfied if I give the club the best I got
and if I win all O.K.And if I lose who's fault is it.I asked Callahan would he let me work against the Boston Club again
before they go away and he says I guess I will have to because you
are going better than anybody else on the club.So you see Al he is
beginning to appresiate my work and from now on I will pitch in my
regular turn and a hole lot offtener then that and probily Comiskey
will see the stuff I am made from and will raise my salery next year
even if he has got me signed for 3 years and for the same salery I am
getting now.But all that is not what I was going to tell you Al and what I was
going to tell you was about Gleason comeing to see the baby and what he
thought about him.I sent Florrie and Marie downtown and says I would
take care of little Al and they was glad to go because Florrie says she
should ought to buy some new shoes though I don't see what she wants
of no new shoes when she is going to be tied up in the flat for a long
time yet on account of the baby and nobody cares if she wears shoes in
the flat or goes round in her bear feet.But I was glad to get rid of
the both of them for a while because little Al acts better when they is
not no women round and you can't blame him.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.The baby was woke up when Gleason come in and I and him went right in
the room where he was laying.Gleason takes a look at him and says Well
that is a mighty fine baby and you must of boughten him.And he says I don't believe he is your own baby because he
looks humaner than most babys.And I says Why should not he look human.Then he goes to work and picks the baby right up and I was a-scared he
would drop him because even I have not never picked him up though I am
his father and would be a-scared of hurting him.I says Here, don't
pick him up and he says Why not?He says Are you going to leave him on
that there bed the rest of his life?I says No but you don't know how
to handle him.He says I have handled a hole lot bigger babys than him
or else Callahan would not keep me.Then he starts patting the baby's head and I says Here, don't do that
because he has got a soft spot in his head and you might hit it.He
says I thought he was your baby and I says Well he is my baby and he
says Well then they can't be no soft spot in his head.Then he lays
little Al down because he seen I was in ernest and as soon as he lays
him down the baby begins to cry.Then Gleason says See he don't want me
to lay him down and I says Maybe he has got a pane in his stumach and
he says I would not be supprised because he just took a good look at
his father.But little Al did not act like as if he had a pane in his stumach and
he kept sticking his finger in his mouth and crying.And Gleason says
He acts like as if he had a toothacke.I says How could he have a
toothacke when he has not got no teeth?I have
saw a lot of pitchers complane that there arm was sore when they did
not have no arm.Then he asked me what was the baby's name and I told him Allen but that
he was not named after my brother-in-law Allen.And Gleason says I
should hope not.I should hope you would have better sense then to name
him after a left hander.So you see Al he don't like them no better
then I do even if he does jolly Allen and Russell along and make them
think they can pitch.Pretty soon he says What are you going to make out of him, a ball
player?I says Yes I am going to make a hitter out of him so as he can
join the White Sox and then maybe they will get a couple of runs once
in a while.He says If I was you I would let him pitch and then you
won't have to give him no educasion.Besides, he says, he looks now
like he would divellop into a grate spitter.John travelled to the kitchen.Well I happened to look out of the window and seen Florrie and Marie
comeing acrost Indiana Avenue and I told Gleason about it.And you
ought to of seen him run.I asked him what was his hurry and he says it
was in his contract that he was not to talk to no women but I knowed
he was kidding because I allready seen him talking to severel of the
players' wifes when they was on trips with us and they acted like as
if they thought he was a regular comeedion though they really is not
nothing funny about what he says only it is easy to make women laugh
when they have not got no grouch on about something.Well Al I am glad Gleason has saw the baby and maybe he will fix it
with Callahan so as I won't have to go to morning practice every A.M.because I should ought to be home takeing care of little Al when
Florrie is washing the dishs or helping Marie round the house.And
besides why should I wear myself all out in practice because I don't
need to practice pitching and I could hit as well as the rest of the
men on our club if I never seen no practice.After we get threw with Boston, Washington comes here and then we go to
St.Louis and Cleveland and then come home and then go East again.And
after that we are pretty near threw except the city serious.Callahan
is not going to work me no more after I beat Boston again till it is
this here Johnson's turn to pitch for Washington.And I hope it is not
his turn to work the 1st game of the serious because then I would not
have no rest between the last game against Boston and the 1st game
against Washington.But rest or no rest I will work against this here Johnson and show him
up for giveing me that trimming in Washington, the lucky stiff.I wish
I had a team like the Athaletics behind me and I would loose about 1
game every 6 years and then they would have to get all the best of it
from these rotten umpires.Your pal, JACK._New York, New York, September 16._
FRIEND AL: Al it is not no fun running round the country no more and I
wish this dam trip was over so as I could go home and see how little
Al is getting along because Florrie has not wrote since we was in
Philly which was the first stop on this trip.I am a-scared they is
something the matter with the little fellow or else she would of wrote
but then if they was something the matter with him she would of sent me
a telegram or something and let me know.So I guess they can't be nothing the matter with him.Still and all
I don't see why she has not wrote when she knows or should ought to
know that I would be worrying about the baby.If I don't get no letter
to-morrow I am going to send her a telegram and ask her what is the
matter with him because I am positive she would of wrote if they was
not something the matter with him.The boys has been trying to get me to go out nights and see a show
or something but I have not got no heart to go to shows.And besides
Callahan has not gave us no pass to no show on this trip.I guess
probily he is sore on account of the rotten way the club has been going
but still he should ought not to be sore on me because I have win 3 out
of my last 4 games and would of win the other if he had not of started
me against them with only 1 day's rest and the Athaletics at that, who
a man should ought not to pitch against if he don't feel good.I asked Allen if he had heard from Marie and he says Yes he did but
she did not say nothing about little Al except that he was keeping
her awake nights balling.So maybe Al if little Al is balling they
is something wrong with him.I am going to send Florrie a telegram
to-morrow--that is if I don't get no letter.If they is something the matter with him I will ask Callahan to send
me home and he won't want to do it neither because who else has he got
that is a regular winner.But if little Al is sick and Callahan won't
let me go home I will go home anyway.Yours truly, JACK._Boston, Massachusetts, September 24._
AL: I bet if Florrie was a man she would be a left hander.John went back to the bedroom.What do
you think she done now Al?I sent her a telegram from New York when I
did not get no letter from her and she did not pay no atension to the
telegram.Then when we got up here I sent her another telegram and it
was not more then five minutes after I sent the 2d telegram till I got
a letter from her.And it said the baby was all O.K.but she had been
so busy takeing care of him that she had not had no time to write.Well when I got the letter I chased out to see if I could catch the boy
who had took my telegram but he had went allready so I was spending
$.60 for nothing.Then what does Florrie do but send me a telegram
after she got my second telegram and tell me that little Al is all
O.K., which I knowed all about then because I had just got her letter.And she sent her telegram c. o. d. and I had to pay for it at this end
because she had not paid for it and that was $.60 more but I bet if I
had of knew what was in the telegram before I read it I would of told
the boy to keep it and would not of gave him no $.60 but how did I
know if little Al might not of tooken sick after Florrie had wrote the
letter?I am going |
garden | Where is Daniel? | I don't care nothing
about the $.60 but I like to see a woman use a little judgement though
I guess that is impossable.It is my turn to work to-day and to-night we start West but we have
got to stop off at Cleveland on the way.I have got a nosion to ask
Callahan to let me go right on threw to Chi if I win to-day and not
stop off at no Cleveland but I guess they would not be no use because
I have got that Cleveland Club licked the minute I put on my glove.So probily Callahan will want me with him though it don't make no
difference if we win or lose now because we have not got no chance for
the pennant.One man can't win no pennant Al I don't care who he is.Your pal, JACK._Chicago, Illinois, October 2._
FRIEND AL: Well old pal I am all threw till the city serious and it is
all fixed up that I am going to open the serious and pitch 3 of the
games if nessary.The club has went to Detroit to wind up the season
and Callahan did not take me along but left me here with a couple other
pitchers and Billy Sullivan and told me all as I would have to do was
go over to the park the next 3 days and warm up a little so as to keep
in shape.But I don't need to be in no shape to beat them Cubs Al.But
it is a good thing Al that Allen was tooken on the trip to Detroit or I
guess I would of killed him.He has not been going good and he has been
acting and talking nasty to everybody because he can't win no games.Well the 1st night we was home after the trip little Al was haveing
a bad night and was balling pretty hard and they could not nobody in
the flat get no sleep.Mary moved to the garden.Florrie says he was haveing the collect and
I says Why should he have the collect all the time when he did not
drink nothing but milk?She says she guessed the milk did not agree
with him and upsetted his stumach.I says Well he must take after his
mother if his stumach gets upsetted every time he takes a drink because
if he took after his father he could drink a hole lot and not never
be effected.She says You should ought to remember he has only got a
little stumach and not a great big resservoire.I says Well if the milk
don't agree with him why don't you give him something else?She says
Yes I suppose I should ought to give him weeny worst or something.Allen must of heard us talking because he hollered something and I did
not hear what it was so I told him to say it over and he says Give the
little X-eyed brat poison and we would all be better off.I says You
better take poison yourself because maybe a rotten pitcher like you
could get by in the league where you're going when you die.Then I says
Besides I would rather my baby was X-eyed then to have him left handed.He says It is better for him that he is X-eyed or else he might get a
good look at you and then he would shoot himself.Little Al is not no more X-eyed than you or I are Al
and that was what made me sore because what right did Allen have to
talk like that when he knowed he was lying?Well the next morning Allen nor I did not speak to each other and I
seen he was sorry for the way he had talked and I was willing to fix
things up because what is the use of staying sore at a man that don't
know no better.But all of a sudden he says When are you going to pay me what you owe
me?And he says You been liveing here all
summer and I been paying all the bills.I says Did not you and Marie
ask us to come here and stay with you and it would not cost us nothing.He says Yes but we did not mean it was a life sentence.You are getting
more money than me and you don't never spend a nichol.All I have to
do is pay the rent and buy your food and it would take a millionare or
something to feed you.Then he says I would not make no holler about you grafting off of me
if that brat would shut up nights and give somebody a chance to sleep.I says You should ought to get all the sleep you need on the bench.Besides, I says, who done the grafting all last winter and without no
invatation?If he had of said another word I was going to bust him but
just then Marie come in and he shut up.The more I thought about what he said and him a rotten left hander that
should ought to be hussling freiht the more madder I got and if he had
of opened his head to me the last day or 2 before he went to Detroit I
guess I would of finished him.But Marie stuck pretty close to the both
of us when we was together and I guess she knowed they was something in
the air and did not want to see her husband get the worst of it though
if he was my husband and I was a woman I would push him under a st.But Al I won't even stand for him saying that I am grafting off of him
and I and Florrie will get away from here and get a flat of our own as
soon as the city serious is over.I would like to bring her and the kid
down to Bedford for the winter but she wont listen to that.I allmost forgot Al to tell you to be sure and thank Bertha for the
little dress she made for little Al.I don't know if it will fit him or
not because Florrie has not yet tried it on him yet and she says she is
going to use it for a dishrag but I guess she is just kidding.I suppose you seen where Callahan took me out of that game down to
Cleveland but it was not because I was not going good Al but it was
because Callahan seen he was makeing a mistake wasteing me on that
bunch who allmost any pitcher could beat.They beat us that game at
that but only by one run and it was not no fault of mine because I was
tooken out before they got the run that give them the game.Your old pal, JACK._Chicago, Illinois, October 4._
FRIEND AL: Well Al the club winds up the season at Detroit to-morrow
and the serious starts the day after to-morrow and I will be in there
giveing them a battle.I wish I did not have nobody but the Cubs to
pitch against all season and you bet I would have a record that would
make Johnson and Mathewson and some of them other swell heads look like
a dirty doose.I and Florrie and Marie has been haveing a argument about how could
Florrie go and see the city serious games when they is not nobody here
that can take care of the baby because Marie wants to go and see the
games to even though they is not no more chance of Callahan starting
Allen than a rabbit or something.Florrie and Marie says I should ought to hire a nurse to take care of
little Al and Florrie got pretty sore when I told her nothing doing
because in the first place I can't afford to pay no nurse a salery and
in the second place I would not trust no nurse to take care of the baby
because how do I know the nurse is not nothing but a grafter or a dope
fiend maybe and should ought not to be left with the baby?Of coarse Florrie wants to see me pitch and a man can't blame her for
that but I won't leave my baby with no nurse Al and Florrie will have
to stay home and I will tell her what I done when I get there.I might
of gave my consent to haveing a nurse at that if it had not of been
for the baby getting so sick last night when I was takeing care of him
while Florrie and Marie and Allen was out to a show and if I had not of
been home they is no telling what would of happened.It is a cinch that
none of them bonehead nurses would of knew what to do.Allen must of been out of his head because right after supper he says
he would take the 2 girls to a show.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.I says All right go on and I will
take care of the baby.Then Florrie says Do you think you can take
care of him all O.K.?And I says Have not I tooken care of him before
allready?Well, she says, I will leave him with you only don't run in
to him every time he cries.And she says Because it is
good for him to cry.John travelled to the kitchen.I says You have not got no heart or you would not
talk that way.They all give me the laugh but I let them get away with it because I
am not picking no fights with girls and why should I bust this Allen
when he don't know no better and has not got no baby himself.And I did
not want to do nothing that would stop him takeing the girls to a show
because it is time he spent a peace of money on somebody.Well they all went out and I went in on the bed and played with the
baby.I wish you could of saw him Al because he is old enough now to
do stunts and he smiled up at me and waved his arms and legs round
and made a noise like as if he was trying to say Pa.I did not think
Florrie had gave him enough covers so I rapped him up in some more and
took a blanket off of the big bed and stuck it round him so as he could
not kick his feet out and catch cold.I thought once or twice he was going off to sleep but all of a sudden
he begin to cry and I seen they was something wrong with him.I gave
him some hot water but that made him cry again and I thought maybe
he was to cold yet so I took another blanket off of Allen's bed and
wrapped that round him but he kept on crying and trying to kick inside
the blankets.And I seen then that he must have collect or something.So pretty soon I went to the phone and called up our regular Dr.and
it took him pretty near a hour to get there and the baby balling all
the time.John went back to the bedroom.And when he come he says they was nothing the matter except
that the baby was to hot and told me to take all them blankets off of
him and then soaked me 2 dollars.I had a nosion to bust his jaw.Well
pretty soon he beat it and then little Al begin crying again and kept
getting worse and worse so finally I got a-scared and run down to the
corner where another Dr.is at and I brung him up to see what was the
matter but he said he could not see nothing the matter but he did not
charge me a cent so I thought he was not no robber like our regular
doctor even if he was just as much of a boob.The baby did not cry none while he was there but the minute he had went
he started crying and balling again and I seen they was not no use of
fooling no longer so I looked around the house and found the medicine
the doctor left for Allen when he had a stumach acke once and I give
the baby a little of it in a spoon but I guess he did not like the
taste because he hollered like a Indian and finally I could not stand
it no longer so I called that second Dr.back again and this time he
seen that the baby was sick and asked me what I had gave it and I told
him some stumach medicine and he says I was a fool and should ought not
to of gave the baby nothing.But while he was talking the baby stopped
crying and went off to sleep so you see what I done for him was the
right thing to do and them doctors was both off of there nut.soaked me 2 dollars the 2d time though he had not did
no more than when he was there the 1st time and charged me nothing but
they is all a bunch of robbers Al and I would just as leave trust a
policeman.Right after the baby went to sleep Florrie and Marie and Allen come
home and I told Florrie what had came off but instead of giveing me
credit she says If you want to kill him why don't you take a ax?Then
Allen butts in and says Why don't you take a ball and throw it at him?Then I got sore and I says Well if I did hit him with a ball I would
kill him while if you was to throw that fast ball of yours at him and
hit him in the head he would think the musketoes was biteing him and
brush them off.But at that, I says, you could not hit him with a ball
except you was aiming at something else.John moved to the office.I guess they was no comeback to that so him and Marie went to there
room.Allen should ought to know better than to try and get the best of
me by this time and I would shut up anyway if I was him after getting
sent home from Detroit with some of the rest of them when he only
worked 3 innings up there and they had to take him out or play the rest
of the game by electrick lights.I wish you could be here for the serious Al but you would have to stay
at a hotel because we have not got no spair room and it would cost you
a hole lot of money.But you can watch the papers and you will see what
I done.Yours truly, JACK._Chicago, Illinois, October 6._
DEAR OLD PAL: Probily before you get this letter you will of saw by the
paper that we was licked in the first game and that I was tooken out
but the papers don't know what really come off so I am going to tell
you and you can see for yourself if it was my fault.I did not never have no more stuff in my life then when I was warming
up and I seen the Cubs looking over to our bench and shakeing there
heads like they knowed they did not have no chance.O'Day was going to
start Cheney who is there best bet and had him warming up but when he
seen the smoke I had when I and Schalk was warming up he changed his
mind because what was the use of useing his best pitcher when I had all
that stuff and it was a cinch that no club in the world could score a
run off of me when I had all that stuff?So he told a couple others to warm up to and when my name was announced
to pitch Cheney went and set on the bench and this here lefthander
Pierce was announced for them.Well Al you will see by the paper where I sent there 1st 3 batters back
to the bench to get a drink of water and all 3 of them good hitters
Leach and Good and this here Saier that hits a hole lot of home runs
but would not never hit one off of me if I was O.K.Well we scored
a couple in our half and the boys on the bench all says Now you got
enough to win easy because they won't never score none off of you.And they was right to because what chance did they have if this thing
that I am going to tell you about had not of happened?We goes along
seven innings and only 2 of there men had got to 1st base one of them
on a bad peg of Weaver's and the other one I walked because this blind
Evans don't know a ball from a strike.We had not did no more scoreing
off of Pierce not because he had no stuff but because our club could
not take a ball in there hands and hit it out of the infield.Well Al I did not tell you that before I come out to the park I kissed
little Al and Florrie good by and Marie says she was going to stay home
to and keep Florrie Co.and they was not no reason for Marie to come to
the game anyway because they was not a chance in the world for Allen to
do nothing but hit fungos.Well while I was doing all this here swell
pitching and makeing them Cubs look like a lot of rummys I was thinking
about little Al and Florrie and how glad they would be when I come
home and told them what I done though of coarse little Al is not only
a little over 3 months of age and how could he appresiate what I done?Well Al when I come in to the bench after there 1/2 of the 7th I
happened to look up to the press box to see if the reporters had gave
Schulte a hit on that one Weaver throwed away and who do you think I
seen in a box right alongside of the press box?It was Florrie and
Marie and both of them claping there hands and hollering with the rest
of the bugs.Well old pal I was never so supprised in my life and it just took all
the heart out of me.What was they doing there and what had they did
with the baby?How didDaniel went back to the garden. |
hallway | Where is John? | I tried to catch Florrie's eyes but she would not look at me.I
hollered her name and the bugs looked at me like as if I was crazy and
I was to Al.Well I seen they was not no use of standing out there
in front of the stand so I come into the bench and Allen was setting
there and I says Did you know your wife and Florrie was up there in the
stand?Mary moved to the garden.He says No and I says What are they doing here?And he says What
would they be doing here--mending there stockings?I felt like busting
him and I guess he seen I was mad because he got up off of the bench
and beat it down to the corner of the field where some of the others
was getting warmed up though why should they have anybody warming up
when I was going so good?Well Al I made up my mind that ball game or no ball game I was not
going to have little Al left alone no longer and I seen they was not
no use of sending word to Florrie to go home because they was a big
crowd and it would take maybe 15 or 20 minutes for somebody to get up
to where she was at.So I says to Callahan You have got to take me
out.I says No my arm is
not gone but my baby is sick and home all alone.And I says She is setting up there in the stand.Then he says How do you know your baby is sick?And I says I don't
know if he is sick or not but he is left home all alone.He says Why
don't you send your wife home?And I says I could not get word to her
in time.He says Well you have only got two innings to go and the way
your going the game will be over in 10 minutes.I says Yes and before
10 minutes is up my baby might die and are you going to take me out or
not?He says Get in there and pitch you yellow dog and if you don't I
will take your share of the serious money away from you.By this time our part of the inning was over and I had to go out there
and pitch some more because he would not take me out and he has not got
no heart Al.Well Al how could I pitch when I kept thinking maybe the
baby was dying right now and maybe if I was home I could do something?And instead of paying attension to what I was doing I was thinking
about little Al and looking up there to where Florrie and Marie was
setting and before I knowed what come off they had the bases full and
Callahan took me out.Well Al I run to the clubhouse and changed my cloths and beat it for
home and I did not even hear what Callahan and Gleason says to me when
I went by them but I found out after the game that Scott went in and
finished up and they batted him pretty hard and we was licked 3 and 2.When I got home the baby was crying but he was not all alone after all
Al because they was a little girl about 14 years of age there watching
him and Florrie had hired her to take care of him so as her and Marie
could go and see the game.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.But just think Al of leaveing little Al with
a girl 14 years of age that did not never have no babys of her own!And
what did she know about takeing care of him?You should ought to of heard me ball Florrie out when she got home and
I bet she cried pretty near enough to flood the basemunt.We had it hot
and heavy and the Allens butted in but I soon showed them where they
was at and made them shut there mouth.I had a good nosion to go out and get a hole lot of drinks and was
just going to put on my hat when the doorbell rung and there was Kid
Gleason.In such diversions we spent the whole evening.At supper-time we were joined by the squire's man of business and one of
his secretaries, who withdrew after the meal, and Squire Gabriel and I
remained alone again.He ordered tea to be brought into the Gothic chamber, and with the tea
beside us, we may have gone on talking for a small matter of another
hour or so, or, rather, he talked, but I listened.The Gothic Room was the largest chamber in the castle wing.It derived
its name from its curious old-fashioned furniture, and from a couple of
mediaeval niches in the Gothic style.The spacious fireplace in the
centre of it was piled up with crackling logs, and close beside it were
comfortable armchairs and sofas, in which we reclined at our ease and
sipped our fragrant Pekoe.The hearth was warm, the time was late, and the fatigues of travelling,
I must confess, had made me so drowsy, that more than once during the
cheerful conversation of my host, I caught myself in the act of
resolutely inclining my head towards the cushion of the sofa.Squire Gabriel observed my condition, and said, with a smile--
"You are very sleepy, I see."I had no reason to be insincere, so I replied that it was the very place
in which to go to sleep."I should not advise you to do so, however," remarked Squire Gabriel,
gravely, "there is something queer about this room.I may tell you," he
added, "it is not very friendly to strangers, who have even died in it
now and then."These words completely cleared slumber from my eyes."It would be more correct to say they dwell in it, and they are visible
day and night.""When I say ghosts, I would not have you imagine anything so stupid as
spectres wrapped in sheets and chained with fetters.The _thing_ that is
here is a perfectly simple object which can be held in your hand.Squire Gabriel led me to one of the niches which was covered by a green
curtain, and drawing aside the curtain, pointed out to me two skulls
which were covered by a round glass, and, curiously enough, were turned
back to back.John travelled to the kitchen.I had seen something of the sort before, and was by no means inclined to
recognize anything ghostly in them.They were simply fragments of a
human skeleton, as little alarming as an extracted tooth, of which it
never occurs to anybody to be afraid.John went back to the bedroom."These are the skulls of two brothers, the Counts Kalmanffy, to whom
this property formerly belonged, and who built a wing of the castle.They were constantly opposed to each other
and wrangling about the possession of the castle, and one day, soon
after a reconciliation, the elder brother suddenly invited the younger
one to be his guest, and when he had well filled him with strong wine,
drove a long nail into his head while he lay there in a drunken sleep.A servant who was privy to the evil deed
subsequently betrayed the elder brother, who was beheaded for his crime.His body they buried as usual under the place of execution, but the
severed head they allowed to be buried in the family vault, where the
bones of the murdered brother were also deposited.The heads of the two
brothers were placed side by side in a niche, and so these mortal
enemies, who could not endure each other during their life-time, were
turned face to face.On one occasion, however, some one who had to do
some work or other in the vault, was amazed to perceive that the heads
of the two brothers were now turned back to back.He had had a good deal to do with human remains, and
fancied some truant rats might have effected the change, so he simply
put the two skulls face to face again.Next day he went down to have
another look at them, and again they were turned in the opposite
direction."And so it went on for a whole week.The fellow turned the skulls round
every day, and every night they changed their positions of their own
accord.John moved to the office.Daniel went back to the garden.The guardian of the vault got quite ill over it.John went back to the hallway.He began to
pine and grow melancholy mad, till at length the young chaplain took the
bull by the horns, and asked him what ailed him, or if he had anything
on his mind."The old family retainer, with some agitation, confessed the ghostly
secret, on account of which he was in a fair way of becoming a ghost
himself."The parson was an enlightened man, and was determined to convince the
superstitious old fellow that he was mistaken, so he went down into the
vault himself to look at this alleged marvel."There, then, the two skulls were, turned back to back, and the old
servant solemnly swore that the evening before he had placed them cheek
by jowl.These things are nothing but two pieces of bone, without nerves, without
muscles: they _cannot_ move of their own accord.'"And, to make his words the more impressive, he seized one of the skulls
in order to lift it, and show the doubter that it was merely an inert
mass, incapable of movement."At that very instant the skull gave the clergyman's little finger such
a nip that he could scarce disengage it from its teeth."After that the vault remained closed, and soon afterwards the old
family servant died.As for the clergyman, he carried about with him
till his death the mark of the bite on his little finger."The matter was kept secret, and so well kept indeed, that not a soul
knew a word about it until I came into possession of the property.One
day, while I was rummaging about in the old library, I came across the
diary of the clergyman in question, in which he described the whole
case, concluding his mysterious tale with the assurance that the door of
the vault had been walled up in such and such a place.Since then a
granary had been built up close beside it, and the locality had been
completely forgotten."I immediately searched for the walled-up door.It was easy to discover,
it had been so minutely described, broke it open and descended into it
myself, and at once discovered the two hostile skulls, just as they had
been placed, turned back to back."I confess, despite my naturally cynical disposition of mind, I had not
the courage to lift up either of them; but I had the whole slab of stone
on which they reposed, raised just as it was and placed in this room."Since then I have had many an unbelieving guest who has taken the whole
thing for a joke, and has tried to convince himself of its reality with
his own eyes.Although I don't very much like jesting with this sort of
thing, nevertheless when I really come upon a strong-minded man who is
not afraid of running the risk of becoming melancholy mad for the rest
of his days, I allow him to sleep in this room and persuade himself with
his own eyes that the skulls which have been placed face to face in the
evening, the next morning are found to be turned back to back again.My visitors are constrained to believe in
this mysterious fact, and since the death of the clergyman already
alluded to, none has dared to ridicule it."Squire Gabriel could perceive from my eyes that I also had a great mind
to be convinced of this mysterious circumstance with my own eyes.Show
me the youth of two and twenty who would not be interested in such an
enigma!I begged and prayed him to allow me to sleep in this room, and turn the
skulls face to face.Squire Gabriel did not attempt to dissuade me.My curiosity gratified
him, he lifted the globular glass, very cautiously turned the two
death's heads face to face, and then covered them again with the glass.Then he indicated the alcove where I should find my couch, wished me a
good night, and left me alone.The squire and his secretaries lived alone in the top-floor of the
spacious castle.The servants slept in rooms on the ground floor.Between the Gothic room and their dormitories lay two or three halls of
various sizes, so that I may be said to have been left alone in my wing,
and was as far as possible from every human being.Despite my excited fancy I had still philosophy enough left not to let
any one play pranks with me.First of all I examined the walls; there
was no visible means of entrance into the room.Then I thoroughly
investigated the niche; it was absolutely inaccessible.It was carved
out of a single slab of hard marble, and was all of a piece.The door I
bolted, and then drew the sofa before it and lay down on it.I was now
immediately opposite the curtained niche.The silk curtain which covered
the niche was hitched upon some ornamental moulding, and hung down in
picturesque folds.I took out my pocket-book and made a sketch of the
curtain down to the very last detail.Now, that was a very artful idea of mine.If any being, clothed with a jacket, were to try to get at the skulls,
he was bound to disturb the curtain; but the slightest contact would
disturb its folds, and destroy its resemblance to the drawing of it in
my pocket-book.Then I piled some fresh logs on the fire, placed the candelabra beside
me on a little one-legged table, and flung myself on the sofa with the
firm purpose not to go to sleep.I knew that tea had the property of keeping a man awake, so I filled
myself another cup.I added to it a spoonful of rum.Yet at other times a spoonful of rum would have been quite enough to
upset me.Then it suddenly occurred to me that there was a flask of cognac in the
cupboard beside the fireplace.Squire Gabriel had pointed it out to me
a short time before, but then I had not required it.It was very curious
I should feel the want of strong drinks just at that moment.It certainly was strong, very much
so.I filled up my cup with it, and then it occurred to me that there
was no wire screen in front of the fire.A spark might pop out of it any
moment.I went to the fireplace straightway, and began pushing back the
burning embers with the poker.Then I shut the iron register, and went back towards my tea-table.On the very sofa which I had drawn up for my own use two gentlemen were
sitting whom I seemed to know very well, but whose names I could not
remember.One of them had short, light, curly hair, and an angry red
beard; the other had black hair and a long dangling moustache, but was
otherwise clean shaved, and a round bald patch was visible on the top of
his head.The first of these gentlemen, who was stripped to the shirt, wore a
silken vest with gold buttons; the other was dressed in a short linen
jacket, bravely embroidered at the back.These two gentlemen were sipping at their ease the cognaced tea which I
had prepared for myself.First one took a sip and then the other, the
pair of them out of one cup, quite fraternally.Mary went to the office.Amazement first, and then fear, seized me.I durst not approach them,
but sat down in a dark corner, from whence I watched to see what they
would do.The two gentlemen glared oddly enough at each other, and presently they
began to converse."Good evening, Kalmanffy minor!""Good evening, Kalmanffy major!""Then you're here again, Kalmanffy minor?""And here I remain, Kalmanffy major!""This castle is too strait for the two of us.""There would be lots of room if one of us dwelt beneath it.""No, deeper still; in the family vault.""We must settle this business once for all, Kalmanffy minor.""Yes, and now that we are quite alone is the time, Kalmanffy major?""I should like both; but I fear they might betray us.""True, firearms make a noise, and cold steel makes blood to flow; we
want no such witnesses.""A cup of poison, and drawing lots for it--that would be best.""Not bad; but it leaves corpse-marks on the face."Here is strong drink before us; let us drink each
other down.""Then, whichever of us keeps sober shall do for the other.Here is a
long nail and a hammer.If it be driven well into the skull, none will
be a penny the wiser.""True, especially in your case, who have such thick hair; but I have a
moon on the top of my head."I'm bound to confess that a cold shiver ran through me as I listened to
this conversation.Even if I wanted to escape there was no means of
escaping, for they sat right in front of the door opposite which I had
drawn the chair and the sofa.Then they both began drinking out of the same cup, first one and then
the other.They filled it up for each |
garden | Where is Daniel? | Each of them always said this with such a devilish smile as he watched
his brother gasp and choke as he swallowed the intoxicating stuff, while
his head waggled backwards and forwards, and his face turned a ghastly
yellow or a flaming red, and the veins on his temples stood out in green
and blue knots like strained cords.Meanwhile the candles burning on the table began to burn low.It seemed
as if a bloody mist were enveloping their flames, which gradually
assumed a dusky lilac hue.The two faces suddenly went quite pale, the
two heads suddenly grew quite shaky; it was hard to say which of them
would fall down first.The flames of the candles had now passed into the darkest green, and in
that green light the two faces seemed of a deadly pallor.They were no
longer able to converse, but glared at each other with stony eyes, and
kept offering each other the intoxicating drink.Suddenly the candles flared up, and then went out.The moon was shining through the painted windows in all her glory; the
burning logs in the fireplace cast a rosy light into the semi-darkness.I dreamt it all, I said, and I laughed at myself, though my teeth kept
on chattering.It was a dream, a dream, I kept on reassuring myself.I'll take off my things, I'll get into bed, I'll
draw the bed-clothes over my head, and then let them go on haunting as
much as they like.Mary moved to the garden.They may rise from their graves and roam about to
their hearts' content.The moon shone with a beautiful white light; the fire gave forth a nice
rosy illumination.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.I had no need of the candles, which I could not have
lit had I wanted to, for they had burnt down to the very socket.I shall
be able to find the bed quite comfortably.So I undressed myself
leisurely, wound up my watch, and drew aside the curtains of the alcove
which contained the bed, in order to lie down on it.In the bed lay the two brothers side by side; two fearfully distorted
corpses.One of them lay on his back, but with his face looking down,
and in his bald head the head of the nail shone in the moonlight like a
dark blue spot; the other brother lay beside him with his head turned
towards the sky.I would
have cried out, but I had no voice.I would have seized the bell-rope,
but my hand was powerless.John travelled to the kitchen.I would have fled, but my legs weighed me
down like lead.My chest was oppressed, my legs were benumbed.At last,
with a most desperate effort of my will, and after frightful torments, I
pronounced something or other--and immediately awoke.Those who have suffered from nightmare will understand what a torture it
is under the circumstances to utter a word.It was morning, and the sun was shining through the tall poplars.There,
too, I was lying on the sofa in front of the closed door, where I had
laid down in order not to fall asleep.The candles really had burnt down to their sockets, and the teacup was
really empty.However, I was inclined to believe that I had put nothing
into it the night before, and that tea, rum, and cognac had all been
simply dreamt.But--now comes the most terrible part of this ghost story.What had been happening in the niche all this time?The curtain was precisely as I had sketched it, not a wrinkle of a fold
had been changed in it.Therefore, nobody could have laid hands upon it.Still completely possessed by the memory of my nightly visions, I
approached the mysterious niche, and I cannot deny that my hand trembled
as I drew aside the curtain.the two mortally hostile skulls were turned back to
back!A cold shudder ran twice or thrice right down my body.This, at any rate, was no dream.Outside, the usual daily noise and racket had begun, and at that very
time I saw before me the most frightful of phantoms.Then things really do happen beneath the sun which our philosophy cannot
account for?Then it is a fact that those two lifeless skulls live and hate and turn
from each other even after death?I don't believe it, it is impossible, it is not true.I see, I tremble at it, and yet it is not true.It _is_ true, and yet I don't believe it.I then bethought me of the story of the clergyman who was said to have
discovered the subterranean marvel, and dared to put his hand on the
head of the spectre, and then carried about the marks of its teeth to
his dying day.My heart may have beaten violently,
I don't deny it.My hand came in contact with a
cold jaw-bone.I should have flung it away with all my heart if it had; but at that
instant I discovered that it was provided with a cunningly constructed
piece of clockwork, which made it turn round if you pressed a spring.The other skull was provided with a similar contrivance.At the breakfast-table I encountered Squire Gabriel.As usual he was
very solemn, so was I.I drank lots of tea yesterday evening, and it
plagued me with all manner of spectres.""Well, they seem to have quite distinguished themselves for my special
edification, for they not only turned their backs on each other, but
even stood on their heads."At these words, Squire Gabriel laughed greatly.Forty persons have slept in that room; all of them have
had experience of the marvel, and not one of them has looked to see if
there was anything in the skulls.""They feared, perhaps, that it would fare with them as with the
adventurous clergyman.""Certainly, a little, but my curiosity was even greater than my fear.And now I very much regret I did look.""Because I am an historical anecdote the poorer."John went back to the bedroom.At this Squire Gabriel laughed more than ever."And I will make free to ask another question.Are the anecdotes, which
I noted down in my memorandum-book yesterday, equally authentic?""You may boldly light your pipe with them," replied the nobleman, with a
smile.I only did not do so because I am not in the habit of eating smoke.John moved to the office.Only one thing Squire Gabriel begged of me.I was not to mention my
discovery to any one else, so that he might be able to give a salutary
shock of terror to others also.I promised that I would keep the secret for ten years.The ten years expired last week, so the story of the two ghostly skulls
can now become public property.IX
THE BAD OLD TIMES
In those sad times when the accursed, merciless Tatar was ravaging our
good country, two good Hungarian brother warriors and kinsmen, Simon and
Michael Koppand, after the devastation of Tamasfalu, of which great city
not a vestige remains to the present day, escaped somehow from the
burning and massacring, and taking refuge among the bulrushes, lay
concealed therein for many days and nights, often up to the tops of
their heads in water, for the evil, bloodthirsty enemy scoured even the
morasses in search of fugitives, with the firm determination of
extirpating every Magyar from the face of the earth once for all.Thus, hiding by day and skulking by night, they made their way gradually
but steadily towards the west, so far as the course of the stars pointed
it out to them, hoping still somewhere to find a refuge.They had no
other food but the eggs of wild ducks and moorhens, and whatever they
might find in the nests of the marsh-birds that they lived upon.One day, when they had already gone a long way and thought that they had
well distanced the Tatars, they ventured to emerge from the wilderness
of rushes, and by the beautiful light of the moon they then beheld,
some distance in front of them, a tower.That means there must be a town there, they thought, let us make for it,
there we shall be in safety, so far the Tatar has not come.For every
man in those days believed that then, as had been usual at other times,
every robber horde, bursting into a kingdom, when once it has well
loaded itself with booty, returns again as a matter of course to its own
country.All night, then, they proceeded in the direction of the tower before
them.When they drew close to it they perceived for the first time that
this tower had no roof; but when they got closer still they saw that all
the houses of the town had been levelled with the ground, and when they
entered the street they saw that none dwelt there, but wolves and savage
dogs bayed at them from behind the pillars of the gates, within which
every sort of human shape was lying, shapes without heads, women
transfixed with darts, mothers with long, dishevelled, black tresses
covering their children with their dead bodies.The youths covered their eyes with horror at this spectacle.But still there they must remain till the night of the following day,
concealed somewhere, for dawn was now close at hand and it was not good
to come out in the open in the bright sunlight.So they went into the church that they might hide themselves there,
either in the crypt or perhaps in a sacristy.Hah, the whole church was a funeral vault.There they had cut down the
pride, the flower of the nation.Women, men, and children lay heaped up
together among the burnt rafters, the pale moon shining through the
roofless and dilapidated building illuminated them.Inside they had to wield their swords with right good will to drive out
the wolves who had come hither to perform the office of grave-diggers,
and who as often as they were chased away came back and bayed at the
open door.Then said Simon, the elder of the two brethren: "Brother Michael, these
evil wolves will give us no peace, and because of them we shall get no
rest, and yet, for sheer weariness and want of sleep, we can go not a
step further.Lie you down, therefore--your best place will be close
beside the altar, for there God is not far from you, and I meanwhile
keep guard the door and keep the wild beasts away from you, and when I
am aweary, then you shall rise up and watch over me."Michael sought him out, therefore, a place near the altar, and lay down
beside the dead body of a warrior, it looked just as if the two of them
were sleeping, or as if the two of them were dead.Simon, meanwhile,
gathered together some fallen darts from the field of battle, found him
a bow, and leaned against the lintel of the doorway.Whenever the
hideous monsters approached, he shot an arrow among them, and every time
he did so a fight arose between the wounded wolf and the others, which
he thought had bitten him.This disgusting combat lasted amidst ugly
snarling and snapping for about an hour, when an old wolf began to howl
hideously, as if by way of signal to his fellows, who howled back again
from every part of the town, and then suddenly the whole lot of them
made off, scattering in every direction.Daniel went back to the garden.Simon speedily conjectured the cause of this sudden flight, hastened
back to his brother and cried--
"Awake, little brother!I hear the hoot of the horns, the Tatars are
coming back."John went back to the hallway.There was no other hope of escape than for the pair of them to lie down
among the dead bodies with their faces turned earthwards, thus quietly
to await the new-comers.Mary went to the office.Presently they appeared amidst the ruins of the church.The Tatars thought to themselves: The people
who have taken refuge fancy we have nothing more to seek in the
devastated towns, and will come out of their holes, let us go and hunt
them down.It was a man of that very town who led them back.An inhabitant of a
Christian town had become a Tatar, joined himself to the enemies of his
faith and country, and went before to show them the best places to
plunder.And this wicked, accursed man was now wearing the Tatar dress, a
high-peaked fur cap, white breeches, and murdered the Tatar tongue to
give them pleasure--God grant the words may stick in his throat and
choke him.The two brethren could gather from their talk that the evil renegade had
led the enemy hither in order that he might show them the entrance to
the crypt in which the fugitive population had concealed their
treasures, and then walled up the door behind them.Sandra travelled to the bedroom.They immediately
broke it open, and with a great racket and uproar dispersed among the
discovered treasures, breaking in pieces whatever was too large to be
taken away whole.The renegade got for his share the cover of a pyx,
which the vile wretch stuck in front of his cap by way of ornament."Let me once get a fair hold of you!"He was looking on at all this with half an eye as he lay among
the dead bodies.Then the murderous Tatars piled up a fire on the altar, slaughtered a
horse in the church, broiled it in hunks on huge spits, and squatted
down to devour it.The Tatar
convert ate along with them.Suddenly a burning ember from the crackling fire lit upon Michael the
warrior's extended palm.Simon the warrior saw it well, and trembled
lest his younger brother might make some movement under this burning
torture, when both of them must needs perish.But warrior Michael, very
nicely and quietly, closed tightly the palm of his hand, so that nobody
noticed it, and stifled the burning ember so that not even its expiring
fizzle was audible.Towards dawn the Tatars began to set off again, mounted their barebacked
horses and scudded further on, never observing that they had left two
living men among the dead bodies.The two warriors were careful not to leave the church till late in the
evening, but went on fighting there with the beasts of the field, and,
in the daytime, they found yet other adversaries in the vultures who
hovered all day above their heads, and all but tore their eyes out with
their claws, because they stood between them and the dead bodies.They
gave thanks to God when at sundown they were able to quit the horrible
place and go on further.Along the level plain they went as quickly as they could hasten, not
even daring to look behind them, though there they would have seen
nothing but the black clouds of smoke from the burning towns, which the
wind drove over their heads.Towards evening they reached a lofty hill, in which dwelt a gipsy.The
gipsy was doubly a foe, being both an alien and a heathen, he was,
therefore, just the sort of man to give good advice to fugitives.In those days all sorts of folks were flying from the Tatars, flying
whithersoever they saw light before them, some on foot, some on
horseback, some on cars, men, women, and children.John travelled to the garden.my dear creatures," wailed the gipsy, "you come to a bad place
when you come hither.You would do very much better to turn back in the
direction whence the Tatar bands are coming, for they, at least if you
surrender, will not cut you down, but will only make slaves of you.in front a far greater danger awaits you, for in yonder forest
dwell giants, terribly huge monsters with antlered heads and mouths so
wide that they can swallow a man down whole.They seize all those who
fly towards the forest and roast them on large spits.They don't hurt me
because I give them wine to drink when they come hither."Before now the refugees had heard from the warriors flying from the
direction of Grosswardein of these Tatar giants who had scattered a
whole host by simply appearing before it.Nay, a herdsman, a worthy man
of Cumanian origin, had sworn that he had seen them.They strode over
the fields, he said, four ells at one stride, and one of them had sat
down quite easily on the roof of a house, with his legs dangling down.At this rumour, the poor, terrified, common folks preferred to run back
into the jaws of the Tatars, rather than fall beneath the fangs of these
monsters; but the two Koppands said to one another very prudently--
"Look, now, there are far fewer of these monsters, whereas the Tatars
can be numbered by hundreds of thousands.The flesh of a giant is but
flesh, and a sword may pierce it.Goliath also was a giant, and a
shepherd's son slew him." |
hallway | Where is Mary? | As the warriors drew near to the forest, there emerged from among the
trees twelve terrible forms, thrice as big as ordinary men.They had
heads as large as barrels, their moustaches were like horses' tails,
they covered two ells at each stride, and swords two ells in length hung
heavily on their shoulders."Well, little brother," said Simon the warrior, grasping the hilt of his
sword at the sight, "either they are going to eat us or we will eat
them, choose your man and I'll choose mine."And they drew their swords and rushed upon the giants.The monstrous shapes at first raised a great shout at them, and
flourished their swords, but perceiving that they could by no means
terrify the two warriors, they turned tail, and with long strides
hastened back towards the forest.They were no giants from the hand of Nature after all, but only jugglers
of the Tatar khan who could stride about on long stilts, and dressed up
to ape God's wonders, so as to scare back the fugitive population into
the claws of its murderers.The gipsy knew this very well, for he was in
league with them.When Simon the warrior saw the giants take to flight, he encouraged his
brother still more against them.But they had no need to hunt for them
in the forest, for they could not move quickly enough on their stilts
among the trees and shrubs, their masques and wrappings also impeded
them, so that they could not make a proper use of their heavy swords, so
the two brothers cut down every one of them without mercy, and stuck
their painted monster heads on the tops of stakes on the borders of the
forest, that the flying people might take courage at the sight when they
beheld them from afar.And the name of the treacherous gipsy Simon the
warrior wrote down on the hilt of his sword.And then they again set out westward, till at length they reached the
waters of the Theiss, where they found a ferry, in front of which many
people were then waiting, all of whom had fled from before the Tatars.The toll was in those days collected by certain of the Patarenes or
Albigenses, for in the days of King Andrew and the Palatine Dienes, all
the tolls had fallen into the hands of such-like oppressed people.It
might be supposed that in times of such great danger, when every one was
flying from fire amidst bloodshed, that the ferrymen would let the
fugitives over the rivers for nothing.And of a truth Christian Magyar
men would have so done, but the impious Patarenes laid heavier
contributions than usual on the refugees, who fled from before the
Tatars, carrying all they possessed on their persons, and these last
possessions they had to give up to the godless ferrymen.John moved to the bedroom.The women had
to give up their earrings, the men their shoe-buckles by way of ransom,
to the hard-hearted wretches to ferry them over.But those who had
nothing and were flying as beggars received godless usage at their
hands, for they were compelled to repeat after them a Manichaean prayer,
which was nothing but a frightful blasphemy against the one true God and
His saints in the Tatar tongue.And very many repeated it not thinking
at all in their deadly fear of the salvation of their souls.Those who
feared to utter the abomination searched elsewhere for a ford across the
Theiss, or, if they could swim, set about swimming, and so many perished
there.The two brethren had nought wherewith to pay the ferry-toll but the
blaspheming Tatar prayer.Simon the warrior said he would rather let
himself be cut in pieces by the Tatars than blaspheme the true God and
the Blessed Virgin, but Michael, having more _sang-froid_, assured him
that he would say it for them both, and made out that his brother was
dumb.He, therefore, repeated the horrible blasphemy twice, once for
himself and once for his elder brother, while Simon, with clenched
fists, repeated silently to himself an Our Father and a Hail Mary!Thus
they got ferried over to the opposite shore; and when Simon the warrior
reproached his brother for yielding to compulsion and repeating the
blasphemous verses, Michael reassured his elder brother by telling him
that after every verse he had said to himself: "Not true, not true."Yet
for all that it was a grievous sin.And warrior Simon marked the name of the Manichaean on the hilt of his
sword.But now the refugees plunged into the jaws of a fresh danger.The great
battle of the Sajo[22] had just been lost.The Tatar flood filled the
whole space between the Danube and the Theiss.When they emerged on the
border of a forest, the two brothers saw nothing all around them, right
up to the horizon, but the smoke of burning villages.They returned,
therefore, into the forest, and began to fare northwards, hearing on
every side of them the sound of the Tatar horns replying to each other;
seeking a refuge for the night in the trunks of hollow trees, and
finding no other sustenance than wild honey and beach-mast with which to
satisfy the cravings of hunger.[Footnote 22: On the Muhi _puszta_, near the river
Sajo, the Tatars defeated King Bela and the Magyars in
1241.]On the fourth day they reached a respectable house in the midst of the
forest, which was defended neither by trench nor bastion, and yet was
not burnt down.The young warriors marvelled thereat; they did not know that in this
house dwelt a Moor, and the Moors were all on the side of the Tatars.They brought them tidings, conducted them to the towns, and were their
spies and receivers.What the Tatars stole they bought of them cheaply,
and peddled it in Moravia, and even further still.This was the house of
one of these hucksters.A great red ox's head was painted on the door,
that the Tatars might recognize that the dweller therein was one of
their men.The Moor received them with great amiability when they crossed his
threshold, assured them that they might stay with him, and immediately
set about making ready a meal for them, which was a great consolation to
the honest, starving wanderers.While they were complaining to their
honest host of the hardships they had undergone, a noble lady came
panting up to the house, from whose ragged robes and unstitched sandals
one could see that she had fled afar for refuge, and asked whether her
beloved husband and her little boy had come thither.There were five of
them hiding in the forest, she said; her husband, with their little boy,
a faithful retainer, a nurse, and a little baby.All at once they had
heard the barking of dogs, and her husband had said that the other three
should remain behind in a cave, while he himself, with the little boy,
went on in front to look about, and see whether there were any human
dwelling near at hand.They had waited for him a long time, till at last
the wife, terrified at the long absence of her husband, had come forth
herself to seek him."It is possible they may have come hither, my child," said the Moor,
with a shrug; "many seek refuge here nowadays.The woman described her husband's appearance and his garments, and then
the little boy.On the little boy's finger, she said, was a black
horsehair ring, with a little white cross.None could take it off, even
if they killed him for it; he could be recognized by that.The Moor replied that he had not cast eyes on them, and the poor woman,
wailing and ringing her hands, went further on to seek for her husband
and her little boy.Meanwhile, a meal had been served up for the young warriors--seethed
flesh in a huge caldron.The Moor also brought them wine, and, hoping
they would enjoy their food, left them to themselves."Juntaban muchos granos y semilla de
Bledos, y otras legumbres, y molianlas con mucha devocion, y recato,
y de ellas amasaban, y formaban la dicha Estatua, del tamaA+-o y
estatura de un Hombre.El licor, con que se resolbian y desleian
aquellas harinas era sangre de NiA+-os, que para este fin se
sacrificaban."[358]
It is remarkable the word "maiz" does not occur in this paragraph.Huitzlipotchli being the God of War, it was natural that the ritual
devoted to his service should conserve some, if not all, of the foods,
grains, and seeds used by the Mexicans when on the warpath in the
earliest days of their history; and that this food should be made into
a dough with the blood of children sacrificed as a preliminary to
success is also perfectly in accordance with all that we know of the
mode of reasoning of this and other primitive peoples.Torquemada goes
on to say that this statue was carried in solemn procession to the
temple and idol of Huitzlipotchli and there adorned with precious
jewels (chalchihuitl), embedded in the soft mass.Afterward it was
carried to the temple of the god Paynalton, preceded by a priest
carrying a snake in the manner that the priests in Spain carried the
cross in the processions of the church."Con una Culebra mui grande, y
gruesa en las manos, tortuosa, y con muchas bueltas, que iba delante,
levantada en alto, Ai manera de Cruz, en nuestras Procesiones."[359]
This dough idol, he says, was afterwards broken into "migajas"
(crumbs) and distributed among the males only, boys as well as men,
and by them eaten after the manner of communion; "este era su manera
de comunion."[360] Herrera, speaking of this same idol of
Vitzliputzli, as he calls him, says it was made by the young women of
the temple, of the flour of bledos and of toasted maize, with honey,
and that the eyes were of green, white, or blue beads, and the teeth
of grains of corn.After the feast was over, the idol was broken up
and distributed to the faithful, "Ai manera de comunion.""Las
Doncellas recogidas en el templo, dos Dias antes de la Fiesta,
amasaban harina de Bledos, i de Maiz tostado, con miel, y de la masa
hacian un Idolo grande, con los ojos de cuentas grandes, verdes,
aASec.ules, A squared blancas; i por dientes granos de maiz."[361]
H. H. Bancroft speaks of the festival in honor of Huitzilopochtli,
"the festival of the wafer or cake."He says: "They made a cake of the
meal of bledos, which is called tzoalli," which was afterward divided
in a sort of communion.[362] Diego Duran remarks that at this feast
the chief priest carried an idol of dough called "tzoally," which is
made of the seeds of bledos and corn made into a mass with honey.[363]
"Un ydolo de masa, de una masa que llaman tzoally, la cual se hace de
semilla de bledos y maiz amasado con miel."This shows that "bledos"
and "maiz" were different things.[364] A few lines farther on Duran
tells us that this cake, or bread, was made by the nuns of the temple,
"las mozas del recogimiento de este templo," and that they ground up a
great quantity of the seed of bledos, which they call huauhtly,
together with toasted maize."Molian mucha cantidad de semilla de
bledos que ellos llaman huauhtly juntamente con maiz tostado."[365] He
then shows that the "honey" (miel) spoken of by the other writers was
the thick juice of the maguey."Despues de molido, amasabanlo con miel
negra de los magueis."Acosta describes a Mexican feast, held in our month of May, in which
appeared an idol called Huitzlipotchli, made of "mays rosty," "semence
de blettes," and "amassoient avec du miel."[366]
In the above citations it will be seen that huauhtly or yuauhtli and
tzoally were one and the same.We also find some of the earliest if
not the very earliest references to the American popped corn.That the Mexicans should have had such festivals or feasts in honor of
their god of battles is no more extraordinary than that in our own
country all military reunions make it a point to revert to the "hard
tack" issued during the campaigns in Virginia and Tennessee.Many
other references to the constant use as a food, or at least as a
sacrificial food, of the bledos might be supplied if needed.Thus
Diego Duran devotes the twelfth chapter of his third book to an
obscure account of a festival among the Tepanecs, in which appeared
animal gods made of "masa de semilla de bledos," which were afterwards
broken and eaten.Torquemada speaks of such idols employed in the worship of snakes and
mountains.[367] In still another place this authority tells us that
similar figures were made and eaten by bride and groom at the Aztec
marriage ceremony.[368]
The ceremonial manner in which these seeds were ground recalls the
fact that the ZuA+-i regard the stones used for grinding kunque as
sacred and will not employ them for any other purpose.Idols made of dough much after the fashion of the Aztecs are to be
found among the Mongols.Meignan speaks of seeing "an idol, quite open
to the sky and to the desert, representing the deity of travelers.It
was made of compressed bread, covered over with some bituminous
substance, and perched on a horse of the same material, and held in
its hand a lance in Don Quixote attitude.Its horrible features were
surmounted with a shaggy tuft of natural hair.A great number of
offerings of all kinds were scattered on the ground all around.Five
or six images, formed also of bread, were bending in an attitude of
prayer before the deity.Edwin James, the editor of Tanner's Narrative,[370] cites the
"Calica Puran" to show that medicinal images are employed by the
people of the East Indies when revenge is sought upon an enemy; "water
must be sprinkled on the meal or earthen victim which represents the
sacrificer's enemy."In those parts of India where human sacrifice had been abolished, a
substitutive ceremony was practiced "by forming a human figure of
flour-paste, or clay, which they carry into the temples, and there cut
off its head or mutilate it, in various ways, in presence of the
idols."[371]
Gomara describes the festival in honor of the Mexican God of Fire,
called "Xocothuecl," when an idol was used made of every kind of seed
and was then enwrapped in sacred blankets to keep it from breaking.Mary moved to the hallway."Hacian aquella noche un A-dolo de toda suerte de semillas, envolvA-anlo
en mantas benditas, y liAibanlo, porque no se deshiciese."[372]
These blessed blankets are also to be seen at the ZuA+-i feast of the
Little God of Fire, which occurs in the month of December.It is a
curious thing that the blessed blankets of the ZuA+-i are decorated with
the butterfly, which appeared upon the royal robes of Montezuma.What other seeds were used in the fabrication of these idols is not
very essential to our purpose, but it may be pointed out that one of
them was the seed of the "agenjo," which was the "chenopodium" or
"artemisia," known to us as the "sagebrush."Of the Mexicans we learn from a trustworthy author: "Tambien usaban |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | "[373]
Mendieta wrote his Historia EclesiAistica Indiana in 1596, "al tiempo
que esto escribo (que es por Abril del aA+-o de noventa y seis)"[374]
and again,[375] "al tiempo que yo esto escribo."The Mexicans, in the month of November, had a festival in honor of
Tezcatlipuca."Hacian unos bollos de masa de maA-z y semejante de
agenjos, aunque son de otra suerte que los de acAi, y echAibanlos Ai
cocer en ollas con agua sola.Entre tanto que hervian y se cocian los
bollos, taA+-ian los muchachos un atabal... y despuA(C)s comA-anselos con
gran devocion."[376]
Gomara's statement, that while these cakes of maize and wormwood seed
were cooking the young men were beating on drums, would find its
parallel in any account that might be written of the behavior of the
ZuA+-i, while preparing for their sacred feasts.The squaws grind the
meal to be used on these occasions to the accompaniment of singing by
the medicine-men and much drumming by a band of assistants selected
from among the young men and boys.Francis La FlA"che, a nearly full-blood Omaha Indian, read before
the Anthropological Society of Washington, D. C., in 1888, a paper
descriptive of the funeral customs of his people, in which he related
that when an Indian was supposed to be threatened with death the
medicine-men would go in a lodge sweat-bath with him and sing, and at
the same time "pronouncing certain incantations and sprinkling the
body of the client with the powder of the artemisia, supposed to be
the food of the ghosts."[377]
To say that a certain powder is the food of the ghosts of a tribe is
to say indirectly that the same powder was once the food of the
tribe's ancestors.The Peruvians seem to have made use of the same kind of sacrificial
cakes kneaded with the blood of the human victim.We are told that in
the month of January no strangers were allowed to enter the city of
Cuzco, and that there was then a distribution of corn cakes made with
the blood of the victim, which were to be eaten as a mark of alliance
with the Inca."Les daban unos Bollos de MaA-z, con sangre de el
sacrificio, que comian, en seA+-al de confederacion con el Inga."[378]
Balboa says that the Peruvians had a festival intended to signalize
the arrival of their young men at manhood, in which occurred a sort of
communion consisting of bread kneaded by the young virgins of the sun
with the blood of victims.This same kind of communion was also noted
at another festival occurring in our month of September of each year.("Un festin composA(C) de pain pA(C)tri par les jeunes vierges du Soleil
avec le sang des victimes."[379]) There were other ceremonial usages
among the Aztecs, in which the tule rush itself, "espadaA+-a," was
employed, as at childbirth, marriage, the festivals in honor of
Tlaloc, and in the rough games played by boys.It is possible that
from being a prehistoric food the pollen of the tule, or the plant
which furnished it, became associated with the idea of sustenance,
fertility, reproduction, and therefore very properly formed part of
the ritual necessary in weddings or connected with the earliest hours
of a child's life, much as rice has been used so freely in other parts
of the world.[380]
Among the Aztecs the newly born babe was laid upon fresh green tule
rushes, with great ceremony, while its name was given to it.[380]
Gomara says that the mats used in the marriage ceremonies of the
Aztecs were made of tules."Esteras verdes de espadaA+-as."[381]
"They both sat down upon a new and curiously wrought mat, which was
spread in the middle of the chamber close to the fire."The marriage
bed was made "of mats of rushes, covered with small sheets, with
certain feathers, and a gem of chalchihuitl in the middle of
them."[382]
The third festival of Tlaloc was celebrated in the sixth month, which
would about correspond to our 6th of June.[383] But there was another
festival in honor of the Tlaloc, which seems very hard to understand.A full description is given by Bancroft.[384] To celebrate this it was
incumbent upon the priests to cut and carry to the temples bundles of
the tule, which were woven into a sacred mat, after which there was a
ceremonial procession to a tule swamp in which all bathed.The Aztecs, like the Apache, had myths showing that they sprang
originally from a reed swamp.There was an Aztec god, Napatecutli, who
was the god of the tule and of the mat-makers.[385] This rush was also
strewn as part of several of their religious ceremonies.Fosbrooke[386] has this to say about certain ceremonies in connection
with the churches in Europe: "At certain seasons the Choir was strewed
with hay, at others with sand.On Easter sabbath with ivy-leaves; at
other times with rushes."He shows that hay was used at Christmas and
the vigil of All Saints, at Pentecost, Athelwold's Day, Assumption of
the Blessed Virgin, and Ascension, etc.The Mexican populace played a game closely resembling our "blind man's
buff" in their seventeenth month, which was called Tititl and
corresponded to the winter solstice.In this game, called
"nechichiquavilo," men and boys ran through the streets hitting every
one whom they met with small bags or nets ("taleguillas A cubed redecillas")
filled with tule powder or fine paper ("llenas de flor de las
espadaA+-as A cubed de algunos papeles rotos").[387]
The same thing is narrated by other early Spanish writers upon Mexico.In the myths of Guatemala it is related that there were several
distinct generations of men.The first were made of wood, without
heart or brains, with worm-eaten feet and hands.The second generation
was an improvement upon this, and the women are represented as made of
tule."Las mugeres fueron hechas de corazon de espadaA+-a."[388]
Picart, enumerating the tree gods of the Romans, says that they had
deified "les Roseaux pour les Rivieres."[389]
GENERAL USE OF THE POWDER AMONG INDIANS.John moved to the bedroom.This very general dissemination among the Indians of the American
continent of the sacred use of the powder of the tule, of images,
idols, or sacrificial cakes made of such prehistoric foods, certainly
suggests that the Apache and the Aztecs, among whom they seem to have
been most freely used on ceremonial occasions, were invaders in the
country they respectively occupied, comparatively recent in their
arrival among the contiguous tribes like the ZuA+-i and Tusayan who on
corresponding occasions offered to their gods a cultivated food like
corn.The Tlascaltec were known in Mexico as the "bread people,"
possibly because they had been acquainted with the cultivation of the
cereals long before the Aztecs.Similarly, there was a differentiation
of the Apache from the sedentary Pueblos.The Apache were known to all
the villages of the Pueblos as a "corn-buying tribe," as will
presently be shown.Mary moved to the hallway.Sandra moved to the bedroom.It is true that in isolated cases and in widely
separated sections the Apache have for nearly two centuries been a
corn-planting people, because we find accounts in the Spanish
chronicles of the discovery and destruction by their military
expeditions of "trojes" or magazines of Apache corn near the San
Francisco (or Verde) River, in the present Territory of Arizona, as
early as the middle of the last century.But the general practice of
the tribe was to purchase its bread or meal from the Pueblos at such
times as hostilities were not an obstacle to free trade.There was
this difference to be noted between the Apache and the Aztecs: The
latter had been long enough in the valley of Anahuac to learn and
adopt many new foods, as we learn from Duran, who relates that at
their festivals in honor of Tezcatlipoca, or those made in pursuance
of some vow, the women cooked an astonishing variety of bread, just
as, at the festivals of the ZuA+-i, Tusayan, and other Pueblos in our
own time, thirty different kinds of preparations of corn may be
found.[390] I was personally informed by old Indians in the pueblos
along the Rio Grande that they had been in the habit of trading with
the Apache and Comanche of the Staked Plains of Texas until within
very recent years; in fact, I remember seeing such a party of Pueblos
on its return from Texas in 1869, as it reached Fort Craig, New
Mexico, where I was then stationed.The principal article of sale on the side of the Pueblos was cornmeal.The ZuA+-i also carried on this mixed trade and hunting, as I was
informed by the old chief Pedro Pino and others.The Tusayan denied
that they had ever traded with the Apache so far to the east as the
buffalo country, but asserted that the Comanche had once sent a large
body of their people over to Walpi to trade with the Tusayan, among
whom they remained for two years.There was one buffalo robe among the
Tusayan at their snake dance in 1881, possibly obtained from the Ute
to the north of them.The trade carried on by the "buffalo" Indians with the Pueblos was
noticed by Don Juan de OA+-ate as early as 1599.He describes them as
"dressed in skins, which they also carried into the settled provinces
to sell, and brought back in return cornmeal."[391]
Gregg[392] speaks of the "Comancheros" or Mexicans and Pueblos who
ventured out on the plains to trade with the Comanche, the principal
article of traffic being bread.Whipple[393] refers to this trade as
carried on with all the nomadic tribes of the Llano Estacado, one of
which we know to have been the eastern division of the Apache.The
principal article bartered with the wild tribes was flour, i.e.,
cornmeal.In another place he tells us of "Pueblo Indians from Santo Domingo,
with flour and bread to barter with the KAii-A squared-wA s and Comanches for
buffalo robes and horses."[394] Again, Mexicans were seen with flour,
bread, and tobacco, "bound for Comanche land to trade.We had no
previous idea of the extent of this Indian trade."[395] Only one other
reference to this intertribal commerce will be introduced.Vetancurt[396] mentions that the Franciscan friars, between 1630 and
1680, had erected a magnificent "temple" to "Our Lady of the Angels of
PorciAºncula," and that the walls were so thick that offices were
established in their concavities.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.On each side of this temple, which
was erected in the pueblo of Pecos (situated at or near the head of
the Pecos River, about 30 miles southeast of Santa FA(C), New Mexico, on
the eastern rim of the Llano Estacado), were three towers.At the foot
of the hill was a plain about one league in circumference, to which
the Apache resorted for trade.These were the Apache living on the
plains of Texas.They brought with them buffalo robes, deer skins and
other things to exchange for corn.They came with their dog-trains
loaded, and there were more than five hundred traders arriving each
year.Observe that here we have the first and only reference to the use of
dog trains by the Apache who in every other case make their women
carry all plunder in baskets on their backs.In this same extract from
Vetancurt there is a valuable remark about Quivira: "Este es el paso
para los reinos de la Quivira."ANALOGUES OF HODDENTIN.In the citation from the Spanish poet VillagrAi, already given, the
suggestion occurs that some relationship existed between the powder
scattered so freely during the Spanish "carnestolendas" and the
"kunque" thrown by the people of Tusayan upon the Spaniards and their
horses when the Spaniards first entered that country.This analogy is
a very striking one, even though the Spaniards have long since lost
all idea of the meaning of the practice which they still follow.It is
to be noted, however, that one of the occasions when this flour is
most freely used is the Eve of All Saints (Hallowe'en), when the
ghosts or ancestors of the community were to be the recipients of
every attention.[397]
In the East, the use of the reddish or purple powder called the
"gulAil" is widely prevalent, but it is used at the feast of Huli,
which occurs at the time of the vernal equinox.There seems to have been used in Japan in very ancient days a powder
identical with the hoddentin, and, like it, credited with the power to
cure and rejuvenate.In the mythical period, from the most ancient times to about B. C.200, being the period of the so-called pure Japanese "medicine," it is
related that Ona-muchi-no-mikoko gave these directions to a hare which
had been flayed by a crocodile: "Go quickly now to the river mouth,
wash thy body with fresh water, then take the pollen of the sedges and
spread it about, and roll about upon it; whereupon thy body will
certainly be restored to its original state."[398]
There is no indication that in the above case the "pollen of the
sedges" had ever occupied a place in the list of foods.It would
appear that its magical effects were strictly dependent upon the fact
that it was recognized as the reproductive agent in the life of the
plant.No allusion has yet been made to the hoddentin of the Navajo, who are
the brothers of the Apache.Surgeon Matthews[399] has referred to it
under the name of tqa-di-tinA', or ta-di-tinA', "the pollen,
especially the pollen of corn."This appears to me to be a very interesting case of a compromise
between the religious ideas of two entirely different systems or
sects.The Navajo, as now known to us, are the offspring of the
original Apache or Tinneh invaders and the refugees from the Rio
Grande and ZuA+-i Pueblos, who fled to the fierce and cruel Apache to
seek safety from the fiercer and more cruel Spanish.The Apache, we have shown, offer up in sacrifice their traditional
food, the pollen of the tule.The ZuA+-i, as we have also shown, offer
up their traditional food, the meal of corn, to which there have since
been added sea shells and other components with a symbolical
significance.The Navajo, the progeny of both, naturally seek to
effect a combination or compromise of the two systems and make use of
the pollen of the corn.Kohl narrates an Ojibwa legend to the effect
that their god Menaboju, returning from the warpath, painted his face
with "pleasant yellow stripes... of the yellow foam that covers the
water in spring," and he adds that this is "probably the yellow pollen
that falls from the pine."He quotes[400] another legend of the magic
red powder for curing diseases once given by the snake spirit of the
waters to an Ojibwa.Godfrey Higgins[401] has this to say of the use of pollen by the
ancients which he recognizes as connected with the principle of
fertility:
[Greek: ArA'ma], the sweet smell, means also a flower, that |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | This was the language of the followers of
the Phasah or the Lamb--it was the language of the Flower, of
the Natzir, of the Flos-floris of Flora, of the Arouma, and
of the flour of Ceres, or the Eucharistia.It was the
language of the pollen, the pollen of plants, the principle
of generation, of the Pole or Phallus.Again he says:
Buddha was a flower, because as flour or pollen he was the
principle of fructification or generation.He was flour
because flour was the fine or valuable part of the plant of
Ceres, or wheat, the pollen which, I am told, in this plant,
and in this plant alone, renews itself when destroyed.When
the flour, pollen, is killed, it grows again several times.This is a very beautiful type or symbol of the resurrection.On this account the flour of wheat was the sacrifice offered
to the [Greek: ChrAªs] or Ceres in the [Greek: Eucharistia].In this pollen we have the name of pall or pallium and of
Pallas, in the first language meaning _wisdom_.... When the
devotee ate the bread he ate the pollen, and thus ate the
body of the God of generation; hence might come
transubstantiation.Lupton,[402] in 1660, describes a "powder of the flowers [pollen?]of
elder, gathered on a midsummer day," which was taken to restore lost
youth.Brand, it may be as well to say, traces back the custom of
throwing flour into the faces of women and others on the streets at
Shrovetide, in Minorca and elsewhere, to the time of the Romans.[403]
In writing the description of the Snake Dance of the Moquis of
Arizona, I ventured to advance the surmise that the corn flour with
which the sacred snakes were covered, and with which the air was
whitened, would be found upon investigation to be closely related to
the crithomancy or divination by grains of the cereals, as practiced
among the ancient Greeks.Crithomancy, strictly speaking, meant a
divination by grains of corn.The expression which I should have
employed was alphitomancy, a divination "by meal, flower, or
branne.John moved to the bedroom."[404] But both methods of divination have been noticed among
the aborigines of America.In Peru the medicine-men were divided into classes, as were those of
ancient Egypt.These medicine-men "made the various means of
divination specialities."Some of them predicted by "the shapes of
grains of maize taken at random."[405] In Guatemala grains of corn or
of chile were used indiscriminately, and in Guazacualco the
medicine-women used grains of frijoles or black beans.In Guatemala
they had what they called "ahquij."Mary moved to the hallway."Este modo de adivinar se llama
ahquij, malol-tzitA", malol-ixim, esto es: el que adivina por el sol,
A cubed por granos de maiz A cubed chile."[406]
In Guazacualco the medicine-women "hechaban suertes con granos de
Frisoles, a manera de Dados, i hacian sus invocaciones, porque eran
Hechiceros: i si el Dado decia bien, proseguian en la cura, diciendo
que sanaria: i si mal, no bolvian al enfermo."[407]
Herrera in the preceding paragraph recognizes the close similarity
between this sacred ceremony of casting lots or divining, and the more
orthodox method of gambling, pure and simple, which has in every case
been derived from a sacred origin."Les Hachus [one class of Peruvian priests] consultaient l'avenir au
moyen de grains de maA-s ou des excrA(C)ments des animaux."[408]
The Mexicans "para saber si los enfermos habian de morir, A cubed sanar de
la enfermedad que tenian, echaban un puA+-ado de maiz lo mas grueso que
podian haber, y lanzAibanlo siete A cubed ocho veces, como lanzan los dados
los que los juegan, y si algun grano quedaba enhiesto, decian que era
seA+-al de muerte."[409]
Father Breboeuf relates that at the Huron feast of the dead, which
occurred every 8 or 10 years and which he saw at Ossossane, "a few
grains of Indian corn were thrown by the women upon the sacred
relics.Sandra moved to the bedroom."[410]
THE DOWN OF BIRDS IN CEREMONIAL OBSERVANCES.No exhaustive and accurate examination of the subject of hoddentin
could be made without bringing the investigator face to face with the
curious analogue of "down" throwing and sprinkling which seemingly
obtains with tribes which at some period of their history have been
compelled to rely upon birds as a main component of their diet.Examples of this are to be met with on both sides of the Pacific as
well as in remote Australia, and were the matter more fully examined
there is no doubt that some other identifications might be made in
very unexpected quarters.The down used by the Tchuktchi on occasions
of ceremony had a suggestion of religion about it.[411] "On leaving
the shore, they sung and danced.One who stood at the head of the boat
was employed in plucking out the feathers of a bird's skin and blowing
them in the air."In Langsdorff's Travels[412] we learn that some of the dancers of the
Koluschan of Sitka have their heads powdered with the small down
feathers of the white-headed eagle and ornamented with ermine; also,
that the hair and bodies of the Indians at the mission of Saint
Joseph, New California, were powdered with down feathers.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.[413]
The Indians from the North Pacific coast seen visiting the mission of
San Francisco, by Kotzebue in 1816, "had their long disordered hair
covered with down."[414]
Bancroft says of the Nootka of the northwest coast of British America:
"the hair is powdered plentifully with white feathers, which are
regarded as the crowning ornament for manly dignity in all these
regions."[415]
The bird's down used by the Haida of British North America in their
dances seems very closely related to hoddentin.They not only put it
upon their own persons, but "delight to communicate it to their
partners in bowing," and also "blow it into the air at regular
intervals through a painted tube."They also scattered down as a sign
of welcome to the first European navigators.[416]
In all these dances, ceremonial visits, and receptions of strangers
the religious element can be discerned more or less plainly.The
Indians west of the Mississippi with whom Father Hennepin was a
prisoner in 1680, and who appear to have been a branch of the Sioux
(Issati or Santee and Nadouessan), had a grand dance to signalize the
killing of a bear.On this occasion, which was participated in by the
"principaux chefs et guerriers," we learn that there was this to be
noted in their dress: "ayant mAªme leurs cheveux frottez d'huile d'ours
& parsemez de plumes, rouges & blanches & les tAªtes chargA(C)es de duvet
d'oiseaux."[417]
"Swan's and bustard's down" was used by the Accancess [i.e., the
Arkansas of the Siouan stock] in their religious ceremonies.[418]
Of the war dress of the members of the Five Nations we learn from an
early writer: "Their heads [previously denuded of all hair except that
of the crown] are painted red down to the eye-brows and sprinkled over
with white down."[419]
The Indians of Virginia at their war dances painted themselves to make
them more terrible: "Pour se rendre plus terriblee, ils sA(C)ment des
plumes, du duvet, ou du poil de quelque bAªte sur la peinture toute
fraiche."[420] Down was also used by the medicine-men of the
Carib.[421] The down of birds was used in much the same way by the
tribes of CumanAi, a district of South America not far from the mouth
of the Orinoco, in the present territory of Venezuela;[422] by the
Tupinambis, of Brazil, who covered the bodies of their victims with
it;[423] by the Chiribchi, of South America,[424] and by the tribes
of the Isthmus of Darien.[425] This down has also been used by some of
the Australians in their sacred dances.[426] "The hair, or rather the
wool upon their heads, was very abundantly powdered with white
powder.... They powder not only their heads, but their beards
too."[427]
In China "there is a widespread superstition that the feathers of
birds, after undergoing certain incantations, are thrown up into the
air, and being carried away by the wind work blight and destruction
wherever they alight."The down of birds seems not to have been unknown in Europe.To this
day it is poured upon the heads of the bride and groom in weddings
among the Russian peasantry.[428]
This leads up to the inquiry whether or not the application of tar and
feathers to the person may not at an early period have been an act of
religious significance, perverted into a ridiculous and infamous
punishment by a conquering and unrelenting hostile sect.The subject
certainly seems to have awakened the curiosity of the learned Buckle,
whose remarks may as well be given.Richard, during his stay in Normandy (1189), made some singular laws
for regulating the conduct of the pilgrims in their passage by sea.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom."A
robber, convicted of theft, shall be shaved in the manner of a
champion; and boiling pitch poured upon his head, and the feathers of
a pillow shaken over his head to distinguish him; and be landed at the
first port where the ships shall stop."[429]
The circumstances mentioned in the text respecting tarring and
feathering is a fine subject for comment by the searchers into popular
antiquities.[430]
HAIR POWDER.Speaking of the "duvet" or down, with which many American savage
tribes deck themselves, Picart observes very justly: "Cet ornement est
bizare, mais dans le fond l'est il beaucoup plus que cette poudre d'or
dont les Anciens, se poudroient la tAªte, ou que cette poudre composA(C)e
d'amidon avec laquelle nos petits maitres modernes affectent de
blanchir leurs cheveux ou leurs perruques?"[431]
Picart does not say, and perhaps it would not be wise for us to
surmise, that these modes of powdering had a religious origin.Sandra moved to the bathroom.The custom of powdering the hair seems to be a savage "survival;" at
least, it is still to be found among the Friendly Islanders, among
whom it was observed by Forster.[432] These islanders used a white
lime powder, also one of blue and another of orange made of turmeric.The Sandwich Islanders plastered their hair over "with a kind of lime
made from burnt shells,"[433] and Dillon speaks of the Friendly
Islanders using lime, as Forster has already informed us.[434] The
Hottentots made a lavish use of the medicinal powder of the buchu,
which they plastered on their heads, threw to their sacred animals,
and used liberally at their funerals.[435] Kolben dispels all doubt by
saying: "These powderings are religious formalities."He also alludes
to the use, in much the same manner, of ashes by the same people.[436]
The use of ashes also occurs among the ZuA+-i, the Apache (at times),
and the Abipone of Paraguay.Ashes are also "thrown in the way of a
whirlwind to appease it."[437]
In the Witches' Sabbath, in Germany, "it was said that the witches
burned a he goat, and divided its ashes among themselves."[438]
In all the above cases, as well as in that of the use of ashes in the
Christian churches, it is possible that the origin of the custom might
be traced back either to a desire to share in the burnt offering or
else in that of preserving some of the incinerated dust of the dead
friend or relative for whom the tribe or clan was in mourning.Ashes
in the Christian church were not confined to Lent alone; they "were
worn four times a year, as in the beginning of Lent."[439]
Tuphramancy or divination by ashes was one of the methods of forecast
in use among the priests of pagan Rome.[440]
In Northumberland the custom prevailed of making bonfires on the hills
on St."They made encroachments, on these occasions, upon
the bonfires of the neighbouring towns, of which they took away some
of the ashes by force: This they called 'carrying off the flower
(probably the flour) of the wake.'[441] Moresin thinks this a vestige
of the ancient Cerealia."The mourning at Iddah, in Guinea, consists in smearing the forehead
"with wood ashes and clay water, which is allowed to dry on.They
likewise powder their hair with wood ashes."[442]
DUST FROM CHURCHES--ITS USE.The last ceremonial powder to be described is dust from the ground, as
among some of the Australians who smear their heads with pipe-clay as
a sign of mourning.[443]
The French writers mention among the ceremonies of the Natchez one in
which the Great Sun "gathered dust, which he threw back over his head,
and turned successively to the four quarters of the world in repeating
the same act of throwing dust."[444]
Mention is made of "an old woman who acted as beadle" of a church, who
"once brought to the bedside of a dying person some of the sweepings
from the floor of the altar, to ease and shorten a very lingering
death."[445]
Altar dust was a very ancient remedy for disease.Frommann says that,
of the four tablets found in a temple of Esculapius, one bore this
inscription: "Lucio affecto lateris dolore; veniret et ex ara tollerit
cinerem et una cum vino comisceret et poneret supra latus; et
convaluit," etc.[446]
It seems then that the mediA|val use of altar dust traces back to the
Roman use of altar ashes.So hard is it to eradicate from the minds of savages ideas which have
become ingrafted upon their nature that we need not be surprised to
read in the Jesuit relations of affairs in Canada (1696-1702) that, at
the Mission of Saint Francis, where the Indians venerated the memory
of a saintly woman of their own race, Catheraine Tagikoo-ita, "pour
guA(C)rir les malades que les rA(C)mA"des ordinaires ne soulagent point, on
avale dans l'eau ou dans un bouillon un peu de la poussiA"re de son
tombeau."A few persons are to be found who endeavor to collect the dust from
the feet of one hundred thousand Brahmins.One way of collecting this
dust is by spreading a cloth before the door of a house where a great
multitude of Brahmins are assembled at a feast, and, as each Brahmin
comes out, he shakes the dust from his feet as he |
kitchen | Where is John? | Many miraculous cures are declared to have been performed upon
persons using this dust.[447]
A widow among the Armenian devil-worshipers is required "to strew dust
on her head and to smear her face with clay."[448]
CLAY-EATING.The eating of clay would appear to have once prevailed all over the
world.In places the custom has degenerated into ceremonial or is to
be found only in myths.The Aztec devotee picked up a pinch of clay
in the temple of Tezcatlipoca and ate it with the greatest
reverence.[449]
Sahagun is quoted by Squier[450] as saying that the Mexicans swore by
the sun and "by our sovereign mother, the Earth," and ate a piece of
earth.But the use of clay by the Mexicans was not merely a matter of
ceremony; clay seems to have been an edible in quite common use.Edible earth was sold openly in the markets of Mexico; "yaun tierra,"
says Gomara in the list of foods given by him.John moved to the bedroom.[451]
The eating of clay was forbidden to Mexican women during pregnancy.Diego Duran describes the ceremonial eating of clay in the temples of
Mexico; "LlegA cubed el dedo al suelo, y cogiendo tierra en A(C)l lo metiA cubed en
la boca; Ai la cual ceremonia llamaban comer tierra santa."[452] And
again he says that in their sacrifices the Mexican nobles ate earth
from the feet of the idols.Mary moved to the hallway."Comian tierra de la que estaba Ai los pies
del Ydolo."[453] But the Mexicans did not limit themselves to a
ceremonial clay-eating alone.Thomas Gage relates that "they ate a
kind of earth, for at one season in the yeer they had nets of mayle,
with the which they raked up a certaine dust that is bred upon the
water of the Lake of Mexico, and that is kneaded together like unto
oas of the sea."[454]
Diego Duran[455] mentions the ceremonial clay-eating at the feast of
Tezcatlipoca agreeing with the note already taken from Kingsborough.There is reference to clay-eating in one of the myths given in the
Popol-Vuh.The Quiche deities Hunahpu and XbalanquA(C), desiring to
overcome the god Cabrakan, fed him upon roasted birds, but they took
care to rub one of the birds with "tizate" and to put white powder
around it.In the departments of Gracias, Comayagua and Choluteca
are many purely Indian towns.The aggregate population, according to an official estimate made in
1905, is 500,136, but a complete and satisfactory census cannot be taken
throughout the country, since the ignorant masses of the people, and
especially the Indians, avoid a census as in some way connected with
military conscription or taxation.The bulk of the Spanish population
exists on the Pacific <DW72> of the continent, while on the Atlantic
declivity the country is uninhabited or but sparsely occupied by Indian
tribes, of which the number is wholly unknown.In 1905 there were fewer
than 11 inhabitants per sq.m., but all the available data tend to show
that the population increases rapidly, owing to the continuous excess of
births over deaths.The first census, taken in 1791, gave the total
population as only 95,500._Chief Towns._--The capital is Tegucigalpa (pop.1905, about 35,000);
other important towns are Jutigalpa (18,000), Comayagua (8000), and the
seaports of Amapala (4000), Trujillo (4000), and Puerto Cortes (2500).The towns of Nacaome, La
Esperanza, Choluteca and Santa Rosa have upwards of 10,000 inhabitants._Communications._--Means of communication are very defective.In 1905
the only railway in the country was that from Puerto Cortes to La
Pimienta, a distance of 57 m. This is a section of the proposed
inter-oceanic railway for which the external debt of the republic was
incurred.For the completion of the line concessions, one after
another, were granted, and expired or were revoked.Other railways are
projected, including one along the Atlantic coast, an extension from
La Pimienta to La Brea on the Pacific, and a line from Tegucigalpa to
the port of San Lorenzo.The capital is connected with other towns by
fairly well made roads, which, however, are not kept in good repair.In the interior generally, all travelling and transport are by mules
and ox-carts over roads which defy description.Honduras joined the Postal Union in 1879, The telegraph service is
conducted by the government and is inefficient.Telephones are in use
in Tegucigalpa and a few of the more important towns._Commerce and Industry._--Although grants of land for mining and
agricultural purposes are readily made by the state to companies and
individual capitalists, the economic development of Honduras has been
a very slow process, impeded as it has been by political disturbances
and in modern times by national bankruptcy, heavy import and export
duties, and the scarcity of both labour and capital.The natural
wealth of the country is great and consists especially in its
vegetable products.Sandra moved to the bedroom.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.The mahogany and cedar of Honduras are
unsurpassed, but reckless destruction of these and of other valuable
cabinet-woods and dye-woods has much reduced the supply available for
export.Rubber-planting, a comparatively modern industry, has proved
successful, and tends to supplement the almost exhausted stock of wild
rubber.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.Of still greater importance are the plantations of bananas,
especially in the northern maritime province of Atlantida, where
coco-nuts are also grown.Coffee, tobacco, sugar, oranges, lemons,
maize and beans are produced in all parts, rice, cocoa, indigo and
wheat over more limited areas.Cattle and pigs are bred extensively;
cattle are exported to Cuba, and dairy-farming is carried on with
success.Sheep-farming is almost an unknown industry.Turtle and fish
are obtained in large quantities off the Atlantic seaboard.In its
mineral resources Honduras ranks first among the states of Central
America.Silver is worked by a British company, gold by an American
company.Gold-washing was practised in a primitive manner even before
the Spanish conquest, and in the 18th century immense quantities of
gold and silver were obtained by the Spaniards from mines near
Tegucigalpa.Opals, platinum, copper, lead, zinc, nickel, antimony,
iron, lignite and coal have been found but the causes already
enumerated have prevented the exploitation of any of these minerals
on a large scale, and the total value of the ores exported was only
L174,800 in 1904 and L239,426 in 1905.The total value of the exports
in a normal year ranges from about L500,000 to L600,000, and that of
the imports from L450,000 to L550,000.Apart from minerals the most
valuable commodity exported is bananas (L209,263 in 1905); coco-nuts,
timber, hides, deer-skins, feathers, coffee, sarsaparilla and rubber
are items of minor importance.Nearly 90% of the exports are shipped
to the United States, which also send to Honduras more than half of
its imports.These chiefly consist of cotton goods, hardware and
provisions.The manufacturing industries of Honduras include the
plaiting of straw hats, cigar-making, brick-making and the
distillation of spirits._Finance._--Owing to the greater variety of its products and the
possession of a metallic currency, Honduras is less affected by
fluctuations of exchange than the neighbouring republics, in which
little except paper money circulates.The monetary unit is the silver
_peso_ or dollar of 100 cents, which weighs 25 grammes,.900 fine, and
is worth about 1s.; the gold dollar is worth about 4s.The
principal coins in circulation arc the 1-cent copper piece, 5, 10, 20,
25 and 50 cents, and 1 peso silver pieces, and 1, 5, 10 and 20 dollar
gold pieces.The metric system of weights and measures, adopted
officially on the 1st of April 1897, has not supplanted the older
Spanish standards in general use.There is only one bank in the
republic, the _Banco de Honduras_, with its head office at
Tegucigalpa.Its bills are legal tender for all debts due to the
state.In July 1909 the foreign debt of Honduras, with arrears of interest,
amounted to L22,470,510, of which more than L17,000,000 were for
arrears of interest.The principal was borrowed between 1867 and 1870,
chiefly for railway construction; but it was mainly devoted to other
purposes and no interest has been paid since 1872.The revenue, derived chiefly from customs
and from the spirit, gunpowder and tobacco monopolies reached an
average of about L265,000 during the five years 1901-1905; the
expenditure in normal years is about L250,000.The principal spending
departments are those of war, finance, public works and education._Constitution and Government._--The constitution of Honduras,
promulgated in 1839 and frequently amended, was to a great extent recast
in 1880.It was again remodelled in 1894, when a new charter was
proclaimed.Sandra moved to the bathroom.This instrument gives the legislative power to a congress of
deputies elected for four years by popular vote, in the ratio of one
member for every 10,000 inhabitants.Congress meets on the 1st of
January and sits for sixty consecutive days.The executive is entrusted
to the president, who is nominated and elected for four years by popular
vote, and is re-eligible for a second but not for a third consecutive
term.He is assisted by a council of ministers representing the
departments of the interior, war, finance, public works, education and
justice.For purposes of local administration the republic is divided
into sixteen departments.The highest judicial power is vested in the
Supreme Court, which consists of five popularly elected judges; there
are also four Courts of Appeal, besides subordinate departmental and
district tribunals.The active army consists of about 500 regular
soldiers and 20,000 militia, recruited by conscription from all
able-bodied males between the ages of twenty and thirty.Service in the
reserve is obligatory for a further period of ten years._Religion and Education._--Roman Catholicism is the creed of a very
large majority of the population; but the constitution grants complete
liberty to all religious communities, and no Church is supported by
public funds or receives any other special privilege.Education is
free, secular and compulsory for children between the ages of seven
and fifteen.There are primary schools in every convenient centre, but
the percentage of illiterates is high, especially among the Indians.The state maintains a central institute and a university at
Tegucigalpa, a school of jurisprudence at Comayagua, and colleges for
secondary education, with special schools for teachers, in each
department.The annual cost of primary education is about L11,000._History._--It was at Cape Honduras that Columbus first landed on the
American continent in 1502, and took possession of the country on behalf
of Spain.The first settlement was made in 1524 by order of Hernando
Cortes, who had heard rumours of rich and populous empires in this
region, and sent his lieutenant Christobal de Olid to found a Spanish
colony.Olid endeavoured to establish an independent principality, and,
in order to resume control of the settlers, Cortes was compelled to
undertake the long and arduous march across the mountains of southern
Mexico and Guatemala.In the spring of 1525 he reached the colony and
founded the city which is now Puerto Cortes.He entrusted the
administration to a new governor, whose successors were to be nominated
by the king, and returned to Mexico in 1526.By 1539, when Honduras was
incorporated in the captaincy-general of Guatemala, the mines of the
province had proved to be the richest as yet discovered in the New World
and several large cities had come into existence.The system under which
Honduras was administered from 1539 to 1821, when it repudiated the
authority of the Spanish crown, the effects of that system, the part
subsequently played by Honduras in the protracted struggle for Central
American unity, and the invasion by William Walker and his
fellow-adventurers (1856-1860), are fully described under CENTRAL
AMERICA.War and revolution had stunted the economic growth of the country and
retarded every attempt at social or political reform; its future was
mortgaged by the assumption of an enormous burden of debt in 1869 and
1870.A renewal of war with Guatemala in 1871, and a revolution three
years later in the interests of the ex-president Medina, brought about
the intervention of the neighbouring states and the provisional
appointment to the presidency of Marco Aurelio Soto, a nominee of
Guatemala.This appointment proved successful and was confirmed by
popular vote in 1877 and 1880, when a new constitution was issued and
the seat of government fixed at Tegucigalpa.Fresh outbreaks of civil
war occurred frequently between 1883 and 1903; the republic was bankrupt
and progress again at a standstill.In 1903 Manuel Bonilla, an able,
popular and experienced general, gained the presidency and seemed likely
to repeat the success of Soto in maintaining order.As his term of
office drew to a close, and his re-election appeared certain, the
supporters of rival candidates and some of his own dissatisfied
adherents intrigued to secure the co-operation of Nicaragua for his
overthrow.Bonilla welcomed the opportunity of consolidating his own
position which a successful war would offer; Jose Santos Zelaya, the
president of Nicaragua, was equally ambitious; and several alleged
violations of territory had embittered popular feeling on both sides.The United States and Mexican governments endeavoured to secure a
peaceful settlement without intervention, but failed.At the outbreak of
hostilities in February 1907 the Hondurian forces were commanded by
Bonilla in person and by General Sotero Barahona his minister of war.One of their chief subordinates was Lee Christmas, an adventurer from
Memphis, Tennessee, who had previously been a locomotive-driver.Honduras received active support from his ally, Salvador, and was
favoured by public opinion throughout Central America.But from the
outset the Nicaraguans proved victorious, largely owing to their
remarkable mobility.Their superior naval force enabled them to capture
Puerto Cortes and La Ceiba, and to threaten other cities on the
Caribbean coast; on land they were aided by a body of Hondurian rebels,
who also established a provisional government.Zelaya captured
Tegucigalpa after severe fighting, and besieged Bonilla in Amapala.The surrender of Amapala on the 11th of April
practically ended the war.Bonilla took refuge on board the United
States cruiser "Chicago."A noteworthy feature of the war was the
attitude of the American naval officers, who landed marines, arranged
the surrender of Amapala, and prevented Nicaragua prolonging
hostilities.Honduras was now evacuated by the Nicaraguans and her
provisional government was recognized by Zelaya.Miguel R. Davila was
president in 1908 and 1909.Daniel went back to the garden.John moved to the kitchen.BIBLIOGRAPHY.--Official documents such as the annual presidential
message and the reports of the ministries are published in Spanish at
Tegucigalpa.Other periodical publications which throw much light on
the movement of trade and politics are the British Foreign Office
reports (London, annual), United States consular reports (Washington,
monthly), bulletins of the Bureau of American Republics (Washington),
and reports of the Council of the Corporation of Foreign Bondholders
(London, annual).For a more comprehensive account of the country and
its history, the works of K. Sapper, E. G. Squier, A. H. Keane and T.
Child, cited under CENTRAL AMERICA, are important.See also E.
Pelletier, _Honduras et ses ports: documents officiels sur le
chemin-de-fer interoceanique_ |
garden | Where is Daniel? | HONE, NATHANIEL (1718-1784), British painter, was the son of a merchant
at Dublin, and without any regular training acquired in his youth much
skill as a portrait-painter.Early in his career he left Dublin for
England and worked first in various provincial towns, but ultimately
settled in London, where he soon made a considerable reputation.His
oil-paintings were decidedly popular, but he gained his chief success by
his miniatures and enamels, which he executed with masterly capacity.He
became a member of the Incorporated Society of Artists and afterwards a
foundation member of the Royal Academy; but he had several disagreements
with his fellow-members of that institution, and on one occasion they
rejected two of his pictures, one of which was regarded as a satire on
Reynolds and the other on Angelica Kauffman.Most of his contributions
to the Academy exhibitions were portraits.The quality of his work
varied greatly, but the merit of his miniatures and enamels entitles him
to a place among the ablest artists of the British school.He executed
also a few mezzotint plates of reasonable importance, and some etchings.His portrait, painted by himself two years before his death, is in the
possession of the Royal Academy.HONE, WILLIAM (1780-1842), English writer and bookseller, was born at
Bath on the 3rd of June 1780.His father brought up his children with
the sectarian narrowness that so frequently produces reaction.Hone
received no systematic education, and was taught to read from the Bible
only.His father having removed to London in 1783, he was in 1790 placed
in an attorney's office.After two and a half years spent in the office
of a solicitor at Chatham he returned to London to become clerk to a
solicitor in Gray's Inn.But he disliked the law, and had already
acquired a taste for free-thought and political agitation.Hone married
in 1800, and started a book and print shop with a circulating Library in
Lambeth Walk.He soon removed to St Martin's Churchyard, where he
brought out his first publication, Shaw's _Gardener_ (1806).It was at
this time that he and his friend, John Bone, tried to realize a plan for
the establishment of popular savings banks, and even had an interview on
the subject with the president of the Board of Trade.Bone joined him next in a bookseller's business; but
Hone's habits were not those of a tradesman, and bankruptcy was the
result.He was in 1811 chosen by the booksellers as auctioneer to the
trade, and had an office in Ivy Lane.Independent investigations carried
on by him into the condition of lunatic asylums led again to business
difficulties and failure, but he took a small lodging in the Old Bailey,
keeping himself and his now large family by contributions to magazines
and reviews.He hired a small shop, or rather box, in Fleet Street but
this was on two separate nights broken into, and valuable books lent for
show were stolen.In 1815 he started the _Traveller_ newspaper, and
endeavoured vainly to exculpate Eliza Fenning, a poor girl, apparently
quite guiltless, who was executed on a charge of poisoning.From
February 1 to October 25, 1817, he published the _Reformer's Register_,
writing in it as the serious critic of the state abuses, which he soon
after attacked in the famous political squibs and parodies, illustrated
by George Cruikshank.In April 1817 three _ex-officio_ informations were
filed against him by the attorney-genera, Sir William Garrow.Three
separate trials took place in the Guildhall before special juries on the
18th, 19th and 20th of December 1817.John moved to the bedroom.Mary moved to the hallway.The first, for publishing Wilkes's
_Catechism of a Ministerial Member_ (1817), was before Mr Justice Abbot
(afterwards Lord Tenterden); the second, for parodying the litany and
libelling the prince regent, and the third, for publishing the
_Sinecurist's Creed_ (1817), a parody on the Athanasian creed, were
before Lord Ellenborough (q.v.).The prosecution took the ground that
the prints were calculated to injure public morals, and to bring the
prayer-book and even religion itself into contempt.But there can be no
doubt that the real motives of the prosecution were political; Hone had
ridiculed the habits and exposed the corruption of the prince regent and
of other persons in power.He went to the root of the matter when he
wished the jury "to understand that, had he been a publisher of
ministerial parodies, he would not then have been defending himself on
the floor of that court."In spite of illness and exhaustion Hone
displayed great courage and ability, speaking on each of the three days
for about seven hours.Although his judges were biassed against him he
was acquitted on each count, and the result was received with
enthusiastic cheers by immense crowds within and without the court.Soon
after the trials a subscription was begun which enabled Hone to get over
the difficulties caused by his prosecution.Among Hone's most successful
political satires were _The Political House that Jack built_ (1819),
_The Queen's Matrimonial Ladder_ (1820), in favour of Queen Caroline,
_The Man in the Moon_ (1820), _The Political Showman_ (1821), all
illustrated by Cruikshank.Many of his squibs are directed against a
certain "Dr Slop," a nickname given by him to Dr (afterwards Sir John)
Stoddart, of _The Times_.Sandra moved to the bedroom.In researches for his defence he had come upon
some curious and at that time little trodden literary ground, and the
results were shown by his publication in 1820 of his _Apocryphal New
Testament_, and in 1823 of his _Ancient Mysteries Explained_.In 1826 he
published the _Every-day Book_, in 1827-1828 the _Table-Book_, and in
1829 the _Year-Book_; all three were collections of curious information
on manners, antiquities and various other subjects.These are the works
by which Hone is best remembered.In preparing them he had the approval
of Southey and the assistance of Charles Lamb, but pecuniarily they were
not successful, and Hone was lodged in King's Bench prison for debt.Friends, however, again came to his assistance, and he was established
in a coffee-house in Gracechurch Street; but this, like most of his
enterprises, ended in failure.Hone's attitude of mind had gradually
changed to that of extreme devoutness, and during the latter years of
his life he frequently preached in Weigh House Chapel, Eastcheap.In
1830 he edited Strutt's _Sports and Pastimes_, and he contributed to the
first number of the _Penny Magazine_.He was also for some years
sub-editor of the _Patriot_.He died at Tottenham on the 6th of November
1842.Sandra travelled to the kitchen._hen_; the root appears in
Skt._cana_, _co_ to sharpen), a variety of finely siliceous stone
employed for whetting or sharpening edge tools, and for abrading steel
and other hard surfaces.Synonyms are honestone, whetstone, oilstone and
sharpening stone.Hones are generally prepared in the form of flat slabs
or small pencils or rods, but some are made with the outline of the
special instrument they are designed to sharpen.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.Their abrading action
is due to the quartz or silica which is always present in predominating
proportion, some kinds consisting of almost pure quartz, while in others
the siliceous element is very intimately mixed with aluminous or
calcareous matter, forming a uniform compact stone, the extremely fine
siliceous particles of which impart a remarkably keen edge to the
instruments for the sharpening of which they are applied.In some cases
the presence of minute garnets or magnetite assists in the cutting
action.Hones are used either dry, with water, or with oil, and
generally the object to be sharpened is drawn with hand pressure
backward and forward over the surface of the hone; but sometimes the
stone is moved over the cutting edge.The coarsest type of stone which can be included among hones is the bat
or scythe stone, a porous fine-grained sandstone used for sharpening
scythes and cutters of mowing machines, and for other like purposes.Next come the ragstones, which consist of quartzose mica-schist, and
give a finer edge than any sandstone.Under the head of oilstones or
hones proper the most famous and best-known qualities are the German
razor hone, the Turkey oilstone, and the Arkansas stone.The German
razor hone, used, as its name implies, chiefly for razors, is obtained
from the slate mountains near Ratisbon, where it forms a yellow vein of
from 1 to 18 in.It is sawn into thin slabs, and
these are cemented to slabs of slate which serve as a support.Turkey
oilstone is a close-grained bluish stone containing from 70 to 75% of
silica in a state of very fine division, intimately blended with about
20 to 25% of calcite.It is obtained only in small pieces, frequently
flawed and not tough, so that the slabs must have a backing of slate or
wood.It is one of the most valuable of all whetstones, abrading the
hardest steel, and possessing sufficient compactness to resist the
pressure required for sharpening gravers.The stone comes from the
interior of Asia Minor, whence it is carried to Smyrna.Of Arkansas
stones there are two varieties, both found in the same district, Garland
and Saline counties, Arkansas, United States.The finer kind, known as
Arkansas hone, is obtained in small pieces at the Hot Springs, and the
second quality, distinguished as Washita stone, comes from Washita or
Ouachita river.The hones yield on analysis 98% of silica, with small
proportions of alumina, potash and soda, and mere traces of iron, lime,
magnesia and fluorine.They are white in colour, extremely hard and keen
in grit, and not easily worn down or broken.Geologically the materials
are called novaculites, and are supposed to be metamorphosed sandstone
silt, chert or limestone resulting from the permeation through the mass
of heated alkaline siliceous waters.The finer kind is employed for fine
cutting instruments, and also for polishing steel pivots of watch-wheels
and similar minute work, the second and coarser quality being used for
common tools.Both varieties are largely exported from the United States
in the form of blocks, slips, pencils, rods and wheels.Sandra moved to the bathroom.Other honestones
are obtained in the United States from New York, New Hampshire, Vermont,
Ohio (Deerlick stone) and Indiana (Hindostan or Orange stone).Among
hones of less importance in general use may be noted the Charley Forest
stone--or Whittle Hill honestone--a good substitute for Turkey oilstone;
Water of Ayr stone, Scotch stone, or snake stone, a pale grey
carboniferous shale hardened by igneous action, used for tools and for
polishing marble and copper-plates; Idwal or Welsh oilstone, used for
small articles; and cutlers' greenstone from Snowdon, very hard and
close in texture, used for giving the last edge to lancets._madhu_, mead, honey; cf._medo_, _medu_,
mead; Gr.[Greek: meli], in which [theta] or [delta] is changed into
[lambda]; Lat._Honig_),[1] a
sweet viscid liquid, obtained by bees (see BEE, _Bee-keeping_) chiefly
from the nectaries of flowers, i.e.Daniel went back to the garden.those parts of flowers specially
constructed for the elaboration of honey, and, after transportation to
the hive in the proventriculus or crop of the insects, discharged by
them into the cells prepared for its reception.John moved to the kitchen.Whether the nectar
undergoes any alteration within the crop of the bee is a point on which
authors have differed._Myrapetra scutellaris_[2] and
the genus _Nectarina_, collect honey.A honey-like fluid, which consists
of a nearly pure solution of uncrystallizable sugar having the formula
C6H14O7 after drying in vacuo, and which is used by the Mexicans in the
preparation of a beverage, is yielded by certain inactive individuals of
_Myrmecocystus mexicanus_, Wesmael, the honey-ants or pouched ants
(_hormigas mieleras_ or _mochileras_) of Mexico.[3] The abdomen in these
insects, owing to the distensibility of the membrane connecting its
segments, becomes converted into a globular thin-walled sac by the
accumulation within it of the nectar supplied to them by their working
comrades (Wesmael, _Bull.H. C. M'Cook, who discovered the insect in the Garden of the
Gods, Colorado, the honey-bearers were found hanging by their feet, in
groups of about thirty, to the roofs of special chambers in their
underground nests, their large globular abdomens causing them to
resemble "bunches of small Delaware grapes" (_Proc.A bladder-like formation on the metathorax of
another ant, _Crematogaster inflatus_ (F. Smith, _Cat.of Hymenoptera_,
pt.1), which has a small circular
orifice at each posterior lateral angle, appears to possess a function
similar to that of the abdomen in the honey-ant.It is a popular saying that where is the best honey there also is the
best wool; and a pastoral district, since it affords a greater profusion
of flowers, is superior for the production of honey to one under
tillage.[4] Dry warm weather is that most favourable to the secretion of
nectar by flowers.This they protect from rain by various internal
structures, such as papillae, cushions of hairs and spurs, or by virtue
of their position (in the raspberry, drooping), or the arrangement of
their constituent parts.Dr A. W. Bennett (_How Flowers are Fertilized_,
p.31, 1873) has remarked that the perfume of flowers is generally
derived from their nectar; the blossoms of some plants, however, as ivy
and holly, though almost scentless, are highly nectariferous.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.The
exudation of a honey-like or saccharine fluid, as has frequently been
attested, is not a function exclusively of the flowers in all plants.A
sweet material, the manna of pharmacy, e.g.is produced by the leaves
and stems of a species of ash, _Fraxinus Ornus_; and honey-secreting
glands are to be met with on the leaves, petioles, phyllodes, stipules
(as in _Vicia sativa_), or bracteae (as in the _Maregraviaceae_) of a
considerable number of different vegetable forms.The origin of the
honey-yielding properties manifested specially by flowers among the
several parts of plants has been carefully considered by Darwin, who
regards the saccharine matter in nectar as a waste product of chemical
changes in the sap, which, when it happened to be excreted within the
envelopes of flowers, was utilized for the important object of
cross-fertilization, and subsequently was much increased in quantity,
and stored in various ways (see _Cross and Self Fertilization of
Plants_, pp.It has been noted with respect to the
nectar of the fuchsia that it is most abundant when the anthers are
about to dehisce, and absent in the unexpanded flower.Pettigrew is of opinion that few bees go more than 2 m. from home in
search of honey.Daniel journeyed to the garden.The number of blossoms visited in order to meet the
requirements of a single hive of bees must be very great; for it has
been found by A. S. Wilson ("On the Nectar of Flowers," _Brit.567) that 125 heads of common red clover, which is |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | Among the richer
sources of honey are reckoned the apple, asparagus, asters, barberry,
basswood (_Tilia americana_), and the European lime or linden (_T.europaea_), beans, bonesets (_Eupatorium_), borage, broom, buckwheat,
catnip, or catmint (_Nepeta Cataria_), cherry, cleome, clover, cotton,
crocus, currant, dandelion, eucalyptus, figwort (_Scrophularia_),
furze, golden-rod (_Solidago_), gooseberry, hawthorn, heather,
hepatica, horehound, hyacinth, lucerne, maple, mignonette, mint,
motherwort (_Leonurus_), mustard, onion, peach, pear, poplar, quince,
rape, raspberry, sage, silver maple, snapdragon, sour-wood
(_Oxydendron arboreum_, D.C.), strawberry, sycamore, teasel, thyme,
tulip-tree (more especially rich in pollen), turnip, violet and
willows, and the "honey-dew" of the leaves of the whitethorn (Bonner),
oak, linden, beech and some other trees.Honey contains dextroglucose and laevoglucose (the former practically
insoluble, the latter soluble in 1/8 pt.of cold strong alcohol),
cane-sugar (according to some), mucilage, water, wax, essential oil,
colouring bodies, a minute quantity of mineral matter and pollen.By a
species of fermentation, the cane-sugar is said to be gradually
transformed into inverted sugar (laevoglucose with dextroglucose).The
pollen, as a source of nitrogen, is of importance to the bees feeding on
the honey.It may be obtained for examination as a sediment from a
mixture of honey and water.Other substances which have been discovered
in honey are mannite (Guibourt), a free acid which precipitates the
salts of silver and of lead, and is soluble in water and alcohol
(Calloux), and an uncrystallizable sugar, nearly related to inverted
sugar (Soubeiran, _Compt.Brittany honey
contains couvain, a ferment which determines its active decomposition
(Wurtz, _Dict.In the honey of _Polybia
apicipennis_, a wasp of tropical America, cane-sugar occurs in crystals
of large size (Karsten, _Pogg.Dr J. Campbell Brown ("On
the Composition of Honey," _Analyst_ iii.267, 1878) is doubtful as to
the presence of cane-sugar in any one of nine samples, from various
sources, examined by him.The following average percentage numbers are
afforded by his analyses: laevulose, 36.45; dextrose, 36.57; mineral
matter,.15; water expelled at 100 deg.C., 18.5, and at a much higher
temperature, with loss, 7.81: the wax, pollen and insoluble matter vary
from a trace to 2.1%.The specific gravity of honey is about 1.41.The
rotation of a polarized ray by a solution of 16.26 grammes of crude
honey in 100 c.c.of water is generally from -3.2 deg.F.; in the case of Greek honey it is nearly -5.5 deg.Almost all
pure honey, when exposed for some time to light and cold, becomes more
or less granular in consistency.Any liquid portion can be readily
separated by straining through linen.Honey sold out of the comb is
commonly clarified by heating and skimmimg; but according to Bonner it
is always best in its natural state.The _mel depuratum_ of British
pharmacy is prepared by heating honey in a water-bath, and straining
through flannel previously moistened with warm water.The term "virgin-honey" (A.-S., _hunigtear_) is applied to the honey of
young bees which have never swarmed, or to that which flows
spontaneously from honeycomb with or without the application of heat.The honey obtained from old hives, considered inferior to it in quality,
is ordinarily darker, thicker and less pleasant in taste and odour.The
yield of honey is less in proportion to weight in old than in young or
virgin combs.The far-famed honey of Narbonne is white, very granular
and highly aromatic; and still finer honey is that procured from the
Corbieres Mountains, 6 to 9 m. to the south-west.The honey of Gatinais
is usually white, and is less odorous and granulates less readily than
that of Narbonne.Honey from white clover has a greenish-white, and that
from heather a rich golden-yellow hue.What is made from honey-dew is
dark in colour, and disagreeable to the palate, and does not candy like
good honey."We have seen aphide honey from sycamores," says F. Cheshire
(_Pract.74), "as deep in tone as walnut liquor, and
where much of it is stored the value of the whole crop is practically
nil."The honey of the stingless bees (_Meliponia_ and _Trigona_) of
Brazil varies greatly in quality according to the species of flowers
from which it is collected, some kinds being black and sour, and others
excellent (F. Smith, _Trans.Soc._, 3d ser., i. pt.That of _Apis Peronii_, of India and Timor, is yellow, and of very
agreeable flavour and is more liquid than the British sorts.unicolor_, a bee indigenous to Madagascar, and naturalized in Mauritius
and the island of Reunion, furnishes a thick and syrupy, peculiarly
scented green honey, highly esteemed in Western India.Mary went to the kitchen.A rose-
honey is stated (_Gard.1698) to have been procured by
artificial feeding.The fine aroma of Maltese honey is due to its
collection from orange blossoms.Narbonne honey being harvested chiefly
from Labiate plants, as rosemary, an imitation of it is sometimes
prepared by flavouring ordinary honey with infusion of rosemary flowers.Adulterations of honey are starch, detectable by the microscope, and
by its blue reaction with iodine, also wheaten flour, gelatin, chalk,
gypsum, pipe-clay, added water, cane-sugar and common syrup, and the
different varieties of manufactured glucose.Honey sophisticated with
glucose containing copperas as an impurity is turned of an inky colour
by liquids containing tannin, as tea.Elm leaves have been used in
America for the flavouring of imitation honey.Stone jars should be
employed in preference to common earthenware for the storage of honey,
which acts upon the lead glaze of the latter.Some few kinds are poisonous, as
frequently the reddish honey stored by the Brazilian wasp _Nectarina_
(_Polistes_, Latr.[5]) _Lecheguana_, Shuck., the effects of which have
been vividly described by Aug.de Saint-Hilaire,[6] the spring honey of
the wild bees of East Nepaul, said to be rendered noxious by collection
from rhododendron flowers (Hooker, _Himalayan Journals_, i.1855), and the honey of Trebizond, which from its source, the blossoms,
it is stated, of _Azalea pontica_ and _Rhododendron ponticum_ (perhaps
to be identified with Pliny's _Aegolethron_), acquires the qualities of
an irritant and intoxicant narcotic, as described by Xenophon (_Anab._
iv.45) describes as noxious a
livid- honey found in Persia and Gaetulia.Honey obtained from
_Kalmia latifolia_, L., the calico bush, mountain laurel or spoon-wood
of the northern United States, and allied species, is reputed
deleterious; also that of the sour-wood is by some good authorities
considered to possess undeniable griping properties; and G. Bidie
(_Madras Quart.Sci._, Oct, 1861, p.399) mentions
urtication, headache, extreme prostration and nausea, and intense thirst
among the symptoms produced by a small quantity only of a honey from
Coorg jungle.A South African species of _Euphorbia_, as was experienced
by the missionary Moffat (_Miss.32, 1849), yields a poisonous
honey.The nectar of certain flowers is asserted to cause even in bees a
fatal kind of vertigo.As a demulcent and flavouring agent, honey is
employed in the _oxymel_, _oxymel scillae_, _mel boracis_, _confectio
piperis_, _conf.A pleasant-faced woman of middle age and pretty girl of twenty rose at
their entrance, and a faint scream fell pleasantly upon the ears of Mr."Here he is," bawled Mr.Smith; "just saved at the last moment."exclaimed Miss Smith, with a faint note of
gratification in her voice.Her gaze fell on the mate, and she smiled
approvingly."No; this one jumped in and saved 'im," said her father.I never
dreamt you'd go and do such a thing--never!I didn't think you'd got it
in you.""I told you I would," he muttered."Don't stand talking here," said Mrs.Smith, gazing at the puddle which
was growing in the centre of the carpet; "they'll catch cold.Take 'em
upstairs and give 'em some dry clothes.And I'll bring some hot whisky
and water up to 'em."Smith, herding his charges and driving them up
the small staircase.They disappeared upstairs, and Joe appearing at that moment from the
kitchen, was hastily sent off to the "Blue Jay" for the rum.A couple of
curious neighbors helped him to carry it back, and, standing modestly
just inside the door, ventured on a few skilled directions as to its
preparation.After which, with an eye on Miss Smith, they stood and
conversed, mostly in head-shakes.Stimulated by the rum and the energetic Mr.Smith, the men were not long
in changing.Preceded by their host, they came down to the sitting-room
again; Mr.Heard with as desperate and unrepentant an air as he could
assume, and Mr.Dix trying to conceal his uneasiness by taking great
interest in a suit of clothes three sizes too large for him."They was both as near drownded as could be," said Mr.Smith, looking
round; "he ses Arthur fought like a madman to prevent 'imself from being
saved.""It was nothing, really," said the mate, in an almost inaudible voice,
as he met Miss Smith's admiring gaze."Listen to 'im," said the delighted Mr.Smith; "all brave men are like
that.That's wot's made us Englishmen wot we are.""I don't suppose he knew who it was he was saving," said a voice from
the door."I didn't want to be saved," said Mr."Well, you can easy do it again, Arthur," said the same voice; "the dock
won't run away."Heard started and eyed the speaker with same malevolence."Tell us all about it," said Miss Smith, gazing at the mate, with her
hands clasped.Dix shook his head and looked at Mr."N--not
exactly," he stammered; "I was just taking a stroll round the harbor
before turning in, when all of a sudden I heard a cry for help--"
"No you didn't," broke in Mr."Well, it sounded like it," said the mate, somewhat taken aback."I don't care what it sounded like," said the other.It was the last thing I should 'ave called out.I didn't want to be
saved.""P'r'aps he cried 'Emma,'" said the voice from the door."Might ha' been that," admitted the mate."Well, when I heard it I ran
to the edge and looked down at the water, and at first I couldn't see
anything.Then I saw what I took to be a dog, but, knowing that dogs
can't cry 'help!'--"
"Emma," corrected Mr.John went back to the bedroom."Emma," said the mate, "I just put my hands up and dived in.When I came
to the surface I struck out for him and tried to seize him from behind,
but before I could do so he put his arms round my neck like--like--"
"Like as if it was Emma's," suggested the voice by the door.Miss Smith rose with majestic dignity and confronted the speaker."And
who asked you in here, George Harris?""I see the door open," stammered Mr.Harris--"I see the door open and I
thought--"
"If you look again you'll see the handle," said Miss Smith.Harris looked, and, opening the door with extreme care, melted
slowly from a gaze too terrible for human endurance."We went down like a stone," continued the mate, as Miss Smith resumed
her seat and smiled at him."When we came up he tried to get away again.I think we went down again a few more times, but I ain't sure.Then we
crawled out; leastways I did, and pulled him after me.""He might have drowned you," said Miss Smith, with a severe glance at
her unfortunate admirer."And it's my belief that he tumbled in after
all, and when you thought he was struggling to get away he was
struggling to be saved."Well, they're all right now," said Mr.Heard broke in
with some vehemence."And this chap's going to 'ave the Royal Society's
medal for it, or I'll know the reason why.""No, no," said the mate, hurriedly; "I wouldn't take it, I couldn't
think of it.""Take it or leave it," said Mr.Smith; "but I'm going to the police to
try and get it for you."I can't take it," said the horrified mate; "it--it--besides, don't you
see, if this isn't kept quiet Mr.Heard will be locked up for trying to
commit suicide.""So he would be," said the other man from his post by the door; "he's
quite right.""And I'd sooner lose fifty medals," said Mr."What's the good of me
saving him for that?"A murmur of admiration at the mate's extraordinary nobility of character
jarred harshly on the ears of Mr.Most persistent of all was the
voice of Miss Smith, and hardly able to endure things quietly, he sat
and watched the tender glances which passed between her and Mr.Miss Smith, conscious at last of his regards, turned and looked at him."You could say you tumbled in, Arthur, and then he would get the medal,"
she said, softly."Say I tum--"
Words failed him.He stood swaying and regarding the company for a
moment, and then, flinging open the door, closed it behind him with a
bang that made the house tremble.The mate followed half an hour later, escorted to the ship by the entire
Smith family.Fortified by the presence of Miss Smith, he pointed out
the exact scene of the rescue without a tremor, and, when her father
narrated the affair to the skipper, whom they found sitting on deck
smoking a last pipe, listened undismayed to that astonished mariner's
comments.News of the mate's heroic conduct became general the next day, and work
on the ketch was somewhat impeded in consequence.It became a point of
honor with Mr.Heard's fellow-townsmen to allude to the affair as an
accident, but the romantic nature of the transaction was well
understood, and full credit given to Mr.Dix for his self-denial in the
matter of the medal.Small boys followed him in the street, and half
Pebblesea knew when he paid a visit to the Smith's, and discussed his
chances.Two nights afterwards, when he and Miss Smith went for a walk
in the loneliest spot they could find, conversation turned almost
entirely upon the over-crowded condition of the British Isles.The Starfish was away for three weeks, but the |
bedroom | Where is John? | Emma Smith was waiting to see the ship
come in, and his taste for all other amusements had temporarily
disappeared.For two or three days the course of true love ran perfectly smooth;
then, like a dark shadow, the figure of Arthur Heard was thrown across
its path.It haunted the quay, hung about the house, and cropped up
unexpectedly in the most distant solitudes.It came up behind the mate
one evening just as he left the ship and walked beside him in silence."Halloa," said the mate, at last."I'm going to see Miss Smith," said the mate.Heard laughed; a forced, mirthless laugh."And we don't want you following us about," said Mr."If
it'll ease your mind, and do you any good to know, you never had a
chance She told me so.""I sha'n't follow you," said Mr.Heard; "it's your last evening, so
you'd better make the most of it."He turned on his heel, and the mate, pondering on his last words, went
thoughtfully on to the house.Amid the distraction of pleasant society and a long walk, the matter
passed from his mind, and he only remembered it at nine o'clock that
evening as a knock sounded on the door and the sallow face of Mr."Good-evening all," said the intruder.Heard with a melancholy countenance entered the room and closed the
door gently behind him.Then he coughed slightly and shook his head.Smith, somewhat disturbed by
these, manifestations."I've got something on my mind," said Mr.Heard, with a diabolical
glance at the mate--"something wot's been worrying me for a long time."That was always your failing, Arthur--deceit-fulness," said Mrs."I remember--"
"We've both been deceiving you," interrupted Mr."I
didn't jump into the harbor the other night, and I didn't tumble in, and
Mr.Fred Dix didn't jump in after me; we just went to the end of the
harbor and walked in and wetted ourselves."There was a moment's intense silence and all eyes turned on the mate."It's a habit o' mine to walk into the water and spoil my clothes for
the sake of people I've never met before," he said, with a laugh."Arthur's been asleep since then," said the mate, still smiling."All
the same, the next time he jumps in he can get out by himself."Heard, raising his voice, entered into a minute description of the
affair, but in vain.Smith, rising to his feet, denounced his
ingratitude in language which was seldom allowed to pass unchallenged in
the presence of his wife, while that lady contributed examples of
deceitfulness in the past of Mr.Heard, which he strove in vain to
refute, Meanwhile, her daughter patted the mate's hand."It's a bit too thin, Arthur," said the latter, with a mocking smile;
"try something better next time."Heard, in quieter tones; "I dare you to come along
to the harbor and jump in, just as you are, where you said you jumped in
after me.They'll soon see who's telling the truth."Dix hesitated, then, with a steady glance
at Miss Smith, he sprang to his feet and accepted the challenge.Smith besought him not to be foolish, and, with a vague idea of
dissuading him, told him a slanderous anecdote concerning Mr.Her daughter gazed at the mate with proud confidence, and, taking
his arm, bade her mother to get some dry clothes ready and led the way
to the harbor.The night was fine but dark, and a chill breeze blew up from the sea.Twice the hapless mate thought of backing out, but a glance at Miss
Smith's profile and the tender pressure of her arm deterred him.Mary went to the kitchen.The
tide was running out and he had a faint hope that he might keep afloat
long enough to be washed ashore alive.He talked rapidly, and his laugh
rang across the water.Arrived at the spot they stopped, and Miss Smith
looking down into the darkness was unable to repress a shiver."Be careful, Fred," she said, laying her hand upon his arm."All right," he said, gayly, "I'll be out
almost before I'm in.You run back to the house and help your mother get
the dry clothes ready for me."His tones were so confident, and his laugh so buoyant, that Mr.Heard,
who had been fully expecting him to withdraw from the affair, began to
feel that he had under-rated his swimming powers."Just jumping in and
swimming out again is not quite the same as saving a drownding man," he
said, with a sneer.In a flash the mate saw a chance of escape."Why, there's no satisfying you," he said, slowly."If I do go in I can
see that you won't own up that you've been lying.""He'll 'ave to," said Mr.Smith, who, having made up his mind for a
little excitement, was in no mind to lose it."I don't believe he would," said the mate.he said,
suddenly, as he laid an affectionate arm on the old man's shoulder."I'll save you," said the mate, with a smile of great relief.Smith, as his daughter uttered a faint
cry."Just as I saved him," said the other, nodding."You jump in, and after
you've sunk twice--same as he did--I'll dive in and save you.At any
rate I'll do my best; I promise you I won't come ashore without you."Smith hastily flung off the encircling arm and retired a few paces
inland."'Ave you--ever been--in a lunatic asylum at any time?"he
inquired, as soon as he could speak."No," said the mate, gravely.Smith; "and, what's more, I'm not going."John went back to the bedroom.He took a deep breath and stood simmering.Miss Smith came forward and,
with a smothered giggle, took the mate's arm and squeezed it."It'll have to be Arthur again, then," said the latter, in a resigned
voice."After what you said just
now I'm not going in without saving somebody."He couldn't speak fairer than that, Arthur," said Mr.Smith,
dispassionately, as he came forward again."But I tell you he can't swim," protested Mr.. Heard, "not properly.He
didn't swim last time; I told you so.""Never mind; we know what you said," retorted the mate."All you've got
to do is to jump in and I'll follow and save you--same as I did the
other night.""I tell you he can't swim," repeated Mr."I should
be drownded before your eyes.""I should be drownded, I tell you," said Mr."He wouldn't come in
after me."Smith, passing a muscular arm round the mate's
waist; "'cos the moment you're overboard I'll drop 'im in.He stood embracing the mate and waiting, but Mr.Heard, with an
infuriated exclamation, walked away.A parting glance showed him that
the old man had released the mate, and that the latter was now embracing
Miss Smith.IN THE FAMILY
THE oldest inhabitant of Claybury sat beneath the sign of the
"Cauliflower" and gazed with affectionate, but dim, old eyes in the
direction of the village street."No; Claybury men ain't never been much of ones for emigrating," he
said, turning to the youthful traveller who was resting in the shade
with a mug of ale and a cigarette."They know they'd 'ave to go a long
way afore they'd find a place as 'ud come up to this."He finished the tablespoonful of beer in his mug and sat for so long
with his head back and the inverted vessel on his face that the
traveller, who at first thought it was the beginning of a conjuring
trick, furiously, and asked permission to refill it.Now and then a Claybury man has gone to foreign parts, said the old man,
drinking from the replenished mug, and placing it where the traveller
could mark progress without undue strain; but they've, gen'rally
speaking, come back and wished as they'd never gone.The on'y man as I ever heard of that made his fortune by emigrating was
Henery Walker's great-uncle, Josiah Walker by name, and he wasn't a
Claybury man at all.He made his fortune out o' sheep in Australey, and
he was so rich and well-to-do that he could never find time to answer
the letters that Henery Walker used to send him when he was hard up.Henery Walker used to hear of 'im through a relation of his up in
London, and tell us all about 'im and his money up at this here
"Cauliflower" public-house.And he used to sit and drink his beer and
wonder who would 'ave the old man's money arter he was dead.When the relation in London died Henery Walker left off hearing about
his uncle, and he got so worried over thinking that the old man might
die and leave his money to strangers that he got quite thin.He talked
of emigrating to Australey 'imself, and then, acting on the advice of
Bill Chambers--who said it was a cheaper thing to do--he wrote to his
uncle instead, and, arter reminding 'im that 'e was an old man living in
a strange country, 'e asked 'im to come to Claybury and make his 'ome
with 'is loving grand-nephew.It was a good letter, because more than one gave 'im a hand with it, and
there was little bits o' Scripture in it to make it more solemn-like.It
was wrote on pink paper with pie-crust edges and put in a green
envelope, and Bill Chambers said a man must 'ave a 'art of stone if that
didn't touch it.Four months arterwards Henery Walker got an answer to 'is letter from
'is great-uncle.It was a nice letter, and, arter thanking Henery Walker
for all his kindness, 'is uncle said that he was getting an old man, and
p'r'aps he should come and lay 'is bones in England arter all, and if he
did 'e should certainly come and see his grand-nephew, Henery Walker.Most of us thought Henery Walker's fortune was as good as made, but Bob
Pretty, a nasty, low poaching chap that has done wot he could to give
Claybury a bad name, turned up his nose at it."I'll believe he's coming 'ome when I see him," he ses."It's my belief
he went to Australey to get out o' your way, Henery.""As it 'appened he went there afore I was born," ses Henery Walker,
firing up."He knew your father," ses Bob Pretty, "and he didn't want to take no
risks."They 'ad words then, and arter that every time Bob Pretty met 'im he
asked arter his great-uncle's 'ealth, and used to pretend to think 'e
was living with 'im."You ought to get the old gentleman out a bit more, Henery," he would
say; "it can't be good for 'im to be shut up in the 'ouse so
much--especially your 'ouse."Henery Walker used to get that riled he didn't know wot to do with
'imself, and as time went on, and he began to be afraid that 'is uncle
never would come back to England, he used to get quite nasty if anybody
on'y so much as used the word "uncle" in 'is company.Mary went back to the bathroom.It was over six months since he 'ad had the letter from 'is uncle, and
'e was up here at the "Cauliflower" with some more of us one night, when
Dicky Weed, the tailor, turns to Bob Pretty and he ses, "Who's the old
gentleman that's staying with you, Bob?"Bob Pretty puts down 'is beer very careful and turns round on 'im."I mean the little old gentleman with white whiskers and a squeaky
voice," ses Dicky Weed."You've been dreaming," ses Bob, taking up 'is beer ag'in."I see 'im too, Bob," ses Bill Chambers.ses Bob Pretty, putting down 'is mug with a
bang."And wot d'ye mean by coming spying round my place, eh?Mary moved to the hallway.Wot d'ye
mean by it?"ses Bill Chambers, gaping at 'im with 'is mouth open; "I
wasn't spying.Anyone 'ud think you 'ad done something you was ashamed
of.""You mind your business and I'll mind mine," ses Bob, very fierce."I was passing the 'ouse," ses Bill Chambers, looking round at us, "and
I see an old man's face at the bedroom winder, and while I was wondering
who 'e was a hand come and drawed 'im away.I see 'im as plain as ever I
see anything in my life, and the hand, too."And he's got a cough," ses Dicky Weed--"a churchyard cough--I 'eard
it.""It ain't much you don't hear, Dicky," ses Bob Pretty, turning on 'im;
"the on'y thing you never did 'ear, and never will 'ear, is any good of
yourself."He kicked over a chair wot was in 'is way and went off in such a temper
as we'd never seen 'im in afore, and, wot was more surprising still, but
I know it's true, 'cos I drunk it up myself, he'd left over arf a pint
o' beer in 'is mug."He's up to something," ses Sam Jones, starting arter him; "mark my
words."We couldn't make head nor tail out of it, but for some days arterward
you'd ha' thought that Bob Pretty's 'ouse was a peep-show.Everybody
stared at the winders as they went by, and the children played in front
of the 'ouse and stared in all day long.Then the old gentleman was seen
one day as bold as brass sitting at the winder, and we heard that it was
a pore old tramp Bob Pretty 'ad met on the road and given a home to, and
he didn't like 'is good-'artedness to be known for fear he should be
made fun of.Nobody believed that, o' course, and things got more puzzling than ever.Once or twice the old gentleman went out for a walk, but Bob Pretty or
'is missis was always with 'im, and if anybody tried to speak to him
they always said 'e was deaf and took 'im off as fast as they could.Then one night up at the "Cauliflower" here Dicky Weed came rushing in
with a bit o' news that took everybody's breath away."I've just come from the post-office," he ses, "and there's a letter for
Bob Pretty's old gentleman!Wot d'ye think o' that?""If you could tell us wot's inside it you might 'ave something to brag
about," ses Henery Walker."I don't want to see the inside," ses Dicky Weed; "the name on the
outside was good enough for me.I couldn't hardly believe my own eyes,
but there it was: 'Mr.Josiah Walker,' as plain as the nose on your
face."O' course, we see it all then, and wondered why we hadn't thought of it
afore; and we stood quiet listening to the things that Henery Walker
said about a man that would go and steal another man's great-uncle from
'im.Three times Smith, the landlord, said, "Hush!"and the fourth time
he put Henery Walker outside and told 'im to stay there till he 'ad lost
his voice.Henery Walker stayed outside five minutes, and then 'e come back in
ag'in to ask for advice.His idea seemed to be that, as the old
gentleman was deaf, Bob Pretty was passing 'isself off as Henery Walker,
and the disgrace was a'most more than 'e could bear.He began to get
excited ag'in, and Smith 'ad just said "Hush!"once more when we 'eard
somebody whistling outside, and in come Bob Pretty.He 'ad hardly got 'is face in at the door afore Henery Walker started on
'im, and Bob Pretty stood there |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | "'Ave you gone mad, Henery?""Give me back my great-uncle," ses Henery Walker, at the top of 'is
voice."I haven't got your great-uncle,
Henery," he ses, very gentle."I know the name is the same, but wot of
it?There's more than one Josiah Walker in the world.This one is no
relation to you at all; he's a very respectable old gentleman.""I'll go and ask 'im," ses Henery Walker, getting up, "and I'll tell 'im
wot sort o' man you are, Bob Pretty.""He's gone to bed now, Henery," ses Bob Pretty."I'll come in the fust thing to-morrow morning, then," ses Henery
Walker."Not in my 'ouse, Henery," ses Bob Pretty; "not arter the things you've
been sayin' about me.I'm a pore man, but I've got my pride.Mary went to the kitchen.Besides, I
tell you he ain't your uncle.He's a pore old man I'm giving a 'ome to,
and I won't 'ave 'im worried.""'Ow much does 'e pay you a week, Bob?"John went back to the bedroom."Where did your wife get the money to buy that bonnet she 'ad on on
Sunday?""My wife ses it's the fust new bonnet she
has 'ad since she was married.""And where did the new winder curtains come from?"Bob Pretty drank up 'is beer and stood looking at them very thoughtful;
then he opened the door and went out without saying a word."He's got your great-uncle a prisoner in his 'ouse, Henery," ses Bill
Chambers; "it's easy for to see that the pore old gentleman is getting
past things, and I shouldn't wonder if Bob Pretty don't make 'im leave
all 'is money to 'im."Mary went back to the bathroom.Henery Walker started raving ag'in, and for the next few days he tried
his 'ardest to get a few words with 'is great-uncle, but Bob Pretty was
too much for 'im.Everybody in Claybury said wot a shame it was, but it
was all no good, and Henery Walker used to leave 'is work and stand
outside Bob Pretty's for hours at a time in the 'opes of getting a word
with the old man.He got 'is chance at last, in quite a unexpected way.We was up 'ere at
the "Cauliflower" one evening, and, as it 'appened, we was talking about
Henery Walker's great-uncle, when the door opened, and who should walk
in but the old gentleman 'imself.Everybody left off talking and stared
at 'im, but he walked up to the bar and ordered a glass o' gin and beer
as comfortable as you please.Bill Chambers was the fust to get 'is presence of mind back, and he set
off arter Henery Walker as fast as 'is legs could carry 'im, and in a
wunnerful short time, considering, he came back with' Henery, both of
'em puffing and blowing their 'ardest.ses Bill Chambers, pointing to the old gentleman.Henery Walker gave one look, and then 'e slipped over to the old man and
stood all of a tremble, smiling at 'im."Good-evening," he ses."I'm a bit deaf," ses the old gentleman, putting his 'and to his ear.ses Henery Walker ag'in, shouting."I'm your
grand-nephew, Henery Walker!"ses the old gentleman, not at all surprised."Bob Pretty
was telling me all about you.""I 'ope you didn't listen to 'im," ses Henery, Walker, all of a tremble."Bob Pretty'd say anything except his prayers.""He ses you're arter my money," ses the old gentleman, looking at 'im."He's a liar, then," ses Henery Walker; "he's arter it 'imself.And it
ain't a respectable place for you to stay at.Anybody'll tell you wot a
rascal Bob Pretty is."Everybody is arter my money," ses the old gentleman, looking round."I 'ope you'll know me better afore you've done with me, uncle," ses
Henery Walker, taking a seat alongside of 'im."Will you 'ave another
mug o' beer?""Gin and beer," ses the old gentleman, cocking his eye up very fierce at
Smith, the landlord; "and mind the gin don't get out ag'in, same as it
did in the last."Smith asked 'im wot he meant, but 'is deafness come on ag'in.Henery
Walker 'ad an extra dose o' gin put in, and arter he 'ad tasted it the
old gentleman seemed to get more amiable-like, and 'im and Henery Walker
sat by theirselves talking quite comfortable."You can do
as you please and have the best of everything.""Bob Pretty ses you're arter my money," ses the old gentleman, shaking
his 'ead."He ses that to put you ag'in me," ses Henery Walker, pleading-like."Well, wot do you want me to come and live with you for, then?""Because you're my great-uncle," ses Henery Walker, "and my 'ouse is the
proper place for you.ses the old man, looking at 'im very
sharp."Certainly not," ses Henery Walker."And 'ow much 'ave I got to pay a week?"ses Henery Walker, speaking afore he 'ad time to think.Why, I don't want you to pay anything."The old gentleman said as 'ow he'd think it over, and Henery started to
talk to 'im about his father and an old aunt named Maria, but 'e stopped
'im sharp, and said he was sick and tired of the whole Walker family,
and didn't want to 'ear their names ag'in as long as he lived.Henery
Walker began to talk about Australey then, and asked 'im 'ow many sheep
he'd got, and the words was 'ardly out of 'is mouth afore the old
gentleman stood up and said he was arter his money ag'in.Henery Walker at once gave 'im some more gin and beer, and arter he 'ad
drunk it the old gentleman said that he'd go and live with 'im for a
little while to see 'ow he liked it."But I sha'n't pay anything," he ses, very sharp; "mind that.""I wouldn't take it if you offered it to me," ses Henery Walker."You'll
come straight 'ome with me to-night, won't you?"Walker could answer the door opened and in came Bob
Pretty.He gave one look at Henery Walker and then he walked straight
over to the old gentleman and put his 'and on his shoulder."Why, I've been looking for you everywhere, Mr."I
couldn't think wot had 'appened to you.""You needn't worry yourself, Bob," ses Henery Walker; "he's coming to
live with me now.""Don't you believe it," ses Bob Pretty, taking hold of old Mr.Mary moved to the hallway.Walker by
the arm; "he's my lodger, and he's coming with me."John went to the kitchen.He began to lead the old gentleman towards the door, but Henery Walker,
wot was still sitting down, threw 'is arms round his legs and held 'im
tight.Bob Pretty pulled one way and Henery Walker pulled the other, and
both of 'em shouted to each other to leave go.The row they made was
awful, but old Mr.Walker made more noise than the two of 'em put
together."You leave go o' my lodger," ses Bob Pretty."You leave go o' my great-uncle--my dear great-uncle," ses Henery
Walker, as the old gentleman called 'im a bad name and asked 'im whether
he thought he was made of iron.I believe they'd ha' been at it till closing-time, on'y Smith, the
landlord, came running in from the back and told them to go outside.He
'ad to shout to make 'imself heard, and all four of 'em seemed to be
trying which could make the most noise."He's my lodger," ses Bob Pretty, "and he can't go without giving me
proper notice; that's the lor--a week's notice."They all shouted ag'in then, and at last the old gentleman told Henery
Walker to give Bob Pretty ten shillings for the week's notice and ha'
done with 'im.Henery Walker 'ad only got four shillings with 'im, but
'e borrowed the rest from Smith, and arter he 'ad told Bob Pretty wot he
thought of 'im he took old Mr.Walker by the arm and led him 'ome a'most
dancing for joy.Walker was nearly as pleased as wot 'e was, and the fuss they made
of the old gentleman was sinful a'most.He 'ad to speak about it 'imself
at last, and he told 'em plain that when 'e wanted arf-a-dozen sore-eyed
children to be brought down in their night-gowns to kiss 'im while he
was eating sausages, he'd say so.Walker was afraid that 'e might object when her and her
'usband gave up their bedroom to 'im; but he didn't.He took it all as
'is right, and when Henery Walker, who was sleeping in the next room
with three of 'is boys, fell out o' bed for the second time, he got up
and rapped on the wall.Bob Pretty came round the next morning with a t tin box that belonged to
the old man, and 'e was so perlite and nice to 'im that Henery Walker
could see that he 'ad 'opes of getting 'im back ag'in.The box was
carried upstairs and put under old Mr.Walker's bed, and 'e was so
partikler about its being locked, and about nobody being about when 'e
opened it, that Mrs.Walker went arf out of her mind with curiosity."I s'pose you've looked to see that Bob Pretty didn't take anything out
of it?""He didn't 'ave the chance," ses the old gentleman."It's always kep'
locked.""It's a box that looks as though it might 'ave been made in Australey,"
ses Henery Walker, who was longing to talk about them parts."If you say another word about Australey to me," ses old Mr.Walker,
firing up, "off I go.You're arter my money, and if you're
not careful you sha'n't 'ave a farthing of it."That was the last time the word "Australey" passed Henery Walker's lips,
and even when 'e saw his great-uncle writing letters there he didn't say
anything.And the old man was so suspicious of Mrs.Walker's curiosity
that all the letters that was wrote to 'im he 'ad sent to Bob Pretty's.He used to call there pretty near every morning to see whether any 'ad
come for 'im.In three months Henery Walker 'adn't seen the color of 'is money once,
and, wot was worse still, he took to giving Henery's things away.Walker 'ad been complaining for some time of 'ow bad the hens had been
laying, and one morning at breakfast-time she told her 'usband that,
besides missing eggs, two of 'er best hens 'ad been stolen in the night."They wasn't stolen," ses old Mr.Walker, putting down 'is teacup."I
took 'em round this morning and give 'em to Bob Pretty.""'Cos he asked me for 'em," ses the old gentleman."Wot are you looking
at me like that for?"Henery couldn't answer 'im, and the old gentleman, looking very fierce,
got up from the table and told Mrs.Henery
Walker clung to 'im with tears in his eyes a'most and begged 'im not to
go, and arter a lot of talk old Mr.Walker said he'd look over it this
time, but it mustn't occur ag'in.Arter that 'e did as 'e liked with Henery Walker's things, and Henery
dursen't say a word to 'im.Bob Pretty used to come up and flatter 'im
and beg 'im to go back and lodge with 'im, and Henery was so afraid he'd
go that he didn't say a word when old Mr.Walker used to give Bob Pretty
things to make up for 'is disappointment.He 'eard on the quiet from
Bill Chambers, who said that the old man 'ad told it to Bob Pretty as a
dead secret, that 'e 'ad left 'im all his money, and he was ready to put
up with anything.The old man must ha' been living with Henery Walker for over eighteen
months when one night he passed away in 'is sleep.Henery knew that his
'art was wrong, because he 'ad just paid Dr.Green 'is bill for saying
that 'e couldn't do anything for 'im, but it was a surprise to 'im all
the same.Walker kept rubbing 'er eyes
with her apron while they talked in whispers and wondered 'ow much money
they 'ad come in for?In less than ten minutes the news was all over Clay-bury, and arf the
people in the place hanging round in front of the 'ouse waiting to hear
'ow much the Walkers 'ad come in for.Henery Walker pulled the blind on
one side for a moment and shook his 'ead at them to go away.Some of
them did go back a yard or two, and then they stood staring at Bob
Pretty, wot come up as bold as brass and knocked at the door.he ses, when Henery Walker opened it."You don't
mean to tell me that the pore old gentleman has really gone?I told 'im
wot would happen if 'e came to lodge with you.""You be off," ses Henery Walker; "he hasn't left you anything.""I know that," ses Bob Pretty, shaking his 'ead."You're welcome to it,
Henery, if there is anything.I never bore any malice to you for taking
of 'im away from us.I could see you'd took a fancy to 'im from the
fust.The way you pretended 'e was your great-uncle showed me that.""Have it your own way, Henery," ses Bob Pretty; "on'y, if you asked me,
I should say that he was my wife's grandfather."ses Henery Walker, in a choking voice.He stood staring at 'im, stupid-like, for a minute or two, but he
couldn't get out another word.In a flash 'e saw 'ow he'd been done, and
how Bob Pretty 'ad been deceiving 'im all along, and the idea that he
'ad arf ruined himself keeping Mrs.Pretty's grandfather for 'em pretty
near sent 'im out of his mind."But how is it 'is name was Josiah Walker, same as Henery's
great-uncle?"ses Bill Chambers, who 'ad been crowding round with the
others.Daniel travelled to the bedroom."He 'ad a fancy for it," ses Bob Pretty, "and being a 'armless amusement
we let him 'ave his own way.I told Henery Walker over and over ag'in
that it wasn't his uncle, but he wouldn't believe me.Henery Walker drew 'imself up as tall as he could and stared at him.Twice he opened 'is mouth to speak but couldn't, and then he made a odd
sort o' choking noise in his throat, and slammed the door in Bob
Pretty's face.A LOVE-KNOT
MR.Bowman had just finished their third game
of draughts.Clark, the lady's mind
having been so occupied with other matters that he had had great
difficulty in losing.Indeed, it was only by pushing an occasional piece
of his own off the board that he had succeeded."A penny for your thoughts, Amelia," he said, at last.Clark assumed an expression of great solemnity; allusions of this
kind to the late Mr.He was fortunate
when they did not grow into reminiscences of a career too blameless for
successful imitation."I suppose," said the widow, slowly--"I suppose I ought to tell you:
I've had a letter.""It took me back to the old scenes," continued Mrs."I |
kitchen | Where is John? | I told you all about
the first man I ever thought anything of--Charlie Tucker?""You did," he said, a trifle hoarsely."I've just had a letter from him," said Mrs."Fancy,
after all these years!Poor fellow, he has only just heard of my
husband's death, and, by the way he writes--"
She broke off and drummed nervously on the table."He hasn't heard about me, you mean," said Mr.Clark, after waiting to
give her time to finish."If he heard one thing, he might have heard the other," retorted Mr.“My God, don’t touch it!”
The boy shrank back with a cry of terror.In an instant Marion was between them, her voice ringing out like a
bugle.“Don’t you dare to hurt him, you monster!” she cried furiously; “I
won’t stand by and see it done even if I am a girl!And when I’m a
woman I’ll have you put in prison!”
“And I’ll help you do it, if I’m alive!” cried Bert Jackson,
recklessly; “but there ain’t much doubt but what he’ll kill me now for
my arm hurts so bad that I can’t stand him much longer!”
Marion stood like a statue as the group passed down the road.Matt
Jenkins looked back at her once or twice, but his whip was not raised
while her eyes were upon him.When they were gone from her sight Marion turned homeward.The patient cows were well on their way, so the young girl had nothing
to do but follow them.As she came in sight of the low farm-house where she was born she saw a
girlish figure coming swiftly toward her.It was her twin sister, Dolores, or Dollie as she was called, and at
the very first glance Marion could see that she was weeping.In an instant she was running rapidly toward her, and as they met she
threw her arms tenderly about her sister’s shoulders.Has father been tormenting you about Silas again?”
she asked breathlessly, at the same time brushing her sister’s golden
hair back from her brow with a caressing motion.Dollie wiped her eyes and nodded her head affirmatively.“Yes, Marion, he has, and I can’t stand it much longer!” she cried,
sobbingly.Mary went to the kitchen.“He is just nagging at me all the time, and, oh, he is
cruel, sister.Why, when I told him I did not love Silas he just
sneered at me as though love was something that was not to be
considered!”
“Poor father!It is little he knows of that holy sentiment,” said
Marion, sadly, “but go on Dollie, what else did he say to you?”
A gleam of resentment shone in Dollie’s blue eyes, for she was always
more brave when her sister’s arms were about her.John went back to the bedroom.“Oh, he said I had defied him and that he would punish me for it!That
a man had a right to do as he pleased with his own family, and that
girls like you and me did not have a grain of sense about what was best
for them!”
Marion’s gray eyes flashed as her sister talked, but she walked slowly
on and did not interrupt her.“Then he said that I would have a comfortable home if I married Silas,
and that I’d go straight to destruction if he did not look out for me!”
“How horrible!” burst out Marion.“And to think he is our own father!Why isn’t he content with one such experiment?Poor sister Samantha,
whom he forced to marry Tom Wilders!I should think her miserable life
would be a warning to him!Oh, Dollie, if we could only go away and
earn our own living.You can play the piano beautifully and I can sing.If we could only go somewhere and make our own way where we should
never bother father, I should be perfectly happy!”
The beautiful face was radiant with eagerness now, and some of her
wonderful courage seemed reflected upon Dollie’s more babyish features.“It would kill me to marry Silas!” she cried with a shudder.“Father
shall not force me to do it, Marion, never!”
There was a close clasp of the arms about each other’s waists as the
two girls walked on and Dollie’s golden head almost rested upon her
sister’s shoulder.“Why, Marion, what do you think!Mary went back to the bathroom.He tried to bribe me,” she added,
suddenly.“He said I could have grandma’s topazes the day I was
married to Silas.”
A look of disgust swept over Marion’s face.“As if those old earrings of grandma’s could make up for such a crime!And it is a crime to marry without love, my sister.”
A piteous sob broke from Dollie’s lips and she moved a step away.“There’s no help for it, Marion.He’ll make me do it,” she cried.“He’ll ruin my life just as he ruined Samantha’s, for, oh, it will kill
me to be tied down to the drudgery of farm life forever, and especially
with such a man as Silas.”
“We must find some way to thwart him,” said Marion, as she opened the
gate that led to the farm-house.“It is horrible to think of such a
thing.The idea of a man trying to get rid of his own daughter, even
selling her body and soul, for that is exactly what it amounts to.Silas Johnson isn’t a bad fellow, but he is an awful bore.He isn’t
much like what we have dreamed of in the way of lovers.”
They had entered the dingy kitchen now and closed the door behind them.There was no one there, so they went on softly with their confidences.“I should say not,” said Dollie, smiling brightly through her tears, as
she recalled the mental pictures of the gallant youths which they had
so often woven into the links of their daisy chains, hoping that some
day they would come, like Cinderella’s Prince, and rescue them from the
drudgery of farm life, which they hated.“Our lovers must be all that is grand and brave and true,” she cried
excitedly.“They must be of noble blood, like the knights in the
story books, who would risk their lives for a maiden’s love and think
no peril too great to keep them from their trysts.I have often
dreamed of them, Marion, and such beautiful dreams.It was like a
glimpse of bliss to be loved by such a lover.”
“And just think, Dollie, the world is full of them,” cried Marion.“There really are just such knights and they do kneel at the feet of
blushing maidens.”
“It makes me tremble with delight just to think of it,” murmured
Dollie.“Oh, Marion, will I ever have a lover like that?One whose
slightest word will make me thrill with pleasure.If we only lived in
the city, darling.We will just die
longing for love and never, never get it.”
“Mine was to have black eyes and brown hair, and be very tall,” began
Marion, wiping her eyes, “and he was to be, oh, so gentle and tender
in his wooing, yet all the time as brave and strong as a lion!Oh, my
lover was to be a perfect prince among men, and we were to marry and
live in a little paradise of pleasure!”
Her cheeks were glowing as she finished her impulsive speech, and
radiant smiles were dimpling her fair features.“And mine was to have gray eyes; like yours, Marion; and a big
mustache, and—but, oh, my goodness!Just look at who is coming!”
Dollie finished abruptly, pointing out of the window.“It’s the man that mother said was looking for board, I suppose,” said
Marion thoughtfully.“Father must have taken him and he’s bringing him
straight into the kitchen.”
“He’s the handsomest man I ever saw!” cried Dollie, springing up.Marion, we must tidy ourselves up a bit, dear!He mustn’t think
we are frights, even if we are a farmer’s daughters!”
Farmer Marlowe introduced the girls with an awkward wave of his hand.Mary moved to the hallway.Lawson,” he said, with an effort at politeness.Then
leaving the girls to entertain the new boarder, he strode out of the
room again to do the evening milking.The stranger, a man of thirty, of most striking appearance, stood as if
rooted to the spot for at least a full moment after his first sight of
the girls.Such beauty as this was rare in any place, but finding it buried here
in the wilderness of rocks and sand, he could hardly believe his senses
for a minute.John went to the kitchen.Marion Marlowe rose politely, and offered him a chair, which he
accepted with such a glance of admiration that she could not help
blushing.“I am most fortunate in finding such desirable quarters,” he said
gallantly, “for I had not dreamed of anything in the way of society in
this forlorn little village.You see, I am a bit of an invalid, and the
doctor has sent me into the country to rest.Little did I imagine that
I should find angels to minister to me!Which will explain, I trust,
any seeming rudeness in my manner.”
“We stared at you also,” said Marion, still blushing, “but my sister
and I have seen so few gentlemen, Mr.Lawson, that we were just as much
surprised as you were.”
She tried to speak naturally, but her voice trembled a little.There
was a curious sensation of anger thrilling every fibre of her body.The man’s dark eyes seemed reading her soul.His penetrating glance
annoyed and irritated her.No man whom she had met
had ever affected her so strangely.“I hope I am somewhat different from these townsmen of yours,” went on
the man smilingly, “no better perhaps, but a little less boorish.It is
a shame that such beauty as this should be wasted upon them!Forgive me
for what seems to be flattery, but I must speak honestly.You are both
too beautiful to be buried here!You should live in the city, my dear
young ladies!”
Marion bit her lips to control her resentment, but before she could
reply her mother entered the kitchen and began preparations for their
homely supper.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.MARION PROVES HER INTUITIONS.The weeks passed swiftly at the Marlowe farmhouse, for Mr.Mary travelled to the office.Lawson’s
presence there had broken the monotony.Not once during his stay had
Marion been able to shake off her first impressions.She dreaded him instinctively, and was ill at ease in his presence.There was a mystery about him which she could not fathom—but her
intuitions were keen, and she decided to trust them.Marion was too amiable to ordinarily allow her feelings to be seen.Not
even to Dollie had she made full confession of them.Lawson’s attentions to her sister worried her exceedingly—but with
Silas Johnson as the alternative, she was forced to be silent.One morning Marion took her churn out under a big locust tree near
the kitchen door and was churning vigorously when she overheard an
astonishing conversation.Silas Johnson and her father were just around the corner of the house,
but neither knew of her presence or they would have spoken more
guardedly.“I’ve sed it an’ I calkerlate I’ll stick ter it,” her father said,
sullenly.Sandra moved to the bedroom.“Dollie shell marry yew, Sile, so yew needn’t git up yewr
dander!”
“Oh, I ain’t got up no dander, Farmer Marlowe,” was the reply; “but
it’s high time ther thing wuz done an’ settled, fer I’m gittin’ a
leetle tired of seein’ thet thar city chap with Dollie.Yew know gals
will be gals, an’ ther ain’t much dependin’ on ’em.”
“Oh, ther city chap’s a-goin’ ter-morrer ef thet’s what’s worryin’
yew,” replied the farmer, quickly.“An’ as quick’s he’s gone, I’ll hev
it out with Dolly.It’s ther best thing fer her an’ she’s got ter dew
it.”
“Yew kin hev them papers back on our weddin’ day,” said Silas, with a
rasping chuckle.“Thankee, Sile, I’ll be plum’ glad tew git ’em, I kin tell yew!” said
her father, sighing.“Them air dog-goned papers hez worried me like
thunder, but ez yew say, it’ll be all in the fambly when yew marry
Dollie.”
Marion drew a long breath and grasped the churn handle tighter.In
another moment the two men rose from their seats and sauntered out to
the garden, still talking seriously.“So it is a business transaction of some sort!” whispered Marion to
herself.“Pa owes Silas some money or something, and he is going to settle it by
giving him Dollie!”
She rose from her stool, her face fairly crimson with anger.As she
turned to enter the house she confronted Mr.For just a second Marion hesitated to tell her trouble to this man,
then an uncontrollable impulse made her turn to him appealingly.She
had forgotten all else but her sister’s danger.Lawson, I must tell you an awful secret,” she cried, brokenly,
“and oh, I do hope you will be able to advise me—you are wise and—and
kind—I am sure that you will help me.Father is in debt to Silas
Johnson, and Sile has made him promise that Dollie shall marry him!”
The tears trembled on Marion’s lashes as she said the words, and in her
intense excitement her dark eyes shone like diamonds.Carlos Lawson looked at her with unusual interest.His first thought
was of her beauty but he controlled himself enough to answer:
“The thing would be outrageous!” he said after a second; “what has that
freckle-faced clod to offer Dollie, I should like to know!”
“He has a farm of his own, that is all,” said Marion, hotly; “or he may
have a mortgage on father’s, for all I know, but if he had the wealth
of the world he should not have my little sister!”
“But how can you prevent it?” asked Mr.Marion looked up at his face and trembled as she read his glance.“I—I hoped you would be able to advise me,” she said, slowly.“I know
so little of the world, Mr.Oh, can’t you think of some way to
save my poor sister?”
Once more Marion’s eyes shone through her tears as she gazed up into
his face.Her face was transfused
with unusual beauty.Again the sense of her beauty flitted through Carlos Lawson’s brain,
and this time he made no attempt to control it.How had he ever become
enamored of pretty Dollie’ |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | A dark flush mounted to his cheek and brow as he bent forward quickly
and laid his hand upon Marion’s shoulder.“I will save her, yes—on one condition,” he whispered, sharply.“I
will save your sister if you will kiss me, Marion!Mary went to the kitchen.My God, but you are
beautiful.Quick, Marion—your answer!”
With a stifled scream Marion Marlowe flung his hand from her shoulder
and sprang away from him.Her face paled in an instant at the insult he
had offered her.“So that is the kind of a gentleman you are,” she said, scornfully.“To
try to take advantage of a girl in her misery!”
The man took a step forward, but Marion stopped him with a gesture.“Don’t you dare to come nearer!” she said sternly.“I’m only a poor
farmer’s daughter, but I respect myself, sir!I regret that I spoke
to you about Dollie at all!I have never
trusted you!”
She stood with her right arm upraised as she said these words, her fair
face turned unflinchingly toward the handsome insulter.A careless sneer crossed the man’s dark face.“You have never trusted me, eh,” he said, half smilingly.“Well, that
will not make much difference with me, I guess.You’ll trust me more
some day, my haughty Marion!”
“Never!” cried Marion, with a hot flush of shame.“Not as long as I
remember your insulting words.Lawson, I will not
detain you longer.”
She swept by him like a queen and went into the house.Her mother was sitting in the kitchen patiently darning stockings.mother!” cried Marion sharply, as she threw herself on her
knees by her side.“Is it possible that you are willing for Dollie
to be sacrificed?Are you going to sit calmly by and see her sold in
bondage to Silas Johnson?”
“What kin I dew?” asked her mother, irritably; “ef your father sez so,
what kin I dew?’Tain’t a wife’s place to meddle with her husband’s
runnin’ of his fam’ly.”
“But think of it, mother, what her life will be when she is tied to a
man whom she does not love!She is
a perfect slave to her stupid husband, when with her looks and talents
she might have done so much better!”
“Your father is the head of his fam’ly,” said her mother again.“It
ain’t my place to go ag’in him.He knows what’s best fer yew an’
Dollie!”
Marion groaned aloud and rocked back and forth on the floor.Dollie opened the door of the little parlor where she had been busy
dusting and stared at her sister.She had a big bandanna tied over her saucy curls, and with her dainty
face flushed with exercise she looked like some quaint, old-fashioned
picture.“Silas will make her a good husband, I’m sure,” said Mrs.“O’ course he will, Marthy,” said the old farmer, who came in just as
she spoke.“An’ what’s more, I’m a-gittin’ mighty sick of this tarnal
nonsense!Dollie hez got tew marry Sile, an’ thet’s all ther’ is abaout
it!Why, there’s dozens of gals as would jump at ther’ chance!’Pears
tew me thet Dollie is determined ter fly in ther face o’ Providence in
ther foolishest manner.She’d orter be a-thankin’ her stars fer gittin’
sech a husband!”
Dollie stood, duster in hand, staring at her father as he spoke.There
was a dull look in her eye, as if she had not fully understood him.Why don’t you tell father what
you think!Oh, Dollie, what is the matter?” cried Marion sharply.“I—I don’t want to marry Silas,” she finally whispered.“You tell him,
Marion,” she turned to her sister appealingly, and gazed from one to
another of the little group with a frightened face.She seemed like one
in a trance who was trying to grasp the situation.Marion sprang forward swiftly and threw her arms around her sister.There was something wrong with Dollie, but she had not time to puzzle
out what it was—this question of her marrying Silas must be settled at
once and forever.Turning so that she faced both her father and mother, Marion rested her
right hand lightly on her sister’s shoulder.“I will answer him, sister, and it shall be once for all, for this
anxiety is killing me.When a girl’s own
father and mother refuse to protect her it is high time for some one
else to interfere.Dollie does not love Silas Johnson and she shall
never marry him, for in spite of you both I will find some way to
prevent it.”
CHAPTER IV.John went back to the bedroom.THE ABDUCTION OF DOLLIE.Joshua Marlowe’s tanned and bearded face grew pale at his daughter’s
words.They rang in his ears for hours after she uttered them.He
was not an altogether bad man at heart, but he was narrow-minded and
ignorant.First of all, he loved his farm; wife and children came after.This deal with Silas had been his own secret.If the marriage was not consummated it would become public property.But what was a man to do with a daughter like Marion?It was a
proposition which would have puzzled a wiser man than Solomon.Martha Marlowe had always been an obedient wife.It did not occur to
the old farmer that Marion might have inherited her obstinacy in some
degree from her father.The day following the tragic scene in the kitchen Marion spent in close
companionship with Dollie, but still the girl’s manner baffled and
pained her.“Are you sick, Dollie, or worried?” she asked, over and over, but
each time there came the same reply.Her sister declared that she was
perfectly happy.Marion watched her as she went about her daily work.She moved like one
in a dream, always smiling, but appealing.Poor little sister!” Marion whispered, as she tucked her
into bed and went out into the air to think a little.It was a clear moonlight night, and Marion walked farther than she
thought, finding herself again on the brow of the hill where she had
registered her vow during the glow of sunset.The distant roar of the express came slowly to her ears, gradually
growing louder and louder until with a piercing shriek it prepared to
slow down at the little station.Mary went back to the bathroom.Marion strained her eyes, but not even the light was visible.For some
reason or other the blast of the whistle had made her shudder.As the
train puffed away she felt curiously depressed.The air seemed more
sultry; it was almost choking her.After the last rumble of the wheels had died away the silence was more
intense than ever.Mary moved to the hallway.The very landscape itself seemed wrapped in slumber, but the view from
the hill was growing more attractive to her eyes, for even the Poor
Farm’s ugliness was mellowed by the moonlight.Suddenly Marion’s sharp eyes detected a moving form.Some one was
coming across the fields from the direction of the Pool Farm, but
avoiding the open spots on the way in a suspicious manner.“One of the boys has run away!” exclaimed Marion, in dismay.He’ll be caught and soundly whipped to-morrow!”
She watched with eager eyes as the poor boy hurried from lot to lot,
keeping as close as possible in the shadow of the trees, but as the
moments passed there was no sound from the Poor Farm.John went to the kitchen.“It’s Bert Jackson!” whispered Marion as the boy came nearer.His broken arm is well again, they say!I wonder if he has been
flogged that he is running away from his prison!”
She ran down the hill as swiftly as she could.What’s the
matter, Bert?Has anything serious happened?”
The boy came out of the shadow cautiously and joined her before he
answered.“A great deal has happened,” he said, bitterly; “but I can’t talk about
it.I’m running away, Marion.”
“Of course,” said Marion, simply, “I knew that when I saw you, but
where can you go, Bert?’Tisn’t safe to risk the station, and besides,
there’s no train now ’til to-morrow morning.”
“I know it,” answered Bert quickly.“I’m going to walk to Haysville.It’s only five miles, and there’s a train from there to New York at
four in the morning.”
“New York,” echoed Marion, in a frightened whisper.“That’s a big city,
Bert!Are you sure you ought to go there?”
“The bigger the better,” said the boy, smiling bitterly.“I’ve got to
lose myself for awhile, you know, so that brute cannot find me.”
He nodded toward the Poor Farm and Marion understood the gesture.“I hate him!” she said, with a stamp of her foot.“I’ve hated him ever
since he hit you that day, the monster!”
“Well, he’s hit me a good many times since,” said Bert, slowly.There
was a hard ring in his voice that cut the air like a bit of metal.“Have you any money, Bert?” asked Marion, after a minute.“Not a cent,” said the boy, doggedly; “but I reckon I can earn some.I’ll have to steal my ride to the city, that’s the part that’s
bothering me.”
“No you won’t!” said Marion, stoutly.“I’ve got five dollars, Bert!Quick, come back to the house with me!Daniel travelled to the bedroom.You’ve got to do it!”
“Oh, I can’t take your money,” began Bert, but Marion stopped him.Come!” she said, commandingly, as she caught his
arm and almost dragged him toward the farm-house.Leaving Bert hidden behind a clump of lilacs in the yard, Marion crept
stealthily around to a side door and into the house to get her five
dollars.A lamp was burning in the sitting-room, and as Marion passed she
glanced up at the clock.She had been out over two hours, while every
one else was in bed and sleeping.Mary travelled to the office.Marion found the money in her own chamber, and then tip-toed to
Dollie’s.Her anxiety for her sister was making her almost nervous.She peered into the room, which was clearly lighted by the moon.Marion flew down the stairs and through the side door to the yard.Bert!” she called softly, but nobody answered.“Oh, dear, what has happened?” she whispered to herself.“There’s
something wrong; it’s in the air!I feel it!”
A soft step on the walk made her turn expectantly.He
explained it by whispering that he had been after a drink of water.Sandra moved to the bedroom.Marion did not give a thought to this fact while her mind was in such a
whirl; she only hurried to him quickly and gave him the money.“Oh, Bert,” she said, in agony.“I can’t find Dollie!She’s gone
somewhere, I don’t know where!She was in bed when I left her!”
Bert looked at her in surprise, but there was no time to lose.He must
be off at once if he expected to catch the train from Haysville.John moved to the bedroom.“I’ll let you hear from me, Marion, in some way,” he whispered
gratefully.“And if anything has happened to Dollie, you can count on
me.I’ll never forget you, Marion, you are such a friend to a fellow!”
“Take care of yourself in New York, Bert,” said the girl, tremblingly,
“and who knows what may happen in that lovely big city?”
“Good-by, Marion,” answered Bert, “I’m sure something good must happen.”
He darted away and Marion went back to the house.There was not a sign
of her sister’s returning.Suddenly Marion made a discovery that nearly turned her brain.Every
article belonging to Dollie’s Sunday wardrobe was missing.In other words, she had dressed herself in her best when she went, and
this fact was significant even to a girl like Marion.Darting downstairs, the frightened girl awoke her father and mother.She has run away!” she cried in agony.“Oh, father,
come quick and perhaps we can find her!”
But not a trace of Dollie could be found, nor was Mr.Lawson, their
boarder, to be found on the premises.Marion set her teeth hard when she made this discovery.He’s took her!” whined Mrs.“He’s run
off with my darter!the scallywag!” bawled Deacon Marlowe, but Marion
only clenched her hands and bit her lips.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.It was horrible to think of
Dollie in the clutches of her insulter.“What shall you dew, father?” asked Mrs.“Dunno,” said her husband, a little absently.“I calkerlate, tho’, I’ll
jest ler ’er go!’Pears tew me that’s about what she desarves, the
for’ard critter!”
Marion Marlowe’s eyes flashed as she heard this decision, but she did
not deign to make any answer.Going straight to the old chest behind the kitchen door, she opened the
lid and began overhauling its contents.“What dew you want in there?” asked her father, suspiciously.“I want grandma’s topazes,” she said very firmly.“I am going to sell
them to Widow Pearson; you know she always wanted them, and the money
will enable me to hunt for Dollie!”
“Yew sha’n’t tech them!” cried both her mother and father at once.“They are ours—Dollie’s and mine,” said Marion, calmly.“I shall use
them as I think best——”
A scream finished the sentence.The topazes are gone!” she cried, excitedly.“See, here
is the chamois bag!It is completely empty!”
She held it up to the flickering light that fell from the tallow candle
in her mother’s hand.A double crime had been committed—abduction and theft.Marion sat down
on the chest and burst out crying.“It’s Dollie that’s done it!” bellowed Deacon Marlowe angrily.“It
wasn’t enough fer her tew disgrace herself an’ us by runnin’ away with
that air feller, but she must up an’ steal the topazes, the brazen
hussy!She shall never darken my door ag’in!the—the——”
“Hush, father!Don’t you dare to call Dollie names,” cried Marion.“If
any |
office | Where is Daniel? | Oh, I knew he
was a villain!Why didn’t I watch him!”
Marion had sprung from the chest and was confronting the old farmer—her
eyes scintillating with feeling, and her drawn lips were almost
bloodless.Shame on you for being
the first to condemn your own daughter!”
Her voice was so sharp that it seemed to hiss through the air, and the
old farmer shrank back as though she had struck him.Marlowe covered her face with her hands and began to sob, but
Marion’s eyes were burning—she had done with weeping.Now was the time to act—to save her sister.CHAPTER V.
A DARK DEED.It was almost dark when a long, dust-covered train drew slowly under
cover of the Grand Central Depot.The rush and roar of the big city was at its height and the pushing,
jostling crowd of travelers inside the station was noisy, rude and
bristling with impatience.As the long stream of passengers swept through the yawning archway,
a young girl stepped aside from the throng and leaned in some
bewilderment against the wall of the building.No one noticed her at first except by a casual glance, for she was
poorly dressed and just a bit awkward.It was plainly evident that she was waiting for some one.After several minutes had passed she suddenly removed her veil—a
hideous green one which had distorted and disguised her features.After that when any one glanced at her they turned to look again, for
such a face as Marion Marlowe’s was not often seen in the big city.At last the crowd dwindled to only the employees of the station, and a
messenger in a red cap stepped up and accosted her civilly:
“Excuse me, miss, but can I be of service to you?” he asked, politely.“You know it’s our business to look after passengers.”
“Thank you,” said Marion, sweetly.I wrote
him that I was coming, and I fully expected him to meet me.”
“Ought to be here if he’s coming,” said the man, good-naturedly;
“you’ve been waiting nearly an hour.Daniel moved to the hallway.You must be getting pretty weary.”
“I am, and hungry, too,” said Marion, smiling; “but you see I am a
country girl, and I don’t know my way.I would certainly get lost if I
were to attempt to find him.”
As she spoke she did not notice that a well-dressed man had suddenly
drawn near and was listening intently to her remarks without appearing
to do so.“What’s his address?” asked the messenger, in a business-like way.Marion took a slip of paper from her reticule, and handed it to him.“Frederic Stanton, The Norwood,” the man read aloud.“That’s a good
ways from here.You’d better take a cab.”
“How much will it cost?” asked Marion, anxiously.The messenger consulted his table of rates for a moment before
answering.“Two dollars,” he said, finally; “but of course your uncle will pay it.Mighty queer of him not to meet you when he knew you were a stranger in
the city.”
“But you see he doesn’t know me!” said Marion, quickly.“He married
my mother’s sister Susan, but we girls have never seen him.I—I was
obliged to come here on business, so I had to write to him.There was
no one else, and he wrote back that he would meet me.”
“Perhaps he did and didn’t know you,” said the messenger more
cheerfully; “but anyway.I’ll get you a carriage and send you to him.“Here!” he called to a cabman standing a short distance away.“Take
this lady’s trunk check and here’s the address she’s to go to.” He
turned away with the air of one who had done his duty.The man who had been watching Marion moved a little nearer.When the
cabman came up he heard the conversation between them.After the “cabby” had placed Marion in his vehicle, he started back
into the depot to find her trunk, and as she leaned from the cab window
and looked after him Marion saw that he was joined by the stranger.She could not hear what they said, but she saw the cabman shake his
head repeatedly while the man wrote something on a piece of paper
without once stopping talking.Finally she saw a bill change hands between them.The cabman had
evidently relented, for he pocketed not only the money but the paper
the stranger had written.As the young girl was rapidly driven uptown she gazed out of the cab
windows and the scenes of the great city made her face pale and flush
alternately.Every little while she felt in her bag for her money—the fifty dollars
which her father had at last given her when she denounced him so
vigorously for his treatment of Dollie.I’ll find her!” she kept whispering to herself, and
then the fearful proportions of the great city staggered her and she
would be almost overwhelmed by the enormity of her undertaking.She took a crumpled paper from her bag and read it over.It was a
letter from Bert Jackson written in a cleverly disguised hand, telling
her that he had reached New York safely, and giving her the address of
a cheap lodging-house that he was making his home for the present.Marion had answered the letter promptly, giving him the news of
Dollie’s disappearance, and she knew full well that Bert would be
constantly on the lookout for her sister.I must hunt him up,” she whispered, with a sigh.“He’ll
help me find Dollie.He’s really my only friend in all this big city!”
Then another thought entered her mind and would not go away.She was
thinking of Bert’s visit to the kitchen that last night and the sudden
disappearance of the family jewels.“He wouldn’t have written if he had been guilty,” she whispered
decidedly.The infamous villain who
abducted my sister!”
Marion breathed a sigh of thankfulness that she had never mentioned her
suspicions.There would have been people enough ready to accuse him if
they had known of his visit to the farmer’s kitchen.“When one is down, everybody gives him a kick,” she said to herself.“Even poor, dear Dollie was not spared!Oh, how our own neighbors
slandered my innocent sister!”
Just as she finished her reflections the cab drew up before a handsome
building.Marion saw the words “The Norwood” in gilt letters over the
door, and in another instant the cabman was at the window.“You sit here a minute, miss, till I see if he’s in,” he said, as he
moved toward the entrance.He disappeared within the building, leaving
Marion trembling with excitement.“It’s no wonder Aunt Susan’s husband never recognized us,” she
whispered bitterly.“He’s rich and lives in luxury, while we are only
poor farmers.Oh, I do hope they won’t be ashamed of me just because of
my plain clothes.”
She looked down at her homespun dress with a sorrowful sigh.Then her
face brightened a little as she reflected that at least it was tidy and
very neat fitting.She was not to blame for her personal appearance.Five, ten minutes elapsed before the cabman reappeared, but when
he finally came he had a <DW52> man with him, who promptly lifted
Marion’s little trunk to his shoulder.“This way, miss,” said the <DW64>, and Marion followed happily.Such
proof of her uncle’s wealth made her heart beat more rapidly.It did
not seem possible that he could refuse the slight request she had come
to make of him.Marion’s eyes grew even brighter as she stepped into the upholstered
elevator and was carried to the top floor.It was the luxury she had dreamed of during her whole life on the farm.At the door of a beautifully decorated apartment stood a middle-aged
man.Daniel travelled to the office.Marion had only time to notice that he was bald and dissipated
looking when he stepped forward smilingly and introduced himself as her
uncle.“Your aunt is away at present,” he said glibly, “but our housekeeper,
Miss Gray, will attend to you, my dear.I am sorry, very sorry, that I
missed you at the station.”
“Then you were there!” exclaimed Marion gladly.I was sure you
would come—but I ought to have taken off my veil before.I had sent you
my picture so you would be sure to know me.”
“Well, you are here now, safe and sound,” said the man rather
awkwardly; “but, I say, niece, isn’t it right that you should kiss your
uncle?”
Marion glanced at him sharply and with surprise.There was
something in his tone that offended her deeply.The
question flashed through her brain like lightning.She must win his
good will in order to help Dollie.With this determination she stepped
forward and kissed him on the cheek.not so cold a kiss, my beauty,” said the man with a leer; “a real
love kiss for your uncle—like this!” he cried, bending over her.“Don’t!” cried Marion sharply, springing back as she spoke.“Don’t look
at me that way; it is not nice at all, and it makes me feel that you
are not really my uncle!”
She stood staring at him with dilated eyes, and a thrill of horror
coursed through her veins that she could not account for.There was a rustle of heavy draperies and a handsomely dressed woman
entered.“Come with me, my dear,” she said shortly.“Your uncle is not exactly
himself to-night.You see, he has just dined and has drank a little too
heavily.”
Marion drew a long breath as she went immediately toward the woman.She
was glad that his action could be accounted for reasonably, but the
horror was still there—she could not overcome it.The man did not make the slightest attempt to detain her, but Marion
caught a significant glance which passed between the two, and her heart
began beating so fiercely that it almost suffocated her.As soon as she was alone with the woman whom her uncle had called his
housekeeper, she lost no time in telling the whole story of the cause
of her journey.“My poor sister has been abducted by a villain,” she cried in
conclusion, “and there is no one but me to rescue her from him!Oh, if
I should be too late, I am sure it would kill me!”
CHAPTER VI.Adele Gray listened intently to the country girl’s story, but not so
much as by an expression did she show that she sympathized.She was a
woman of twenty-five and would have been exceedingly pretty only that
her face was marred by lines of sorrow about her mouth and a coldness
in her eyes that was very repelling.Her gown was of rich materials, and she wore a few expensive jewels;
further, every movement which she made was indicative of natural
refinement.The coldness of her manner was something which she had acquired—even to
an inexperienced girl like Marion it bespoke a morbid condition.“I have ordered some dinner for you,” she said, quietly, as Marion
finished.“Here it is; you must be hungry after your tiresome journey.”
She rose to meet the waiter, who was placing a loaded tray upon the
table.Marion ate her dinner in some perplexity, for every few moments Miss
Gray excused herself, and pouring a glass of liquor from a decanter on
the table, took it in to her host, who still remained in the parlor.Have you seen that
the agriculturists have a store of seeds, that they are provided with
water, and with agricultural implements?Do you take care that your
soldiers receive their wages?Do you take care that the widows and
orphans of those who have died for you in battle are well provided
for and carefully tended?"And so, this Elder Brother of the race,
coming to this man, divine no longer, but only a human copy of the once
manifested Divine King, pressed on him the duties of his station, and
demanded whether those duties were being rightly exercised.Out of that
great ideal of Kingship has grown the reverence for the modern King,
though he be of smaller stature, and has not often fulfilled his duties
well; for that ideal has printed itself on the heart of mankind, and
the passionate love, the intense loyalty, that go out to a King, who
is in any sense worthy of Kingship, show how the human heart loves to
reverence and to honour, where high power and great position are in any
way worthy of the privileges enjoyed.And always one great warning went out to those ancient Kings, as spoken
by Bhīṣhma, the Master of Ḍharma, when the blameless King
Yuḍhiṣhthira went to him to ask as to the duties of the Elder Brother
of the Nation.He bade him remember that behind the King was the Law,
the Divine Law, which none might break with impunity.And then those
famous words were spoken that every King should daily remember: "Take
care, O King, of the weak, not of the strong; take care of the weak,
for the tears of the weak undermine the throne of Kings."That is the
great lesson for modern rulers.You may have enemies, you can fight
them and conquer them; you may have difficulties, you can surmount
them and turn them into steps upwards; but take care of the poor, take
care of the miserable, take care of the starving of your realm.For
of these, said Bhīṣhma, to whose cry no man listens, the cry enters
into the ears of God, who calls on His representative to give account
for the miseries of the poor, and who avenges their wrongs by the
destruction of the careless King.But many of the States of the past were built on the denial of this
great Law of Brotherhood.Look at Babylonia; look at the later Egypt;
look at the so-called Republics of Greece; look at the masses of
the people under the Roman Empire; what do you find?You find that
every great Empire of the later past has been built on a foundation
of the misery of the lowest of the people.You find that the vast
majority in these Empires were slaves--slaves in name, as well as in
reality.Brotherhood was denied; the weak were trampled on; strength
was used to plunder and not to cherish; with the result that every
such Empire has faded from the pages of history.When we want to know
their stories we have to burrow in their sepulchres, for they built
against the Law of Brotherhood, and the Law has broken them into
pieces, and they are dead.Now of all the ancient Empires, Babylonia,
Assyria, Nineveh, Egypt, Greece, Rome, all these have passed away;
only one Nation remains of that splendid circle of civilisations in
the past; only one people, contemporary with those mighty Empires, is
still a living Nation; they are dead, nay, they are buried, and only
the fragments of their bones remain; but one of their contemporaries
lives in our modern days, for the India, that traded with Babylonia
in the might of her prosperity, is a living Nation in the twentieth
century.because in her teaching, because in her religion,
because in her literature, she taught the Law of Brotherhood, though
later she ceased to live it out in practice, and then began her long
downward course.The old theory of the castes was a law of Brotherhood;
the Shūḍra who serves, said Manu, he is to be the younger child in
your family.There is no humiliation in being a younger child in a
family; there is no shame in being one of the juniors of the circle
of brothers and sisters; nay, it means the enjoyment of the tenderest
compassion; it means |
office | Where is Daniel? | That was the old ideal of the Shūḍra, who was to
be the young and undeveloped soul.Let him in the National household
be the cherished youngling of the family; let him be as your younger
son.Then came restrictions with the growing age of the soul.The
Vaishya--he was to accumulate wealth; he was to enjoy; he was to be
the centre of the great family life, the parent, the supporter of the
whole National household.Certainly wealth was to be acquired, but in
order to be dispensed--wealth to support the remaining Orders in the
State.And that charity that you still find in India, the charity which
is of the older days rather than of to-day, is still ingrained in the
whole Vaishya caste.For though they will gather wealth--pie by pie,
anna by anna, rupee by rupee, they give it away in lakhs and crores
for the use of the people.All that is wanted in this charity is to
change the direction.There is no use in letting fertilising water run
over rocks, because they were once fields; turn it into the fields of
to-day, which will then blossom as the rose.Daniel moved to the hallway.I say of the charity of
this great wealth-caste, the merchants, the traders, of modern India,
that they should turn the wealth they give away so largely into the
fertilising streams which will nourish the National fields.Daniel travelled to the office.Their
duty as brothers who are working for the National household, is not
only to build temples, to gild the outside of those temples of Ḍevas.What is the use of a temple, if the worshippers are not there?And if
you let your youths grope through their studies without knowledge of
religion, of what avail to build a temple which will be left empty by
them in their manhood?It is the young who need training in religion
and in morality, and such education is stopped for lack of the Vaishya
liberality.Education is left in the hands of Government, whereas it is
the duty of the householders of the Nation.Education under National
control, Education in which religion shall form an integral part of
the curriculum, that is what India is demanding to-day, and what many
are struggling to gain.That Central Hinḍū College which we built
in Benares, which has now flowered into the great Hinḍū University,
in that you have an attempt, partly frustrated, I admit, to have a
University under National control; down in the South, in the great
foundation of a merchant of Madras, Pachaiyappa, there you have also
the possibility of building up out of a College, a University under
National control.And remember that in this matter, the Indian States under their own
Princes are showing the way in which Education should be developed.H. H. the Nizam, the Ruler of Hyderabad, was first of the Indian
Princes who gave the order that in every State school in his realm
religion should be taught.The religion of Islām to the Musalmāns,
the Hinḍū religion to the Hinḍūs.And he took our textbooks from the
Central Hinḍū College in order that his Hinḍū subjects might be
taught along liberal orthodox lines; it was a Musalmān Minister of
Education who sent out the decree that through the kingdom of Hyderabad
every child should be trained in his father's religion, and that
religious education should be a part of the duty of the State.And
then, H. H. the Maharaja of Mysore took up the same line, and in the
State Schools of Mysore, religion is an integral part of education.So
it is in some of the Rājput States; so it is in some of the Kathiawar
States; and these Indian Princes are showing the way to a religious
education, that shall be National without being sectarian, that shall
not proselytise, that shall not turn boys away from their ancestral
faith, but shall respect the religion of the parents, and bring up the
children in the faith into which they were born.But you see how the
realisation of this needs the charity of the great Vaishya caste, in
order that the money may be available which shall make the schools
under National control the equals of the Government establishments.Then, in that caste system, you come to the Kṣhaṭṭriya, from whom
more was demanded than from the Vaishya.He had the right to splendour;
he had the right to enjoy; he had the right to wealth; but on one
condition: he must be willing to sacrifice everything, if the safety
of the people demanded it.From him was asked the offering of limb,
the offering of life.If he ruled, he must be first in the battle
as well as first in the pageant, and he must learn to give up life,
family, love, and all that makes life joyous, if the people were in
need of protection, and if the order of the State were threatened.And then came the Brāhmaṇa, the teacher, the wise man, the educator
of the people.He was not to be wealthy save in wisdom; he was not
to gratify desires, but was to be the mouth of God, pure in conduct,
ascetic in life; he was to show that the wise man needed not wealth,
and that the duty of wisdom was to teach the people.A splendid theory,
carried out for many ages.The ḍharmas of the
castes have broken into pieces, and with the ḍharmas the reality has
disappeared.And so the Brāhmaṇa the elder brother, is a lawyer, a
merchant, a physician, or anything else, an engine driver sometimes,
but seldom a teacher from a sense of ḍharma.And with the old duty, the
old reverence has passed away; for only when the elders live up to
their duties can the youngers be asked to give them reverence.And so
now, Indian Society has to be rebuilt.It has lived, as I have said,
because the Law of Brotherhood was its centre, its theory, though its
practical denial brought on it the judgment of decay.We find now in
our India a mass of conquered people, a slave population in everything
but name.The "untouchable" too often goes so foul in body, so foul
in speech, in food, that the cleanly shrink from personal contact,
and they are left in their foulness, their degradation.But if it be
true that the tears of the weak undermine the throne of Kings, what
of the denial of Brotherhood which has made this lowest population in
our midst?The sweeper, the scavenger, those who perform the hardest
duties in Society, they are trampled under foot.India cannot live, if
she persist in that denial of Brotherhood, which leaves one section of
her population untouchable by the remaining cleanlier people.They were
conquered, they were trampled on, they were made outcastes, every foul
duty was made their work; they were sacrificed to keep you clean; they
were untouchable that you might be refined; they were left in ignorance
that you might be educated; and they were degraded that you might be
raised.Do you think that the cries of the miserable have not entered
into the ears of God?And He looked upon India, and made a stern
decree: As you enslave your brethren, you shall yourselves be enslaved.What ought to be the attitude of Society towards the man, the class,
that makes possible cleanliness, refinement and delicacy of life?If
you had to clean out your own foul places, if you had to sweep your
yards and your streets, would you be as delicate, as refined, as you
are to-day?But if these men and women do these humble offices in order
that you may live in cleanliness, ought you not to repay them with
gratitude and not with contempt, with respect and not with opprobrium?They make your lives possible; your children will have to do these
things, your wife and your children, if the scavengers are not there to
do the work, and you treat contemptuously those who make possible your
civilised life.There lies your crime as a Nation against Brotherhood,
and India need not expect to stand high among the Nations of the world,
until she sets herself to this work of redeeming her own outcaste
population.In the
country whence my body comes one-tenth of the population is degraded,
like your one-sixth.One-tenth of the London population die in the
work-house, the prison, the hospital.But I am bound to say to you,
though I am sorry to say it, that you remain asleep while England is
awake to her duty to her outcaste population, and she is beginning to
redeem them from the degradation in which hitherto they have lived.She
is educating them, and where education is, there refinement inevitably
follows.She is beginning to realise that the lowest work ought to be
the shortest.That the lowest work has a right to decent living.That
if a man be sacrificed to social necessities, he should be repaid by a
leisure which would enable him to live above the degrading tendencies
of the necessary surroundings of his work.The British are building
houses for them, they are educating their children, they are helping
them to live in decency, and so, they are gaining the right to enjoy
the freedom they have won.And to you, my Indian brethren, I would say,
that if you hold up your hands to Īshvara and pray that liberty may be
your own, those hands will never be filled with liberty until you have
poured out freedom among your own people, and have begun to redeem your
miserable slave population.Those who
oppress shall be oppressed; those who trample shall be trampled on;
those who make others outcastes shall be outcastes themselves.Until
you obey the law of Brotherhood in your dealings with these younger
brothers, ignorant, degraded, helpless, you will not win the smile of
the Ḍeva of India, nor have His mighty force running upon your side to
redeem.But you are waking up, you are beginning to realise your duty.Schools must be scattered over the whole country for the education of
the submerged classes; every such school is a temple of Brotherhood,
and is quickening the coming of the salvation of the Indian Nation.And now, finally, what is individual duty as regards Brotherhood?First, to realise that the very condition of the spiritual life is
to see the same Self in all equally dwelling.The Self dwells in the
outcaste as in the Brāhmaṇa, dwells in the most degraded as in the
purest and the noblest; and there is one law of the spiritual life,
that as you pour out to others, so shall your own vessel be filled
with the water of life.Each of us, then, has a duty as a brother.We
are the elders of those younger brothers of our race, and the Law of
Brotherhood for the coming Society is, as I said, that every man born
into a civilised community shall live under conditions that enable him
to develop to the utmost every faculty that he brings with him into
the world.Every child
born among you has a right to develop all that he has within him.Some are not your equals, but you must not therefore
stunt their growth.Daniel went to the bedroom.Every man has the God-given right to develop all
that he possesses within him.You
must make no difficulties which shall be insuperable to them.Daniel journeyed to the office.You must
help by virtue of your own longer evolution.You must learn together,
in order that you may know the fulness of the Divine Life.But there
is this great difference between the life of Matter and the life of
Spirit.If on this table I had a heap of golden coins, and if I said
I would give them to you, what a rush there would be for them.Because you know that with every gold mohur given away,
there is one less to give away to those who are behind; and so every
one wants to be in front, for suppose there is not enough to go round?Sometimes men might try to grasp two or three, so that they may have
for the future as well as for the day.It is the law of matter that
it perishes in the using; hence there is always struggle; hence it
generates divisions, it is the parent of quarrels.But if you knew that
there was enough for all, there would be no struggle; if you knew the
last would be as the first, there would be no fighting.The law of the
Spirit is quite other, for the Spirit lives by giving, not by taking.The Spirit increases by using, he does not waste.As the Spirit has
three great aspects of Will, of Consciousness, of Intellect, these
are the priceless possessions that we have, and that we can give away
without fear of wasting.I have a truth that you have not, and go out
and proclaim the truth among you; am I the poorer because you know the
truth, or do I know the truth all the better, because in giving it I
have appropriated it more thoroughly than I did before?There is no
wastage, there is no diminishing; my truth is mine; and when I have
given it to every one of you, and you all possess that truth, mine is
no lesser.As you can light one
candle from another, and the flame never diminishes though you light a
thousand from it, so it is in the case of truth.Knowledge lights new
knowledge, so that the total illumination grows greater and not less.Hence if you have knowledge, do not give it among those who already
share it, but go out to the ignorant and give it to them.If you are
wise, your duty is to make others wise, and not to sit in your own
study and enjoy the wisdom as though it were a miser's treasure to
gloat over.Knowledge that is not shared becomes a cancer in the brain,
and the power to know diminishes and is finally lost, when you refuse
to share with your ignorant brother that which you acquired from the
boundless stores of Nature.Are you pure, in order that you
may wrap your garments round you and say to the impure: Stand aside.O my friends, the purity that can be polluted
is not purity at all, but a garment cast over impurity, hiding it from
the world.Purity cannot be soiled; purity cannot be stained; and the
duty of the pure is to go out among the impure, in order that they
may be purified and lifted to the higher standard.Some I know, would
say: "Level down.Pull the Brāhmaṇa down.Of
ignorance, of misery, of poverty, of general wretchedness?Nay; lift
up the poor to the level of the rich, and let all be comfortable,
and none have superfluities.Lift up the ignorant by learning, and so
let all be happy in the enjoyment of the treasures of the mind.Go
among the sinners, the foul, and the debased, and raise them up to
your own purity, and so let the whole nation be pure and educated and
healthy and well-fed.And of this be sure--it is written in a Christian
Scripture, and is written hundreds of times in your own--"God has made
of one blood all the Nations of the earth."Is there one man among you
who has not the right to lift up his eyes and say to Brahman: "I am
Thou"?Is there one man to whom we can deny the glory of the indwelling
Divinity of Spirit?If that be so, and you know it is so, then as your
body may have all the life-blood poisoned if a snake sheds his venom
into the lowest part of the body; if that poison circles in the blood
through all your body, your head and your limbs begin to be paralysed,
and your whole body suffers; presently your body will die, though the
wound was only in the foot.If the poison
is in the foot, in the lowest part of the National body, it spreads
through the whole of the Nation, and no part of it is strong.If one
man be poor, no rich man is perfectly happy in the enjoyment of his
wealth.If one man be ignorant, no wise man can rise to the highest of
his mental faculties.If one man be diseased, the health of the whole
Nation is lowered.Plague
begins in a filthy quarter of the town, but it spreads to a palace.In
London, in the miserable dwelling of the seamstress, when she makes a
ball-dress for a Court Ball, she at times stitches into it her fever,
which is the outcome of starvation; and the ball-dress carries it down
to the house of a noble, and so it catches the fair daughter of the
family.She catches typhoid, and she perishes of the fever generated
in the London sl |
office | Where is Daniel? | You cannot separate yourselves; you are brothers
whether you will or not.You change your bodies; not one of you will go
out of this hall with exactly the same body as you had when you entered
it; some particles of your neighbour's body have come into yours.If you are diseased, you infect others; if
you are healthy, your health infects others; if you are drunken, you
communicate the poison of drink; if you are plague-stricken, the plague
germs run from you to the healthy man.God has so bound us together
that we cannot break the chain.Bound as brothers in suffering we must
be, if we will not be brothers in love, in health, and in compassion.Daniel moved to the hallway.And so, to you, my brothers, I say: Take heed to yourselves; you stand
with the greatest opportunity opening before you, mighty possibilities
lie in the near future, which are yours if your hands are pure and your
hearts are clean.No Nation has lived, where its poor were despised.The fragments of the past warn you of the dangers of your present.Live the Law of Brotherhood; rescue the miserable; teach the ignorant;
feed the starving; nurse the diseased; and, on our India, on her
future, the Ḍeva of India shall pour out His blessing, when she lives
the law that she has always recognised in theory.That Future shall be
mightier than her Past has been, a resurrection of the Spirit, and the
spiritualisation of the flesh.[Footnote 1: "The law of the survival of the fittest is the law of
evolution for the brute; the law of self-sacrifice is the law of
evolution for the man."]Printed by Annie Besant at the Vasanta Press, Adyar, Madras.Transcriber's Note
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.Variations
in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and
punctuation remains unchanged.A small amount of a radium
salt enclosed in a glass tube will cause a serious burn on flesh
exposed to it.It therefore has to be handled with care and undue
exposure to the radiations must be avoided.Cancer sacs shrivel up and
practically disappear under its action.Whether the destruction of
whatever causes the cancer is complete is at least open to serious
doubt.The coagulating effect upon globulin is interesting.When two
solutions of globulin from ox serum are taken and acetic acid added to
one while ammonia is added to the other, the opalescence in drops of
the former is rapidly diminished on exposure to radium, showing a more
complete solution, whereas the latter solution rapidly turns to a
jelly and becomes opaque, indicating a greatly decreased solubility.Energy Evolved by Radium
The greater part of the tremendous energy evolved by radium is due to
the emission of the alpha particles, and in comparison the beta and
gamma rays together supply only a small fraction.Daniel travelled to the office.This energy may be
measured as heat.It was first observed that a radium compound
maintained a temperature several degrees higher than that of the air
around it.The rate of heat production was later measured by means of
an ice calorimeter and also by noting the strength of the current
required to raise a comparison tube of barium salt to the same
temperature.Both methods showed that the heat produced was at the
rate of about 135 gram calories per hour.As the emission is
continuous, one gram of radium would therefore emit about 1,180,000
gram calories in the course of a year.At the end of 2000 years it
would still emit 590,000 gram calories per year.Such a production of
energy so far surpasses all experience that it becomes almost
inconceivable.It is futile to speak of it in terms of the heat
evolved by the combustion of hydrogen, which is the greatest that can
be produced by chemical means.This effect is unaltered at low temperatures, as has been tested by
immersing a tube containing radium in liquid air.It should be stated
that these measurements were made after the radium had reached an
equilibrium with its products; that is, after waiting at least a month
after its preparation.The evolution of heat from radium and the
radio-active substances is, in a sense, a secondary effect, as it
measures the radiant energy transformed into heat energy by the
active matter itself and whatever surrounds it.Let us repeat,
therefore, that the total amount of energy pent up in a single atom of
radium almost passes our powers of conception.Necessity for a Disintegration Theory
The facts gathered so far justify and necessitate a theory which shall
satisfactorily explain them, and since these phenomena are not caused
by nor subject to the influence of external agencies, they must refer
to changes taking place within the atom--in other words, a theory of
disintegration.In the main, these facts may be summed up as the
emission of certain radiations from known elemental matter: the
material alpha particles with positive charge, the beta particles or
negative electrons, and the gamma rays analogous to _X_ rays.The
emission of these rays results in the production of great heat.Then
there is the law of transformations by which whole series of new
elements are generated from the original element and maintain a
constant equilibrium of growth and decay in the series.Lastly, we
have the production of helium from the alpha particles.Disintegration Theory
In explanation of these phenomena, Rutherford offered the hypothesis
that the atoms of certain elements were unstable and subject to
disintegration.The only elements definitely known to come under this
description are the two having atoms of the greatest known mass,
thorium (232) and uranium (238).The atoms of uranium, for instance, are supposed to be not permanent
but unstable systems.According to the hypothesis, about 1 atom in
every 10^{18} becomes unstable each second and breaks up with a
violent explosion for so small a mass of matter.One, or possibly two
alpha particles are expelled with great velocity.This alpha particle
corresponds to an atom of helium with an atomic weight of 4, and its
loss reduces the original atomic weight to 234 with the formation of a
new element, having changed properties corresponding to the new atomic
weight.These new atoms are far more unstable than those of uranium, and the
decomposition proceeds at a new rate of 1 in 10^{7} per second.So at
a definite, measurable rate this stepwise disintegration proceeds.The
explosions are not in all cases equally violent in going from element
to element, nor are the results the same.Sometimes alpha particles
alone are expelled, sometimes beta, or two of them together, as alpha
and beta.The new product may remain with the unchanged part of the original
matter.Thus there would be an accumulation of it until its own decay
balances its production, resulting eventually in a state of
equilibrium.Daniel went to the bedroom.Constitution of the Atom
In order to explain the electrical and optical properties of matter,
the hypothesis was made that the atom consisted of positively and
negatively electrified particles.Later it was shown that negative
electrons exist in all kinds of matter.Various attempts were made to
work out a model of such an atom in which these particles were held in
equilibrium by electrical forces.The atom of Lord Kelvin consisted of
a uniform sphere of positive electrification throughout which a number
of negative electrons were distributed, and J. J. Thomson has
determined the properties of this type as to the number of particles,
their arrangement and stability.Rutherford's Atom
According to Rutherford, the atom of uranium may be looked upon as
consisting of a central charge of positive electricity surrounded by a
number of concentric rings of negative electrons in rapid motion.The
positively charged centre is made up of a complicated system in
movement, consisting in part of charged helium and hydrogen atoms, and
practically the whole charge and mass of the atom is concentrated at
the centre.The central system of the atom is from some unknown cause
unstable, and one of the helium atoms escapes from the central mass as
an alpha particle.There are, confessedly, difficulties connected with this conception of
the atom which need not, however, be discussed here.Much remains to
be learned as to the mechanics of the atom, and the hypothesis
outlined above will probably have to be materially altered as
knowledge grows.Daniel journeyed to the office.Perhaps it may have to be entirely abandoned in favor
of some more satisfactory solution.Until such time it at least
suffices as a mental picture around which the known facts group
themselves.In this picture energy and matter lose their old-time
distinctness of definition.Discrete subdivisions of energy are
recognized which may be called charged particles without losing their
significance.Some of these subdivisions charged in a certain way or
with neutralized charge exhibit the properties of so-called matter.Scattering of Alpha Particles
This conception of the atom would doubtless fail of much support were
it not for certain experimental facts which lend great weight to it.Certain suppositions can be based on this theory mathematically
reasoned out and tested by experiment.Predictions thus based on
mathematical reasoning and afterward confirmed by experiment give a
very convincing impression that truth lies at the bottom.The first of these experimental proofs comes under the head of what is
known as the scattering of the alpha particles, a phenomenon which,
when first observed, proved hard to explain.If an alpha particle in
its escape from the parent atom should come within the influence of
the supposed outer electrical field of some other atom, it should be
deflected from its course and, the intensity of the two charges being
known, the angle of deflection could be calculated.For instance, if
it came to what might be called a head-on collision with the positive
central nucleus of another atom, it would recoil if it were itself of
lesser mass, or would propel the other forward if that were the
lighter.The experiment is carried out by placing a thin metal foil over a
radio-active body, as radium _C_, which expels alpha particles with a
high velocity, and counting the number of alpha particles which are
scattered through an angle greater than 90 deg.This has been done by a number of investigators and it has
been found that the angle of scattering and the number of recoil
particles depend upon the atomic weight of the metal used as foil.For
example, if gold is used, the number of recoil atoms is one in
something less than 8,000.Taking the atomic weight of gold into consideration, Rutherford
calculated mathematically that this was about the number which should
be driven backward.But he went further and calculated also the number
which should be returned by aluminum, which has an atomic weight of
only about one-seventh that of gold.Two investigators determined
experimentally the number for aluminum and their results agreed with
Rutherford's calculations.The metals from aluminum to gold have been examined in this way.The
number of recoil particles increases with the atomic weight of the
metal.Comparing experiment with theory, the central charge in an atom
corresponds to about one-half the atomic weight multiplied by the
charge on an electron, or, as it is expressed, 1/2 Ae.There is only one lighter atom than helium, namely, hydrogen, which
has a mass only one-fourth as great.When alpha particles are
discharged into hydrogen, a few of the latter atoms are found to be
propelled to a distance four times as great as that reached by the
alpha particles.Stopping Power of Substances
Parallel with the experiments mentioned, there is what is called
the stopping power of substances.This means the depth or thickness
of a substance necessary to put a stop to the course of the alpha
particles.This gives the range of the alpha particles in such
substances and is connected in a simple way with the atomic weight,
that is, it is again fixed by the mass of the opposing atom.This
stopping power of an atom for an alpha particle is approximately
proportional to the square root of its atomic weight.Considering gases, for instance, if the range in hydrogen be 1,
then the range in oxygen, the atomic weight of which is 16, is only
(1/16)^{1/2} or 1/4.Generally in the case of metals the weight of
matter per unit area required to stop the alpha particle is found to
vary according to the square root of the atomic weight of the metal
taken.CHAPTER VI
RADIO-ACTIVITY AND CHEMICAL THEORY
Influence upon Chemical Theory
It can easily be seen that the revelations of radio-activity must have
a far-reaching effect upon chemical theory, throwing light upon, and
so bringing nearer, the solution of some of the problems which have
been long discussed without arriving at any satisfactory solution.The
so-called electro-chemical nature of the elements will certainly be
made much clearer.The changes in valence should become intelligible
and valence itself should be explained.A fuller understanding of the
ionization of electrolytes also becomes possible.Sandra went back to the bathroom.As these matters are
debatable and the details are still unsettled, it is scarcely
appropriate to give here the hypotheses in detail or to enter into any
discussion of them.But the promise of solution in accord with the
facts is encouraging.The Periodic System
Such progress has been made, however, in regard to a better
understanding of the Periodic System that the new facts and their
interpretation may well be given.No reliable clue to the meaning of
this system and the true relationship between the elements had been
found up to the time when new light was thrown upon it by the
discoveries of radio-activity.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.The underlying principle was unknown
and even the statement of what was sometimes erroneously called the
Periodic Law was manifestly incorrect and its terms were ignored.Basis of the Periodic System
The ordinary statement of the fundamental principle of the Periodic
System has been that the properties of the elements were periodic
functions of the atomic weights, and that when the elements were
arranged in the order of their atomic weights they fell into a natural
series, taking their places in the proper related groups.In accepting this, the interpretation of function was both
unmathematical and vague, and the order of the atomic weights was not
strictly adhered to but unhesitatingly abandoned to force the group
relationship.Wherever consideration of the atomic weight would have
placed an element out of the grouping with other elements to which it
was clearly related in physical and chemical properties, the guidance
of these properties was accepted and that of the atomic weights
disregarded.Such shiftings are noted in the cases of tellurium and
iodine; cobalt and nickel; argon and potassium.It was most helpful
that, following the order of atomic weights, the majority of the
elements fell naturally into their places.Otherwise the
generalization known as the Periodic System might have remained for a
long time undiscovered and the progress of chemistry would have been
greatly retarded.Influence of Positive Nucleus
It is evident that the order of the elements is determined by
something else than their atomic weights.From the known facts of
radio-activity it would seem that this determining factor is the
positive nucleus.And this nucleus also determines the mass or weight
of the atom.Taking the elements in their order in the Periodic Series
and numbering the positions held by them in this series as 1, 2, 3,
etc., we get the position number or what is called the atomic number.This designates the order or position of the element in the series.We must learn that this number marks a position rather than a single
element, a statement which will be explained later.Determination of the Atomic Number
Since the atomic weight is unreliable as a means of settling the
position of an element in the series and so fixing its atomic number,
how is this number to be determined?Of course, one answer to this
question is that we may rely upon a consideration of the general
properties, as has been done in the past.Fortunately, other methods
have been found by which this may be confirmed.For instance, the
stopping and scattering power of the element for alpha particles has
been suggested and successfully used.Use of X-Ray Spectra
A most interesting method is due to Moseley's observations upon the
_X_-ray spectra of the various elements.It has been found that
crystals, such as those of quartz, have the power of reflecting and
defining the _X_ rays.The spectra given by these rays can be
photographed and the wave lengths measured.These _X_ rays are emitted
by various substances under bombardment by the cathode rays (negative
electrons) and have great intensity and very minute wave lengths.Moseley made use of various metals as anti-cathodes for the production
of these rays.These metals ranged from calcium to zinc in the
Periodic System.In each case he observed that two characteristic
types of _X_ rays of definite intensity and different wave lengths
were emitted.From the frequency of these waves there is deduced a
simple relation connected with a fundamental quantity |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | This is due to the charge of
the positive central nucleus.The number found in this way is one less
than the atomic number.Thus the number for calcium is 19 instead of
20 and that for zinc is 29 instead of 30.So, by adding 1 to the
number found the atomic number is obtained.The atomic weight can usually be followed in fixing the atomic number,
but where doubt exists the method just given can be resorted to.Thus
doubt arises in the case of iron and nickel and cobalt.This would be
the order according to the atomic weights.The _X_-ray method gives
the order as iron, cobalt, and nickel, and this is the accepted order
in the Periodic System.Changes Caused by Ray Emission
On studying the properties of the elements in a transformation series
in connection with the ray emission which produced them, it was seen
that these properties were determined in each case by the nature of
the ray emitted from the preceding transformation product or parent
element.Atomic Weight Losses
Each alpha particle emitted means a loss of 4 in the atomic weight.Thus from uranium with an atomic
weight of 238 to radium there is a loss of three alpha particles.Daniel moved to the hallway.Therefore, 12 must be subtracted from 238, leaving 226, which agrees
closely with the atomic weight of radium as actually determined by the
ordinary methods.Uranium X_{1}, then, would have an atomic weight
of 234 and that of ionium would be 230.The other intermediate
elements, whose formation is due to the loss of beta particles only,
show no decrease in atomic weight.Lead the End Product
From uranium to lead there is a loss of 8 alpha particles, or 32 units
in atomic weight.Daniel travelled to the office.This would give for the final product an atomic
weight of 206.The atomic weight of lead is 207.17.It is not at all
certain that the final product of this series is ordinary lead.Daniel went to the bedroom.The
facts are such that they would lead one to think that it is not.It is
known only that the end product would probably be some element closely
resembling lead chemically and hence difficult or impossible to
separate from it.Daniel journeyed to the office.Several accurate determinations of lead coming from
uranium minerals, which always carry this element and in an
approximately definite ratio to the amount of uranium present, show
atomic weights of 206.40; 206.36; and 206.54.Even the most rigid
methods of purification fail to change these results.The lead in
these minerals might therefore be considered as coming in the main
from the disintegration of the uranium atom and, though chemically
resembling lead, as being in reality a different element with
different atomic weight.Furthermore, in the thorium series 6 alpha particles are lost before
reaching the end product, which again is perhaps the chemical analogue
of lead.The atomic weight here should be 232 less 24, or 208.Determinations of the atomic weight of lead from thorite, a thorium
mineral nearly free from uranium, gave 208.4.The end product of the actinium series is also an element resembling
lead, but both the beginning and ending of this series are still in
obscurity.Changes of Position in the Periodic System
The loss of 4 units in the atomic weight of an element on the
expulsion of an alpha particle is accompanied by a change of chemical
properties which removes the new element two groups toward the
positive side in the Periodic System.Thus ionium is so closely related to thorium and so resembles it
chemically that it is properly classed along with thorium as a
quadrivalent element in the fourth group.Ionium expels an alpha
particle and becomes radium, which is a bivalent element resembling
barium belonging to the second group.Radium then expels an alpha
particle and becomes the gas, radium emanation, which is an analogue
of argon and belongs to the zero group.Other instances might be cited
which go to show that in all cases the loss of an alpha particle makes
a change of two places toward the left or positive side of the System.Changes from Loss of Beta Particles
The loss of a beta particle causes no change in the atomic weight but
does cause a shift for each beta particle of one group toward the
right or negative side of the System.Two such losses, then, will
counterbalance the loss of an alpha particle and bring the new element
back to the group originally occupied by its progenitor.Thus uranium
in the sixth group loses an alpha particle and the product UX_{1}
falls in the fourth group.Sandra went back to the bathroom.One beta particle is then lost and UX_{2}
belonging to the fifth group is formed.With the loss of one more beta
particle the new element returns to the sixth group from which the
transformation began.The table on page 48, as adapted from Soddy, affords a general view of
these changes.Isotopes
An examination of the table will show a number of different elements
falling in the same position in a group of the Periodic System
irrespective of their atomic weights.These are chemically inseparable
so far as the present limitations of chemical analysis are concerned.Even the spectra of these elements seem to be identical so far as
known.This identity extends to most of the physical properties, but
this demands much further investigation.For this new phenomenon Soddy
has suggested the word isotope for the element and isotopic for the
property, and these names have come into general use.[Illustration: RADIO-ACTIVE ELEMENTS FROM URANIUM AND THORIUM
PLACED IN THE PERIODIC SYSTEMS Adapted from Soddy]
Manifestly, we have come across a phenomenon here which quite
eliminates the atomic weight as a determining factor as to position in
the Periodic or Natural System or of the elemental properties in
general.All of the properties of the bodies which we call elements,
and consequently of their compounds and hence of matter in general,
seem to depend upon the balance maintained between the charges of
negative and positive electricity which, according to Rutherford's
theory, go to make up the atom.It is evident that any study of chemical phenomena and chemical theory
is quite incomplete without a study of radio-activity and the
transformations which it produces.Radio-activity in Nature
In concluding this outline of the main facts of radio-activity, it is
of interest to discuss briefly the presence of radio-active material
on this planet and in the stars.Facts enough have been gathered to
show the probable universality of this phenomenon of radio-activity.Whether this means solely the disintegration of the uranium and
thorium atoms, or whether other elements are also transformed under
the intensity of the agencies at work in the universe, is of course a
question as yet unsolved.Radio-active Products in the Earth's Crust
The presence of uranium and thorium widely distributed throughout
the crust of the earth would lead to the conclusion that their
disintegration products would be found there also.Various rocks of
igneous origin have been examined revealing from 4.78 x 10^{-12}
to 0.31 x 10^{-12} grams of radium per gram of the rock.Aqueous
rocks have shown a lesser amount, ranging from 2.92 x 10^{-12} to
0.86 x 10^{-12} grams.As the soil is formed by the decomposition
of these rocks, radium is present in varying amounts in all kinds of
soil.Presence in Air and Soil Waters
As radium is transformed into the gaseous emanation, this will escape
wherever the soil is not enclosed.For instance, a larger amount of
radio-activity is found in the soil of caves and cellars than in open
soils.If an iron pipe is sunk into a soil and the air of the soil
sucked up into a large electroscope, the latter instrument will show
the effect of the rays emitted and will measure the degree of
activity.Also the interior of the pipe will receive a deposit of the
radio-active material and will show appreciable radio-activity after
being removed from the soil.This radium emanation is dissolved in the soil waters, wells, springs,
and rivers, rendering them more or less radio-active, and sometimes
the muddy deposit at the bottom of a spring shows decided
radio-activity.The emanation also escapes into the air so that many observations made
in various places show that the radium emanation is everywhere present
in the atmosphere.Neither summer nor winter seems to affect this
emanation, and it extends certainly to a height of two or three miles.Rain, falling through the air, dissolves some of the emanation, so
that it may be found in freshly-fallen rain water and also in
freshly-fallen snow.Radio-active deposits are found upon electrically
charged wires exposed near the earth's surface.As helium is the resulting product of the alpha particles emitted by
the emanation and other radio-active bodies, it is found in the soil
air, soil waters, and atmosphere.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.Average measurements of the radio-activity of the atmosphere have led
to the calculation that about one gram of radium per square kilometer
of the earth's surface is requisite to keep up the supply of the
emanation.A number of estimates have been given as to the heat produced by the
radio-active transformations going on in the material of this planet.Actual data are scarce and mere assumptions unsatisfactory, so little
that is worth while can be deduced.It is possible that this source of
heat may have an appreciable effect upon or serve to balance the
earth's rate of cooling.Cosmical Radio-activity
Meteorites of iron coming from other celestial bodies have not shown
the presence of radium.Aerolites or stone meteorites have been found
to contain as much as similar terrestrial rock.Since the sun
contains helium and some stars show its presence as predominating,
this suggests the presence of radio-active matter in these bodies.In
addition, the spectral lines of uranium, radium, and the radium
emanation have been reported as being found in the sun's spectrum and
also in the new star, _Nova Geminorum 2_.Daniel moved to the bedroom.These observations await
further investigation and confirmation.So far as the sun's
chromosphere is concerned, the possible amount of radium present would
seem to be very small.Daniel journeyed to the hallway.If this is true, radio-active processes could
have little to do with the sun's heat.The statement is made by
Rutherford that indirect evidence obtained from the study of the
aurora suggests that the sun emits rays similar in type to the alpha
and beta rays.Such rays would be absorbed, and the gamma rays
likewise, in passing through the earth's atmosphere and so escape
ordinary observation.All of this is but further evidence of the unity
of matter and of forces in the universe.INDEX
Actinium, discovery of, 6
Activity, induced, 17
Alpha particles, effect of loss on Atomic Weight, 45
electrical charge of, 26
form helium, 27
nature of, 25
penetrating power of, 39
position of element changed by its loss, 46
recoil, 39
scattering of, 38
solid, 26
Atom, constitution of, 36
Kelvin's, 37
models of, 37
Rutherford's, 37
Atomic number, determination of, 43
Becquerel's experiments, 2
Beta particles, change in position of element by loss of, 47
Chalcolite, natural and artificial, 4
Constants, table of, 31
Curie unit, 22
Disintegration of the element, 25
Disintegration series, 24
Disintegration theory, 35
Electroscope, 12
Equilibrium series, 22
Helium, characteristics of, 30
discovery of, 29
Ionium, discovery of, 6
Ionization, application of electric field to, 10
experimental confirmation, 9
Ionization of gases, 7
theory of, 8
Ions, size and nature of, 10
Isotopes, 47
Lead, atomic weight varies with source, 45
radio-active, 6
the end product, 45
Life-periods of radio-active bodies, 21
Periodic system, 41
basis of, 42
Polonium, discovery of, 4
Positive nucleus, influence of, 43
Potassium, radio-activity of, 3
Radiations, action on phosphorescent bodies, 13
action on photographic plates, 11
discharge electrified bodies, 12
magnetic deflection of, 14
measurements of, 15
penetrating power of, 13, 15
Radio-active bodies, elemental nature of, 20
examination of, 20
life periods of, 21
Radio-activity, an atomic property, 3
cosmical, 51
influence on chemical theory, 41
products in atmosphere, 51
products in earth's crust, 50
products in soil waters, 50
Radium, action on organic matter, etc., 33
amount in pitchblende, 5
discovery of, 5
emanation, 22
energy evolved by, 34
properties of, 5, 32
Rays, alpha, 15, 16, 26
beta, 15, 16
gamma, 15, 16
identification of, 16, 25
magnetic deflection of, 14
photographing track of, 10
types of, 14
Rubidium, radio-activity of, 3
Spinthariscope, 13
Stopping power of substances, 39
Thorium X, discovery of, 18, 21
Uranium atom, disintegration of, 36
Uranium minerals, radio-activity of, 3
Uranium X, discovery of, 17, 21, 23
X-ray spectra, 44
Zinc sulphide screen, 13
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
1.Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.Images have been moved from the middle of a paragraph to the
closest paragraph break.The original text includes certain Greek alphabets.For this text
version [alpha], [beta], [gamma] indicate first three letters of Greek
alphabet respectively.In this version, the number following carat character ^ is to be
interpreted as follows.The expression 10^{-2} means multiplying by
0.01; 10^{10} means multiplying by 10,000,000,000.In this version, the subscripted text has been replaced by an
underline character _ followed by the same with curly braces { and }.For example, X_{1} indicates X with subscript 1.The fractions are indicated with the help of forward character /.For example, 1/4 indicates one-fourth.Other than the changes listed above, the original text has been
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offered by_ T. D._to the Correspondent who advertised for it some time
since in our columns._
AMICUS VERITATIS, _who inquires respecting_ Cleanliness is next to
Godliness, _is referred to our_ 4th Vol., p.491., _for its probable
origin._
E. G. BALLARD._The curious tenure of being the King's_ Vautrarius, _kindly
forwarded by this Correspondent, is already printed in Blount's_ Fragmenta
Antiquitates, p._We would strongly recommend our Correspondent to adopt the paper
process described by_ DR.DIAMOND _in our first Number for the present year
(with correction of using the gallic acid, which, as stated in a subsequent
Number, was by accident omitted).Recent experience has more than ever
convinced us that if the method there laid down be_ strictly _followed, the
photographer will not meet with failures._
AN AMATEUR (Helston).LYTE _is at present abroad, or we are sure he
would readily answer the Query of our Correspondent, as to whether the
chloride of barium recommended by him at p.252., and the nitrate of lead
at p.373., are to be the crystallised or liquid preparations._
AN AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHER (Manchester)._If you will transmit us a specimen
of the failures which you mention, especially of the waved appearance, we
will do the best to answer your Queries: it is impossible otherwise
satisfactorily to do so._
M. A._Always use your hyposulphite of soda_ saturated; _it does not reduce
the tone of pictures near so much as when it is used dilute._
"NOTES AND QUERIES" _is published at noon on Friday, so that the Country
Booksellers may receive Copies in that night's parcels, and deliver them to
their Subscribers on the Saturday._
* * * * *
Now ready, Two New Volumes (price 28s.cloth) of THE JUDGES OF ENGLAND and
the Courts at Westminster.cloth,
Volume One, 1066-1199."A book which is essentially sound and truthful, and must therefore
take its stand in the permanent literature of our country."--_Gent.Daniel travelled to the office.Mag._
London: LONGMAN & CO.* * * * *
12mo., cloth, with Frontispiece, 2s.THE VICAR AND HIS DUTIES: being Sketches of Clerical Life in a
Manufacturing Town Parish."As much a true effigy, though taken with pen and ink, as if Mr.Gatty
had put that capital parish priest, the Vicar of Leeds, before his
camera.Daniel went to the bedroom.Hook this little volume will be
deeply interesting."--_Notes and Queries._
"It unites the merit of lively and faithful sketching, sound
principles, and popular style."--_Churchman's Magazine._
GEORGE BELL, 186.* * * * *
SUPPLEMENT TO DR.OLIVER'S MONASTICON DIOECESIS EXONIENSIS.In the Press, and will be published, in 1 vol.A SUPPLEMENT TO THE MONASTICON DIOECESIS EXONIENSIS.Being a Collection of
Records and Instruments further illustrating the Ancient Conventual,
Collegiate, and Eleemosynary Foundations in the Counties of Devon and
Cornwall.By GEORGE OLIVER, D.D.To correspond exactly in size, paper, and
type with the original work, and to contain a large folding Map of the
Diocese of Exeter at the time of the Dissolution of Monasteries.When
published, the price will be raised.Subscribers' Names received by A. HOLDEN, Bookseller, Exeter.* * * * *
{482}
XYLO-IODIDE OF SILVER, exclusively used at all the Photographic
Establishments.--The superiority of this preparation is now universally
acknowledged.Daniel journeyed to the office.Testimonials from the best Photographers and principal
scientific men of the day, warrant the assertion, that hitherto no
preparation has been discovered which produces uniformly such perfect
pictures, combined with the greatest rapidity of action.In all cases where
a quantity is required, the two solutions may be had at Wholesale price in
separate Bottles, in which state it may be kept for years, and Exported to
any Climate.CAUTION.--Each Bottle is Stamped with a Red Label bearing my name, RICHARD
W. THOMAS, Chemist, 10.Pall Mall, to counterfeit which is felony.CYANOGEN SOAP: for removing all kinds of Photographic Stains.Beware of
purchasing spurious and worthless imitations of this valuable detergent.The Genuine is made only by the Inventor, and is secured with a Red Label
bearing this Signature and Address, RICHARD W. THOMAS, CHEMIST, 10.PALL
MALL, Manufacturer of Pure Photographic Chemicals: and may be procured of
all respectable Chemists, in Pots at 1s., 2s., and 3s.Paul's Churchyard; and MESSRS.Farringdon Street, Wholesale Agents.* * * * *
PHOTOGRAPHIC PICTURES.--A Selection of the above beautiful Productions
(comprising Views in VENICE, PARIS, RUSSIA, NUBIA, &c.)may be seen at
BLAND & LONG'S, 153.Fleet Street, where may also be procured Apparatus of
every Description, and pure Chemicals for the practice of Photography in
all its Branches.Calotype, Daguerreotype, and Glass Pictures for the Stereoscope.BLAND & LONG, Opticians, Philosophical and Photographical Instrument
Makers, and Operative Chemists, 153.* * * * *
PHOTOGRAPHY.--HORNE & CO.Sandra went back to the bathroom.'S Iodized Collodion, for obtaining Instantaneous
Views, and Portraits in from three to thirty seconds, according to light.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.Portraits obtained by the above, for delicacy of detail rival the choicest
Daguerreotypes, specimens of which may be seen at their Establishment.Also every description of Apparatus, Chemicals, &c.&c. used in this
beautiful Art.--123.Daniel moved to the bedroom.* * * * *
PHOTOGRAPHIC CAMERAS.--OTTEWILL'S REGISTERED DOUBLE-BODIED FOLDING CAMERA,
is superior to every other form of Camera, for the Photographic Tourist,
from its capability of Elongation or Contraction to any Focal Adjustment,
its Portability, and its adaptation for taking either Views or
Portraits.--The Trade supplied.Every Description of Camera, or Slides, Tripod Stands, Printing Frames,
&c., may be obtained at his MANUFACTORY, Charlotte Terrace, Barnsbury Road,
Islington.New Inventions, Models, &c., made to order or from Drawings.* * * * *
IMPROVEMENT IN COLLODION.--J.B. HOCKIN & CO., Chemists, 289.have,
by an improved mode of Iodizing, succeeded in producing a Collodion equal,
they may say superior, in sensitiveness and density of Negative, to any
other hitherto published; without diminishing the keeping properties and
appreciation of half tint for which their manufacture has been esteemed.Apparatus, pure Chemicals, and all the requirements for the practice of
Photography.* * * * *
PHOTOGRAPHIC INSTITUTION.--An EXHIBITION of PICTURES, by the most
celebrated French, Italian, and English Photographers, embracing Views of
the principal Countries and Cities of Europe, is now OPEN.TALBOT'S Patent Process, One Guinea; Three extra
Copies for 10s.PHOTOGRAPHIC INSTITUTION, 168.* * * * *
PHOTOGRAPHIC PAPER.--Negative and Positive Papers of Whatman's, Turner's,
Sanford's, and Canson Freres' make.Waxed-Paper for Le Gray's Process.Iodized and Sensitive Paper for every kind of Photography.Sold by JOHN SANFORD, Photographic Stationer, Aldine Chambers, 13.* * * * *
PHOTOGRAPHIC APPARATUS, MATERIALS, and PURE CHEMICAL PREPARATIONS.KNIGHT & SONS' Illustrated Catalogue, containing Description and Price of
the best forms of Cameras and other Apparatus.Voightlander and Son's
Lenses for Portraits and Views, together with the various Materials, and
pure Chemical Preparations required in practising the Photographic Art.Forwarded free on receipt of Six Postage Stamps.Instructions given in every branch of the Art.An extensive Collection of Stereoscopic and other Photographic Specimens.GEORGE KNIGHT & SONS, Foster Lane, London.* * * * *
DAGUERREOTYPE MATERIALS.--Plates, Cases.Daniel journeyed to the hallway.To be had in great variety at
McMILLAN'S Wholesale Depot, 132.* * * * *
HEAL AND SON'S EIDER DOWN QUILTS are made in three Varieties--the BORDERED
QUILT, the PLAIN QUILT, and the DUVET.The Bordered Quilt is in the usual
form of Bed Quilts, and is a most elegant and luxurious article.The Plain
Quilt is smaller, and useful as an extra covering on the bed, or as a
wrapper in the carriage, or on the couch.The Duvet is a loose case filled
with Eider Down as in general use on the Continent.Lists of Prices and
Sizes sent free by Post, on application to
HEAL & SON'S Bedding Factory,
196.* * * * *
LEEDS LIBRARY.LIBRARIAN.--Wanted a Gentleman of Literary Attainments, competent to
undertake the duty of Librarian in the Leeds Library.The Institution
consists of about 500 Proprietary Members, and an Assistant Librarian is
employed.The hours of attendance required will be from 10 A.M.Applications,
with Certificates of Qualifications, must be sent by letter, post paid, not
later then 1st December next, to ABRAHAM HORSFALL, ESQ., Hon.* * * * *
THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE FOR NOVEMBER contains the following articles--1.The Pariah Girl, a Poem: by the Rev.Cotele, and the Edgecumbes of the Olden Time, by Mrs.The Annals of Appetite: Soyer's Pantropheon.Sandra travelled to the garden.Notes on
Mediaeval Art France and Germany, by J. G. Waller: Mayence, Heidelberg,
Basle, and Strasburg.Remarks on the White Horse of Saxony and
Brunswick, by Stephen Martin Leake, Esq., Garter.The Campaigns of
1793-95 in Flanders and Holland.Correspondence of Sylvanus Urban:
Counsels' Fees and Lawyers' Bills; Shops in Westminster Hall; The Family of
Phipps; Mr.John Knill of St Ive's; Antiquity of the Mysterious Word
"Wheedle."With Notes of the Month; Historical and Miscellaneous Reviews;
Reports of the Archaeological Societies of Wales, Newcastle-upon-Tyne,
Wiltshire, Somersetshire, Suffolk, and Essex; Historical Chronicle; and
OBITUARY, including Memoirs of Earl Brownlow, Lord Anderson, Right Hon.Sir Charles Adam, James Dodsley Cuff, Esq., Mr.Adolphus Asher, Leon Jablonski, &c. Price 2s.Sandra went back to the bathroom.NICHOL |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | * * * * *
Will be ready in November,
TURNER AND GIRTIN'S PICTURESQUE VIEWS SIXTY YEARS SINCE.Edited by THOMAS
MILLER, ESQ., Author of "Rural Sketches," &c. With Thirty Engravings of the
Olden Time, from Drawings by J. M. W. TURNER and T. GIRTIN, Portraits, &c.
Handsomely bound, price One Guinea.Sandra went to the garden.HOGARTH, Haymarket, London.* * * * *
Fourth Edition of RUINS OF MANY LANDS.NOTICE.--A Fourth and Cheaper
Edition, Revised and considerably Enlarged, of MR.MICHELL'S "RUINS OF MANY
LANDS," with Portrait, cloth, price 4s.This Edition contains Remarks on Layard's latest Discoveries at Nineveh,
and treats of nearly all the Ruins of Interest now in the world.London: WILLIAM TEGG & CO.,
85.* * * * *
TO BOOK COLLECTORS.--Just published.T. MILLARD'S CATALOGUE of 10,000
VOLUMES of SECOND-HAND BOOKS.Britt., 7th edit., by Napier, 18 gs.; another, 6th
edit., calf, 12 gs.; Penny
Cyclo., 29 vols., hf.; Illustrated London News, to end of 1852,
cloth, 12 gs.; Stafford Gallery Collection of Pictures, 2 vols.; Rose's Biographical Dictionary, 12 vols.* * * * *
TWELFTH PUBLIC DRAWING.--The Fifteenth Purchase of Land having just been
made for the CONSERVATIVE LAND SOCIETY, consisting of a Mansion and Part of
Seventy-four Acres at St.Margaret's on the Banks of the Thames, opposite
Richmond Gardens, close to Three Stations on the South-Western Railroad, it
has been resolved that the TWELFTH PUBLIC DRAWING shall take place at
Freemason's Hall, at 8 o'clock in the evening, on Thursday, November the
17th, Viscount Ranelagh in the Chair.On this occasion, 131 Shares will be
added to the Order of Rights for priority of Selection on the Society
Estates, namely, 87 by drawing, and 44 by seniority of date of Membership.All Shares taken prior to the final numbers being placed in the wheel, will
be included in this drawing.CHARLES LEWIS GRUNEISEN,
Secretary.* * * * *
{483}
INDIGESTION, CONSTIPATION, NERVOUSNESS, &c.--BARRY, DU BARRY & CO.'S
HEALTH-RESTORING FOOD for INVALIDS and INFANTS.* * * * *
THE REVALENTA ARABICA FOOD, the only natural, pleasant, and effectual
remedy (without medicine, purging, inconvenience, or expense, as it saves
fifty times its cost in other remedies) for nervous, stomachic, intestinal,
liver and bilious complaints, however deeply rooted, dyspepsia
(indigestion), habitual constipation, diarrhoea, acidity, heartburn,
flatulency, oppression, distension, palpitation, eruption of the skin,
rheumatism, gout, dropsy, sickness at the stomach during pregnancy, at sea,
and under all other circumstances, debility in the aged as well as infants,
fits, spasms, cramps, paralysis, &c._A few out of 50,000 Cures:--_
Cure, No.71, of dyspepsia; from the Right Hon.the Lord Stuart de
Decies:--"I have derived considerable benefits from your Revalenta
Arabica Food, and consider it due to yourselves and the public to
authorise the publication of these lines.--STUART DE DECIES."49,832:--"Fifty years' indescribable agony from dyspepsia,
nervousness, asthma, cough, constipation, flatulency, spasms, sickness
at the stomach, and vomitings have been removed by Du Barry's excellent
food.--MARIA JOLLY, Wortham Ling, near Diss, Norfolk."180:--"Twenty-five years' nervousness, constipation,
indigestion, and debility, from which I had suffered great misery, and
which no medicine could remove or relieve, have been effectually cured
by Du Barry's food in a very short time.--W.R. REEVES, Pool Anthony,
Tiverton."4,208:--"Eight years' dyspepsia, nervousness, debility, with
cramps, spasms, and nausea, for which my servant had consulted the
advice of many, have been effectually removed by Du Barry's delicious
food in a very short time.I shall be happy to answer any
inquiries.--REV.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.JOHN W. FLAVELL, Ridlington Rectory, Norfolk."Wurzer's Testimonial._
"Bonn, July 19."This light and pleasant Farina is one of the most excellent,
nourishing, and restorative remedies, and supersedes, in many cases,
all kinds of medicines.It is particularly useful in confined habit of
body, as also diarrhoea, bowel complaints, affections of the kidneys
and bladder, such as stone or gravel; inflammatory irritation and cramp
of the urethra, cramp of the kidneys and bladder, strictures, and
hemorrhoids.This really invaluable remedy is employed with the most
satisfactory result, not only in bronchial and pulmonary complaints,
where irritation and pain are to be removed, but also in pulmonary and
bronchial consumption, in which it counteracts effectually the
troublesome cough; and I am enabled with perfect truth to express the
conviction that Du Barry's Revalenta Arabica is adapted to the cure of
incipient hectic complaints and consumption."Counsel of Medicine, and practical M.D.London Agents:--Fortnum, Mason & Co., 182.Piccadilly, purveyors to Her
Majesty the Queen; Hedges & Butler, 155.Regent Street; and through all
respectable grocers, chemists, and medicine venders.In canisters, suitably
packed for all climates, and with full instructions, 1lb.carriage free, on receipt of Post-office order.--Barry, Du Barry
Co., 77.IMPORTANT CAUTION.--Many invalids having been seriously injured by spurious
imitations under closely similar names, such as Ervalenta, Arabaca, and
others, the public will do well to see that each canister bears the name
BARRY, DU BARRY & CO., 77.Regent Street, London, in full, _without which
none is genuine_.* * * * *
WESTERN LIFE ASSURANCE AND ANNUITY SOCIETY.PARLIAMENT STREET, LONDON.* * * * *
_Directors._
H. E. Bicknell, Esq.Esq., M. P.
G. H. Drew, Esq.J. H. Goodhart, Esq.J. A. Lethbridge, Esq._Trustees._--W. Whateley, Esq., Q.C.; George Drew, Esq., T. Grissell,
Esq.Cocks, Biddulph, and Co., Charing Cross.POLICIES effected in this Office do not become void through temporary
difficulty in paying a Premium, as permission is given upon application to
suspend the payment at interest, according to the conditions detailed in
the Prospectus.Specimens of Rates of Premium for Assuring 100l., with a Share in
three-fourths of the Profits:--
Age L s. d.17 1 14 4
22 1 18 8
27 2 4 5
32 2 10 8
37 2 18 6
42 3 8 2
ARTHUR SCRATCHLEY, M.A., F.R.A.S., Actuary.6d., Second Edition, with material additions.INDUSTRIAL INVESTMENT and EMIGRATION: being a TREATISE ON BENEFIT BUILDING
SOCIETIES, and on the General Principles of Land Investment, exemplified in
the Cases of Freehold Land Societies, Building Companies, &c. With a
Mathematical Appendix on Compound Interest and Life Assurance.By ARTHUR
SCRATCHLEY, M.A., Actuary to the Western Life Assurance Society, 3.* * * * *
Solicitors' & General Life Assurance Society._Subscribed capital, ONE MILLION._
THIS SOCIETY PRESENTS THE FOLLOWING ADVANTAGES:
The Security of a Subscribed Capital of ONE MILLION.Exemption of the Assured from all Liability.Premiums affording particular advantages to Young Lives.Participating and Non-Participating Premiums.or FOUR-FIFTHS of the Profits are divided
amongst the Assured Triennially, either by way of addition to the sum
assured, or in diminution of Premium, at their option.No deduction is made from the four-fifths of the profits for Interest on
Capital, for a Guarantee Fund, or on any other account.POLICIES FREE OF STAMP DUTY and INDISPUTABLE, except in case of fraud.At the General Meeting, on the 31st May last, A BONUS was declared of
nearly Two PER CENT.per annum on the _amount assured_, or at the rate of
from THIRTY to upwards of SIXTY per cent.POLICIES share in the Profits, even if ONE PREMIUM ONLY has been paid.Next DIVISION OF PROFITS in 1856.The Directors meet on Thursdays at 2 o'clock.Assurances may be effected by
applying on any other day, between the hours of 10 and 4, at the Office of
the Society.where prospectuses and all other requisite information can be
obtained.* * * * *
ACHILLES LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY,--25.CANNON STREET, CITY.--The Advantages
offered by this Society are Security, Economy, and lower Rates of Premium
than most other Offices.No charge is made for Policy Stamps or Medical Fees.For the convenience of the Working Classes, Policies are issued as low as
20l., at the same Rates of Premium as larger Policies.Prospectuses and full particulars may be obtained on application to
HUGH B. TAPLIN, Secretary.* * * * *
BANK OF DEPOSIT.Martin's Place, Trafalgar Square, London.PARTIES desirous of INVESTING MONEY are requested to examine the Plan of
this Institution, by which a high rate of Interest may be obtained with
perfect Security.PETER MORRISON,
Managing Director.* * * * *
ALLEN'S ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE, containing Size, Price, and Description of
upwards of 100 articles, consisting of
PORTMANTEAUS, TRAVELLING-BAGS, Ladies' Portmanteaus, DESPATCH-BOXES,
WRITING-DESKS, DRESSING-CASES, and other travelling requisites.Gratis on
application, or sent free by Post on receipt of Two Stamps.ALLEN'S registered Despatch-box and Writing-desk, their
Travelling-bag with the opening as large as the bag, and the new
Portmanteau containing four compartments, are undoubtedly the best articles
of the kind ever produced.* * * * *
W. H. HART, RECORD AGENT and LEGAL ANTIQUARIAN (who is in the possession of
Indices to many of the early Public Records whereby his Inquiries are
greatly facilitated) begs to inform Authors and Gentlemen engaged in
Antiquarian or Literary Pursuits, that he is prepared to undertake searches
among the Public Records, MSS.in the British Museum, Ancient Wills, or
other Depositories of a similar Nature, in any Branch of Literature,
History, Topography, Genealogy, or the like, and in which he has had
considerable experience.ALBERT TERRACE, NEW CROSS, HATCHAM, SURREY.* * * * *
BENNETT'S MODEL WATCH, as shown at the GREAT EXHIBITION, No.Class X.,
in Gold and Silver Cases, in five qualities, and adapted to all Climates,
may now be had at the MANUFACTORY, 65.Superior Gold London-made
Patent Levers, 17, 15, and 12 guineas.Ditto, in Silver Cases, 8, 6, and 4
guineas.First-rate Geneva Levers, in Gold Cases, 12, 10, and 8 guineas.Ditto, in Silver Cases, 8, 6, and 5 guineas.Superior Lever, with
Chronometer Balance, Gold, 27, 23, and 19 guineas.Bennett's Pocket
Chronometer, Gold, 50 guineas; Silver, 40 guineas.Every Watch skilfully
examined, timed, and its performance guaranteed.Barometers, 2l., 3l., and
4l.BENNETT, Watch, Clock, and Instrument Maker to the Royal Observatory, the
Board of Ordnance, the Admiralty, and the Queen,
65.* * * * *
{484}
ARNOLD'S SECOND HEBREW BOOK.THE SECOND HEBREW BOOK: containing the BOOK of GENESIS, with Syntax,
Vocabulary, and Grammatical Commentary.T. K. ARNOLD,
M.A., Rector of Lyndon, and formerly Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge;
and the REV.H. BROWNE, M.A.RIVINGTONS, Waterloo Place;
Of whom may be had,
THE FIRST HEBREW BOOK: on the Plan of "Henry's First Latin Book."* * * * *
HERALDIC ILLUSTRATIONS, &c. By A. P. HARRISON.The following Works illustrative of English History, Gene |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | Gilbert Street, Grosvenor Square,
at the prices set against the respective works.Copies will be forwarded,
Post Free, on Receipt of a Post Office Order for the amount.I. Roll of Arms granted by Henry III.as Hereditary Bearings to the
Nobility.Emblazoned in gold, 2l.Roll of Arms granted by Edward I. as Hereditary Bearings to the Knights
Companions at the Siege of Karlaverock, A.D.Emblazoned in gold, 21s.Emblazoned in gold, 6l.Roll of Arms of all the Knights of the Garter from their Installation
Plates at St.George's Chapel, Windsor Castle, &c. Price, in colours, 15l.Emblazoned in gold, 21l.V. Facsimile of Magna Charta, with Arms of the Barons.Genealogy of Sovereigns of England from Egbert, with their Arms, &c.
Price coloured, 21s.Emblazoned in gold, 1l.Facsimiles of the Warrant for the Execution of Mary Queen of Scots and
of King Charles I. Price, on parchment, 2s.* * * * *
SCIENCE OF ARCHERY, showing its Affinity to Heraldry, &c. By A. P.
HARRISON, Author of "Treatise on the Formation of the English
Constitution," &c.A. P. HARRISON, 30.Gilbert Street, Grosvenor Square
* * * * *
Price 1-1/2d.CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.CONTENTS:
The Sea-side Resorts of the Londoners.Sandra went to the garden.Trouble-the-House: A Legend of Livonia.& R. CHAMBERS, 3.Bride Court Passage, Fleet Street, London; and 339.* * * * *
TO AUTOGRAPH AND MANUSCRIPT COLLECTORS AND OTHERS.The following Documents and Letters are Missing within the last Twelve
Months:--
Letters from Mathew Hutton to the Duke of Somerset, describing the Three
Daughters of Lord Winchelsea, enigmatically, as Three Books.Letters from Beau Nash as to Ladies C. and H. Finch.Dated August and
September, 1725.Letter from W. Edwards to Mathew Hutton.Dated Burly, December 11th, 1725.Letters containing A Proposal of Marriage from the Duke of Somerset to Lady
C. Finch.Letter from the Duke of Somerset to the Earl of Winchelsea on the same
subject.Letters between Lord Granville and the Duke of Somerset, as to Titles on
the Death of the Duke's Grandson.to Charles, Earl of Egremont, on Public
Business.Letter of Lord Lyttleton to the Earl of Egremont, inclosing Complimentary
Verses to Lady Egremont.A Particular of the Duchess of Somerset's Debts.to the Countess of Northumberland,
proposing the Marriage of his son George with her Grand-daughter, the Percy
Heiress.Letter from Lord Hertford to his Father, consenting to marry.The Commencement of a Letter of Lord Nelson's, &c.&c.
Any information relative to the above will be thankfully received and a
liberal Reward paid on restoration of the Papers.RYMER, A. MURRAY, & RYMER, No.* * * * *
This Day is published,
A CATALOGUE of a very Choice and Valuable Collection of Books, Ancient and
Modern, in the English and Foreign Languages, and Books of Prints, in very
fine condition, also some beautifully Illuminated Manuscripts upon Vellum,
including a most splendid Vellum MS.of the Latin Bible, in two very large
volumes folio, written circa 1380; also a richly Illuminated Copy of
Ferdosi's Shah Nameh, in Persian, with Thirty-seven beautiful
Paintings:--principally bound by the best Binders, Derome, Bozerian,
Kalthoeber, Walther, Lewis, Clarke, Bedford, Riviere, Aitken, &c.: selected
from the Libraries of the Rev.Hawtrey, Provost of Eton; Very Rev.Butler, Dean of Peterborough, formerly Head Master of Harrow; Right Hon.Warren Hastings, formerly Governor-General of India; Rev.R. J. Coates,
Sopworth House, Gloucestershire, collected by him during the last sixty
years, with great taste and judgment, regardless of expense; S. Freeman,
Esq., Fawley Court (built by Inigo Jones), Henley-on-Thames; John Miller,
Esq., of Lincoln's Inn; and various other Libraries sold in London and the
Country, with some private purchases.Now on sale at the prices affixed, by
JOSEPH LILLY, 19.This Valuable Catalogue will be forwarded to any gentleman inclosing Two
Postage Stamps to prepay it.It may also be seen attached to the
"Gentleman's Magazine" for November.*** Such a Catalogue of Rare, Valuable and Choice Books, in fine condition,
has not been published for some years.* * * * *
This Day is published, price 8s.[Greek: DEMOSTHENOUS O PERI TES PARAPRESBEIAS LOGOS.]DEMOSTHENES DE FALSA LEGATIONE.By RICHARD SHILLETO, M.A., Trinity College,
Cambridge.* * * * *
This Day is published.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.AN ELEMENTARY TREATISE ON PLANE CO-ORDINATE GEOMETRY, By REV.W. SCOTT,
M.A., Mathematical Lecturer and Late Fellow of Sidney Sussex College,
Cambridge.London: GEORGE BELL, Fleet Street.* * * * *
Just published, price 1s.THE STEREOSCOPE,
Considered in relation to the Philosophy of Binocular Vision.An Essay, by
C. MANSFIELD INGLEBY, M.A., of Trinity College, Cambridge.London: WALTON & MABERLEY, Upper Gower Street, and Ivy Lane, Paternoster
Row.Also, by the same Author, Price 1s.,
REMARKS on some of Sir William Hamilton's Notes on the Works of Dr."Nothing in my opinion can be more cogent than your refutation of M.Mary travelled to the bathroom.--_Sir W. Hamilton._
London: JOHN W. PARKER, West Strand.Cambridge: E. JOHNSON.Birmingham: H.
C. LANGBRIDGE.* * * * *
Printed by THOMAS CLARK SHAW, of No.Stonefield Street, in the Parish
of St.New Street Square, in the Parish of St.Bride, in the City of London; and published by GEORGE BELL, of No.Fleet Street, in the Parish of St.Dunstan in the West, in the City of
London, Publisher, at No.Fleet Street aforesaid.--Saturday, November
12.[313] Howitt, _J.A.I._, xx.Undoubtedly it has its legal aspect, for it rests on the authority of
the camp council of old men, which seems to be the only form of tribal
authority known in these tribes.The old men seem also to keep an eye
on the _Pirrauru_ connections in their subsequent course (see below
under 5).These relations, therefore, bear, thanks to this sanction of
the tribal elders, the character of validity and legality, and are to
a certain degree compulsory.(How far they are compulsory in the case
of the husband of the allotted woman, see below under 6); but they
involve neither the mutual obligation of two families, nor a period of
long engagement, nor any factors expressing collective ideas of the
individuality of mutual appropriation of a man and a woman.[315]
[315] Collective ideas which closely correspond to our
ideas of monogamy, of monopolization of the marital
rights and relationship in the widest sense of the word;
special stress being laid on the point, that by the word
"marital" relations I do not mean sexual relations, either
exclusively or even in the first place.There are still two points connected with this heading which emphasize
the difference between the individual marriage and the _Pirrauru_
relation,[316] namely that individual marriage must precede _Pirrauru_
relations; in other words, that only married women may be made
_Pirraurus_.Secondly, that although any woman may have only one Tippa
Malku husband (men may have several Tippa Malku wives), she may have
several _Pirraurus_.This very point induced many writers to consider
the _Pirrauru_ as a form of group marriage.[317] That this relation
bears a group-character is beyond doubt.That it must be clearly
distinguished from marriage is just what we try to show here.[318]
[316] Points to which attention was drawn by Mr.N. W. Thomas,
_loc._J.A.I._, xx.Spencer and Gillen, _Nor.[318] The same was argued from a different point of view by
Mr.Another interesting point about the _Pirrauru_, is that no consent
of the parties is asked.[319] But this appears, according to other
data, to hold strictly good only as far as the woman is concerned.For we are told[320] in another place that a woman's wishes are not
taken into account unless through the mediation of her husband.Hence
it seems that on one side a man's wishes may be taken into account,
and on the other side a man may even dispose of his own wife.This
points to the fact that a husband's consent or mediation when his
wife is concerned may be of some weight.The same conclusion results
from the fact (already noticed by Mr.Thomas in this connection) that
two men may eventually exchange their wives in connection with the
_Pirrauru_ custom.[321] All this appears quite plausible if we bear
in mind that[322] the old men keep the greatest number of females for
themselves--at least all the most comely ones.And that these very
men have afterwards the right of disposing of their wives.They will,
on the one hand, exchange some of the females with each other; on the
other hand, they will allot perhaps some of their wives to one or
another of the young men living in celibacy.In fact, we read that very
often old and renowned warriors give their wives to some youngster,
who regards it as a great honour.[323] In conclusion it appears
probable that the man had a voice in the choice of his _Pirrauru_ or
had not, according to his personal influence.As to the woman, it was
her husband's part to decide, or at least to influence the opinion of
the camp council.But statements are not clear on this point, and we
are left here to a great extent to our own conjectures.[319] _J.A.I._, xx.[321] _Ibid._, pp.255 _sqq._
[323] Howitt says, explicitly (_Nat.184), that
"the leading men in the tribe have usually more Tippa Malku
and _Pirrauru_ wives than other men."The Pinnaru, Jalina
Piramurana had over a dozen wives, and to get one of them
as _Pirrauru_ was a great honour for a man.From the foregoing, it results that the husband still retains
some over-right and control over his wife.For in the light of this fact, the waiving of sexual
privileges connected with the _Pirrauru_ custom does not appear to
encroach any more on the husband's right to his wife than the custom
of wife-exchange or wife-lending.This fact of the necessity of the
husband's consent is confirmed by Howitt's explicit statement.We
read[324] that a man has right of access to his _Pirrauru_ only during
the absence of her husband or, if the latter were present in camp, only
with his consent.It is evident, therefore, that the husband's rights
are by no means annihilated or superseded by the _Pirrauru's_ rights.He waives his rights voluntarily, and his consent is essential.[324] _J.A.I._, xx.Another point of importance is that this relationship does not
constitute a permanent status, and that it may be actualized only at
intervals.In the first place, the sexual licence involved in this
custom is exercised during the tribal gathering, for the night in which
the assignation of _Pirraurus_ took place; the licence lasts for about
four hours.[325] This relation is probably renewed during some of the
next gatherings; during the husband's absence; when a man is sent on an
embassy with his _Pirraurus_; in some cases where the husband gives
his consent.But although none of our sources say so expressly, we may
safely deny the assertion that the _Pirrauru_ relation had a permanent
status.For, if it were actually valid and exercised permanently,
we would not be informed, as we are, as to the special occasions on
which it takes place, and of the conditions under which it may be
exercised.Again, if the _Pirrauru_ involved a permanent status or,
more explicitly, if groups of men and women who are _Pirraurus_ to
each other respectively, normally and permanently live in marital
relations, no one of our authorities, who plead so strongly for the
character of group marriage in the relation in question, would omit
to emphasize such an important feature, which would support their
views in the highest degree.For this is a crucial question indeed:
if the _Pirrauru_ right entitles, in the first place, only to a short
licence and establishes permanently merely a facultative right, then,
even in its sexual aspect, it does not approach the rights established
by Tippa Malku marriage in these tribes.And, although the evidence
on this point is not quite decisive, we are, as we saw, entitled to
suppose that the sexual licence connected with the _Pirrauru_ is only
an occasional one.[325] _J.A.I._, xx.Besides the facts and reasons enumerated above, I may adduce a very
important passage from Howitt's last work, which may be considered the
ultimate opinion of this eminent ethnographer concerning the problem of
group marriage in Australia--a hypothesis of which he always has been a
most ardent supporter."A study of the evidence which has been detailed
in the last chapter has led me to the conclusion that the state of
society among the early Australians was that of an Undivided Commune.John journeyed to the bedroom.Taking this as a postulate, the influence on marriage and descent of
the class division, the sub-classes and the totems may be considered
on the assumption that there was once an Undivided Commune.It is,
however, well to guard this expression.I do not desire to imply
necessarily the existence of complete and continuous communism between
the sexes.The character of the country, the necessity of moving from
one spot to another in search of game and vegetable food, would cause
any Undivided Commune, when it assumed dimensions greater than the
immediate locality could provide with food, to break up into two or
more communes of the same character.In addition to this it is clear,
after a long acquaintance with the Australian savage, that in the past,
as now, individual likes and dislikes must have existed; so that,
admitting the existence of common rights between the members of the
Commune, these rights would |
kitchen | Where is John? | But at certain gatherings, such as
Bunya-bunya harvest in Queensland, or on great ceremonial occasions,
all the segments of the original community would reunite.In short,
so far as the evidence goes at present, I think that the probable
condition of the Undivided Commune may be considered to be represented
by what occurs on certain occasions when the modified Communes of the
Lake Eyre tribes reunite."[326]
[326] Howitt, _Nat.v.
This shows that after a long and mature consideration of the problems
in question, Howitt came to the conclusion that "group marriage" never
could have existed as a permanent status, and that it could have been
established only in connection with large tribal gatherings.In such a
light the hypothesis of former or even actual "group marriage" becomes
very plausible, or rather it ceases to be a hypothesis and it becomes
one of the best established facts of the Australian ethnology.But at the same time, although we may accord the term "group marriage"
(if any one wishes at any price to retain it), we must note that such
a state of things is radically different from marriage in the usual
sense of the word, and in particular from marriage as found in actual
existence in the Australian aboriginal society, and described in this
study.Sandra went to the garden.It will be sufficient to point out that such an occasional
sexual licence lasting several hours during an initiation gathering
could not create any bonds of family, such as may result from community
of daily life and community of interests, common inhabiting of the same
dwelling, common eating, especially common rearing of children--all
factors which, as will be shown below, act only in the individual
family and tend to make out of the individual family a well-established
and well-defined unit.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.We must adduce one fact which stands in opposition to what is just
said.I mean the statement of Spencer and Gillen, that amongst the
Urabunna the Piraungarus are "generally found living grouped together."This statement might possibly point first to a permanent state of
marital relations, secondly to a common mode of living.Now it may be
remarked that such an offhand statement on such a crucial point shows
undoubtedly that the authors were insufficiently informed themselves on
this point, and that, therefore, we must accept this statement with the
utmost caution.[327]
[327] Compare above, p.The problem of the mode of living of the _Pirrauru_ groups involves two
questions--first, what persons constituted the local group (temporary
or permanent); and second, how the members of a _Pirrauru_ group lived
within it.The statement of Spencer and Gillen may mean that a group
of _Pirraurus_ constituted a given temporary local group.But within
this group husband and wife must have formed a distinct unit.Now as to
the question of how far such a grouping of _Pirraurus_ (if we accept
the above statement as correct) would imply a permanent marital status
between the _Pirraurus_, it is impossible to answer.On this point,
too, the information about the Urabunna is vague and defective, and
it is safer to base our conclusions on the more explicit and reliable
material given by Howitt in the case of the Dieri.Did the _Pirrauru_ union last for the whole life, or could it be
dissolved?In one place we read that the relation in question lasts for
life; in another place we are told[328] that the old men watch over
the _Pirraurus_ in order that there may result no trouble from mutual
jealousy; and if a man has too many _Pirraurus_ they compel or advise
him to limit himself to one or two.No answer can be given, therefore,
to this question.We mentioned above that if the _Pirrauru_ relation, according to
Howitt's supposition there quoted, only involved sexual licence during
big tribal gatherings, this relation would be absolutely deprived of
any of the characters that are the chief constituents of marriage
and family.But here we must indicate that such an assumption is not
quite justifiable.In fact, in some of the facts related about the
_Pirraurus_, there are hints pointing to the existence of economic
bonds and of community in daily life between _Pirraurus_.We read[329]
that if in the absence of her husband a woman lives with one or two
of her _Pirraurus_, she occupies with them one hut and shares with
them the food.Therefore, in the absence of her husband, a _Pirrauru_
actually took his place, and in this case the _Pirrauru_ relationship
is not merely a sexual connection, but it assumes the real form of
marriage.In another place[330] we read that a man possessing several
_Pirraurus_ may lend one of them to some one who is deprived of this
advantage.Mary travelled to the bathroom.Thus it seems that the _Pirraurus_ acquire a kind of real
right over their _Pirrauru_ wives; and that it goes as far as the
faculty of disposing of them.And again we are informed that if a woman
has a young man for a _Pirrauru_ she is often jealous of him and looks
strictly after him, and if he does not obey her readily enough, tries
even to compel him by punishment.[331] All these instances, which could
perhaps be further multiplied, show that under certain circumstances,
which we unfortunately do not know with sufficient precision, the
_Pirrauru_ relationship assumes a much more serious character than a
mere sexual licence exercised during a few hours.[329] _Idem_, J.A.I., xx.[330] _Ibid._, p.There remains still to examine what form the relationship of
children to parents assumes in the tribes where the _Pirrauru_
relationship exists.Here we are quite well informed that the
individual relation between the children of a woman and both their
parents (their mother and her Tippa Malku husband) is fully recognized
by the aborigines.It is true that Spencer and Gillen say that there
is only a "closer tie" between the married couple and their children,
and that the children acknowledge the _Pirraurus_ of their parents
as parents.[332] But this statement is very unsatisfactory; such a
complicated question cannot be answered by a short phrase; for we are
by no means aware what the words "closer tie" mean.As unsatisfactory
is Howitt's remark, that owing to the promiscuous sexual intercourse,
no woman can know if the children are the offspring of her husband or
of the _Pirraurus_, and, therefore, the children must be considered
as possessing group fathers and not individual fathers.[333] Apart
from the objection that this applies merely to paternity and not to
motherhood, which would remain at any rate individual, we must point to
our subsequent investigations, which will show that the physiological
question of actual procreation does not play a very important part in
the determination of relationship.Probably it does not play in these
tribes any part at all, as they (at least the Urabunna) seem not to
have any knowledge of the actual physiological process of procreation.So we see that although both Howitt and Spencer and Gillen try to prove
the existence of group relationship between the _Pirraurus_ and their
children, their conclusions appear to be ill founded in facts, and to
be rather the fruits of speculation than of observation.Our suspicions
are strengthened by the unsophisticated remark of Gason, to which we
must ascribe much weight, as he knows the Dieri tribe better than any
one else, and as he has no theory of his own to prove or to demolish.He says: "The offspring of the _pirraoora_ are affectionately looked
after and recognized as if they were the natural offspring of the real
husband and wife."Although this phrase is not very happily formulated,
its meaning appears to be that the married couple recognize all the
children of the woman and treat them with kindness and affection,
without making any distinction.If, according to the views just
mentioned, the children were accepted by all the men cohabiting with
a given woman, _i.e._ by her husband and all the _Pirraurus_, the
phrase quoted above would be obviously quite meaningless; for why
should the offspring be recognized as if they were the husband's own
children in order to be treated well?John journeyed to the bedroom.It may also be pointed out that
the Dieri father is very affectionate to his children.[334] And in all
the statements referring to this subject we clearly see that it is a
question merely of the individual father and by no means of a group of
fathers.Mary went back to the kitchen.[333] _J.A.I._, xx.After this survey of what appear to me to be the most important points
referring to the _Pirrauru_ custom, we see that nearly each one of them
is involved in contradictions and obscurities.To draw any general
conclusion we must proceed with the utmost care and precaution.Our
information about _Piraungaru_ of the Urabunna is nearly worthless.Thomas, that if the authors knew
more facts and knew them better than we can do from their description,
then perhaps their conclusions, drawn from these unknown facts, may be
correct; but if they draw their general conclusions only from the facts
they communicate to us, then we are justified in rejecting them.Our chief aim in discussing the features of the _Pirrauru_ relationship
was to ascertain how far this relation possesses the character of
marriage.That it is a "group relation" is beyond doubt.[335] That it
is a form of marriage has been accepted by Howitt, Fison, and Spencer
and Gillen without much discussion.Thomas has shown already
how unsatisfactory the reasons are, on the strength of which _Pirrauru_
is considered to be a form of group marriage, or even a survival of the
previous stage of group marriage.He has shown how insufficient, in the
light of an exact definition, the information is, how many essential
points we still want to know to be able to make any more conclusive
assertion.Thomas' criticism bears especially on the lack of a
strict use of the term "group marriage."He gives a correct definition
(page 128 of the work quoted) of this term, and consistently puts to
its test the views propounded by the previously mentioned writers.From
this discussion he concludes that in the _Pirrauru_ relationship we can
find neither the features of an actual group marriage nor the traces
of such a previous state of things.[337] This criticism and conclusion
appear to me so convincing and final, that I would have simply referred
to them without entering again upon this rather perplexing question,
were it not a good opportunity for pointing out again by means of this
example, that the sexual aspects of marriage and the family cannot be
discussed separately, detached from each other; and for showing how
incorrect it is to represent the sexual side of marital life as the
complete and unique content of marriage.On the contrary, marriage may
not be, as so often repeated here, detached from family life; it is
defined in all its aspects by the problems of the economic unity of the
family, of the bonds created by common life in one wurley, through the
common rearing of, and affection towards, the offspring.In the above
points I tried to show that in nearly all these respects the _Pirrauru_
relationship essentially differs from marriage and cannot, therefore,
seriously encroach upon the individual family.This will appear still
more clearly when all these points are exhaustively discussed in their
bearing upon the individual family.[335] Compare, however, the definition given by N. W. Thomas,
_loc.128, who shows also how misleading an
indiscriminate use of such terms may be.Frazer in
his new work, _loc.363 _sqq._, where the
theories and views of these authorities on _Pirrauru_ are
accepted without any criticism.Now I would like to show that Howitt, as well as Spencer and Gillen,
based his assertions as to the group marriage character of the
_Pirrauru_ relation upon a misleading exaggeration of the importance
of the sexual side of marriage.Spencer and Gillen say that every
man has one or two individual wives or _Nupa_ "allotted to him as
wives, and to whom he has the first but not the exclusive right of
access."[338] But besides these there is the _Pirrauru_ institution in
which "a group of women actually have marital relations with a group of
men."And as a conclusion, it follows simply, that in Australia there
exists a group marriage, and that not a "pretended" one (Spencer and
Gillen criticize here Dr.Westermarck's expression), but a "real" one.This reasoning would inspire some mistrust by its summary and laconic
character alone.[339] But it is also evident that in the passage quoted
the authors speak exclusively of the sexual side of marriage, and that
they actually mean to imply that this sexual side is everything which
requires attention, if marriage in a given case should be described.The incorrect reasoning is repeated by the
same authors in their later work.John went to the kitchen.[340] From the fact that sexual access
is open to the _Pirraurus_, and that there are no special names for
the individual parents and children (which does not seem to hold good
for the Dieri, however), the inference is drawn that group marriage
exists instead of individual marriage.Not even the conditions under
which a man has access to his _Pirrauru_ are discussed!Our discussion
(from Howitt's detailed data) has shown that even in sexual matters the
_Pirrauru_ are far behind the Tippa Malku; indeed, that there is no
comparison between the sexual rights of an individual husband and of a
_Pirrauru_.128)
that Spencer and Gillen, who speak on page 109 of the real
and not pretended group marriage among the Urabunna, say
on the next page, that in the same tribe group marriage
preceded the present state of things--and so contradict
themselves.Such a carelessness is remarkable in a work,
which in all other respects is a masterpiece; and all these
reasons induce us to suspect that the subject in question
must have been in theory as well as in facts not very
familiar to our authors.The same insufficiency of reasoning is shown by Howitt.He says in one
place[341] that there is individual as well as group marriage among the
Australian aborigines.But under the word marriage he understands the
right of sexual access.And on this ground he asserts that among the
Kurnai there existed individual marriages exclusively; and among the
Dieri there was also group marriage.It is characteristic that no one
of these writers tried to give any explicit definition of marriage; but
from what I have quoted it appears quite clearly how one-sidedly and
narrowly they conceived marriage.[342] And this conception was not only
fatal to the theories and views held by them on the question, but it
vitiated to a certain extent also the information they gave us about
these facts.For they did not try to ascertain and to inform us about
the most important particulars, which were perhaps not quite out of the
reach of their investigation.[343]
[341] _Trans.[342] In order to appreciate my argument, the reader is
requested to peruse the passages referred to from the works
of Howitt, and from Spencer and Gillen, and judge from
their full text whether I am not right.The full quotations
of these passages would have encumbered the present work.As polemics are always rather barren, I preferred to
abstain from them.[343] This is an instance of the general truth that
descriptive ethnography is highly dependent on the
theories known and accepted by the investigator, and that
information may be useful or useless according to whether
the theoretical principles are correct or not.It is
impossible for an observer to go below the surface if he
does not discuss the phenomena and theorize on them.On
the other hand such speculations, if carried on by the
untrained faculties and unaided efforts of the writers, or
under the influence of a theoretical prepossession, may be
entirely misleading.We have based our discussion of the _Pirrauru_ relation on a |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | In our systematic and
objective description of facts relating to the _Pirrauru_ relation we
found in the first place that individual marriage exists besides the
custom in question; that it has its radically distinctive features--a
different form of betrothal or allotment of a wife to a man; an
entirely different kind of sexual rights and privileges; and, what
is perhaps the most important fact, an absolutely different aspect
of the child question, connected with the fact that only a man and
his wife form a real household, live in the same wurley, and share
their food supply together and in common with their children.All
these points constitute a real and radical difference between the
individual marriage connected with the individual family, and the
purely sexual connections involved in the _Pirrauru_ relation in its
usual form, _i.e._ when the husband is present in camp.It is only
during the latter's absence or during diplomatic missions that the
_Pirrauru_ relation assumes at all the character of marriage: then
both _Pirraurus_ occupy the same camp, the woman provides food for her
_Pirrauru_, etc.But these occasions are only temporary and exceptional
ones, and we are, unfortunately, not informed, even with the smallest
degree of approximation, how often they may on the average occur,
whether they are very rarely realized exceptions, or whether they are
facts that take place fairly often.At any rate, it is certain that
these essential features of the _Pirrauru_ relationship never take
place simultaneously with the individual marriage.In other words, the
individual marital relations are in force when the real husband is in
camp and all rights (even the sexual ones) of the _Pirraurus_ cease.So that although the _Pirrauru_ relation, on exceptional and probably
rarely recurring occasions, assumes a few more of the characteristics
of marriage, it never becomes anything like actual marriage.And this
is to be noted, too: the full actuality of _Pirrauru_ relations may
come into force only under the condition that the husband be absent.It is only by an incorrect and superficial exaggeration of the sexual
side of marriage, that the custom in question has been baptized group
marriage.[344] And still less acceptable is the assertion that this
"group marriage" is "the only form of marriage in existence" among the
South Central tribes.[344] Unless we give to the word marriage a new meaning,
which would be hardly useful.We may remark about the sexual features of social life in Australia
in general, that far from bearing any character of indiscriminate
promiscuity on the whole, they are, on the contrary, subject to
strict regulations, restrictions, and rules.Every form of licence
must be subject to customary rules.The principle of class exogamy is
maintained in the majority of cases: so the _Pirrauru_ relation is
subject to class rule, as is also wife-lending, wife-exchange, and
the rare cases of licence among unmarried girls and widows.But the
licence occurring during religious, totemic, and other ceremonies
is, as we have seen above, not subject to the class rule.Even the
most prohibited and tabooed degree--that between a man and his
mother-in-law--is violated by custom.This fact is also noteworthy for the criticism of theories which see
both in class exogamy and in sexual licence survivals of former group
marriage.Sandra went to the garden.At some ceremonies of a magical and religious character
sexual licence occurs, in agreement with the principle that survivals
are always connected with religious facts.But if class exogamy is also
a survival of group marriage, why should _this_ fall in abeyance on
such occasions?For if these two principles were so deeply connected,
why should one of them (class exogamy) be entirely neglected on the
very occasion when the other (ceremonial licence) is most conspicuous?Is that not again one of the serious difficulties in the way of the
hypothesis of a previous group marriage, a difficulty which at least
must be accounted for, and which is always completely ignored by the
authors concerned?There is justification for saying that the notion of adultery and
the reprobation thereof is well known to the aborigines, and that
they punish and condemn unlawful unions of all kinds.As W. E. Roth
says, "morality in a broad sense" is well known to the Australian
aborigines.It could be even said that sexual morality does exist, only
according to a special code, which is obviously different from ours,
if we understand by "morality" the fact that there exists a series of
determined norms and that these norms are followed.Closely connected with this question is the more psychological problem
of sexual jealousy.The existence of sexual jealousy, especially on
the part of the males, has been often referred to by various authors
in order to criticize the theories of primitive promiscuity and
group marriage.On the other hand, it was pointed out that motives
of jealousy are much less strong among some primitive peoples; and
many instances have been adduced to prove this assumption.g._
about the Australians, Spencer and Gillen say: "Amongst the Australian
natives with whom we have come in contact, the feeling of sexual
jealousy is not developed to anything like the extent to which it would
appear to be in many other savage tribes."... "It is indeed a factor
which need not be taken into serious account in regard to the question
of sexual relations amongst the Central Australian tribes."[345]
[345] _Nat.It seems to be beyond any doubt that sexual jealousy, as _we_ conceive
it, is completely absent from the aboriginal mind.It has always been a
serious defect in ethnological reasoning that such ideas and feelings
as those connected with our meaning of "jealousy" have usually not
been analyzed, nor the question asked whether they had any meaning and
place in a given society, or whether we must assume other corresponding
elements to give a new content to the word.Our sexual jealousy--the
ideas as well as the feelings involved therein--is moulded by
innumerable social factors; it is connected with the notion of honour;
it is the result of ideals of pure love, individual sexual rights,
sacredness of monogamy, etc.One of the strongest motives is the care
for the certainty of physiological fatherhood: paternal affection is
strongly enhanced by the idea of blood connection between a man and
his offspring.All these factors are obviously either absent or deeply
modified in the Australian aboriginal society.It is, therefore, quite
wrong to use the word jealousy and ask if it is present among them,
without trying to give to it its proper content.In the first place, we may assume in this society, as in the whole of
mankind and in the majority of higher animals, a physiological basis
for jealousy in the form of an innate instinct;[346] a natural aversion
of an individual towards an encroachment on his sexual rights and a
natural tendency to expand these rights as far as possible--within
certain variable limits.That among the Australian aborigines such
instincts of jealousy are not absent, that they are, on the contrary,
very strongly developed, is evident from nearly all the facts quoted
and all general considerations.It is proved by the high esteem in
which in some tribes chastity is held; by the fact that fidelity is
required in all other tribes, and that it yields only to custom.The
demand for fidelity in all tribes has been discussed above.There
is a whole series of statements that emphatically affirm a very
strong feeling of jealousy; and connected with it is the fact that
the majority of fights and quarrels are about women (Curr, Dawson,
Mrs.Parker, Schürmann, Wilhelmi, Wilkes, Turnbull, Phillipps, Tench,
Spencer and Gillen).Now, that these instincts of jealousy do not
assume the delicate and refined form they possess in our society,
results merely from the difference in the corresponding collective
ideas which influence and mould the elementary instinct.[346] This expression is perhaps inexact.But this is not
the place for psychological and biological analyses.The
reader may be referred to Dr.Westermarck's conclusion
that there is a strong instinct of sexual jealousy among
primitive races of men, both in males (_H.H.M._,
pp.117-132) and in females (_ibid._, pp.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.This
instinct is inherited from our animal ancestors (compare
Darwin, _Descent of Man_, ii.Important for us are
the examples of female jealousy, quoted by Westermarck from
the Australian material; Narrinyeri, Taplin, p.11; Palmer,
p.With our few data available we can attempt only a sketch of the
psychology of the feelings of jealousy among the aborigines.Mary travelled to the bathroom.It may be
observed that although the sentiment of sexual love might be postulated
in all human hearts, it seems to be, to a certain extent, banished from
the majority of the Australian matrimonial matches by the very way in
which they were brought about.John journeyed to the bedroom.[347]
[347] Compare above, p.This must also to a great extent deprive jealousy of its violent
character.On the other hand, social opinion, which in our society
works through ideas of honour and ridicule, strengthening the feelings
of jealousy and giving to them a certain outer prestige, even in cases
when they may not be actually felt--in the Australian Aboriginal
Society uses these factors with a directly contrary effect.As a
matter of fact, in many cases, public opinion compels a man to give
his wife away; it is considered an incident of hospitality, a virtue.In other cases it is an honourable duty, as _e.g._ in cases of wife
offering during a ceremony in order to express gratitude.Mary went back to the kitchen.We read
that in cases where a man begrudges his wife to a _Pirrauru_ he is
regarded as churlish.Obviously, these social factors act here to
modify and moderate the feeling of sexual jealousy.We find no instance
or statement which would point to a contrary influence of these
factors in the Australian aboriginal society.[348] But, as pointed
out above, the idea of individual sexual over-right and control over
his wife is strongly present in the aboriginal mind.John went to the kitchen.This right is
undoubtedly realized as a privilege, and the natural tendency to keep
his privileges for himself, or dispose of them according to his wish
or interest, must create a strong opposition to any encroachment.In other words, the sexual act has its intrinsic value, and it is
considered as an unquestionable advantage.And the right to this
advantage constitutes a kind of private property.The feeling of
jealousy exists here in its economic sense: the proprietor of a certain
object begrudges the use of it to any one whom he does not invite to
it, or who is not otherwise entitled to the privilege.And this seems
to me one of the strongest probable sources of jealousy, besides the
natural physiological impulse of aversion, mentioned above.I think it
is corroborated by the facts enumerated, which show that the husband
vigilantly watches over and keeps his over-right.[348] Custom referring to a certain point--here _e.g._
to the question whether it is honourable or ignominious
to waive one's marital rights--stands in the relation of
correspondence to the collective ideas and collective
feelings on this point.The expression of Spencer and
Gillen that the feeling of jealousy is "subservient to
that of the influence of tribal custom" is therefore
incorrect (_Nat.It would be obviously quite
erroneous to assert that there is any collective feeling
which would not be subservient to the tribal custom.It
is consequently meaningless to affirm that the given
feeling here is subservient.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.We may, therefore, discard
also the logical conclusion at which Messrs.Spencer and
Gillen arrive from these premisses: viz.I did not make these forces, Macumazahn; I did but
guide them towards a great end, for which the White House [that is, the
English] should thank me one day."He brooded a while, then went on:
"But what need is there to talk to you of these matters, Macumazahn,
seeing that in a time to come you will have your share in them and see
them for yourself?After they are finished, then we will talk.""I do not wish to talk of them," I answered.But for what other purpose did you take the trouble to come here?""Oh, to bid you farewell for a little while, Macumazahn.Also to tell
you that Panda, or rather Cetewayo, for now Panda is but his Voice,
since the Head must go where the Feet carry it, has spared Saduko at the
prayer of Nandie and banished him from the land, giving him his cattle
and any people who care to go with him to wherever he may choose to live
from henceforth.At least, Cetewayo says it was at Nandie's prayer,
and at mine and yours, but what he means is that, after all that has
happened, he thought it wise that Saduko should die of himself.""Do you mean that he should kill himself, Zikali?""No, no; I mean that his own idhlozi, his Spirit, should be left to kill
him, which it will do in time.You see, Macumazahn, Saduko is now living
with a ghost, which he calls the ghost of Umbelazi, whom he betrayed.""Is that your way of saying he is mad, Zikali?""Oh, yes, he lives with a ghost, or the ghost lives in him, or he is
mad--call it which you will.The mad have a way of living with ghosts,
and ghosts have a way of sharing their food with the mad.Now you
understand everything, do you not?""Of course," I answered; "it is as plain as the sun."did I not say you were clever, Macumazahn, you who know where
madness ends and ghosts begin, and why they are just the same thing?Look, it has sunk; and you would be on
your road who wish to be far from Nodwengu before morning.You will pass
the plain of Endondakusuka, will you not, and cross the Tugela by the
drift?Have a look round, Macumazahn, and see if you can recognise any
old friends.Umbezi, the knave and traitor, for instance; or some of the
princes.If so, I should like to send them a message.Well, then, here is a little present for you, some of my own work.Open it when it is light again, Macumazahn; it may serve to remind you
of the strange little tale of Mameena with the Heart of Fire.Sometimes, sometimes--" And he rolled his great eyes
about him and sniffed at the air like a hound."Farewell till we meet
again.if you had only run away with Mameena,
how different things might have been to-day!"I jumped up and fled from that terrible old dwarf, whom I verily
believe-- No; where is the good of my saying what I believe?Sandra travelled to the bathroom.I fled from
him, leaving him seated on the stone in the shadows, and as I fled, out
of the darkness behind me there arose the sound of his loud and eerie
laughter.Next morning I opened the packet which he had given me, after wondering
once or twice whether I should not thrust it down an ant-bear hole as it
was.But this, somehow, I could not find the heart to do, though now I
wish I had.Inside, cut from the black core of the umzimbiti wood, with
just a little of the white sap left on it to mark the eyes, teeth and
nails, was a likeness of Mameena.Of course, it was rudely executed, but
it was--or rather is, for I have it still--a wonderfully good portrait
of her, for whether Zikali was or was not a wizard, he was certainly
a good artist.There she stands, her body a little bent, her arms
outstretched, her head held forward with the lips parted, just as though
she were about to embrace somebody, and in one of her hands, cut also
from the white sap of the umzimbiti, she grasps a human heart--Saduko's,
I presume, |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | Nor was this all, for the figure was wrapped in a woman's hair, which I
knew at once for that of Mameena, this hair being held in place by the
necklet of big blue beads she used to wear about her throat.* * * * *
Some five years had gone by, during which many things had happened to me
that need not be recorded here, when one day I found myself in a rather
remote part of the Umvoti district of Natal, some miles to the east of a
mountain called the Eland's Kopje, whither I had gone to carry out a
big deal in mealies, over which, by the way, I lost a good bit of money.Sandra went to the garden.That has always been my fate when I plunged into commercial ventures.One night my wagons, which were overloaded with these confounded
weevilly mealies, got stuck in the drift of a small tributary of the
Tugela that most inopportunely had come down in flood.Just as darkness
fell I managed to get them up the bank in the midst of a pelting rain
that soaked me to the bone.There seemed to be no prospect of lighting
a fire or of obtaining any decent food, so I was about to go to bed
supperless when a flash of lightning showed me a large kraal situated
upon a hillside about half a mile away, and an idea entered my mind."Who is the headman of that kraal?"I asked of one of the <DW5>s who had
collected round us in our trouble, as such idle fellows always do."Tshoza, Inkoosi," answered the man.I said, for the name seemed familiar to me."Ikona [I don't know], Inkoosi.He came from Zululand some years ago
with Saduko the Mad."Then, of course, I remembered at once, and my mind flew back to the
night when old Tshoza, the brother of Matiwane, Saduko's father, had cut
out the cattle of the Bangu and we had fought the battle in the pass.Then lead me to Tshoza, and I will give you
a 'Scotchman.'"(That is, a two-shilling piece, so called because some
enterprising emigrant from Scotland passed off a vast number of them
among the simple natives of Natal as substitutes for half-crowns.)Tempted by this liberal offer--and it was very liberal, because I was
anxious to get to Tshoza's kraal before its inhabitants went to bed--the
meditative <DW5> consented to guide me by a dark and devious path that
ran through bush and dripping fields of corn.At length we arrived--for
if the kraal was only half a mile away, the path to it covered fully two
miles--and glad enough was I when we had waded the last stream and found
ourselves at its gate.In response to the usual inquiries, conducted amid a chorus of yapping
dogs, I was informed that Tshoza did not live there, but somewhere else;
that he was too old to see anyone; that he had gone to sleep and could
not be disturbed; that he was dead and had been buried last week, and so
forth."Look here, my friend," I said at last to the fellow who was telling me
all these lies, "you go to Tshoza in his grave and say to him that if he
does not come out alive instantly, Macumazahn will deal with his cattle
as once he dealt with those of Bangu."Impressed with the strangeness of this message, the man departed, and
presently, in the dim light of the rain-washed moon, I perceived a
little old man running towards me; for Tshoza, who was pretty ancient
at the beginning of this history, had not been made younger by a severe
wound at the battle of the Tugela and many other troubles."Macumazahn," he said, "is that really you?Why, I heard that you
were dead long ago; yes, and sacrificed an ox for the welfare of your
Spirit.""And ate it afterwards, I'll be bound," I answered.it must be you," he went on, "who cannot be deceived, for it is
true we ate that ox, combining the sacrifice to your Spirit with a
feast; for why should anything be wasted when one is poor?Yes, yes,
it must be you, for who else would come creeping about a man's kraal at
night, except the Watcher-by-Night?Enter, Macumazahn, and be welcome."So I entered and ate a good meal while we talked over old times.he answered, his face changing as he spoke.You know I came away with him from Zululand.Well, to
tell the truth, because after the part we had played--against my will,
Macumazahn--at the battle of Endondakusuka, I thought it safer to be
away from a country where those who have worn their karosses inside out
find many enemies and few friends.""Oh, I told you, did I not?He is in the next hut, and dying!""I don't know," he answered mysteriously; "but I think he must be
bewitched.For a long while, a year or more, he has eaten little and
cannot bear to be alone in the dark; indeed, ever since he left Zululand
he has been very strange and moody."Now I remembered what old Zikali had said to me years before to the
effect that Saduko was living with a ghost which would kill him.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom."Does he think much about Umbelazi, Tshoza?""O Macumazana, he thinks of nothing else; the Spirit of Umbelazi is in
him day and night.""I don't know, Macumazahn.Mary travelled to the bathroom.I will go and ask the lady Nandie at once,
for, if you can, I believe there is no time to lose."Ten minutes later he returned with a woman, Nandie the Sweet herself,
the same quiet, dignified Nandie whom I used to know, only now somewhat
worn with trouble and looking older than her years."Greeting, Macumazahn," she said."I am pleased to see you, although it
is strange, very strange, that you should come here just at this time.Saduko is leaving us--on a long journey, Macumazahn."I answered that I had heard so with grief, and wondered whether he would
like to see me.John journeyed to the bedroom."Yes, very much, Macumazahn; only be prepared to find him different from
the Saduko whom you knew.So we went out of Tshoza's hut, across a courtyard to another large hut,
which we entered.It was lit with a good lamp of European make; also a
bright fire burned upon the hearth, so that the place was as light as
day.At the side of the hut a man lay upon some blankets, watched by a
woman.His eyes were covered with his hand, and he was moaning:
"Drive him away!Cannot he suffer me to die in peace?""Would you drive away your old friend, Macumazahn, Saduko?"asked Nandie
very gently, "Macumazahn, who has come from far to see you?"He sat up, and, the blankets falling off him, showed me that he was
nothing but a living skeleton.how changed from that lithe and
handsome chief whom I used to know.Moreover, his lips quivered and his
eyes were full of terrors."Is it really you, Macumazahn?""Come, then,
and stand quite close to me, so that he may not get between us," and he
stretched out his bony hand.I took the hand; it was icy cold.Mary went back to the kitchen."Yes, yes, it is I, Saduko," I said in a cheerful voice; "and there is
no man to get between us; only the lady Nandie, your wife, and myself
are in the hut; she who watched you has gone.""Oh, no, Macumazahn, there is another in the hut whom you cannot see.There he stands," and he pointed towards the hearth.The spear is
through him and his plume lies on the ground!"Why, the Prince Umbelazi, whom I betrayed for Mameena's sake.""Why do you talk wind, Saduko?""Years ago I saw
Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti die."We do not die; it is only our flesh that dies.Yes,
yes, I have learned that since we parted.Do you not remember his last
words: 'I will haunt you while you live, and when you cease to live, ah!from that hour to this he _has_ haunted
me, Macumazahn--he and the others; and now, now we are about to meet as
he promised."John went to the kitchen.Then once more he hid his eyes and groaned."He is mad," I whispered to Nandie."Make 'the-thing-that-burns' brighter," he gasped, "for I do not
perceive him so clearly when it is bright.Macumazahn, he is looking
at you and whispering.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.to Mameena,
who also looks at you and smiles.Now, I began to wish that I were out of that hut, for really a little
of this uncanny business went a long way.Indeed, I suggested going, but
Nandie would not allow it."Stay with me till the end," she muttered.So I had to stay, wondering
what Saduko heard Umbelazi whispering to Mameena, and on which side of
me he saw her standing."That was a clever pit you dug for Bangu, Macumazahn; but you would not
take your share of the cattle, so the blood of the Amakoba is not
on your head.what a fight was that which the Amawombe made at
Endondakusuka.You were with them, you remember, Macumazahn; and why was
I not at your side?then we would have swept away the Usutu as the
wind sweeps ashes.Why was I not at your side to share the glory?I
remember now--because of the Daughter of Storm.She betrayed me for
Umbelazi, and I betrayed Umbelazi for her; and now he haunts me, whose
greatness I brought to the dust; and the Usutu wolf, Cetewayo, curls
himself up in his form and grows fat on his food.And--and, Macumazahn,
it has all been done in vain, for Mameena hates me.Yes, I can read it
in her eyes.She mocks and hates me worse in death than she did in
life, and she says that--that it was not all her fault--because she
loves--because she loves--"
A look of bewilderment came upon his face--his poor, tormented
face; then suddenly Saduko threw his arms wide, and sobbed in an
ever-weakening voice:
"All--all done in vain!_Mameena, Ma--mee--na, Ma--meena!_" and fell
back dead."Saduko has gone away," said Nandie, as she drew a blanket over his
face."But I wonder," she added with a little hysterical smile, "oh!how I wonder who it was the Spirit of Mameena told him that she
loved--Mameena, who was born without a heart?"I made no answer, for at that moment I heard a very curious sound, which
seemed to me to proceed from somewhere above the hut.It was like the sound of the dreadful laughter
of Zikali, Opener-of-Roads--Zikali, the
"Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born."Doubtless, however, it was only the cry of some storm-driven night bird.Or perhaps it was an hyena that laughed--an hyena that scented death.[474] For two years he ruled
the country but "he did nothing kinglike."[475] Partly as a punishment,
perhaps, he made England pay for the expedition that he had just fitted
out, and consequently forfeited what favour he had at the very
beginning.Harthacanute is described as a sickly youth, and a Norman historian
assures us that on account of his ill-health he kept God before his mind
and reflected much on the brevity of human life.[476] He seems to have
been of a kindly disposition, as appears from his dealings with his
half-brother Edward.His sudden death at a henchman's wedding is not to
be attributed to excesses but to the ailment from which he suffered.But
the drunken laugh of the bystanders[477] indicates that the world did
not fully appreciate that with Harthacanute perished the dynasty of
Gorm.Three men now stood forth as possible candidates for the throne of
Alfred: Magnus the Good, now King of Denmark and Norway, Harthacanute's
heir by oath and adoption; Sweyn, the son of Canute's sister Estrid, his
nearest male relative and the ranking member of the Danish house, a
prince who was probably an Englishman by birth, and whose aunt was the
wife of Earl Godwin; and Edward, later known as the Confessor, who
strangely enough represented what national feeling there might be in
England, though of such feeling he himself was probably guiltless.It
may be remarked in passing that all these candidates were sons of men
whom Canute had deeply wronged, men whom he had deprived of life or
hounded to death.There is no good evidence that Edward was ever formally elected King of
England.Harthacanute died at Lambeth, only a few miles from London."And before the King was buried all the folk chose Edward to be King in
London," says one manuscript of the _Chronicle_.If this be true, there
could have been no regular meeting of the magnates.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.The circumstances
seem to have been somewhat in the nature of a revolution headed no doubt
by the anti-Danish faction in London.That Edward was enabled to retain the crown was due largely, we are
told, to the efforts of Canute's two old friends, Earl Godwin and Bishop
Lifing.[478] The situation was anything but simple.The election of
Magnus would restore Canute's empire, but it might also mean English and
Danish revolts.To elect Sweyn would mean war with Magnus, Sweyn
claiming Denmark and Magnus England.Sandra went back to the garden.At the time the Danish claimant was
making most trouble, for Sweyn seems to have arrived in England soon
after Edward was proclaimed.All that he secured, however, was the
promise that he should be regarded as Edward's successor.[479] It was
doubtless well known among the English lords that the new King was
inclined to, and probably pledged to a celibate life.We do not know
whether Englishmen were at this time informed of the ethelings in
Hungary.To most men it must have seemed likely that Alfred's line would
expire with Edward; under the circumstances Sweyn was the likeliest
heir.With the accession of Edward, the Empire of the North was definitely
dissolved.Fundamentally it was based on the union of England and
Denmark, a union that was now repudiated.Still, the hope of restoring
it lingered for nearly half a century.Three times the kings of the
North made plans to reconquer England, but in each instance
circumstances made successful operations impossible.After the death of
Magnus in 1047, the three old dynasties once more controlled their
respective kingdoms, though in the case of both Denmark and Norway the
direct lines had perished.The Danish high seat alone remained to the
Knytlings, now represented by Sweyn, the son of Estrid and the violent
Ulf for whose tragic death the nation had now atoned.FOOTNOTES:
[465] _Encomium Emmae_, ii., c.[466] Snorre, _Saga of Magnus the Good_, c.[467] Kemble, _Codex Diplomaticus_, No.John went back to the garden.[468] _Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_, 1035.[469] The _Chronicle_ (Ann.1039 [1040]) states that Harold died March
17, 1040, and that he ruled four years and sixteen weeks.This would
date his accession as November 25, 1035.[470] _Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_, 1036 [1035].[471] _Anglo-Saxon |
garden | Where is Mary? | [472] _Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_, 1039 [1040].[473] Snorre, _Saga of Magnus the Good_, c.[474] Steenstrup, _Normannerne_, iii., 421.[475] _Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_, 1040.[476] Duchesne, _Scriptores_, 179 (William of Poitiers).[477] _Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_, 1042.[478] Florence of Worcester, _Chronicon_, i., 196-197.[479] Adamus, _Gesta_, ii., c.APPENDICES
I.--CANUTE'S PROCLAMATION OF 1020[480]
1.Canute the King sends friendly greetings to his archbishops and
suffragan bishops and to Thurkil the Earl and all his earls and to all
his subjects in England, nobles and freemen, clerks and laymen.And I make known to you that I will be a kind lord and loyal to the
rights of the Church and to right secular law.I have taken to heart the word and the writing that Archbishop Lifing
brought from Rome from the Pope, that I should everywhere extol the
praise of God, put away injustice, and promote full security and peace
by the strength that God should give me.Now I did not spare my treasures while unpeace was threatening to
come upon you; with the help of God I have warded this off by the use of
my treasures.Then I was informed that there threatened us a danger that was
greater than was well pleasing to us; and then I myself with the men who
went with me departed for Denmark, whence came to you the greatest
danger; and that I have with God's help forestalled, so that henceforth
no unpeace shall come to you from that country, so long as you stand by
me as the law commands, and my life lasts.Now I give thanks to God Almighty for His aid and His mercy in that I
have averted the great evil that threatened us; so that from thence we
need fear no evil, but may hope for full aid and deliverance if need be.Now I will that we all humbly thank Almighty God for the mercy that
He has done to our help.Now I command my archbishops and all my suffragan bishops that they
take due care as to the rights of the Church, each one in the district
that is committed to him; and also my ealdormen I command, that they
help the bishops to the rights of the Church and to the rights of my
kingship and to the behoof of all the people.Should any one prove so rash, clerk or layman, Dane or Angle, as to
violate the laws of the Church or the rights of my kingship, or any
secular statute, and refuse to do penance according to the instruction
of my bishops, or to desist from his evil, then I request Thurkil the
Earl, yea, even command him, to bend the offender to right, if he is
able to do so.If he is not able, then will I that he with the strength of us both
destroy him in the land or drive him out of the land, be he of high rank
or low.And I also command my reeves, by my friendship and by all that they
own and by their own lives, that they everywhere govern my people justly
and give right judgments by the witness of the shire bishop and do such
mercy therein as the shire bishop thinks right and the community can
allow.And if any one harbour a thief or hinder the pursuit, he shall be
liable to punishment equal to that of the thief, unless he shall clear
himself before me with full purgation.And I will that all the people, clerks and laymen, hold fast the
laws of Edgar which all men have chosen and sworn to at Oxford;
14. for all the bishopssay that the Church demands a deep atonement for
the breaking of oaths and pledges.And they further teach us that we should with all our might and
strength fervently seek, love, and worship the eternal merciful God and
shun all unrighteousness, that is, slaying of kinsmen and murder,
perjury, familiarity with witches and sorceresses, and adultery and
incest.And further, we command in the name of Almighty God and of all His
saints, that no man be so bold as to marry a nun or a consecrated woman;
17. and if any one has done so, let him be an outlaw before God and
excommunicated from all Christendom, and let him forfeit all his
possessions to the King, unless he quickly desist from sin and do deep
penance before God.And further still we admonish all men to keep the Sunday festival
with all their might and observe it from Saturday's noon to Monday's
dawning; and let no man be so bold as to buy or sell or to seek any
court on that holy day.And let all men, poor and rich, seek their church and ask
forgiveness for their sins and earnestly keep every ordained fast and
gladly honour the saints, as the mass priest shall bid us,
20. that we may all be able and permitted, through the mercy of the
everlasting God and the intercession of His saints, to share the joys of
the heavenly kingdom and dwell with Him who liveth and reigneth for ever
without end.FOOTNOTES:
[480] Liebermann, _Gesetze der Angelsachsen_, i., 273-275.For an
earlier translation see Stubbs, _Select Charters_, 75-76.II.--CANUTE'S CHARTER OF 1027[481]
Canute, King of all England and Denmark and of the Norwegians and of
part of the Slavic peoples,[482] to Ethelnoth the Metropolitan and
Alfric of York, and to all bishops and primates, and to the whole nation
of the English, both nobles and freemen, wishes health.I make known to you that I have lately been to Rome, to pray for the
redemption of my sins, and for the prosperity of the kingdoms and
peoples subject to my rule.This journey I had long ago vowed to God,
though, through affairs of state and other impediments, I had hitherto
been unable to perform it; but now I humbly return thanks to God
Almighty for having in my life granted to me to yearn after the blessed
apostles, Peter and Paul, and every sacred place within and without the
city of Rome, which I could learn of, and according to my desire,
personally to venerate and adore.And this I have executed chiefly
because I had learned from wise men that the holy apostle Peter had
received from the Lord the great power of binding and loosing, and was
key-bearer of the celestial kingdom; and I, therefore, deemed it
extremely useful to desire his patronage before God.Be it now known to you, that there was a great assembly of nobles at the
Easter celebration, with the Lord Pope John, and the Emperor Conrad, to
wit, all the princes of the nations from Mount Gargano to the nearest
sea, who all received me honourably, and honoured me with magnificent
presents.But I have been chiefly honoured by the Emperor with divers
costly gifts, as well in golden and silver vessels as in mantles and
vestments exceedingly precious.Sandra went back to the bathroom.I have therefore spoken with the Emperor and the Lord Pope, and the
princes who were there, concerning the wants of all my people, both
Angles and Danes, that a more equitable law and greater security might
be granted to them in their journeys to Rome, and that they might not be
hindered by so many barriers, nor harassed by unjust tolls; and the
Emperor and King Rudolf, who has the greater number of those barriers in
his dominions, have agreed to my demands; and all the princes have
engaged by their edict, that my men, whether merchants or other
travellers for objects of devotion, should go and return in security and
peace, without any constraint of barriers or tolls.I then complained to the Lord Pope, and said that it greatly displeased
me, that from my archbishops such immense sums of money were exacted,
when, according to usage, they visited the apostolic see to receive the
pall; and it was agreed that such exactions should not thenceforth be
made.And all that I have demanded for the benefit of my people from the
Lord Pope, from the Emperor, from King Rudolf, and from the other
princes, through whose territories our way lies to Rome, they have
freely granted, and also confirmed their cessions by oath, with the
witness of four archbishops and twenty bishops, and an innumerable
multitude of dukes and nobles, who were present.I therefore render great thanks to God Almighty that I have successfully
accomplished all that I desired, as I had proposed in my mind, and
satisfied to the utmost the wishes of my people.Now then, be it known
to you, that I have vowed, as a suppliant, from henceforth to justify in
all things my whole life to God, and to rule the kingdoms and peoples
subjected to me justly and piously, to maintain equal justice among all;
and if, through the intemperance of my youth, or through negligence, I
have done aught hitherto contrary to what is just, I intend with the aid
of God to amend all.I therefore conjure and enjoin my counsellors, to whom I have intrusted
the counsels of the kingdom, that from henceforth they in no wise,
neither through fear of me nor favour to any powerful person, consent
to, or suffer to increase any injustice in my whole kingdom; I enjoin
also all sheriffs and reeves of my entire kingdom, as they would enjoy
my friendship or their own security, that they use no unjust violence to
any man, either rich or poor, but that every one, both noble and
freeman, enjoy just law, from which let them in no way swerve, neither
for equal favour, nor for any powerful person, nor for the sake of
collecting money for me, for I have no need that money should be
collected for me by iniquitous exactions.I, therefore, wish it to be made known to you, that, returning by the
same way that I departed, I am going to Denmark, for the purpose of
settling, with the counsel of all the Danes, firm and lasting peace
with those nations, which, had it been in their power, would have
deprived us of our life and kingdoms; but were unable, God having
deprived them of strength, who in His loving-kindness preserves us in
our kingdoms and honour, and renders naught the power of our enemies.Having made peace with the nations round us, and regulated and
tranquillised all our kingdom here in the East, so that on no side we
may have to fear war or enmities, I propose this summer, as soon as I
can have a number of ships ready, to proceed to England; but I have sent
this letter beforehand, that all the people of my kingdom may rejoice at
my prosperity; for, as you yourselves know, I have never shrunk from
labouring, nor will I shrink therefrom, for the necessary benefit of all
my people.I therefore conjure all my bishops and ealdormen, by the fealty which
they owe to me and to God, so to order that, before I come to England,
the debts of all, which we owe according to the old law, be paid; to
wit, plough-alms, and a tithe of animals brought forth during the year,
and the pence which ye owe to Saint Peter at Rome, both from the cities
and villages; and in the middle of August, a tithe of fruits, and at the
feast of Saint Martin, the first-fruits of things sown, to the church of
the parish, in which each one dwells, which is in English called
church-scot.If, when I come, these and others are not paid, he who is
in fault shall be punished by the royal power severely and without any
remission.FOOTNOTES:
[481] This translation (with slight changes) is that of Benjamin Thorpe:
Lappenberg, _History of England_, ii., 212-215.[482] The original has Swedes; but see above p.The statement that
Canute was King of the Norwegians is doubtless an addition by the
chronicler; Norway was not conquered before 1028.BIBLIOGRAPHY
_Aarboeger for nordisk Oldkyndighed og Historie_, udg.af det Kongelige
Nordiske Oldskriftsselskab._AElfric's Lives of Saints_, ed._Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_, ed._Annaler for nordisk Oldkyndighed og Historie_, udg.af det Kongelige
Nordiske Oldskriftsselskab.Copenhagen, 1836-1865.These volumes and the _Aarboeger_ are of great value for the study of
Scandinavian culture in the Middle Ages; for the career of Canute,
however, they are of slight importance._Annales Cambriae_, ed._Annales Monastici_, ed._Baltische Studien_, herausgegeben von der Gesellschaft fuer pommersche
Geschichte und Alterthumskunde.7, 13, and 25: articles on the early
relations of the Danes and the Wends._Bibliothek der Angelsaechsischen Poesie_, ed.Grein (revised
edition by R.P.BJOeRKMAN, ERIK, _Nordische Personennamen in England in alt- und
fruehmittel-englischer Zeit_.(Morsbach's _Studien zur
englischen Philologie_, xxxvii.)BREMEN, ADAM OF, _Gesta Hammenburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum_, ed.BRESSLAU, H., _Jahrbuecher des Deutschen Reichs unter Konrad II._
Leipsic, 1879-1884.BUGGE, ALEXANDER, et al., _Norges Historie fremstillet for det norske
Folk_.(Christiania,
1910) deals with Norwegian history to 1030.----_Studier over de norske Byers Selvstyre og Handel_.----_Vesterlandenes Indflydelse paa Nordboernes og saerlig Nordmaendenes
ydre Kultur, Levesaet, og Samfundsforhold i Vikingetiden_.Copenhagen, 1904-1906.A series of brilliant essays on Scandinavian colonisation and culture in
the western islands (Britain).CANTERBURY, GERVASE OF, _The Historical Works of Gervase of Canterbury_,
ed.CHABANNES, ADEMAR DE, _Historiarum Libri iii_, ed._Chronicon Abbatiae de Evesham ad Annum_ 1418, ed._Chronicon Abbatiae Rameseiensis_, ed._Chronicon Monasterii de Abingdon_, ed.CIRENCESTER, RICHARD OF, _Speculum Historiale de Gestis Regum Angliae_.,
ed._Cnutonis Regis Gesta sive Encomium Emmae_, ed.COLLINGWOOD, W.G., _Scandinavian Britain_.Mary moved to the garden.Edited by Gudbrand Vigfusson and F. York
Powell.DAAE, LUDVIG, _Norges Helgener_.DICETO, RALPH OF, _Opera Historica_, ed.Duchesne, Andre (editor), _Historiae Normannorum Scriptores Antiqui_.DURHAM, SIMEON OF, _Opera Omnia_, ed.See _Cnutonis Regis Gesta_._Eulogium Historiarum_, ed._Fagrskinna_, ed.Copenhagen, 1902-1903.Unger
(Christiania, 1847).Edited by Gudbrand Vigfusson and C.R.The Flat-isle Book is a late and not very reliable collection of
sagas, but it cannot be wholly ignored.FLOM, GEORGE T., _Scandinavian Influence on Southern Lowland Scotch_.(Columbia University Germanic studies, i., No.FREEMAN, E.A., _History of the Norman Conquest of England_, 6 vols.FRIESEN, OTTO VON, _Historiska Runskrifter |
office | Where is Sandra? | ----_Om Runskriftens Haerkomst_.Sandra went back to the bathroom.(Sprokvetenskapliga Saellskapets
Foerhandlinger, 1904-1906.)GIESEBRECHT, W. VON, _Geschichte der Deutschen Kaiserzeit_.Brunswick and Leipsic, 1855-1868.HILDEBRAND, B.E., _Anglosachsiska Mynt i svenska Kongliga Myntkabinettet
funna i Sveriges Jord_.HILDEBRAND, HANS O.H., _Svenska Folket under Hednatiden_._Historians of the Church of York and its Archbishops_, ed.HODGKIN, THOMAS, _The History of England from the Earliest Times to the
Norman Conquest_.(Hunt-Poole, _Political History of
England_, i.)HUNT, WILLIAM, _The English Church, A.D.(Stephens-Hunt, _A History of the English Church_, i.)HUNTINGDON, HENRY OF, _Historia Anglorum_, ed._Jomsvikingasaga ok Knytlinga_, ed.Jumieges, William of, _Historiae Nomannorum Libri viii_, ed.Mary moved to the garden.KEMBLE, J.M., _Codex Diplomaticus AEvi Saxonici_.KOeBKE, P., _Om Runerne i Norden_.A brief popular
account of the runes; valuable for its translation of important
inscriptions.LANG, ANDREW, _A History of Scotland_.Langebek, Jacob (editor), _Scriptores Rerum Danicarum Medii AEvi_.Copenhagen, 1772-1878.LAPPENBERG, J.M., _History of England under the Anglo-Saxon Kings_.LARSON, LAURENCE M., _The King's Household in England before the Norman
Conquest_.(Bulletin of the University of Wisconsin.)----_The Political Policies of Cnut as King of England.American
Historical Review_, xv., No.LAVISSE, ERNEST, _Histoire de France depuis les origines jusqu'a la
revolution_.LIEBERMANN, F., _Die Gesetze der Angelsachsen_.Halle,
1898-1899.----_Ungedrueckte anglo-normannische Geschichtsquellen_._Liber Monasterii de Hyda_, ed._Liber Vitae: Register and Martyrology of New Minster and Hyde Abbey_,
ed._Lives of Edward the Confessor_, ed.MALMESBURY, WILLIAM OF, _De Gestis Pontificum Anglorum Libri Quinque_,
ed.----_De Gestis Regum Anglorum Libri Quinque_, ed.MANITIUS, M., _Deutsche Geschichte unter den saechsischen und salischen
Kaisern_.(Bibliothek deutscher Geschichte.)_Memorials of Saint Edmund's Abbey_, ed.MERSEBURG, THIETMAR OF, _Chronicon_, ed.MIGNE, J.P., _Patrologiae Cursus Completus_.contains the sermons of Ademar and the
letters of Fulbert.MONTELIUS, OSCAR, _Kulturgeschichte Schwedens von den aeltesten Zeiten
bis zum elften Jahrhundert nach Christus_.An excellent
account of Northern antiquity based largely on archaeological evidence.MORRIS, WILLIAM A., _The Frankpledge System_.(Harvard
Historical Series, xiv.)MUNCH, P.A., _Det norske Folks Historie_.Christiania,
1852-1863.Napier, A.S., and Stevenson, W.H.(editors), _The Crawford Collection of
Early Charters and Documents_._Olafs Saga hins Helga_.Edited by R. Keyser and C.R.A saga of Saint Olaf; largely legendary.OLRIK, AXEL, _Nardisk Aandsliv i Vikingetid og tidlig Middelalder_.An excellent popular discussion of mediaeval culture in
Scandinavia.OMAN, C.W.C., _England Before the Norman Conquest_.(Oman, _History of England in Seven Volumes_, i.)Edited by Gudbrand Vigfusson and F. York Powell.Mary went back to the hallway.PALGRAVE, FRANCIS, _History of Normandy and England_.PARIS, MATTHEW, _Chronica Majora_, ed.Pertz, G.H., et al.(editors), _Monumenta Germaniae Historica,
Scriptores_.POITIERS, WILLIAM OF, _Gesta Willelmi Ducis Normannorum et Regis
Angliae_, ed.POLLOCK, F., and MAITLAND, F.W., _The History of the English Law Before
the Time of Edward I_.RAMSAY, J.H., _The Foundations of England_.RAOUL GLABER, _Les cinq livres de ses histoires_, ed._Saga Book of the Viking Club_, vi., part i. London._Saga Olafs Konungs ens Helga_.The so-called "Historical Saga" of Saint Olaf.JOHN, JAMES A., _History of the Four Conquests of England_.SAXO GRAMMATICUS, _Gesta Danorum_, ed.SCHUeCK, HENRIK, _Studier i nordisk Litteratur- och Religions-historia._
2 vols._Sproglige og historiske Afhandlinger viede Sophus Bugges Minde._
Christiania, 1908.Historical and philological essays by various
authors.STEENSTRUP, JOHANNES C.H.R., et al., _Danmarks Riges Historie_.Copenhagen, 1896-1906.Copenhagen, 1876-1882.----_Venderne og de Danske foer Valdemar den Stores Tid_.A study of Danish expansion on the south Baltic shores.STEPHENS, GEORGE, _The Old-Northern Runic Monuments of Scandinavia and
England_.London and Copenhagen, 1866-1901.Of great value for
the inscriptions that the author has collected and reproduced; the
interpretations, however, are not always reliable.Soederberg and J.S.F.STUBBS, WILLIAM, _Registrum Sacrum Anglicanum_.STURLASON, SNORRE, _Heimskringla: Noregs Konunga Sogur_, ed.Copenhagen, 1893-1901.Samfundet til Udgivelse af
Gammel Nordisk Litteratur.This is the chief source of
information as to Canute's ambitions for empire in the North.SVENO AGGONIS, _Historia Legum Castrensium Regis Canuti Magni_, ed.TARANGER, A., _Den angelsaksiske Kirkes Indflydelse paa den norske_.(Norske Historiske Forening.)TURNER, SHARON, _History of the Anglo-Saxons_.VITALIS, ORDERICUS, _Historia Ecclesiastica_, ed.(Societe de l'Histoire de France.)Wharton, Henry (editor), _Anglia Sacra_.WIMMER, LUDVIG F.A., _De danske Runemindesmaerker_.Sandra went to the office.Copenhagen,
1895-1908.WIPO, _Vita Chuonradi Regis_.WORCESTER, FLORENCE OF, _Chronicon ex Chronicis_, ed.WORSAAE, J.J.A., _Minder out de Danske og Nordmaendene i England,
Skotland, og Irland_.Translation: _An Account of the
Danes and Norwegians in England, Scotland, and Ireland_.INDEX
A
Abingdon, monastery of;
Adam of Bremen cited;
Ademar de Chabannes cited;
Agdir, district in southern Norway;
Alain, Duke of Brittany;
Aldgyth, wife of Edmund Ironside;
Alfiva; _see_ Elgiva
Alfred, King of England;
Alfred, son of Ethelred;
Alfric, Archbishop of York;
Alfric, Bishop;
Alfric, English ealdorman;
Alfric, ealdorman, and naval commander;
Alfric, old English author;
Algar, English magnate;
Ali, housecarle;
Almar Darling, English magnate;
Alphabet, runic;
Alphege, Archbishop;
Alstad Stone, the;
America, discovery of;
Andover;
_Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_ cited;
Anglo-Saxon kingdom;
Anglo-Saxon legal system, the;
Anglo-Saxon literature;
Anses, the, old Northern divinities;
Anund Jacob, King of Sweden;
Aquitaine;
Arne, Norwegian magnate;
Arngrim, magnate in the Danelaw;
Arnungs, Norwegian noble family;
Art, Celtic and Northern;
Asbjoern, Norwegian warrior;
Ashington, battle of;
dedication at;
Asia Minor;
Aslak Erlingsson, Norwegian chieftain;
Attila;
Avon River;
Aylesford;
B
Bamberg;
Bark-isle;
Barwick, Swedish harbour;
Benedict, Pope;
_Beowulf_;
Bergen;
Bergljot, sister of Earl Erik;
Bernhard, Bishop in Norway;
Bernhard, Bishop in Scania;
Bernicia, old English kingdom;
Bersi, Norse traveller;
Bessin, the, district in Normandy;
Birca, old Swedish town;
_Bison_, the, St.Olaf's longship;
Bjarkamal, old Norse poem;
Bjarne, scald;
Bjor, warrior;
Bjoern, King Olaf's spokesman;
Bleking, district in modern Sweden;
Bohemia;
Boleslav, Duke and King of Poland;
Books, old English;
Brage, old Norse divinity;
Bremen;
Brenn-isles, the, agreement of;
Brentford, skirmish at;
Bristol;
British Isles, the, Scandinavians in;
commerce of;
inscriptions in;
Brittany;
Bruges;
Brunhild, saga heroine;
Buckinghamshire;
Bugge, Alexander, Norse historian, cited;
Bugge, Sophus, Norse philologist, cited;
Burgundy;
Burhwold, Bishop;
Byrhtnoth, ealdorman of Essex;
Byzantium;
C
Caithness;
Canonisation, of St.Dunstan;
Canterbury, city and see of;
siege of;
Canute the Great, King of England, Denmark, and Norway:
inheritance of;
ancestry of;
fostered by Thurkil the Tall;
joins in King Sweyn's attack on England;
in charge of the camp at Garrisborough;
succeeds to the English pretensions of Sweyn;
is driven out of England;
renews the attack;
methods of warfare of;
marches into northern England;
is recognised as king in the south;
lays siege to London;
pillages Mercia and East Anglia;
wins the victory at Ashington;
treats with Edmund Ironside;
is recognised as king of all England;
difficulties of, in 1016 and 1017;
early English policy of;
chief counsellors of;
royal residence of;
rewards his Scandinavian followers;
re-organises the English earldoms;
attempts to establish a new aristocracy in England;
shows his preference for Northmen and distrust of
the Saxons;
executes rebellious nobles;
sends Edmund's sons to Poland;
marries Queen Emma;
organises his guard of housecarles;
suppresses piracy on the English shores;
develops new policy of reconciliation;
becomes king of Denmark;
issues Proclamation of 1020;
has difficulties with Scotland;
agrees to the cession of Lothian;
journeys to Denmark of;
exiles Thurkil the Tall;
extent of empire of;
makes an expedition to Wendland;
Slavic possessions of;
enters into alliance with the Emperor;
acquires the Mark of Sleswick;
ecclesiastical policy of;
legislation of;
baptism of;
benefactions of;
consecrates church at Ashington;
rebuilds the shrine of St.Edmund's;
honours the English saints;
translates the relics of St.Alphege;
provides bishops for the Danish church;
enters into relations with the see of Hamburg-Bremen;
plans to seize Norway;
conspires with the Norwegian rebels;
sends an embassy to King Olaf;
Scotch possessions of;
diplomacy of;
sends an embassy to Sweden;
bribes the Norse leaders;
makes war on Norway and Sweden;
trapped at Holy River;
orders the murder of Ulf;
loves dice and chess;
atones for the murder;
makes a pilgrimage to Rome;
assists at the imperial coronation;
presents complaints at the Lateran synod;
Charter of;
honoured by Pope and Emperor;
conquers Norway;
receives the submission of the Scotch king;
submission of the Norsemen to;
chosen king at the Ere-thing;
holds an imperial assembly at Nidaros;
announces his imperial policy;
secures the allegiance of the Norse chiefs;
returns to Denmark and England;
gives the leadership in Norway to Kalf Arnesson;
plans to depose Earl Hakon;
relations with Normandy;
is Emperor of the North;
position in Europe of;
vassal states of, 259;
appoints Harthacanute his successor;
court and household of;
official appointments of;
continental relations of;
sends embassies to Aquitaine;
forms an alliance with the Church;
relations of, with papacy;
episcopal appointments of;
is friendly to the archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen;
is hostile toward heathen practices;
provides for Christian education;
secular laws of;
reputation of, as a lawgiver;
financial legislation of;
Norse legislation of;
provides coinage for Denmark;
patronises scalds and copyists;
is interested in material improvements;
loses Norway to Magnus Olafsson;
probable plans of (1035);
last illness and death of;
children of;
personality of;
character of;
|
office | Where is Sandra? | But the dim roar o' the dam
It 'ud coax us furder still
To'rds the old race, slow and ca'm,
Slidin' on to Huston's mill--
Where, I'spect, "The Freeport crowd"
Never WARMED to us er 'lowed
We wuz quite so overly
Welcome as we aimed to be.Still it 'peared like ever'thing--
Fur away from home as THERE--
Had more RELISH-like, i jing!--
Fish in stream, er bird in air!O them rich old bottom-lands,
Past where Cowden's Schoolhouse stands!Wortermelons--MASTER-MINE!And sich pop-paws!--Lumps o' raw
Gold and green,--jes oozy th'ough
With ripe yaller--like you've saw
Custard-pie with no crust to:
And jes GORGES o' wild plums,
Till a feller'd suck his thumbs
Clean up to his elbows!Sandra went back to the bathroom.MY!--
ME SOME MORE ER LEM ME DIE!Stripe me with pokeberry-juice!--
Flick me with a pizenvine
And yell "Yip!"--Old now as I then wuz young,
'F I could sing as I HAVE sung,
Song 'ud surely ring DEE-VINE
Up and down old Brandywine!WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE MAY
When country roads begin to thaw
In mottled spots of damp and dust,
And fences by the margin draw
Along the frosty crust
Their graphic silhouettes, I say,
The Spring is coming round this way.When morning-time is bright with sun
And keen with wind, and both confuse
The dancing, glancing eyes of one
With tears that ooze and ooze--
And nose-tips weep as well as they,
The Spring is coming round this way.When suddenly some shadow-bird
Goes wavering beneath the gaze,
And through the hedge the moan is heard
Of kine that fain would graze
In grasses new, I smile and say,
The Spring is coming round this way.When knotted horse-tails are untied,
And teamsters whistle here and there.And clumsy mitts are laid aside
And choppers' hands are bare,
And chips are thick where children play,
The Spring is coming round this way.When through the twigs the farmer tramps,
And troughs are chunked beneath the trees,
And fragrant hints of sugar-camps
Astray in every breeze,--
When early March seems middle May,
The Spring is coming round this way.When coughs are changed to laughs, and when
Our frowns melt into smiles of glee,
And all our blood thaws out again
In streams of ecstasy,
And poets wreak their roundelay,
The Spring is coming round this way.Mary moved to the garden.A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS
Oh!Mary went back to the hallway.tell me a tale of the airly days--
Of the times as they ust to be;
"Piller of Fi-er" and "Shakespeare's Plays"
Is a' most too deep fer me!I want plane facts, and I want plane words,
Of the good old-fashioned ways,
When speech run free as the songs of birds
'Way back in the airly days.Tell me a tale of the timber-lands--
Of the old-time pioneers;
Somepin' a pore man understands
With his feelins's well as ears.Tell of the old log house,--about
The loft, and the puncheon flore--
The old fi-er-place, with the crane swung out,
And the latch-string thrugh the door.Tell of the things jest as they was--
They don't need no excuse!--
Don't tech 'em up like the poets does,
Tel theyr all too fine fer use!--
Say they was 'leven in the fambily--
Two beds, and the chist, below,
And the trundle-beds that each helt three,
And the clock and the old bureau.Then blow the horn at the old back-door
Tel the echoes all halloo,
And the childern gethers home onc't more,
Jest as they ust to do:
Blow fer Pap tel he hears and comes,
With Tomps and Elias, too,
A-marchin' home, with the fife and drums
And the old Red White and Blue!Blow and blow tel the sound draps low
As the moan of the whipperwill,
And wake up Mother, and Ruth and Jo,
All sleepin' at Bethel Hill:
Blow and call tel the faces all
Shine out in the back-log's blaze,
And the shadders dance on the old hewed wall
As they did in the airly days.OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME
I
In the jolly winters
Of the long-ago,
It was not so cold as now--
O!Then, as I remember,
Snowballs to eat
Were as good as apples now.II
In the jolly winters
Of the dead-and-gone,
Bub was warm as summer,
With his red mitts on,--
Just in his little waist-
And-pants all together,
Who ever hear him growl
About cold weather?III
In the jolly winters
Of the long-ago--
Was it HALF so cold as now?Who caught his death o' cold,
Making prints of men
Flat-backed in snow that now's
Twice as cold again?Sandra went to the office.IV
In the jolly winters
Of the dead-and-gone,
Startin' out rabbit-huntin'--
Early as the dawn,--
Who ever froze his fingers,
Ears, heels, or toes,--
Or'd 'a' cared if he had?V
Nights by the kitchen-stove,
Shellin' white and red
Corn in the skillet, and
Sleepin' four abed!the jolly winters
Of the long-ago!We were not as old as now--
O!JUNE
O queenly month of indolent repose!I drink thy breath in sips of rare perfume,
As in thy downy lap of clover-bloom
I nestle like a drowsy child and doze
The lazy hours away.John went back to the hallway.John travelled to the office.The zephyr throws
The shifting shuttle of the Summer's loom
And weaves a damask-work of gleam and gloom
Before thy listless feet.The lily blows
A bugle-call of fragrance o'er the glade;
And, wheeling into ranks, with plume and spear,
Thy harvest-armies gather on parade;
While, faint and far away, yet pure and clear,
A voice calls out of alien lands of shade:--
All hail the Peerless Goddess of the Year!THE TREE-TOAD
"'S cur'ous-like," said the tree-toad,
"I've twittered fer rain all day;
And I got up soon,
And hollered tel noon--
But the sun, hit blazed away,
Tell I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole,
Weary at hart, and sick at soul!"Dozed away fer an hour,
And I tackled the thing agin:
And I sung, and sung,
Tel I knowed my lung
Was jest about give in;
And THEN, thinks I, ef hit don't rain NOW,
They's nothin' in singin', anyhow!"Onc't in a while some farmer
Would come a-drivin' past;
And he'd hear my cry,
And stop and sigh--
Tel I jest laid back, at last,
And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat
Would bust wide open at ever' note!"But I FETCHED her!--O _I_ FETCHED her!--
'Cause a little while ago,
As I kindo' set,
With one eye shet,
And a-singin' soft and low,
A voice drapped down on my fevered brain,
A-sayin',--'EF YOU'LL JEST HUSH I'LL RAIN!'"A SONG OF LONG AGO
A song of Long Ago:
Sing it lightly--sing it low--
Sing it softly--like the lisping of the lips we
used to know
When our baby-laughter spilled
From the glad hearts ever filled
With music blithe as robin ever trilled!Let the fragrant summer breeze,
And the leaves of locust-trees,
And the apple-buds and blossoms, and the
wings of honey-bees,
All palpitate with glee,
Till the happy harmony
Brings back each childish joy to you and me.Let the eyes of fancy turn
Where the tumbled pippins burn
Like embers in the orchard's lap of tangled
grass and fern,--
There let the old path wind
In and out and on behind
The cider-press that chuckles as we grind.Blend in the song the moan
Of the dove that grieves alone,
And the wild whir of the locust, and the
bumble's drowsy drone;
And the low of cows that call
Through the pasture-bars when all
The landscape fades away at evenfall.Then, far away and clear,
Through the dusky atmosphere,
Let the wailing of the killdee be the only
sound we hear:
O sad and sweet and low
As the memory may know
Is the glad-pathetic song of Long Ago!OLD WINTERS ON THE FARM
I have jest about decided
It 'ud keep a town-boy hoppin'
Fer to work all winter, choppin'
Fer a' old fireplace, like I did!them old times wuz contrairy!--
Blame' backbone o' winter, 'peared-like
WOULDN'T break!--and I wuz skeered-like
Clean on into FEB'UARY!Nothin' ever made me madder
Than fer Pap to stomp in, layin'
In a' extra forestick, say'in',
"Groun'-hog's out and seed his shadder!"ROMANCIN'
I' b'en a-kindo' "musin'," as the feller says, and I'm
About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better
time,
When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to
know
When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto' solum-like
and low!You git my idy, do you?--LITTLE tads, you understand--
Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a
MAN.--
Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day,
And fergittin' all that's in it, wishm' jest the other way!I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, |
office | Where is John? | Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the PRESUNT, I kin see--
Kindo' like my sight wuz double-all the things that
UST to be;
And the flutter o' the robin and the teeter o' the wren
Sets the willer-branches bobbin' "howdy-do" thum Now
to Then!The deadnin' and the thicket's jest a-bilin' full of June,
From the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's
tune;
And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on the
snag,
Seems ef they can't-od-rot 'em!-jest do nothin' else
but brag!They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay,
And that sassy little critter jest a-peckin' all the day;
They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the
thrush,
And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the
brush!They's music all around me!--And I go back, in a dream
Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep,--and in the
stream
That list to split the medder whare the dandylions
growed,
I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the
road.Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'!--And they's other fellers,
too,
With theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and
a few
Little "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip--
toein' bloom,
As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney
home.I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out,
With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout"!--
I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam,
And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern o' the dam.I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill,
And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growl-
in' still;
And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe,
And jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do.Sandra went back to the bathroom.W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul plane
I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane;
And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n
"Money-musk"'
Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk.And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel I'm
Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they haint no better
time,
When you come to cipher on it, than the old times,--I
de-clare
I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it'" jest as soft as any
prayer!Dryden seems to
have proposed as his model this looser kind of parable; giving his
personages, indeed, the names of the Hind and Panther, but reserving to
himself the privilege of making the supposed animals use the language
and arguments of the communities they were intended to represent.I
must own, however, that this licence appears less pardonable in the
First Part, where he professes to use the majestic turn of heroic
poetry, than in those which are dedicated to argument and satire.Dryden has, in this very poem, given us two examples of the more
pure and correct species of fable.These, which he terms in the
preface Episodes, are the tale of the Swallows seduced to defer their
emigration, and that of the Pigeons, who chose a Buzzard for their
king.[78] It is remarkable, that, as the former is by much the most
complete story, so, although put in the mouth of a representative of
the heretical church, it proved eventually to contain a truth sorrowful
to our author, and those of the Roman Catholic persuasion: For, while
the Buzzard's elevation (Bishop Burnet by name) was not attended with
any peculiar evil consequences to the church of England, the short
gleam of Popish prosperity was soon overcast, and the priests and their
proselytes plunged in reality into all the distress of the swallows in
the Panther's fable.In conformity to our author's plan, announced in the preface, the
fable is divided into Three Parts.Mary moved to the garden.The First is dedicated to the
general description and character of the religious sects, particularly
the churches of Rome and of England.And here Dryden has used the
more elevated strain of heroic poetry.In the Second, the general
arguments of the controversy between the two churches are agitated,
for which purpose a less magnificent style of language is adopted.Mary went back to the hallway.In the Third and last Part, from discussing the disputed points of
theology, the Hind and Panther descend to consider the particulars in
which their temporal interests were judged at this period to interfere
with each other.And here Dryden has lowered the tone of his verse to
that of common conversation.We must admit, with Johnson, that these
distinctions of style are not always accurately adhered to.The First
Part has familiar lines; as, for instance, the four with which it
concludes:
Considering her a civil well-bred beast,
And more a gentlewoman than the rest,
After some common talk, what rumours ran,
The lady of the spotted muff began.Some passages are not only mean in expression, but border on
profaneness; as,
The smith divine, as with a careless beat,
Struck out the mute creation at a heat;
But when at last arrived to human race,
The Godhead took a deep considering space.On the other hand, the Third Part has passages in a higher tone of
poetry; particularly the whole character of James in the fable of
the Pigeons and the Buzzard: but it is enough to fulfil the author's
promise in the preface, that the parts do each in general preserve a
peculiar character and style, though occasionally sliding into that of
the others.It is a main defect of the plan just detailed, that it necessarily
limited the interest of the poem to that crisis of politics when it was
published.A work, which the author announces as calculated to attract
the favour of friends, and to animate the malevolence of enemies, is
now read with cold indifference.He launched forth into a tide of
controversy, which, however furious at the time, has long subsided,
leaving his poem a disregarded wreck, stranded upon the shores which
the surges once occupied.Setting aside this original defect, the First and Last Parts of the
poem, in particular, abound with passages of excellent poetry.In the
former, it is worthy attention, with what ease and command of his
language and subject Dryden passes from his sublime description of the
immortal Hind, to brand and stigmatise the sectaries by whom she was
hated and persecuted; a rare union of dignity preserved in satire,
and of satire engrafted upon heroic poetry.The reader cannot, at
the same time, fail to observe the felicity with which the poet has
assigned prototypes to the dissenting churches, agreeing in character
with that which he meant to fix upon their several congregations.The Bear, unlicked to forms, is the emblem of the Independents, who
disclaimed them;[79] the Wolf, which hunts in herds, to the classes and
synods of the Presbyterian church; the Hare, to the peaceful Quakers;
the wild Boar, to the fierce and savage Anabaptists, who ravaged
Germany, the native country of that animal.With similar felicity, the
"bird, who warned St Peter of his fall," is, from that circumstance,
and his nocturnal vigils, afterwards assigned as the representative
of the Catholic clergy.Above all, the attention is arrested by the
pointed description of those dark and sullen enthusiasts, who, scarcely
agreeing among themselves upon any peculiar points of doctrine, rested
their claim to superior sanctity upon abominating and contemning those
usual forms of reverence, by which men, in all countries since the
beginning of the world, have agreed to distinguish public worship from
ordinary or temporal employments.The whole of this First Part of the
poem abounds with excellent poetry, rising above the tone of ordinary
satire, and yet possessing all its poignancy.The difference, to
those against whom it is directed, is like that of being blasted by a
thunder-bolt, instead of being branded with a red-hot iron.The First Part of "The Hind and Panther," although chiefly dedicated to
general characters, contains some reasoning on the grand controversy,
similar to that which occupies the Second.The author displays, with
the utmost art and energy of argumentative poetry, the reasons by
which he was himself guided in adopting the Roman Catholic faith.He
is led into this discussion, by mentioning the heretical doctrine of
the Unitarians; and insists, that the Protestant churches, which have
consented to postpone human reason to faith, by acquiescing in the
orthodox doctrine of the Trinity, are not entitled to appeal to the
authority which they have waived, for arguments against the mystery
of the real presence in the eucharist.This was a favourite mode
of reasoning of the Catholics at the time, as may be seen from the
numerous treatises which they sent forth upon the controversy.It is
undoubtedly very fit to impose on the vulgar, but completely overshoots
the mark at which it aims.For, if our yielding humble belief to one
abstruse doctrine of divinity be sufficient to debar the exercise of
our reason respecting another, it is obvious, that, by the same reason,
the appeal to our understanding must be altogether laid aside in
matters of doubtful orthodoxy.The Protestant divines, therefore, took
a distinction; and, while they admitted they were obliged to surrender
their human judgment in matters of divine revelation which were above
their reason, they asserted the power of appealing to its guidance in
those things of a finite nature which depend on the evidence of sense,
and the consequent privileges of rejecting any doctrine, which, being
within the sphere of human comprehension, is nevertheless repugnant
to the understanding: therefore, while they received the doctrine
of the Trinity as an infinite mystery, far above their reason, they
contended against that of transubstantiation as capable of being tried
by human faculties, and as contradicted by an appeal to them.Sandra went to the office.In a
subsequent passage, the author taxes the church of England with an
attempt to reconcile contradictions, by admitting the real presence in
the eucharist, and yet denying actual transubstantiation.Dryden boldly
appeals to the positive words of scripture, and sums his doctrine thus:
The literal sense is hard to flesh and blood,
But nonsense never can be understood.Granting, however, the obscurity or mystery of the one doctrine, it is
a hard choice to be obliged to adopt, in its room, that which asserts
an acknowledged impossibility.In the Second Part, another point of the controversy is agitated;
the infallibility, namely, which is claimed by the Roman church.The
author appears here to have hampered himself in the toils of his own
argument in a former poem.John went back to the hallway.John travelled to the office.He had asserted in the "Religio Laici,"
that the Scriptures contained all things necessary for salvation;
while he yet admitted, that those, whose bent inclined them to the
study of polemical divinity, were to be guided by the expositions of
the fathers, and the earlier, especially the written, traditions of
the Church.There is, as has been noticed in the remarks on "Religio
Laici," a certain vacillation in our author's arguments concerning
tradition, while yet a Protestant, which prepares us for his finally
reposing his doubts in the bosom of that church, which pretends to
be the sole depositary of the earlier doctrines of Christianity, and
claims a right to ascertain all doubts in point of faith, by the same
mode, and with the same unerring certainty, as the original church in
the days of the apostles and fathers.Sandra journeyed to the hallway.These doubts, with which Dryden
seems to have been deeply impressed while within the pale of the Church
of England, he now objects to her as inconsistencies, and accuses
her of having recourse to tradition, or discarding it, as suited the
argument which, for the time, she had in agitation.It is unnecessary
here to trace the various grounds on which reformed churches prove,
that the chain of apostolical tradition has been broken and shivered;
and that the church, claiming the proud title of Infallible, has
repeatedly sanctioned heresy and error.Neither is it necessary to
shew, how the Church of England stops short in her reception of
traditions, adopting only those of the primitive church.Something on
these points may be found in the notes.I may remark, that Dryden is
of the Gallican or _low_ Church of Rome, if I may so speak, and rests
the infallibility which he claims for her in the Pope and Council of
the Church, and not in the Vicar of Christ alone.In point of literary
interest, this Second Part is certainly beneath the other two.It
furnishes, however, an excellent specimen of poetical ratiocination
upon a most unpromising subject.The Third Part refers entirely to the politics of the day; and the
poet has endeavoured, by a number of arguments, to remove the deep
jealousy and apprehensions which the king's religion, and his zeal
for proselytism, had awakened in the Church of England.He does not
even spare to allege a recent adoption of presbyterian doctrines, as
the reason for her unwonted resistance to the royal will; and all the
vigour of his satire is pointed against the latitudinarian clergy,
or, as they were finally called, the Low Church Party, who now began
to assert, what James at length found a melancholy truth, that the
doctrine of passive obedience and non-resistance was not peremptorily
binding, when the church herself was endangered by the measures of the
monarch.Stillingfleet, the personal antagonist of our author, in the
controversy concerning the Duchess of York's posthumous declaration of
faith, is personally and ferociously attacked.The poem concludes with
a fable delivered by each of the disputants, of which the moral applies
to the project and hopes of her rival.We have already said, that which
is told by the Panther, as it is most spirited and pointed, proved,
to the great regret of the author, most strictly prophetic.Daniel moved to the office.It is
remarkable for containing a beautiful character of King James, as the
other exhibits a satirical portrait of the historian Burnet, with whom
the court party in general, and Dryden personally, was then at enmity.The verse in which these doctrines, polemical and political, are
delivered, is among the finest specimens of the English heroic stanza.The introductory verses, in particular, are lofty and dignified in
the highest degree; as are those, in which the splendour and majesty
of the Church of Rome are set forth, in all the glowing colours of
rich imagery and magnificent language. |
office | Where is John? | But the same praise extends
to the versification of the whole poem.It never falls, never becomes
rugged; rises with the dignified strain of the poetry; sinks into
quaint familiarity, where sarcasm and humour are employed; and winds
through all the mazes of theological argument, without becoming either
obscure or prosaic.Sandra went back to the bathroom.The arguments are in general advanced with an air
of conviction and candour, which, in those days, must have required
the protestant reader to be on his guard in the perusal, and which
seems completely to ascertain the sincerity of the author in his new
religious creed.This controversial poem, containing a bold defiance to all who opposed
the king's measures or faith, had no sooner appeared, than our author
became a more general object of attack than he had been even on the
publication of "Absalom and Achitophel."Indeed, his enemies were now
far more numerous, including most of his former friends, the _Tories_
of the high church, excepting a very few who remained attached to
James, and saw, with anxiety, his destruction precipitated by the
measures he was adopting.Montague and Prior were among the first to assail our author, in the
parody, of which we have just given a large specimen.It must have been
published before the 24th October 1687, for it is referred to in "The
Laureat," another libel against Dryden, inscribed by Mr Luttrel with
that date.This assault affected him the more, as coming from persons
with whom he had lived on habits of civility.Mary moved to the garden.He is even said to have
shed tears upon this occasion; a report probably exaggerated, but which
serves to shew, that he was sensible he had exposed himself to the
most unexpected assailants, by the unpopularity of the cause which he
had espoused.Some further particulars respecting this controversy are
mentioned in Dryden's Life.Another poet, or parodier, published "The
Revolter, a tragi-comedy," in which he brings the doctrines of the
"Religio Laici," and of the "Hind and Panther," in battle array against
each other, and rails at the author of both with the most unbounded
scurrility.Mary went back to the hallway.[80]
Not only new enemies arose against him, but the hostility of former
and deceased foes seemed to experience a sort of resurrection.Four
Letters, by Matthew Clifford of the Charter-House, containing notes
upon Dryden's poems and plays, were now either published for the first
time, or raked up from the obscurity of a dead-born edition, to fill
up the cry of criticism against him on all sides.They are coarse and
virulent to the last degree, and so far served the purpose of the
publishers; but, as they had no reference to "The Hind and Panther,"
that defect was removed by a supplementary Letter from the facetious
Tom Brown, an author, whose sole wish was to attain the reputation
of a successful buffoon, and who, like the jesters of old, having
once made himself thoroughly absurd and ridiculous, gained a sort of
privilege to make others feel his grotesque raillery.[81] Besides the
reflections contained in this letter, Brown also published "The New
Converts exposed, or Reasons for Mr Bayes changing his Religion," in
two parts; the first of which appeared in 1688, and the second in 1690.From a passage in the preface to the first part, which may serve as
a sample of Tom's buffoonery, we learn, Dryden publicly complained,
that, although he had put his name to "The Hind and Panther," those who
criticized or replied to that poem had not imitated his example.[82]
Another of these witty varlets published, in 1688, "Religio Laici, or a
Layman's Faith, touching the Supreme Head and Infallible Guide of the
Church, in two letters, &c. by J. R. a convert of Mr Bayes," licensed
June the 1st, 1688.Sandra went to the office.From this pamphlet we have given some extracts in
the introductory remarks to "Religio Laici," pp.John went back to the hallway.There were, besides, many libels of the most personal kind poured
forth against Dryden by the poets who supplied the usual demand of
the hawkers.One of the most virulent contains a singular exhibition
of rage and impotence.It professes to contain a review of our poet's
life and literary labours, and calls itself "The Laureat."This, as
containing some curious particulars, is given below.[83]
The cry against our author being thus general, we may reasonably
suppose, that he would have taken some opportunity to exercise his
powers of retort upon those who were most active or most considerable
among the aggressors, and that Montague and Prior stood a fair chance
of being coupled up with Doeg and Og, his former antagonists.But,
if Dryden entertained any intention of retaliation, the Revolution,
which crushed his rising prospects, took away both the opportunity
and inclination.From that period, the fame of "The Hind and Panther"
gradually diminished, as the controversy between Protestant and <DW7>
gave way to that between Whig and Tory.John travelled to the office.Within a few years after the
first publication of the poem, Swift ranks it among the compositions
of Grubstreet; ironically terms it, "the master-piece of a famous
author, now living, intended as a complete abstract of sixteen thousand
schoolmen, from Scotus to Bellarmine;" and immediately subjoins,
"Tommy Potts, supposed by the same hand, by way of Supplement to the
former."[84] With such acrimony do men of genius treat the productions
of each other; and so certain it is, that, to enjoy permanent
reputation, an author must chuse a theme of permanent interest.FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 70: In the years 1662 and 1674.[Footnote 71: Our author was not the only poet who hailed this dawn of
toleration; for there is in Luttrell's Collection, "A Congratulatory
Poem, dedicated to his Majesty, on the late gracious Declaration (9th
June, 1687); by a Person of Quality."][Footnote 73: Perhaps the poet recollected the attributes ascribed to
the panther by one of the fathers: "_Pantheræ, ut Divus Basilius ait,
cum immani sint ac crudeli odio in homines a natura incensæ, in hominum
simulacra furibundæ irruunt, nec aliter hominum effigiem, quam homines
ipsos dilacerant._"--GRANATEUS _Concion.[Footnote 74: "Only by the way, before we bring D. against D. to the
stake, I would fain know how Mr Bayes, that so well understood the
nature of beasts, came to pitch upon the Hind and the Panther, to
signify the church of Rome and the church of England?Doubtless his
reply will be, because the hind is a creature harmless and innocent;
the panther mischievous and inexorable.Let all this be granted; what
is this to the author's absurdity in the choice of his beasts?For the
scene of the persecution is Europe, a part of the world which never
bred panthers since the creation of the universe.On the other side,
grant his allusion passable, and then he stigmatizes the church of
England to be the most cruel and most voracious creature that ranges
all the Lybian deserts;--a character, which shows him to have a strange
mist before his eyes when he reads ecclesiastical history.And then,
says he,
The panther, sure the noblest next the hind,
And fairest creature of the spotted kind.Which is another blunder, _cujus contrarium verum est_: For if beauty,
strength, and courage, advance the value of the several parts of the
creation, without question the panther is far to be preferred before
the hind, a poor, silly, timorous, ill-shaped, bobtailed creature, of
which a score will hardly purchase the skin of a true panther.Had
he looked a little farther, Ludolphus would have furnished him with
a zebra, the most beautiful of all the four-footed creatures in the
world, to have coped with his panther for spots, and with his hind for
gentleness and mildness; of which one was sold singly to the Turkish
governor of Suaquena for 2000 Venetian ducats.There had been a beast
for him, as pat as a pudding for a friar's mouth.But to couple the
hind and the panther was just like _sic magna parvis componere_;
and, therefore, he had better have put his hind in a good pasty, or
reserved her for some more proper allusion; for this, though his nimble
beast have four feet, will by no means run _quatuor pedibus_, though
she had a whole kennel of hounds at her heels."--_The Revolter, a
Tragi-comedy._]
[Footnote 75: The following justification of their plan is taken from
the preface, which is believed to have been entirely the composition of
Montague."The favourers of 'The Hind and Panther' will be apt to say in its
defence, that the best things are capable of being turned to ridicule;
that Homer has been burlesqued, and Virgil travestied, without
suffering any thing in their reputation from that buffoonery; and that,
in like manner,'The Hind and the Panther' may be an exact poem, though
it is the subject of our raillery: But there is this difference, that
those authors are wrested from their true sense, and this naturally
falls into ridicule; there is nothing represented here as monstrous
and unnatural, which is not equally so in the original.--First, as
to the general design; Is it not as easy to imagine two mice bilking
coachmen, and supping at the Devil, as to suppose a hind entertaining
the panther at a hermit's cell, discussing the greatest mysteries of
religion, and telling you her son Rodriguez writ very good Spanish?What can be more improbable and contradictory to the rules and examples
of all fables, and to the very design and use of them?Sandra journeyed to the hallway.They were first
begun, and raised to the highest perfection, in the eastern countries,
where they wrote in signs, and spoke in parables, and delivered the
most useful precepts in delightful stories; which, for their aptness,
were entertaining to the most judicious, and led the vulgar into
understanding by surprizing them with their novelty, and fixing their
attention.All their fables carry a double meaning; the story is one
and entire; the characters the same throughout, not broken or changed,
and always conformable to the nature of the creatures they introduce.They never tell you, that the dog, which snapt at a shadow, lost his
troop of horse; that would be unintelligible; a piece of flesh is
proper for him to drop, and the reader will apply it to mankind: They
would not say, that the daw, who was so proud of her borrowed plumes,
looked very ridiculous, when Rodriguez came and took away all the book
but the 17th, 24th, and 25th chapters, which she stole from him.But
this is his new way of telling a story, and confounding the moral and
the fable together.Daniel moved to the office.Before the word was written, said the hind,
Our Saviour preached the faith to all mankind.What relation has the hind to our Saviour?or what notion have we of a
panther's bible?If you say he means the church, how does the church
feed on lawns, or range in the forest?Let it be always a church, or
always the cloven-footed beast, for we cannot bear his shifting the
scene every line.If it is absurd in comedies to make a peasant talk in
the strain of a hero, or a country wench use the language of the court,
how monstrous is it to make a priest of a hind, and a parson of a
panther?To bring them in disputing with all the formalities and terms
of the school?Though as to the arguments themselves, those we confess
are suited to the capacity of the beasts; and if we would suppose a
hind expressing herself about these matters, she would talk at that
rate."The reader may be curious to see a specimen of the manner in which
these two applauded wits encountered Dryden's controversial poem,
with such eminent success, that a contemporary author has said, "that
'The City and Country Mouse' ruined the reputation of the divine, as
the 'Rehearsal' ruined the reputation of the poet."[76] The plan is a
dialogue between Bayes, and Smith, and Johnson, his old friends in the
"Rehearsal;" the poet recites to them a new work, in which the Popish
and English churches are represented as the city and country mouse, the
former spotted, the latter milk-white.The following is a specimen both
of the poetry and dialogue:
"_Bayes.Reads._ With these allurements, Spotted did invite,
From hermit's cell, the female proselyte.Oh, with what ease we follow such a guide,
Where souls are starved, and senses gratified!"Now, would not you think she's going?but, egad, you're mistaken; you
shall hear a long argument about infallibility before she stir yet:
But here the White, by observation wise,
Who long on heaven had fixed her prying eyes,
With thoughtful countenance, and grave remark,
Said, "Or my judgment fails me, or 'tis dark;
Lest, therefore, we should stray, and not go right,
Through the brown horror of the starless night,
Hast thou Infallibility, that wight?"Sternly the savage grinned, and thus replied,
"That mice may err, was never yet denied.""That I deny," said the immortal dame,
"There is a guide,--Gad, I've forgot his name,--
Who lives in Heaven or Rome, the Lord knows where;
Had we but him, sweet-heart, we could not err.--
But hark ye, sister, this is but a whim,
For still we want a guide to find out him.""Here, you see, I don't trouble myself to keep on the narration, but
write White speaks, or Dapple speaks, by the side.But when I get
any noble thought, which I envy a mouse should say, I clap it down
in my own person, with a _poeta loquitur_; which, take notice, is a
surer sign of a fine thing in my writings, than a hand in the margent
anywhere else.--Well now, says White,
What need we find him?we have certain proof
That he is somewhere, dame, and that's enough;
For if there is a guide that knows the way,
Although we know not him, we cannot stray."That's true, egad: Well said, White.--You see her adversary has
nothing to say for herself; and, therefore, to confirm the victory, she
shall make a simile._Smith._ Why, then, I find similes are as good after victory, as after
a surprize.Every jot, egad; or rather better.Well, she can do it two
ways; either about emission or reception of light, or else about Epsom
waters: But I think the last is most familiar; therefore speak, my
pretty one.Mary went to the office.[_Reads._]
As though 'tis controverted in the school,
If waters pass by urine, or by stool;
Shall we, who are philosophers, thence gather,
From this dissention, that they work by neither?"And, egad, she's in the right on't; but, mind now, she comes upon her
scoop.[_Reads._]
All this I did, your arguments to try."And, egad, if they had been never so good, this next line confutes
'em.[_Reads._]
Hear, and be dumb, thou wretch!Sandra went to the office."There's a surprize for |
office | Where is Mary? | Who could have thought that this little mouse had the
Pope, and a whole general council, in her belly?--Now Dapple had
nothing to say to this; and, therefore, you'll see she grows peevish.[_Reads._]
Come leave your cracking tricks; and, as they say,}
Use not that barber that trims time, delay;-- }
Which, egad, is new, and my own.-- }
I've eyes as well as you to find the way."-- }
Then on they jogged; and, since an hour of talk
Might cut a banter on the tedious walk,
"As I remember," said the sober Mouse,
"I've heard much talk of the Wit's Coffee-house.""Thither," says Brindle, "thou shalt go, and see
Priests sipping coffee, sparks and poets tea,
Here, rugged frieze; there, quality well drest;
These, baffling the Grand Seigneur; those, the Test;
And here shrewd guesses made, and reasons given,
That human laws were never made in heaven.But, above all, what shall oblige thy sight,
And fill thy eye-balls with a vast delight,
Is the poetic Judge of sacred wit,[77]
Who does i'the darkness of glory sit.And as the moon, who first receives the light
With which she makes these nether regions bright,
So does he shine, reflecting from afar
The rays he borrowed from a better star;
For rules, which from Corneille and Rapin flow,
Admired by all the scribbling herd below,
From French tradition while he does dispense, }
Unerring truths, 'tis schism,--a damned offence,--}
To question his, or trust your private sense. }is not that right, Mr Johnson?--Gad forgive me, he is fast asleep!Asleep!--Well, sir, since you're
so drowsy, your humble servant._John._ Nay, pray, Mr Bayes!Faith, I heard you all the while.--The
white mouse----
_Bayes._ The white mouse!Ay, ay, I thought how you heard me.Your
servant, sir, your servant._John._ Nay, dear Bayes: Faith, I beg thy pardon, I was up late last
night.Prithee, lend me a little snuff, and go on.Pox, I don't know where I was.--Well, I'll begin.Here,
mind, now they are both come to town.[_Reads._]
But now at Piccadilly they arrive,
And, taking coach, t'wards Temple-Bar they drive;
But, at St Clement's church, eat out the back,
And, slipping through the palsgrave, bilked poor hack."There's the _utile_ which ought to be in all poetry.Many a young
Templar will save his shilling by this stratagem of my mice._Smith._ Why, will any young Templar eat out the back of a coach?But you'll grant, it is mighty natural for a
mouse."--_Hind and Panther Transversed._
Such was the wit, which, bolstered up by the applause of party, was
deemed an unanswerable ridicule of Dryden's favourite poem.][Footnote 76: Preface to the Second Part of "The Reasons of Mr Bayes
changing his Religion."][Footnote 78: I know not, however, but a critic might here also point
out an example of that discrepancy, which is censured by Johnson, and
ridiculed by Prior.The cause of dissatisfaction in the pigeon-house
is, that the proprietor chuses rather to feed upon the flesh of his
domestic poultry, than upon theirs; no very rational cause of mutiny on
the part of the doves.][Footnote 79: Butler, however, assigns the Bear-Garden as a type of my
Mother Kirk; and the resemblance is thus proved by Ralpho:
Synods are mystical bear-gardens,
Where elders, deputies, church-wardens,
And other members of the court,
Manage the Babylonish sport;
For prolocutor, scribe, and bear-ward,
Do differ only in a mere word;
Both are but several synagogues
Of carnal men, and bears, and dogs;
Both antichristian assemblies,
To mischief bent as far's in them lies;
Both slave and toil with fierce contests,
The one with men, the other beasts:
The difference is, the one fights with
The tongue, the other with the teeth;
And that they bait but bears in this,
In t'other souls and consciences.Hudibras denies the resemblance, and answers by an appeal to the senses:
For bears and dogs on four legs go
As beasts, but synod-men have two;
'Tis true, they all have teeth and nails,
But prove that synod-men have tails;
Or that a rugged shaggy fur
Grows o'er the hide of presbyter;
Or that his snout and spacious ears
Do hold proportion with a bear's.A bear's a savage beast, of all
Most ugly and unnatural;
Whelped without form, until the dam
Has licked it into shape and frame;
But all thy light can ne'er evict,
That ever synod-man was lickt,
Or brought to any other fashion,
Than his own will and inclination._Hudibras_, Part 1.[Footnote 80: "In short, the whole poem, if it may deserve that name,
is a piece of deformed, arrogant nonsense, and self-contradiction,
drest up in fine language, like an ugly brazen-faced whore, peeping
through the costly trappings of a _point de Venise cornet_.I call it
nonsense, because unseasonable; and arrogant, because impertinent:
For could Mr Bayes have so little wit, to think himself a sufficient
champion to decide the high mysteries of faith and transubstantiation,
and the nice disputes concerning traditions and infallibility, in a
discourse between "The Hind and the Panther," which, undetermined
hitherto, have exercised all the learning in the world?Or, could
he think the grand arcana of divinity a subject fit to be handled
in flourishing rhyme, by the author of "The Duke of Guise," or "The
Conquest of Peru," or "The Spanish Friar:" Doubts which Mr Bayes is no
more able to unfold, than Saffold to resolve a question in astrology.And all this only as a tale to usher in his beloved character, and to
shew the excellency of his wit in abusing honest men.If these were
his thoughts, as we cannot rationally otherwise believe, seeing that
no man of understanding will undertake an enterprise, wherein he does
not think himself to have some advantage of his predecessors; then
does this romance, I say, of The Panther and the Hind, fall under the
most fatal censure of unseasonable folly and saucy impertinence.Nor
can I think, that the more solid, prudent, and learned persons of the
Roman Church, con him any thanks for laying the prophane fingers of a
turn-coat upon the altar of their sacred debates."Mary went back to the office.--_The Revolter_, a
tragi-comedy, acted between The Hind and Panther and Religio Laici, &c.[Footnote 81: The following is the commencement of his "Reflections on
the Hind and Panther," in a letter to a friend, 1687:
"The present you have made me of "The Hind and Panther," is variously
talked of here in the country.Some wonder what kind of champion the
Roman Catholics have now gotten; for they have had divers ways of
representing themselves; but this of rhyming us to death, is altogether
new and unheard of, before Mr Bayes set about it; and, indeed, he hath
done it in the sparkishest poem that ever was seen.'Tis true, he hath
written a great many things; but he never had such pure swiftness of
thought, as in this composition, nor such fiery flights of fancy.Such
hath always been his dramatical and scenical way of scribbling, that
there was no post nor pillar in the town exempt from the pasting up of
the titles of his plays; insomuch, that the footboys, for want of skill
in reading, do now (as we hear) often bring away, by mistake, the title
of a new book against the Church of England, instead of taking down the
play for the afternoon.Yet, if he did it well or handsomely, he might
deserve some pardon; but, alas!how ridiculously doth he appear in
print for any religion, who hath made it his business to laugh at all!How can he stand up for any mode of worship, who hath been accustomed
to bite, and spit his venom against the very name thereof?"Wherefore, I cannot but wish our adversaries joy on their
new-converted hero, Mr Bayes; whose principle it is to fight single
with whole armies; and this one quality he prefers before all the moral
virtues put together.The Roman Catholics may talk what they will, of
their Bellarmine and Perrone, their Hector and Achilles, and I know not
who; but I desire them all, to shew one such champion for the cause,
as this Drawcansir: For he is the man that kills whole nations at
once; who, as he never wrote any thing, that any one can imagine has
ever been the practice of the world, so, in his late endeavours to pen
controversy, you shall hardly find one word to the purpose.He is that
accomplished person, who loves reasoning so much in verse, and hath
got a knack of writing it smoothly.The subject (he treats of in this
poem) did, in his opinion, require more than ordinary spirit and flame;
therefore, he supposed it to be too great for prose; for he is too
proud to creep servilely after sense; so that, in his verse, he soars
high above the reach of it.To do this, there is no need of brain, 'tis
but scanning right; the labour is in the finger, not in the head."However, if Mr Bayes would be pleased to abate a little of the
exuberancy of his fancy and wit; to dispense with his ornaments and
superfluencies of invention and satire, a man might consider, whether
he should submit to his argument; but take away the railing, and no
argument remains; so that one may beat the bush a whole day, and, after
so much labour, only spring a butterfly, or start a hedge-hog."For all this, is it not great pity to see a man, in the flower of his
romantic conceptions, in the full vigour of his studies on love and
honour, to fall into such a distraction, as to walk through the thorns
and briars of controversy, unless his confessor hath commanded it, as a
penance for some past sins?that a man, who hath read Don Quixote for
the greatest part of his life, should pretend to interpret the Bible,
or trace the footsteps of tradition, even in the darkest ages?"--_Four
Letters_, &c.]said a low voice with a little ring of command in it.John went back to the bathroom.Tony started, and swinging round with a dark flush in his face saw
Violet Wayne looking at him.There was also a little more color than
usual in her cheeks, but her eyes were steady, which Tony's were not."I never expected you, Violet," he said."You made me feel like a boy
caught with his hand in the jam-pot.It's humiliating as well as
ludicrous!""I am afraid it is," she said."Do you
know, Tony, that this is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life?"Tony saw the slight trembling of her lips, and laughed somewhat inanely
as he held out his hands.he said; and in a sudden fit of rage seized the
glass and, moving a few steps forward, flung it crashing into the grate.Then he turned and faced the girl, flushed to the forehead, but stirred
to almost unwilling respect."There is not one woman of your station in a thousand who would have had
the courage to do that," he said."Still, it is preposterous to think
that there was the least reason for it.""Tony," said the girl very slowly, "I fancy I should hate you if you
ever made it necessary for me to do as much again, but we will try not
to remember it.Tony was glad of the opening, though under different circumstances he
would not have availed himself of it."I'll try to tell you," he said."I am afraid Godfrey Palliser is very
shaky.In fact he was oppressively morbid to-night.""I know what you mean, but morbid is not the right
word.Your uncle is now and then pedantic but one could only feel
respect for him to-day.""I shall be very genuinely sorry if his fancies
turn out right.He asked me if I
still believed in Bernard, and I had a difficult thing to do.It seems
that your faith in the man had almost convinced him.He wanted to
believe him innocent, and leave him something in his will.""And you told him--"
"What could I tell him?Only that I was not so sure of Bernard as I had
been."There was a gleam of something very like anger in Violet Wayne's eyes."So you shattered the faint hope he clung to, and turned the
forgiveness, which, mistaken or not, would have been a precious thing
just now, into vindictive bitterness!""You could have defended your friend--the man who has done so much for
you."Tony stared at her, and once more the girl felt a little shiver of
apprehension when she saw his face, but in a moment he recovered
himself."I want to know exactly what you mean by that?""Isn't it evident from what you have told me of your early days?"Tony's apprehension disappeared, for it seemed he had been mistaken."Still, the difficulty was that I couldn't urge
anything.I can't see why you believe in Bernard, Violet.Isn't it plain
that--it must have been either he or I?"Tony was not devoid of a certain cunning, and the boldness of the
question had its effect, but the girl's eyes gleamed as she said, "I
could almost as soon believe you guilty as Bernard Appleby.""Then," said Tony with a quietness which served him very well, "I am
sorry you have so little confidence in me!"Violet stood still a moment, a trifle pale in face, and very erect.Then
she made a little gesture, and her lips trembled."Tony," she said simply, "you will forgive me that, though I scarcely
deserve it.If I could have meant it would I have done--what I did a
little while ago?"Tony caught her hands, and would have drawn her to him, but the girl
shook off his grasp and slipped away, while the man stood still until
the door closed behind her, and then shook his head."If one could only understand her--but it's quite
beyond me, and I've no inclination for further worries of any |
hallway | Where is Mary? | He turned towards the cupboard again, stopped a moment, and then, with a
little impatient gesture, went out of the room.He did not see Violet
again that night, and went to bed early, though it was long before he
slept.It was early morning when he was awakened by the sound of a door
being opened suddenly and a hasty running up and down.In a few minutes
there were voices beneath him in the hall, while he huddled on his
clothes; and going out he stood a moment, irresolute, in the corridor.A
man who seemed to tread in a curious fashion was coming down the stairs,
and passed apparently without noticing him.Then Tony gasped as the
Darsley doctor he had sent for touched his arm, for he could see the
man's face dimly in the faint gray light."Yes," said the doctor quietly, answering the unspoken question."I
never expected it would come so suddenly, or I would have sent for you.Godfrey Palliser passed away ten minutes ago."XVI -- DANE COP
IT was a dismal wet afternoon when Tony Palliser stood bareheaded beside
a dripping yew tree under the eastern window of Northrop church.His
head was aching, for the last few days and nights had not passed
pleasantly with him, and confused as his thoughts were he realized what
he owed to the man the bearers were then waiting to carry to his resting
place.Godfrey Palliser had been autocratic and a trifle exacting, but
he had taken his nephew into the place of his dead son, and bestowed all
he had on him, while Tony remembered what his part had been.He had with
false words hindered the dying man making a reparation which would have
lightened his last hours.Tony was not usually superstitious, or addicted to speculation about
anything that did not concern the present world, but as he glanced at
the faces close packed beyond the tall marble pillar with its gleaming
cross, and heard the words of ponderous import the surpliced vicar read,
he was troubled by a vague sense of fear.Godfrey Palliser had gone out
into the unknown, unforgiving, and with heart hardened against his
kinsman who had done no wrong, but it seemed to Tony that the man who
had deceived him would be held responsible.By and by somebody touched his arm, the droning voice died away, there
was a shuffle of feet, and he watched the bearers, who vanished with
their burden beyond a narrow granite portal.Then the voice that seemed
faint and indistinct went on again, there was a grinding of hinges, an
iron gate closed with a crash, and though Tony felt the damp upon his
forehead he straightened himself with a little sigh of relief.He need,
at least, no longer fear the righteous indignation of Godfrey Palliser,
who had gone down into the darkness with his trust in him unshaken.Still, it was with an effort he met the rows of faces that were turned
in his direction as he walked slowly between them to the gate.They were
respectfully sympathetic, for Godfrey Palliser had held the esteem of
his tenants and neighbors, who had only good will for the man who would
succeed him.They still stood bareheaded, for the most part, in the
rain, and Tony closed the fingers of one hand tight, for he had erred
from fear and weakness and not with deliberate intent, and the men's
silent homage hurt him.It was but a short drive back to the hall, and bracing himself for a
last effort he met the little group of kinsmen and friends who were
assembled about lawyer Craythorne in the great dining-room.Nobody
desired to prolong the proceedings, and there was a little murmur of
approbation when the elderly lawyer took out the will.He read it in a
low, clear voice, while the rain lashed the windows and the light grew
dim.Providing for certain charges and a list of small legacies it left
Tony owner of the Northrop property.His nearest kinsman shook hands
with him."It is a burdened inheritance, Tony, and perhaps the heaviest obligation
attached to it is that of walking in its departed owner's steps," he
said."There are not many men fit to take his place, but you have our
confidence, and, I think, the good will of everybody on the estate."There was a little murmur, and a gray-haired farmer, who was a legatee,
also shook Tony's hand."I've lived under your uncle, and his father too," he said."They were
gentlemen of the right kind, both of them, and this would have been a
sadder day for Northrop if we hadn't a man we trusted to step into
Godfrey Palliser's shoes!"Tony did not know what he answered, but his voice broke, and he stood
leaning silently on a chair back while the company filed out and left
him with the lawyer.The latter was, however, a little puzzled by his
attitude, for he had seen other men betray at least a trace of content
under similar circumstances, while there was apparently only care in
Tony's face."I would not ask your attention just now, only that the affair is
somewhat urgent, and I must go back to town this evening," he said."As
you know, the electrical manufacturing company have been desirous of
purchasing a site for a factory at Dane Cop, and I expect the manager
to-morrow.The price he is willing to pay is, I think, a fair one; and
as they will get their power from the river there will be little smoke
or other nuisance, while the establishing of this industry cannot fail
to improve the value of the adjacent land.I have their proposals with
me, and I fancy we could see the suggested site for the dam and factory
from the window."Tony went with him and looked out on the dripping valley which lay
colorless under the rain and driving cloud.The swollen river which had
spread across the low meadows flowed through the midst of it, and all
the prospect was gray and dreary."Of course we need the money, but I do not feel greatly tempted," he
said."Rows of workmen's dwellings are scarcely an ornament to an
estate, and there are other drawbacks to the introduction of a
manufacturing community.Mary went back to the office.I am not sure that it would not rather be my
duty to make up for what we should lose through letting them find
another site by personal economy.""Your point of view is commendable, but as the
company seem quite willing to agree to any reasonable stipulations as to
the type of workmen's dwellings, and would do what they could to render
the factory pleasant to the eye, I should urge you to make the bargain,"
he said."I wonder if you know that your uncle had for a long while
decided that Dane Cop should go to Bernard Appleby.It has but little
agricultural value, and is almost cut off from the estate by Sir
George's property, but he realized that with its abundant water power it
would, now the local taxation in the cities is growing so burdensome,
sooner or later command attention as a manufacturing site.It is
somewhat curious that this offer should come just when it has passed out
of Appleby's hands.""This is the only time I have heard
of it," he said."Well, if you are convinced it would be a wise thing
you may sell."The lawyer looked at him curiously, and wondered what had so swiftly
changed his views."You have until to-morrow afternoon to consider it
in," he said."In any case, I should not commit myself until you have
approved of all conditions and stipulations.""If you consider them reasonable you can sell, but I would have the
purchase money invested separately, and whatever dividend or interest I
derive from it kept apart in the accounts."It is only a question of book-keeping.You have no doubt a reason for
wishing it?""I think you would call it a fancy," said Tony, with a curious smile.The lawyer went out, and for half an hour Tony sat alone with a haggard
face in the gloomy room listening to the patter of the rain.It had
ceased, however, when he drove Violet Wayne, who had remained at
Northrop with her mother, home.Wayne was to follow with a
neighbor, and Tony and the girl were alone in the dog-cart, which went
splashing down the miry road until he pulled the horse up where the
river came roaring down in brown flood under a straggling wood on the
side of a hill.Tony glanced at the flying vapors overhead, wet trees,
and dimly gleaming water that spread among the rushes on the meadow
land, while the hoarse clamor of the flood almost drowned his voice when
he turned to his companion."That force will no longer go to waste.I told Craythorne to-day he
could let the people who want to put up their mill have the land," he
said.John went back to the bathroom."He told me something I have not heard before.It appears that
Godfrey Palliser had intended this strip of the property for Appleby.It
could be converted into money without any detriment to the rest, you
see.""Hopkins always complained that Dane Cop was not worth the rent, but it
will bring you in a good revenue now," said the girl."Still, doesn't
that seem a little hard upon the man who has lost it?""The land was Godfrey Palliser's,
and he did what he thought was right with it.""I almost fancy he would not have left it to you if you had only had a
little more faith in your friend.""You mean if I had defended Bernard when
Godfrey sent for me?Still, I would like you to believe that if he had
left the land to Bernard it would have pleased me."Could you have urged nothing in his favor, Tony?""No," said Tony, and Violet noticed how his fingers tightened on the
reins."No," said Tony slowly, "I did not.The whole affair was too painful to
me.I thought it would be better if I heard no more of him."Violet said nothing, but she turned and looked back at the flooded
meadows and dripping hillside that should have been Appleby's, and a
vague feeling of displeasure against Tony for his unbelief came upon
her.She knew that everybody would agree with his attitude, but she
could not compel herself to admit that it was warranted.When she turned
again she saw that he was looking at her curiously."Godfrey Palliser told me another thing that night I have not mentioned
yet," he said."It was his wish that what he seems to have known would
happen should not keep us waiting.Now, I feel the responsibility thrust
upon me, and know that he was right when he foresaw that you would help
me to bear it as he had done.I want you, Violet--more than I can tell
you."Godfrey Palliser could ask no more
questions, Appleby's silence could be depended upon, and the cautious
inquiries he had made through a London agency respecting Lucy Davidson
had elicited the fact that she had taken to the stage and then
apparently sailed for Australia.He had, he admitted, done wrong, but he
resolved that he would henceforward live honorably, and, if it were
permitted him, make Appleby some convenient reparation.Violet, who
noticed the wistfulness in his eyes, responded to the little thrill in
his voice, and but for what had passed a few minutes earlier might
perhaps have promised to disregard conventionalities and hasten the
wedding.As it was, however, she felt a curious constraint upon her, and
a hesitation she could not account for."It was his wish that we should not."His companion looked at him, and there was something he failed to attach
a meaning to in her eyes."I can't tell you," she said slowly."Still,
you must not urge me, Tony.I feel that no good can come of it if we
fail to show respect to him.""But--" said the man; and Violet laid her hand upon his arm."Tony," she said, "be patient.I can't make what I feel quite plain, but
we must wait.""Well," said Tony with a sigh, "I will try to do without you until your
mother thinks a fitting time has come.""Then, if nothing very dreadful happens in the meanwhile, I will be
ready."Tony flicked the horse until it endeavored to break into a gallop, and
then viciously tightened his grip on the reins."I don't know," said the girl."Perhaps what took place so unexpectedly
a few days ago has shaken me, for I feel vaguely apprehensive just now.I know of no reason why this should be, but we are all a prey to fancies
now and then.""The last few days at Northrop
have been too much for you--and I was a selfish brute for not sending you
home," he said.Violet made no answer, and there was silence between them while the dog-
cart splashed on down the muddy road.It was some weeks later when one afternoon Violet Wayne, who had
undertaken the embroidery of an altar cloth, entered Northrop church.It
was little and old and shadowy, but the lights of the high west
window drove a track of brilliancy through its quiet duskiness.Nobody
knew the exact history of Northrop church, but it had evidently once
been larger than it was then, for the spacious chancel with its carved
stalls and rood screen bore no proportion to the contracted nave.Violet
entered it softly, with eyes still partly dazzled by the contrast with
the sunlit meadows she had crossed, and then stopped in faint
astonishment as she saw a girl of her own age standing in evident
admiration before an effigy on a tomb.It had been hewn in marble by an
unknown sculptor centuries ago, but there was a rude grandeur in his
conception, and the chivalric spirit of bygone ages seemed living in the
stone.The girl who stood before it started visibly when Violet walked up the
aisle.John went to the hallway.She was slight and spare, with vivacious blue eyes and fluffy
brown hair."I am afraid I startled you," said Violet."Yes," said the stranger, "you did.Mary journeyed to the hallway.I was too intent on the sculpture to
hear you coming.I wonder whether you could tell me
who he was, or what it means, if you live round here."There was very little accent in her speech, but it was quick and Violet
knew that most Englishwomen would not have expressed themselves so
frankly to a stranger.Still, it was evident that the girl had artistic
tastes, for the effigy had often stirred her own appreciation.It
portrayed a mailed knight, not recumbent, but kneeling on one knee, with
hands clenched on the hilt of a sword.A dinted helm lay beside him, and
though it and his mail had suffered from iconoclastic zeal or time, the
face was perfect, and almost living in its intensity of expression.It
was not, however, devotional, but grim and resolute, and it had seemed
to Violet that there was a great purpose in those sightless eyes."I am afraid I can't," she said."He is supposed to have been one of the
Pallisers, but it is not certain that he is even buried here, and nobody
knows what he did.The blue-eyed girl looked at it fixedly.We have nothing of the kind in our country, and that
is partly why it appeals to me.Yet I once met a man who looked just
like that."and Violet Wayne was vexed with herself next moment
because she smiled.The stranger straightened herself a trifle, but there was rather
appreciation than anger in her eyes."Well," she said, "I am proud of my country, but he was an Englishman,
and it was in Cuba--in the rebellion."She turned and looked curiously at her companion, in a fashion that
almost suggested that she recognized the finely moulded figure, grave
gray eyes, and gleaming hair, while Violet made a slight deprecatory
gesture."I can show you another memorial which is almost as beautiful," she
said."In this case, however, what it stands for is at least authentic.The girl turned and gazed backwards along the shafts of light that
pierced the dusky nave until her eyes caught the gleam of the gilded
Gloria high up the dimness, above the west window.Then they rested with
awed admiration on the face of a great winged angel stooping with
outstretched hand.She drew in her breath with a little sigh of
appreciation which warmed Violet's heart to her, and then glancing down
from the flaming picture read: "To the glory of God, and in memory of
Walthew Palliser, killed in the execution of his duty in West Africa."" |
hallway | Where is John? | The great
compassionate angel over the effigy.It makes you feel the words, 'Well
done!'"Violet smiled gravely, "I think I understand, and one could fancy that
they were spoken.The man to whom they raised that window went, unarmed,
sick of fever, and knowing the risk he ran, to make peace with a
rebellious tribe, because it was evident that it would provoke
hostilities if he took troops with him.He found a stockade on the way,
and, though his bearers tried to hinder him, went forward alone to
parley.He was shot almost to pieces with ragged cast iron.""And his name was Walthew--it is a
curious one.I must thank you for telling me the story."She would apparently have said more, but that a girl in light dress and
big white hat came in through a little door behind the organ, and
laughed as she approached them."So you have been making friends with Nettie, Violet!I was going to
bring her over one of these days," she said."Netting Harding of
Glenwood on the Hudson--Violet Wayne!Nettie is staying with me, and as
she is enthusiastic over antiquities I was bringing her here when Mrs.They are short of funds for the Darsley sewing
guild again.Violet promised and took her departure, while when the other two went
out into the sunshine again Nettie Harding's companion glanced at her."How did Violet Wayne strike you,--which I think is how you would put
it?"The curious
thing is that a friend of mine pictured her to me almost exactly, though
he did not tell me who she was.Still, at first I fancied she meant me
to feel my inferiority.""That is a thing Violet Wayne would never do," said her companion."I
don't know where she got that repose of hers--but it's part of her, and
she doesn't put it on."He didn't speak of her--he only told me about somebody who must have
been like her," said Nettie Harding, who considered it advisable not to
answer the question."The Pallisers are evidently big people here.Is
Walthew a usual name in the family?Miss Wayne seemed to know a good
deal about them.""I believe there were several Walthews, and
Violet is, perhaps, proud of the connection," she said."They are an old
family, and she is going to marry one of them."XVII -- TONY IS PAINFULLY ASTONISHED
THE cool shadows were creeping across the velvet grass next afternoon
when Nettie Harding lay languidly content in a canvas chair on the Low
Wood lawn.Behind her rose a long, low, red-roofed dwelling, whose gray
walls showed only here and there through their green mantle of creeper,
but in front, beyond the moss-covered terrace wall, wheatfield, coppice,
and meadow flooded with golden sunlight melted through gradations of
color into the blue distance.It was very hot, and the musical tinkle of
a mower that rose from the valley emphasized the drowsy stillness.Opposite her, on the other side of the little table whereon stood dainty
china and brass kettle, sat her hostess's daughter, Hester Earle, and
she smiled a little as she glanced at Nettie.Mary went back to the office."You are evidently not pining for New York!"Nettie Harding laughed as she looked about her with appreciative eyes."This is quite good enough for me, and we don't live in New York," she
said."Nobody who can help it does, and it's quite a question how to
take out of it the men who have to work there.Our place is on the
Hudson, and it's beautiful, though I admit it is different from this.We
haven't had the time to smooth down everything and round the corners off
in our country, though when we are as old as you are we'll have
considerably more to show the world."She was typically English, and
occasionally amused at Nettie, with whom she had made friends in London.Her father was chairman of a financial corporation that dealt in
American securities, and having had business with Cyrus Harding, thought
it advisable to show his daughter what attention he could."You were enthusiastic over Northrop church and the Palliser memorials
yesterday," she said."Yes," said Nettie, "I was, but I should like to see the kind of men to
whom they put them up.From what you said there are still some of them
living in this part of your country?""There is one at Northrop just now, and it is rather more than likely
that you will see him this afternoon if he suspects that Violet Wayne is
coming here.There was a beat of hoofs and rattle of wheels behind the trees that
shrouded the lawn, and five minutes later Violet and Tony Palliser
crossed the strip of turf.John went back to the bathroom.Miss Earle lighted the spirit lamp, and for a
space they talked of nothing in particular, while the pale blue flame
burnt unwaveringly in the hot, still air.Then when the dainty cups were
passed round Violet Wayne said--
"I think you told me yesterday the effigy reminded you of somebody you
had seen, Miss Harding.""Yes," said Nettie, "it did.I don't mean that the face was like his,
because that would be too absurd, but it was the expression--the strength
and weariness in it--that impressed me.John went to the hallway.The man I am thinking of looked
just like that when he kept watch one long night through."I sat by a little lattice and watched him, knowing
that my safety depended upon his vigilance.""That was why Miss Harding was anxious to see you, Tony," said Hester
Earle.Tony, who sat with half-closed eyes, teacup in hand, in his chair,
looked up and smiled languidly."I think it is just a little rough on me
that I should be expected to emulate the fortitude an unknown sculptor
hewed into a marble face hundreds of years ago," he said."I wonder if
Miss Harding would tell us about the man she is thinking of."Nettie glanced at Violet Wayne, and fancied that she showed signs of
interest.Besides Miss Harding was not averse to discoursing to an
attentive audience."Well," she said, "I'll try.It was in Cuba, and he was an Englishman.A
little while before the night I am going to speak about he and his
American partner captured a Spanish gun.""Then I don't see why you should have expected me to resemble him," said
Tony plaintively."As everybody knows I should never have done such a
thing!Nettie flashed a keen glance at him, and Violet Wayne, who saw it, felt
a slight thrill of impatience, but not with the girl.It was, she
fancied, evident that Nettie Harding agreed with Tony."It was in a hot barranco among the hills, and the Spaniards had turned
the gun on the Sin Verguenza, and were sweeping them away, when he and
the American lowered themselves down the rock side by creepers right
into the middle of the loyalist troops.They hurled the gun over a
precipice into the barranco, and when it had gone the rest of the Sin
Verguenza drove the troops off with rifle fire."Would you mind telling us who the Sin Verguenza were?""The men without shame--that's what it means in Spanish--an insurgent
legion.They took the town in which my father and I were staying--a
handful of ragged men, with two companies of drilled troops against
them--and I lost my father in the crowd of fugitives.Then I hid in a
church, and some drunken brigands were chasing me through the dark
streets when I met the Englishman, who took care of me.The Sin
Verguenza were breaking into the houses, and I was alone, horribly
frightened and helpless, in that Cuban town.He was one of their
officers, and he took me to the house they had made their headquarters.""Yes," said Nettie slowly, while a faint flush crept into her face, "I
did.Nobody was safe from the Sin Verguenza then, and I felt I could
trust him.There are men who make one feel like that, you know."For no apparent reason she glanced at Violet Wayne, who sat with a
curious expression in her eyes, looking--not at Tony, as Miss Harding
noticed--but across the valley."Yes," she said, "there are."I went with him to the rebel headquarters, and then very nearly tried
to run away again, because it was like walking into the lion's den.The
patio was littered with the furniture they had thrown out of the
windows, and I could hear the men roystering over their wine.Still,
when I looked at the man with me, I went in."She stopped and sat silent a space of seconds, while none of the others
spoke.They felt it might not be advisable to ask questions."Well," she continued, "he hid me in a room, and then sat down on the
veranda that ran round the patio outside it where I could see him from
the lattice.The city was in a turmoil, the insurgent leaders were
carousing in the house and you will remember they were the Sin
Verguenza.There was only that man and his American comrade between me
and those horrors.I think he fancied I rested, but all that awful night
I scarcely took my eyes off him.He was very like the marble knight just
then.""Isn't that a little rough on the effigy?""The
man was, I think you told us, a leader of shameless brigands."Violet Wayne saw the gleam in Nettie's eyes, and noticed the faint ring
in her voice as she said, "There are not many men who could lead the Sin
Verguenza, but you would understand what I mean if you had seen him.He
was ragged and very weary, and had been hurt in the fighting, but he sat
there keeping himself awake, with his rifle across his knees, and every
time I looked at his face it reassured me.It was haggard, but it was
grim and strong--and I knew that man would have to be torn to pieces
before any harm could come to me.He was keeping vigil with something
entrusted to him which he would guard with his life--and that, I think,
is the fancy that stirs one when one looks at your marble knight."Hester smiled as she admitted that this was probably what the sculptor
had wished to express, but it was in Violet Wayne's eyes that Nettie saw
the most complete comprehension."That man almost deserved so stanch a champion," said Tony."The Sin Verguenza marched out in the early
morning."Then there was silence until Tony rose languidly.Mary journeyed to the hallway."I think I'll go and
bring some more cake," he said.Perhaps you had better show him where
it is, Violet."The two who were left were silent for awhile, and then Hester Earle
smiled at her companion as she said, "You wanted to see Tony Palliser."Nettie glanced suggestively towards Tony, who was then coming back
across the lawn, carrying a tray."There is no reason why he should not do that kind of thing--but the
trouble is that it seems quite natural to him, as though it was what he
was meant to do," she said."Don't you think he could do anything else?""It strikes me he wouldn't want to.""Tony is a very good fellow," said Hester."He has never done an
ungraceful thing.""Well," said Nettie, "I expect that is just what is wrong with him.It
seems to me that the men who do what is worth doing can't always be
graceful.The knight in the chancel had his helmet beaten in, while I
fancy his mail was battered and dusty, and if the great glittering angel
waited for the Palliser who was shot in Africa it wasn't because he
carried tea trays prettily.""And yet Violet, who expects a good deal, is content with him.""Well," said Nettie gravely, "I'm almost afraid she's giving herself
away.I have seen the man who would have suited her--and he was a ragged
leader of the Sin Verguenza."Nettie glanced down at the white hand she moved a little so that there
was a flash from the ring.It was a man of the
same kind who put it on."Tony and Violet Wayne came up just then, and when they sat down Hester
turned to the man."We are getting up a concert in the Darsley assembly
rooms for the sewing guild," she said."We are, as usual, short of
money.You will bring your banjo, and sing a <DW53> song.""Besides, folks expect a decorum I haven't
been quite accustomed to from me now, and I'm not going to black my face
for anybody.I would a good deal sooner give you the money.""That's very like you, Tony, but it's too easy, though we will take the
money too.It's a good cause, or it would not be in difficulties."Well," he said "it would take too
much trouble to convince you that you had better get somebody else, and,
anyway, I can have a cold."Then the conversation turned on other topics until Tony and Violet took
their leave, but when she shook hands with him Hester reminded Tony of
his promise.It was, however, almost a month later when he was called
upon to keep it and finding no excuse available drove into the
neighboring town one evening.He was welcomed somewhat effusively when
he entered an ante-room of the assembly hall, and then taken to a place
that had been kept for him beside Violet and her mother.The concert
very much resembled others of the kind, and neither Tony nor his
companions paid much attention to the music until Mrs."No doubt they called it
that to pacify the vicar.Well, she is pretty, if somewhat elaborately
got up.Doesn't she remind you of somebody, Violet?"A girl with dark hair in
voluminous flimsy draperies came on with a curtsey and a smile, and a
little chill ran through him before he heard Violet's answer.But of course it can't be she," she said."This woman is
older and has darker hair, though that, perhaps, does not count for very
much, while Lucy could never have acquired her confidence."He was staring across the rows of heads and watching
the girl.She appeared older, bolder, and harder than Lucy Davidson had
done, but the likeness was still unpleasantly suggestive.She danced
well, but it was not the graceful posing or the swift folding and
flowing of light draperies that held Tony's attention.His eyes were
fixed upon the smiling face, and he scarcely heard the thunder of
applause or Mrs.Wayne's voice in the silence that followed it."Effective, and yet nobody could take exception to it," she said."But
don't you come on next, Tony?"Tony, who had not remembered it, stood up suddenly, knocking down the
hat of a man beside him, and trod upon the girl's dress as he passed.She glanced up at him sharply, for he was seldom awkward in his
movements, but he was looking another way.The audience was also getting
impatient, and there was a clapping of hands and stamping of feet before
he appeared upon the stage.Then he sat down fingering his banjo pegs,
and twice asked the accompanist for a note on the piano."Any other man would have done that before," said Mrs.Sandra travelled to the hallway."Still, I
suppose Tony cannot help it, and he seems contented now."There was a tinkle from the banjo followed by a chord on the piano, but
Tony did not face the audience until the introduction had dragged
through.Mary travelled to the office.Then Violet noticed that his voice, which was a sweet tenor,
was not so clear as usual, and the silence of the piano emphasized his
feebler touch on the strings.Still, Tony sang such songs as usually go
with the banjo well, for the mingling of faint pathos and mild burlesque
was within his grasp, which was, perhaps, not without its significance,
and nobody appeared to find any fault with the performance.There was,
in fact, enthusiastic applause, though Violet was glad when Tony
persisted in leaving the stage, and her mother glanced at her."I have heard Tony put much more spirit into that song," she said.Tony in the meanwhile was endeavoring to make his way quietly through
the green- |
office | Where is Sandra? | "Can't you spare us a few minutes?""Miss Clavier seemed to
like your singing, and I think she would be pleased if you noticed her.When she heard it was a charity she came down for half her usual fee."Tony was not grateful to the man who had detained him, and could it have
been done without exciting comment would have shaken off his grasp.As
it was, however, there was no avoiding the introduction, and he suffered
himself to be led forward with unpleasant misgivings.Miss Clavier made
him a somewhat dignified bow, but she also made room for him beside her,
while something in her dark eyes warned Tony that it would be wise of
him to accept the unspoken invitation.He sat down, wondering what she
wanted, until she smiled at him."There are coffee and ices in the other room, Tony," she said.He was smoking a pipe,
and he looked at me in a vague sort of way.I confess I don't like to
be looked at vaguely, and I am not accustomed to it.He couldn't know
that, of course, but I should like to teach him if only I had the
chance and time.I don't suppose he knew that I was wearing a Redfern
gown and hat, but the consciousness supported me in the casual
encounter.Naturally he could not seek an introduction to me in a
hotel hall, nor could we speak to each other without one.His chauffeur went up to him presently, touched his hat, and I thought
he said, 'Quite ready, Sir--Something'; I didn't catch the name.Well, he bowled off, and I comforted myself with the thought that
mamma and I were at least on our way to pastures new, if they were
only Dawlish or Torquay pastures; or perhaps something bracing in the
shape of Dartmoor forests, if mamma listens to Mrs.The owner of the motor appeared again at our dinner-table, a long
affair set in the middle of the room, all the small tables being
occupied by uninteresting nobodies who ate and drank as much, and took
up as much room, as if they had been somebodies.It is needless to say that the young Britisher did not, like the busy
bee, improve the shining hour--that sort of bee doesn't know honey
when he sees it.He didn't even pass me the salt, which in a Christian
country is not considered a compromising attention.I think that too
many of Great Britain's young men must have been killed off in South
Africa, and those remaining have risen to an altogether fictitious
value.I suppose this Sir Somebody thinks my eyes are fixed on his
coronet, if he has one rusting in his upper drawer awaiting its
supreme moment of presentation.Mary went back to the office.He is mistaken; I am thinking only of
his motor.If marriage as an institution could be retained,
and all thought of marriage banished from the minds of the young of
both sexes, how delightful society could be made for all parties!John went back to the bathroom.I
can see that such a state of things would be quite impossible, but it
presents many advantages.MACGILL
EXETER, DEVONSHIRE,
ROUGEMONT CASTLE HOTEL,
_Sunday, May 16th, 19--_
I have made out my journey from Tunbridge wells in safety, although
there has been a breakdown upon the Scotch Express, which is a cause
of thankfulness.There were two American women in the same carriage
part of the time.The mother was, like myself, an invalid, and the
daughter I suppose would be considered pretty.She was not exactly
painted, but must have done something to her skin, I think, probably
prejudicial like the advertisements; it was really waxen, and her hair
decidedly dark--and such a veil!It reminded me of the expression
about 'power on the head' in Corinthians--not that she seemed to
require it, for she rang no less than eight times for the guard, each
time about some different whimsey.The boy only grinned, yet he was
quite rude to me when I asked him, only for the second time, where we
changed carriages next.Cecilia spoke a good deal to the girl, who
made her laugh constantly, in spite of her neuralgia, which was very
inconsistent and provoking to me, as she had not uttered a word for
hours after we left Tunbridge Wells.The mother seemed a very
delicate, sensible person, suffering from exactly the same form of
influenza as myself--indeed many of our symptoms are identical.John went to the hallway.They
happened to be going to this hotel, too, so we met again in the
afternoon.Exeter is small, but the Cathedral
chimes are very tiresome; they kept me awake as if on purpose; Cecilia
slept, as neuralgic people seem often able to do.Somehow I do not fancy the idea of Dartmoor at all.It may brace
Cecilia, but it will be too cold for me, I'm sure.I must send for my
black velvet mantle--the one with the beads at the neck, as it will be
the very thing for the moor.At present I have nothing quite suitable
to wear.There is a great deal of skirt about Americans, I see.Even
the mother rustled; all silk, yet the dresses on the top were plain
enough.As I had nothing to read in the train, I bought a sixpenny
copy of a book called _The Forest Lovers_, but could not get on with
it at all, and what I did make out seemed scarcely proper, so I took
up a novel which Mrs.Pomeroy (the American) lent me, by a man with a
curious Scriptural name--something like Phillpotts.It was entirely
about Dartmoor, and gave a most alarming account of the scenery and
inhabitants.I'm sure I hope we shall be safe at Grey Tor Inn.Some of
the wilder parts must be quite dangerous--storms--wild cattle roaming
about, and Tors everywhere.* * * * *
MRS.MACGILL
DARTMOOR, DEVONSHIRE,
THE GREY TOR INN,
_Tuesday, May 18th, 19--_
I wish I had brought winter flannels with me.It is all very well to
call it the middle of May on Dartmoor, but it is as cold as the middle
of winter in Aberdeen.There may be something odd about the red soil
that accounts for flowers coming out in spite of it, for certainly
there are primroses and violets on the banks, a good many,--very like
flowers in a hat.We met Miss Pomeroy, the American girl, in the lobby of the hotel.She
said that her mother was resting in the drawing-room.Like me, she
seems to suffer from shivering fits.'I can't imagine,' I said, 'why
any doctor should have ordered me to such a place as this to recover
from influenza, which is just another form of cold.'The windows look
straight out on Grey Tor.It is, of course, as the guide-books say, 'a
scene of great sublimity and grandeur,' but very dreary; it is not
mountain, and not what we would call moor, either, in Scotland--just a
crumpled country, with boulders here and there.Grey Tor is the
highest point we can see--not very lonely, I am glad to say, for
little black people are always walking up and down it, like flies on a
confectioner's window, and there is a railing on the top.There is a young man here, who, I was surprised to find, is a nephew
of the uncle of my poor brother-in-law, Colonel Forsyth, who died in a
moment at Agra.Sir William Maxwell Mackenzie used to be often at the
Forsyths, before his death.This young man's name is Archibald, and he
drives a motor.I sat next him at dinner, and we had quite a pleasant
little chat about my poor brother-in-law's sudden death and funeral.Miss Pomeroy ate everything on the table and talked a great deal.Cecilia said she wasn't able to come down to dinner, but, as usual,
ate more than I could, upstairs.Pomeroy finds the
Devonshire cream very heavy.The daughter and Sir Archibald finished
nearly the whole dish, although it was a large china basin.Mary journeyed to the hallway.SIR ARCHIBALD MAXWELL MACKENZIE, BART.GREY TOR INN
I must get away from these women at all costs.People may say what
they like, but there's no question that nothing is more destructive to
comfort than the society of ladies.A man cannot smoke, nor wear the
clothes nor use the language that he wants to when they are
present,--so what is the use of pretending, as some fellows do, that
they add to the pleasantness of life?I certainly thought that by
coming to these out-of-the-way parts in the motor, with no one but my
servant, I should be free of the women; but no such luck!In the hotel
at Exeter there was a batch of them,--some Americans, of course,
particularly a girl, so deuced lively she could not be ignored.I
dislike the whole girl-tribe with all my heart, and I dislike the
kittenish ones most: they're a positive pest.This is a rum sort of country,--a sort of inferior Scotland, I should
call it; but if you were to say that to the artist chaps and writing
fellows you meet about here, they would murder you.There is a lot of
rot talked about everything in this world, but there's more and worse
rot talked about scenery than anything else.For instance, people will
yarn away about 'the blue Mediterranean,' but it's not a bit bluer
than any other sea,--the English Channel, for example; any sea will be
blue if the sky is blue.I suppose it earns somebody's living to talk
and write all this sort of stuff, and get idiots to believe it.Here
they are always jawing away about 'giant monoliths' and wonderful
colossal stone-formations on the moor, till you really think there's
something rather fine to be seen.Two or three ordinary sorts of stones set up on end on a mound!Sandra travelled to the hallway.This is a goodish hotel, and the roads so far have been all right for
the motor; we have come along fairly well; Johnson can drive a bit
now, and understands the machine.The country was pretty decent for a while, before reaching this;
plenty of trees, no good for timber, though, and there was a lot of
that rotten holly--I'd have it all up if it grew on Kindarroch.And
the gorse, too, was very bad.There was a fellow at Exeter--a sort of
artist, I conclude, from the nonsense he talked--who said he was
coming up here to see the gorse,--came every year, he said.To see a lot of dirty weeds that every sensible man wants to
root up and burn!This morning it was rather fine, and I was having a smoke after
breakfast in the hall, when that American girl--the one I saw at
Exeter--came down the staircase, singing at the top of her voice.I
knew she was here, with a mother in the background; she had been
fooling around the motor already, asking a lot of silly questions,
and touching the handles and the wheels--a thing I can't bear--so we
had made acquaintance in a kind of way.The artist at Exeter, I
remember, asked me if I didn't think this girl remarkably pretty, and
I told him I hadn't looked to see, which was perfectly true.But you
can't help seeing a girl if she's standing plump in front of you.Of
course these Americans dress well--no end of money to do it on.This
one had a sort of Tam o' Shanter thing on her head, and a lot of dark
hair came out under it, falling over her ears, and almost over her
cheeks--untidy, I call it.She wore a grey dress, with a bit of
scarlet near her neck, and a knot to match it under the brim of her
cap.She has black eyes, and
knows how to use them.I don't like dark women; if you must have a
woman about, I prefer pink and white--it looks clean, at any rate.The
name of these people is Pomeroy, Johnson told me; they appear to have
got the hang of mine at Exeter; trust women for that sort of thing.'Good morning, Sir Archibald,' said Miss Pomeroy now, as pat as you
please.'It's a mighty pretty morning, isn't it?I'm going right up to that stone on the <DW72> there.A man can hardly refuse outright, I suppose, when
a thing is put to him point blank like this, and we started together,
I pretty glum, for I made up my mind I must give up my after-breakfast
pipe, a thing which puts me out of temper for the day.However, Miss
Pomeroy said she liked smoke, so there was a kind of mitigation in the
boredom which I felt was before me.Grey Tor, as the guide-books call it, is just above the hotel, a sort
of knob of rock that is thought a lot of in these parts.(We make road
metal of the same kind of thing in Scotland; I'd like to tell the
chaps that who write all the drivel about Dartmoor.)There's an iron
railing round the top of this Tor, to keep the tourists from falling
off, though they'd be no loss if they did.Coach loads of them come
every day, and sit on the top and eat sandwiches, and leave the paper
about, along with orange and banana skins--same as they do at the
Trossachs at home.There's a grassy track up to this blessed Tor, and
Miss Pomeroy and I followed it; American women are no good at walking,
and, in spite of her slight figure, she was puffing like a grampus in
no time, and begging me to stop.We sat down on a rock, and soon she
had breath enough to talk.The subject of names came up, I forget for
what reason.'I like your kind of name,' Miss Pomeroy was good enough to say.'I
call it downright sensible and clear, for it tells what you're called,
and gives your background immediately, don't you see?Now, you
couldn't tell what my Christian name is without asking--could you?''No, I couldn't,' I agreed, and was silent.She gave me rather a funny look out of her black eyes, but I
took no notice.She seemed to want to laugh--I don't know why; there's
nothing funny on Dartmoor that _I_ can see.We got on to the Tor
presently, and nothing would satisfy a woman, naturally, but climbing
all over the beastly thing.She had to be helped up and down, of
course.Mary travelled to the office.Her hands are very white and slim; they were not at all hot, I
am glad to say, as she wore no gloves, and I had to clutch them so
often.There was a very high wind up there, and I'm blessed if her
hair didn't come down and blow about.It only made her laugh, but I
considered it would be indecent to walk back to the hotel with a woman
in such a dishevelled state.'I will pick up the hairpins,' I said seriously, 'if you will--will do
the rest.'Mary went back to the hallway.She laughed and put up her arms to her head, but brought
them down with a flop.'I'm afraid my waist is too tight in the sleeves for me to do my hair
up here; it'll have to wait till I get down to the hotel,' she said
gaily.I suppose she meant that she tight-laced, though I couldn't see
how her waist could be tight in the sleeves.I was quite determined
she should not walk to the hotel in my company with her hair in that
state.'I will stick these in,' I said firmly, indicating the hairpins, of
which I had picked up about a bushel, 'if you will do the rolling up.'It got done somehow, and I stuck in the pins.Sandra travelled to the office.I never touched a
woman's |
hallway | Where is Mary? | I dare say it accounts for the feebleness of
women's brains.Miss Pomeroy's cheeks got pinker and pinker during
this operation--a sort of rush of blood, I suppose; it is all right as
long as it does not go to the nose.She is not a bad-looking girl,
certainly.We got back to the hotel without any further disagreeables.CECILIA EVESHAM
GREY TOR INN, DARTMOOR
If a policeman's 'lot is not a happy one,' neither is a companion's: I
lay this down as an axiom.I have lived now for two years with Mrs.Mary went back to the office.MacGill, and know her every frailty of character only too well.She
has not a bad temper; but oh!Not
content with being stupid herself, she desires to make me stupid along
with her, and has well-nigh succeeded, for life with her in furnished
apartments at Tunbridge Wells would dull a more brilliant woman than I
have ever been.MacGill has lately had the influenza; it came almost as a
providential sending, for it meant change of air.We were ordered to
Dartmoor, and to Dartmoor we have come.Now I have become interested
in three new people; and that, after the life I have lived of late in
Mrs.MacGill's sickroom, is like a draught of nectar to my tired
fancy.John went back to the bathroom.We met these three persons for the first time in the train, and
at the hotel at Exeter where we stopped for the night; or rather, I
should say that we met two of them and sighted the third.The two were
a mother and her daughter, Mrs.Pomeroy and Virginia Pomeroy by name,
and Americans by nation; the third person was a young man, Sir
Archibald Maxwell Mackenzie, of Kindarroch, N.B.The Americans were
extremely friendly, after the manner of their nation; the young man
extremely unfriendly, after the manner of his.We found that the
Pomeroys were coming on to this inn, but the Scotchman whizzed off in
his motor car, giving us no hint of where he intended to go.I thought
we had seen the last of him, but it was to be otherwise.The morning after our arrival at the Grey Tor Inn Mrs.MacGill assumed
a Shetland shawl, closed the window of the sitting-room, and sat down
to do a bit of knitting.John went to the hallway.I sat by the window answering her little
vapid remarks and looking out.As I sat thus, I heard a puffing noise
and saw a scarlet motor steam up to the door of the inn.It was, of
course, Sir Archibald.'It's a motor car,' I replied.I never can understand how they are worked,' said
she.I was beginning to try to explain some of the mysteries of motoring
when the door of the sitting-room opened, and Miss Virginia Pomeroy
came in.Her appearance was a delight to the eyes; tall and full
grown, yet graceful, and dressed to perfection.She had none of that
meek look that even the prettiest English girls are getting nowadays,
as if they would say, 'I'm pretty, but I know I'm a drug in the
market, though I can't help it!'No, no, Virginia Pomeroy came into
the room with an air of possession, mastery, conquest, that no English
girl can assume.She walked straight up to the window and threw it
open.'Why, there's a motor; I
must have a ride in it before very long.'She turned pleasantly to me
as she spoke, and asked me if I didn't adore motoring.'Well, the sooner you begin the better,' she said.'Never miss a joy
in a world of trouble; that's my theory.'I smiled, but if she had known it, I more nearly cried at her words;
she didn't know how many joys _I_ had missed in life!'I'll go right downstairs and make love to the chauffeur,' she went
on, and at this Mrs.MacGill coughed, moved the fire-irons, and told
me to close the window.Miss Pomeroy turned to her with a laugh.she said, 'are you two going to sit in this hotel parlour all
the morning?You won't have much of a time if you do!''I have had the influenza, like Mrs.Mary journeyed to the hallway.MacGill
solemnly, 'but if Miss Evesham wishes some fresh air she can go out at
any time.I'm sure I never object to anything that you choose to do,
Cecilia, do I?'I hastened to assure her that she did not, while the American girl
stood looking from one of us to the other with her bright, clever
eyes.'Suppose you come down to the hall door with me then, Miss Evesham,'
Miss Pomeroy suggested, 'and we'll taste the air.'I asked, for a companion must always ask
leave even to breathe.MacGill answered petulantly that of course
I might do as I liked.The motor stood alone and unattended by the front door, both owner and
chauffeur having deserted it.It rested there like a redhot panting
monster fatigued by climbing the long hill that leads up to Grey Tor
Inn.'I want to pat it and give
it a drink of water.'The next minute she skipped into the car and
laid her white hand on the steering-wheel.The thing may run away with you or
burst, or something, and the owner may come out at any moment--it
belongs to that young man who was at Exeter, Sir Archibald Maxwell
Mackenzie.''I should like it very much if he did come out,' said Virginia,
looking over her shoulder at me with the most bewitching ogle I ever
saw, and I soon saw that she intended to conquer Sir Archibald as she
had conquered many another man, and meant to drive all over Dartmoor
in his motor.Well, youth and high spirits are two good things.Let
her do what she likes with the young man, so long as she enjoys
herself; they will both be old soon enough!II
VIRGINIA POMEROY
DARTMOOR, DEVONSHIRE,
GREY TOR INN
The plot thickens; well, goodness knows it was thin enough before, and
it is now only of the innocent consistency of cream sauce.For myself
I like a plot that will stand quite stiff and firm; still the Exeter
motor is here and the Exeter motor-man is here.I don't mean the
chauffeur, but the owner.He doesn't intend staying more than a day or
two, but he may like it better as time goes on,--they often do, even
these British icebergs.It is, however, a poor climate for thawing
purposes.There are only six people in the inn all told, and two, we
hear, are leaving to-night.Sandra travelled to the hallway.I was glad to see the English girl standing at the window when we
arrived.She brightened, as much as to say that we two might make life
more cheerful by putting our heads together.MacGill is a good
companion for mamma, but could not otherwise be endured for a moment.I find it very difficult to account for her on any ordinary basis; I
mean of climate or nationality or the like.The only way I can explain
her to my satisfaction is, that some sixty years ago her father, a
very dull gentleman, met her mother, a lady of feeble mind and waspish
disposition; met her, loved her, married her,--and Mrs.MacGill is the
result of the union.Her conversation at table is aimless beyond description, often causing
Miss Evesham to blush, and Sir Archibald to raise his eyebrows.It
doesn't take much to produce this effect on Sir Archibald's part; when
he was born they must have been slightly lifted.MacGill asked me, at dinner, my Christian name, not having heard
it, as mamma often calls me 'Jinny.'_Jinny._ My name is Virginia; it is one of the Southern States, you
know.Is that a common habit of naming
children in America?_Jinny._ Oh yes; you see it is such an enormous country, and there are
such a number of children to be named that we simply had to extend the
supply of names in some way.My mother's middle name, which is my own
also, is something really quaint--'Secessia.'_Jinny._ Yes, indeedy!Mary travelled to the office.My mother was born in the early days of the
Civil War, at the time of the secession, and her father, an ardent
Southerner, named her Gloria Secessia.Mac._ Let me see, I don't seem to remember any secession; were
we mixed up in what you call your Civil War?(Here Sir Archibald caught my eye and smiled, almost a human smile it
was.)_Jinny._ No, but you had a good deal to do with the War of
Independence.(Sir Archibald was
honestly amused here.Mac._ I thought your last war was called the War of
Independence, because it made the <DW64>s independent, but I must have
got the two confused; and you've just had another small one, haven't
you, though now I remember that we were engaged in only one of them,
and that was before my time.It seems strange we should have gone
across the ocean to help a younger country to fight its battles, but
after all, blood is thicker than water.I had a nephew who went to
America--Brazil, I think, was the name of the town--a barrister, Mr.George Forsyth; you may have met him?_Jinny._ I think not; I seldom go so far from home.Mac._ But you live in South America, do you not?_Jinny._ I live in the south, but that is merely to say in the
southern part of the United States.I fear I can't make it out without the
globes; I was always very good at the globes when I was a child.Cecilia, suppose after dinner you see if there is a globe in the inn.She is so pale, so likeable, so downtrodden, and
she has been so pretty!Think of what is involved when one uses the
past tense with a woman of thirty.She has fine hair and eyes and a
sweet manner.As to the rest, she is about my height, and she is not
dressed; she is simply clothed.Height is her only visible dimension,
the village mantua-maker having shrouded the others in hopeless
ambiguity.She has confessed to me that she dresses on fifteen pounds
a year!If she had told me that her father was dead, her mother a
kleptomaniac, and she the sole support of a large family, I should
have pitied her, but a dress allowance of fifteen pounds a year calls
for more than pity; it belongs to the realm of tragedy.She looks at
thirty as if she never had had, nor ever expected to have, a good
time.How I should like to brighten her up a bit, and get her into my
room to try on Paris hats!She and I, aided by Sir Archibald, have been to Stoke Babbage to try
to secure a pony, sound, kind, and fleet, that will drag Mrs.MacGill
up and down the hills.She refused the steeds proffered by the Grey
Tor stables, and sent Miss Evesham to procure something so hopelessly
ideal in the shape of horseflesh that I confess we had no expectation
of ever finding it.The groom at the Unicorn produced a nice pony chaise, well padded and
well braked, with small low wheels, and a pony originally black, but
worn grey by age, as well as by battling with the elements in this
region of bare hills and bleak winds.Miss Evesham liked its looks
particularly.I, too, was pleased by its sturdy build, and remarked
that its somewhat wild eye might be only a sign of ambition.Sir
Archibald took an entirely humorous view of the animal, and indeed, as
compared with a motor, the little creature seemed somewhat inadequate.MacGill (and here we exchanged wicked glances)
it would do admirably, and we all became better acquainted in
discussing its points.Mary went back to the hallway.Miss Evesham and I offered to drive the pony back to Grey Tor, and Sir
Archibald saw us depart with something that approached hilarity.He is
awfully nice when he unbends in this way, and quite makes one wish to
see him do it oftener.From all our previous conversations I have come
away with the sort of feeling you have when you visit the grave of
your grandmother on a Sunday afternoon.I don't know the number of miles between Stoke Babbage and Grey Tor.The distance covered cuts no actual figure in describing the time
required for a drive with the new pony, whom I have christened
Greytoria.The word 'drive' is not altogether descriptive, since we
walked most of the way home.I hardly think this method of progression
would have occurred to us, but it did occur to Greytoria, and she
communicated the idea by stopping short at the slightest elevation,
and turning her head in a manner which could only mean, 'Suppose you
get out, if you don't mind!'Having walked up all the hills, we imagined we could perhaps drive
down.Greytoria dislikes holding back more, if anything,
than climbing up.We kept our seats at first, applied the brake, and
attempted a very gentle trot.'Don't let us spoil the pony,' I said.'We must begin as we mean to go on.'Miss Evesham agreed, but in a
moment or two each issued from her side of the chaise, and that
without argument.Greytoria's supports are both stiff and weak--groggy
is Sir Archibald's word.She takes trembling little steps with her
forelegs, while the hind ones slide automatically down any declivity.The hills between Stoke Babbage and Grey Tor being particularly long
and steep, we found that I was obliged to lead Greytoria by the
bridle, while Miss Evesham held the chaise by the back of the seat,
and attempted to keep it from falling on the pony's legs; the thing,
we finally discovered, that was the ruling terror of her life.Naturally we were late at luncheon, but we did not describe our drive
in detail.The groom at the stables says that the pony can drag Mrs.MacGill quite safely, if Miss Evesham is firm in her management.Of
course she will have to walk up and down all the hills, but she
doesn't mind that, and Mrs.Sandra travelled to the office.It is bliss to her
to lie in slippered ease, so to speak, and see all the people in her
vicinity working like galley slaves.We shall be delightfully situated
now, with Greytoria, Sir Archibald's motor, and an occasional trap
from the stables, if we need other vehicles.Sir Archibald as yet does not look upon a motor as a philanthropic
institution.There are moments when he seems simply to regard it as a
means of selfish pleasure, but that must be changed.Miss Evesham looked only twenty-nine at luncheon.MACGILL
Last night I slept so badly that I could not go down to the
dining-room this morning.Cecilia, in spite of her neuralgia yesterday
seemed well and bright.I asked her to send me up some breakfast, but
could scarcely eat it when it came; the tea was cold, the bread damp
and tough, and the egg fresh enough, but curious.Cecilia never came
near me after breakfast.When I came down about eleven o'clock, very
cold, I found no one in the sitting-rooms.Hearing voices, I went to
the door and found Cecilia talking to the American girl, who had a
great deal of colour for that hour in the morning.John went to the kitchen.Sir Archibald came
up, grinding round the drive in his motor.It is quite unnecessary to
have brought a motor here at all, for I observe that the hillsides are
covered with ponies.There must have been a herd of twenty-five of
them outside my window this morning, so a motor is quite out of place.Sandra went to the hallway.The doctor here recommends me to try driving exercise, but some of the
animals are so very small that I scarcely think they could pull me up |
hallway | Where is John? | Cecilia says the smaller ones are foals.Many of them
kick, I see, so we must select with care.I wish we could procure a
donkey.The feeling of confidence I have when in a donkey-chair more
than makes up for the slowness of motion.Pomeroy was kept awake by the wind--it never stops here.When I remarked on this, Cecilia said in her patronising way, 'Don't
you remember Borrow's famous line,--
'There's always the wind on the heath'?'I see nothing clever in that,' I said; 'there _is_ always wind on the
heath here, and I particularly dislike it.'When we came into the drawing-room Miss Pomeroy was saying, 'I've
discovered a piano!'The piano, to my mind, was the largest object in
the room, so she must be short-sighted, if she had not seen it before;
pride probably prevents her wearing glasses.She sat there singing for
quite a long time.She wouldn't finish her songs, but just sang scraps
of a number of things.Sir Archibald came into the room and stood
about for some time.I asked him several questions about his father's
sister, whom I used to know.He replied so absently that I could make
nothing of it.She sang what I suppose
were translations of <DW64> songs--very noisy.When she afterwards
tried one of Moore's exquisite melodies, I confess to admiring it.MacGill, who used to sing it with much
feeling:--
'Around the dear ruin, each wish of my heart.'What a touching expression that is for a middle-aged woman--'the dear
ruin'!The guide-books speak of 'huge
monoliths' (I suppose they mean the rocks on the moor),'seeming to
have been reared by some awful cataclysm of nature in primordial
times.'I hope there will be no cataclysms during our stay on the
moor; the accounts of tempests of which I read in some of the novels
quite frighten me, yet I can scarcely think there is much danger about
this tor--'a giant, the biggest tor of all,' the guide-books say.It
is so fully peopled by tourists with luncheon-baskets that one loses
the feeling of desolation.Miss Pomeroy has been up to the top
already--twice, once alone.Cecilia means to go too, though nothing
can be worse for neuralgia than cold wind.She will always say that
nothing hurts her like sitting in hot rooms.I should be very glad to
have a hot room to sit in!She has got a nice, quiet-looking animal at
last, and a low pony chaise, so I hope to have some drives.Neuralgia is one of those things one cannot calculate on.Cecilia will
be ill all day, and then suddenly able to come down to dinner.I have
suffered a good deal from tic douloureux myself, but was never able to
eat during the paroxysms, as Cecilia seems to be.After having five
teeth pulled, I once lived exclusively on soup for three days.Miss Pomeroy, I suppose, is what most people would call a pretty girl.Hot bread and dyspepsia will soon do for her, though, as for all
American women.She is dark,
very dark in hair and eyes, in spite of her white skin, and she
describes herself as a 'Southerner.'I should be inclined to suspect a
strain of <DW64> or Indian blood.I heard her discussing what she
called 'the colour problem' with Cecilia, and she seemed to speak with
a good deal of bitterness.The
girl dresses well in the American style, which I never attempt.She
has, I suppose, what would be called a fine figure, though the waist
seems of no importance just now.Her feet, in shoes, look small
enough, though the heels she wears astonish me; it is years since I
have worn anything but a simple cloth boot, neat but roomy.I have
seen her glance at my feet several times, as if she observed something
odd about them.SIR ARCHIBALD MAXWELL MACKENZIE
GREY TOR INN
Isn't it a most extraordinary thing that when people are in a
comfortable house, with a good roof over their heads, solid meals
served at regular intervals three or four times a day, and every
possible comfort, they instantly want to go outside and make
themselves not only thoroughly uncomfortable, but generally ill
besides, by having a picnic in the open?Ever since I had that walk
with Miss Pomeroy, she has done nothing but talk about a picnic at
some beastly little village in the vicinity where there is a church
that the guide-books tell the usual lies about.As to churches--a
church to my mind is a place to go to on Sundays with the rest of the
congregation.It is plainly not constructed for week-days, when it is
empty, cold, and damp, and you have to take your hat off in the
draughts all the same, and talk in whispers.As to picnics--there's a
kind of folly about _them_ that it is altogether beyond me to
understand.Why such things ever take place outside the grounds of a
lunatic asylum, goodness only knows; they ought to be forbidden by
law, and the people who organise them shut up as dangerous.However, I
see I am in for this one.Miss Pomeroy wants the motor, but she won't
get the motor without me.Heaven be praised, the weather has broken up
in the meantime, which is the reason I am staying on here.Motoring on
Dartmoor in a tearing nor'easter is no catch.My quarters are
comfortable, and but for the women I should be doing very well.The worst of it is, there is a whole batch of them now.MacGill
and her companion are here, and these two and the Americans seem to
have met before.The two old women are as thick as thieves, and the
fair Virginia (she told me her name, though she might have seen, I am
sure, that I was simply dying not to know it) seems to have a good
deal to say to the companion, though the latter doesn't appear to me
much in the line of such a lively young person.There's no rule, of
course, for women's likes and dislikes, any more than for anything
else that has to do with them.MacGill seemed to spot me the moment she heard my name.She says my
father was her brother-in-law's first cousin, and her brother-in-law
died in Agra in a fit; though what that has to do with it, goodness
knows.It means I have got to be civil and to get mixed up with the
rest of the party.A man can never be as rude as he feels, which is
one of the drawbacks of civilisation.So I have to sit at their table
now, and talk the whole time--can't even have a meal in peace.The old
woman MacGill is on one side, the American girl on the other._She_ keeps quiet, which is one mercy;
generally has neuralgia,--a pale, rather lady-like young woman with a
seen-better-days-and-once-was-decidedly-pretty air about her.The
American girl's clothes take the cake, of course--a new frock every
night and such ribbons and laces--my stars!I'd rather not be the man
who has to pay for them.I'm surprised at her talking so much to the
humble companion--thought this sort of girl never found it worth while
to be civil to her own sex; but I conclude this is not invariably the
case.'I'm afraid your neuralgia is very bad up here,' I heard her say to
Miss Evesham (that's the companion's name) after dinner last night.'You come right along to my room, and I'll rub menthol on your poor
temples.'And they went off together and disappeared for the night.The weather has cleared up to-day, though it is still too cold and
windy, thank the Lord, for the picnic to Widdington-in-the-Wolds.I
took the motor to a little town about four miles off, and overtook
the fair Virginia and Miss Evesham, footing it there on some errand of
Mrs.I slowed down as I got near, but I soon saw Miss
Pomeroy intended me to stop; there's no uncertainty about any of _her_
desires.'Now, Sir Archibald,' said she with a straight look which made me
understand that obedience was my _role_, 'I know what you're going to
do this very minute.Miss Evesham's neuralgia is so bad that she can
scarcely see, and you've got to take her right along in your motor to
the Unicorn Inn, and help choose a pony for Mrs.Just a man's
job--you'd love doing it, I should think.'I wanted to hum and haw a bit, but she didn't give me the chance.a motor puff-puffing this way always makes
me think it's in a desperate hurry and won't wait!'(Easter Morning)
She cometh now, with the sun's splendid shine
On face and limbs and hair!Ye who are watching, have ye seen so fair
A Lady ever as this one is of mine?See, as she cometh unrestrained and fleet
Past the thrush-haunted trees,
How glad the lilies are that touch her knees!And how even I am yet more glad than these!EASTER-SONG
Maiden, awake!And let your feet disdain
The paths whereby of late they have been led.Now Death itself is dead,
And Love hath birth,
And all things mournful find no place on earth.This morn ye all must go another way
Than ye went yesterday.Not with sad faces shall ye silent go
Where He hath suffered so;
But where there be
Full many flowers shall ye wend joyfully.Moreover, too, ye must be clad in white,
As if the ended night
Were but your bridal-morn's foreshadowing.And ye must also sing
In angel-wise:
So shall ye be most worthy in His eyes.I know where many flowers
Have grown these many hours
To make more perfect this glad Easter-day;
Where tall white lilies sway
On slender stem,
Waiting for you to come and garner them;
Where banks of mayflowers are, all pink and white,
Which will Him well delight;
And yellow buttercups, and growing grass
Through which the Spring winds pass;
And mosses wet,
Well strown with many a new-born violet.Will ye not draw anear
And gather them for Him, and in His name,
Whom all men now proclaim
Their living King?Think ye that He allows
Such glory of glad color and perfume,
But to destroy the gloom
That hath held fast
His altar-place these many days gone past?For this alone these blossoms had their birth,--
To show His perfect worth!Therefore, O Maidens, ye must go apace
To that strange garden-place
And gather all
These living flowers for His high festival.For now hath come the long-desired day,
Wherein Love hath full sway!Open the gates, O ye who guard His home,
His handmaidens are come!Sandra moved to the hallway.Open them wide,
That all may enter in this Easter-tide!Then, maidens, come, with song and lute-playing,
And all your wild flowers bring
And strew them on His altar; while the sun--
Seeing what hath been done--
Shines strong once more,
Knowing that Death hath Christ for conqueror.THE RAIN
O ye who so unceasing praise the Sun;
Ye who find nothing worthy of your love
But the Sun's face and the strong light thereof;
Who, when the day is done,
Are all uncomforted
Unless the night be crowned with many a star,
Or mellow light be shed
From the ancient moon that gazeth from afar,
With pitiless calm, upon the old, tired Earth;
O ye to whom the skies
Must be forever fair to free your eyes
From mortal pain;--
Have ye not known the great exceeding worth
Of that soft peace which cometh with the Rain?the wisest of you knows no thing
That hath such title to man's worshipping
As the first sudden day
The slumbrous Earth is wakened into Spring;
When heavy clouds and gray
Come up the southern way,
And their bold challenge throw
In the face of the frightened snow
That covereth the ground.What need they now the armies of the Sun
Whose trumpets now do sound?John moved to the hallway.Hath he not waged his wars for days gone past,
Each morning drawing up his cohorts vast
And leading them with slow and even paces
To assault once more the impenetrable places,
Where, crystal-bound,
The river moveth on with silent sound?On the pure white snow where are the lightest traces
Of what thy forces' ordered ways have done?On these large spaces
No footsteps are imprinted anywhere;
Still the white glare
Is perfect; yea, the snows are drifted still
On plain and hill;
And still the river knows the Winter's iron will.Thou wert most wise, O Sun, to hide thy face
This day beneath the cloud's gray covering;
Thou wert most wise to know the deep disgrace
In which thy name is holden of the Spring.She deems thee now an impotent, useless thing,
And hath dethroned thee from thy mighty place;
Knowing that with the clouds will come apace
The Rain, and that the rain will be a royal king.For in soft girlish-wise she takes her throne
When first she cometh in the young Spring-season;
Gentle and mild,
Yet with no dread of any revolution,
And fearing not a land unreconciled,
And unafraid of treason.In her dark hair
Lieth the snow's most certain dissolution;
And in her glance is known
The freeing of the rivers from their chainings;
And in her bosom's strainings
Earth's teeming breast is tokened and foreshown.Behold her coming surely, calmly down,
Where late the clear skies were,
With gray clouds for a gown;
Her fragile draperies
Caught by the little breeze
Which loveth her!She weareth yet no crown,
Nor is there any sceptre in her hands;
Yea, in all lands,
Whatever Spring she cometh, men know well
That it is right and good for her to come;
And that her least commands
Must be fulfilled, however wearisome;
And that they all must guard the citadel
Wherein she deigns to dwell!And so, even now, her feet pass swiftly over
The impressionable snow
That vanisheth as woe
Doth vanish from the rapt face of a lover,
Who, after doubting nights, hath come to know
His lady loves him so!(Yet not like him
Doth the snow bear the signs of her light touch!It |
bathroom | Where is John? | And though her utter worthlessness is plain
He hath no joy of his deliverance,
But only asketh God to let him die,--
And getteth no reply.)Yea, the snows fade before the calm strength of the rain!And while the rain is unabated,
Well-heads are born and streams created
On the hillsides, and set a-flowing
Across the fields.The river, knowing
That there hath surely come at last
Its freedom, and that frost is past,
Gathereth force to break its chains;
The river's faith is in the Spring's unceasing rains!See where the shores even now were firmly bound
The slowly widening water showeth black,
As from the fields and meadows all around
Come rushing over the dark and snowless ground
The foaming streams!Beneath the ice the shoulders of the tide
Lift, and from shore to shore a thin, blue crack
Starts, and the dark, long-hidden water gleams,
Glad to be free.And now the uneven rift is growing wide;
The breaking ice is fast becoming gray;
It hears the loud beseeching of the sea,
And moveth on its way.Surely at last the work of the rain is done!Surely the Spring at last is well begun,
O unavailing Sun!O ye who worship only at the noon,
When will ye learn the glory of the rain?Sandra moved to the hallway.Have ye not seen the thirsty meadow-grass
Uplooking piteous at the burnished sky,
And all in vain?Even in June
Have ye not seen the yellow flowers swoon
Along the roadside, where the dust, alas,
Is hard to pass?Have ye not heard
The song cease in the throat of every bird
And know the thing all these were stricken by?Ye have beheld these things, yet made no prayer,
O pitiless and uncompassionate!Yet should the sweeping
Of Death's wide wings across your face unsleeping
Be felt of you to-night,
And all your hair
Know the soft stirring of an alien breath
From out the mouth of Death,
Would ye not then have memory of these
And how their pain was great?Would ye not wish to hear among the trees
The wind in his great might,
And on the roof the rain's unending harmonies?For when could death be more desired by us
(Oh, follow, Death, I pray thee, with the Fall!)Than when the night
Is heavy with the wet wind born of rain?When flowers are yellow, and the growing grass
Is not yet tall,
Or when all living things are harvested
And with bright gold the hills are glorious,
Or when all colors have faded from our sight
And all is gray that late was gold and red?Have ye not lain awake the long night through
And listened to the falling of the rain
On fallen leaves, withered and brown and dead?John moved to the hallway.Have none of you,
Hearing its ceaseless sound, been comforted
And made forgetful of the day's live pain?Even _Thou_, who wept because the dark was great
Once, and didst pray that dawn might come again,
Has noon not seemed to be a dreaded thing
And night a thing not wholly desolate
And Death thy soul's supremest sun-rising?Did not thy hearing strain
To catch the moaning of the wind-swept sea,
Where great tides be,
And swift, white rain?Did not its far exulting teach thy soul
That of all things the sea alone is free
And under no control?Its liberty,--
Was it not most desired by thy soul?I say,
The Earth is alway glad, yea, and the sea
Is glad alway
When the rain cometh; either tranquilly
As at the first dawn of a summer day
Or in late autumn wildly passionate,
Or when all things are all disconsolate
Because that Winter has been long their king,
Or in the Spring.--Therefore let now your joyful thanksgiving
Be heard on Earth because the Rain hath come!While land and sea give praise, shall ye be dumb?Shall ye alone await the sun-shining?Your days, perchance, have many joys to bring;
Perchance with woes they shall be burthensome;
Yet when night cometh, and ye journey home,
Weary, and sore, and stained with travelling,
When ye seek out your homes because the night--
The last, dark night--falls swift across your path,
And on Life's altar your last day lies slain,
Will ye not cry aloud with that new might
One dying with great things unfinished hath,
"O God!A MEMORY
You are not with me though the Spring is here!And yet it seemed to-day as if the Spring
Were the same one that in an ancient year
Came suddenly upon our wandering.You must remember all that chanced that day.Can you forget the shy awaking call
Of the first robin?--And the foolish way
The squirrel ran along the low stone wall?The half-retreating sound of water breaking,
Hushing, falling; while the pine-laden breeze
Told us the tumult many crows were making
Amid innumerable distant trees;
The certain presence of the birth of things
Around, above, beneath, us,--everywhere;
The soft return of immemorial Springs
Thrilling with life the fragrant forest air;
All these were with us then.Or must you--even as I--remember well?To-day, all these were with me, there,--and yet
They seemed to have some bitter thing to tell;
They looked with questioning eyes, and seemed to wait
One's doubtful coming whom of old they knew;
Till, seeing me alone and desolate,
They learned how vain was strong desire of you.AMONG THE HILLS
Far off, to eastward, I see the wide hill sloping
Up to the place where the pines and sky are one;
All the hill is gray with its young budding birches
And red with its maple-tips and yellow with the sun.Sometimes, over it rolls a purple shadow
Of a ragged cloud that wanders in the large, open sky,
Born where the ploughed fields border on the river
And melting into space where the pines are black and high.There all is quiet; but here where I am waiting,
Among the firs behind me the wind is ill at ease;
The crows, too, proclaim their old, incessant trouble,--
I think there is some battle raging in the surging trees.And yet, should I go down beside the swollen river
Where the vagrant timber hurries to the wide untrammelled sea,
With the mind and the will to cross the new-born waters
And to let the yellow hillside share its peace with me,
--I know, then, that surely would come the old spring-fever
And touch my sluggish blood with its old eternal fire;
Till for me, too, the love of peace were over and forgotten,
And the freedom of the logs had become my soul's desire.For now the sudden promise of the Spring
Hath been fulfilled in many ways to us,
And all live things are thine.Therefore, while all the earth
Is glad, and young, and strangely riotous
With love of thee, whose blood is even as wine,
_I_ dare to sing,
Worshipping thee, and thy face welcoming;
I, also a lover of thy most wondrous worth.Yet with no scorn of any passed days
Come I,--who even in April caught great pleasure,--
Making of ancient woes the stronger praise;
Nor build I this new crown
For my new love's fair head
Of flowers plucked in once oft-travelled ways,
And then forgot and utterly cast down;
But from the measure
Of a strange, undreamt-of, undivided treasure
I glean, and thus my love is garlanded.Yea, with a crown such as no other queen
That ever ruled on earth wore round her hair,
And garments such as man hath never seen!The beauty Heaven hath
For thee was magnified;
I think the least of thy bright gold and green
Once lived along God's best-beloved path,
And angels there
Passed by, and gathered those He called most fair,
And, at His bidding, dressed thee for Earth's bride.John journeyed to the bathroom.We who were nigh to death, awaiting thee;
And fain of death as one aweary of pain.Life had grown burthensome,
Till suddenly we learned
The joy the old brown earth has, when the rain
Comes, and the earth is glad that it has come:
That ecstasy
The buds have, when the worn snow sets them free,
The sea's delight when storm-time has returned.Behold thy work ere yet thy day be run.Over thy growing grain
How the winds rise and cease!Beheld these meadows where thick gold lies spun--
There, last night, surely, thy long hair must have lain!Where trees are tall,
Hear where young birds hold their high festival;
And see where shallow waters know thy peace.Will any of these things ever pain thine eyes,
Summer, that thou shouldst go another way
Than ours, or shouldst our offerings despise?Come with me further still
Where, in sight of the sea,
This garden liveth under mellow skies;
Of its dear odors drink thine utmost fill,
And deign to stay
A moment mid its colors' glad array,--
Is not this place a pleasant one for thee?Yea, thou wilt ever stay, I know full well!Why do I fear that thou wilt pass from us?Is not this earth thy home wherein to dwell?The perfect ways thereof
Are thy desired ones;
Earth hath no voice but of thy worth to tell.Therefore, as one who loves might praise his love,
So, even thus,
I hail thee, Summer, who art glorious,
And know thy reign eternal as the Sun's!THE PATH
Is this the path that knew your tread,
Once, when the skies were just as blue
As they are now, far overhead?Are these the trees that looked at you
And listened to the words you said?And is this broken stem the one
That gave its flower to you to keep?And here where the grasses knew the sun
Before a sickle came to reap
Did your dear shadow softly fall?This place is very like, and yet
No shadow lieth here at all;
With dew the mosses still are wet
Although the grass no more is tall.The small brown birds go rustling through
The low-branched hemlock as of old;
The tree-tops almost touch the blue;
The sunlight falleth down like gold
On one new flower that waiteth you.THE LAST FLOWER
O golden-rod, well-worshipped of the sun!Where else hath Summer tarried save in thee?This meadow is a barren thing to see,
For here the reapers' toil is over and done.Of all her many birds there is but one
Left to assail the last wild raspberry;
The buttercups and daisies withered be,
And yet thy reign hath only now begun.O sceptre thrust into the hands of Fall
By Summer ere Earth forget her soft foot's tread!O woman-flower, for love of thee, alas,
Even the trees have let their glory pass,
And now with thy gold hair are garlanded!AFTER HARVEST
O Earth, O Mother, thou hast earned our praise!The long year through thou hast been good to us.Forgive us were we ever mutinous
Or unbelieving in thy strange, sure ways.Sometimes, alas, we watched with wild amaze
Thy passing, for thou wert imperious
Indeed; and our estate seemed perilous,
And we as grass the wind unseeing sways.Then, we were blind: the least among us sees,
Now, in each well-stripped vine and barren field,
Each garden that is fast a-perishing,
The promise April surely had revealed
Had we had grace to bend our stubborn knees
Who seek thee now with humble thanksgiving.HEAT IN SEPTEMBER
And why shouldst thou come back to us, July,
Who vanished while we prayed thee not to pass?Thy still, blue waters and thy cloudless sky?Surely, to-day thy very self is nigh;
Only the wind that bloweth in, alas,
Telleth of fire where many a green tree was;
And the crimson sun at noonday standeth high.Must I, like him who, seeing once again
The long-awaited face of his lost love,
Hath little strength to thank the gods above
(Remembering most the ancient passion's pain),
Yet striveth to recall the joys thereof,--
Must I, like him, beseech thee to remain?Daniel went back to the bedroom.ON THE HILLSIDE
October's peace hath fallen on everything.In the far west, above the pine-crowned hill,
With red and purple yet the heavens thrill--
The passing of the sun remembering.A crow sails by on heavy, flapping wing,
(In some land, surely the young Spring hath her will!)Below, the little city lieth still;
And on the river's breast the mist-wreaths cling.Here, on this <DW72> that yet hath known no plough,
The cattle wander homeward slowly now;
In shapeless clumps the ferns are brown and dead.Among the fir-trees dusk is swiftly born;
The maples will be desolate by morn.The last word of the summer hath been said.SUMMER DYING
Last night the heavy moaning wind
Bore unto me
Warning from Him who hath designed
That change shall be.Beneath these mighty hills I lay,
At rest at last,
And thinking on the golden day
But now gone past;
When softly came a faint, far cry
That night made clear,
"_Thy reign is over, thou must die;_
_Winter is near!_"
|
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | I prayed unto the fixed King
Of changing Time
For longer life, till sun-rising
And morning's prime,
And while to-day I watched the sun
Rise, slant, and die;
And now is night the stronger one.Sandra moved to the hallway.Again the cry
Comes, louder now,--"_Thy reign is o'er!_"
Yes, Lord, I know;
And here I kneel on Earth's cold floor
Once, ere I go,
And thank Thee for the long, long days
Thou gavest me,
And all the pleasant, laughing ways
I walked with Thee.I have been happy since the first
Glad day I rose
And found the river here had burst
Through ice and snows
While I had slept.Blue places were
Amidst the gray,
Where water showed; and the water
Most quiet lay.Upon the ice great flocks of crows
Were clamoring--
Lest my blue eyes again should close--
The eyes of Spring.I stepped down to the frozen shore--
The snow was gone;
And lo, where ice had been before,
The river shone!With loud, hoarse cries back flew the birds
To the tall pines;
These were the first of Spring's faint words
And Summer's signs.And now I hear Thee--"_Thou must die!_"
Ah, might I stay,
That I might hear one robin's cry
Bringing the day;
That I might see the new grass come
Where cattle range;
The maples bud, wild roses bloom,
Old willows change;
That I might know one night in June
Two found most fair,
And see again the great half-moon
Shine through her hair;
Or under rough, gnarled boughs might lie,
Where orchards are,
And hear some glad child's laughing cry
Ring loud and far;
Or even, Lord, though near my end
It surely be,
Couldst Thou not hold Time back, and send
One day to me,
One day--October's brown and red
Cover the hills,
And all the brakes and ferns are dead,
And quiet fills
One place where many birds once sang?Then should I go
Where heavy fir-trees overhang
Their branches so,
And slim white birches, quivering,
Loose yellow leaves,
And aspens grow, and everything
For Summer grieves.Ah, there once more, ere day be done,
To face the west,
And see the sure and scarlet sun
Sink to its rest
Beyond the ploughed field sloping sheer
Up to the sky;
To feel the last light disappear
And silent die;
To see faint stars.... Yea, Lord, I come;
I hear Thy call;
Reach me Thy hand and guide me home,
Lest I should fall....
Back, Winter!... Yea, Lord, I, dead,
Now come to Thee;
I know Thy voice, and Thou hast said
"_Let Winter be!_"
A NOVEMBER VIGIL
I wonder why my love for him
Should grow so much these last three days,
While he but stares as if some whim
Had been discovered to his gaze;
Some foolish whim that brings but shame
Whatever time he thinks thereof,--
To him my name is now the name
Of some old half-forgotten love.And yet I starve for his least kiss
And faint because my love is great;
I, who am now no more than this,--
An unseen beggar at his gate....
_She watched the moon and spake aloud._
_The moon seemed not to rise, but hung_
_Just underneath the long straight cloud_
_That low across the heavens swung,_
_As if to press the old moon back_
_Into its place behind the trees._
_The trees stood where the hill was black;_
_They were not vexed by any breeze._
_The moon was not as it had been_
_Before, when she had watched it rise;_
_It was misshapen now, and thin,_
_As if some trouble in the skies_
_Had happened more than it could bear,_
_Its color, too, was no more red;_
_Nor was it like her yellow hair;--_
_It looked as if its soul were dead._
I, who was once well-loved of him,
Am as a beggar by his gate
Whereon black carved things look grim
At one who thinks to penetrate.I do not ask if I may stray
Once more in those desired lands;
Another night, yet one more day,
For these I do not make demands;
For when the ripened hour is past
Things such as these are asked in vain:
His first day's love,--were that the last
I were repaid for this new pain.Out of his love great joy I had
For many days; and even now
I do not dare to be but glad
When I remember, often, how
He said he had great joy of me.John moved to the hallway.The while he loved, no man, I think,
Exceeded him in constancy;
My passion, even, seemed to shrink
Almost to nothing, when he came
And told me all of love's strange things:
The paths love trod, love's eyes of flame,
Its silent hours, its rapid wings....
_The moon still waited, watching her_
_(The cloud still stretched there, close above;_
_The trees beneath); it could not stir,_
_And yet it seemed the shape thereof,_
_Since she looked first, some change had known._
_In places it had burned away,_
_And one side had much thinner grown;_
_--What light that came from it was gray._
_It was not curved from east to west._
_But lay upon its back; like one_
_Wounded, or weary of some quest,_
_Or by strong enemies undone._
_Elsewhere no stars were in the sky;_
_She knew they were burned out and dead_
_Because no clouds went, drifting by,_
_Across the light the strange moon shed._
Now, I can hope for naught but death.John journeyed to the bathroom.I would not stay to give him pain,
Or say the words a woman saith
When love hath called aloud in vain
And got no answer anywhere.It were far better I should die,
And have rough strangers come to bear
My body far away, where I
Shall know the quiet of the tomb;
That they should leave me, with no tears,
To think and think within the gloom
For many years, for many years.The thought of that strange, narrow place
Is hard for me to bear, indeed;
I do not fear cold Death's embrace,
And where black worms draw nigh to feed
On my white body, then, I know
That I shall make no mournful cry:
But that I should be hidden so
Where I no more may see the sky,--
The wide sky filled with many a star,
Or all around the yellow sun,
Or even the sky where great clouds are
That wait until the rain be done,
--That is an evil thing for me....
_Across the sky the cloud swung still_
_And pressed the moon down heavily_
_Where leafless trees grew on the hill._
_The pale moon now was very thin._
_There was no water near the place,_
_Else would the moon that slept therein_
_Have frightened her with its gray face._
How shall I wish to see the sky!For that alone mine eyes shall weep;
I care not where they make me lie,
Nor if my grave be digged deep,
So they leave loose my coffin's lid
And throw on me no mouldy clay,
That the white stars may not be hid:
This little thing is all I pray.Then I shall move me wearily,
And clasp each bone that was my wrist,
Around each slender bony knee;
And wind my hair, that once he kissed,
Around my body wasted thin,
To keep me from the grave's cold breath;
And on my knees rest my poor chin,
And think of what I lose by death.I shall be happy, being dead....
_The moon, by now, had nearly gone,_
_As if it knew its time was sped_
_And feared the coming of the dawn._
_It had not risen; one could see_
_The cloud was strong to keep it back;_
_It merely faded utterly,_
_And where it was the sky grew black._
_Till suddenly the east turned gray,_
_Although no stars were overhead;_
_And though the moon had died away,_
_There came faint glimmerings of red;_
_Then larger waves of golden light_
_Heralded that the day was born,_
_And on the furthest eastern height_
_With swift feet came the waited morn._
_With swift feet came the morn, but lo!_
_Just as its triumph was begun,_
_The first wild onset of the snow_
_Strangled the glad imperial sun!_
NUNC DIMITTIS
Lord of Love, Thy servant thus doth pray:
Abide Thou where my Lady deigns to stay,
Yet send Thy peace to lead me on my way;
Because the memories of the things that were--
That little blessed while with Thee and her--
Make me a heavy-hearted traveller.And so, when some plain irks, or some steep hill,
I--knowing that Thy will was once our will--
Shall be most sure Thou livest with her still,
And only waitest--Thou and she alone--
Until I know again as I have known
The glory that abideth near our throne.Daniel went back to the bedroom.BETWEEN THE BATTLES
Let us bury him here,
Where the maples are red!He is dead,
And he died thanking God that he fell with the
fall of the leaf and the year.Where the hillside is sheer,
Let it echo our tread
Whom he led;
Let us follow as gladly as ever we followed who
never knew fear.Ere he died, they had fled;
Yet they heard his last cheer
Ringing clear,--
When we lifted him up, he would fain have
pursued, but grew dizzy instead.Let this last prayer be said
By the bed
We have made underneath the wet wind in the
maple trees moaning so drear:
"O Lord God, by the red
Sullen end of the year
That is here,
We beseech Thee to guide us and strengthen our
swords till his slayers be dead!"THE QUIET VALLEY
They pity me who have grown old,--
So old, mine eyes may not behold
If any wolf chance near the fold.I lie and dream among the grass,
And let the herds unheeded pass.They deem I must be sorrowing,
Because I note not when the Spring
Is over me and everything.They know not why I am forlorn,--
How could they know?--They were not born
When he rode here that April morn.Mary travelled to the bedroom.They were not living when he came
Into this valley, swift like flame,--
Perchance they have not heard his name!My men were very valiant men--
(Alas, that I had only ten!But when one is not yet awake
His banner is not hard to take,
His spears are easy things to break.And dazed men are not hard to slay
When many foes, as strong as they,
With swords and spears come down their way.This valley now has quiet grown;
And I lie here content, alone,
Dreaming of things that I have known;
And count the mounds of waving grass--
(Ten,--yea, and ten more, by the Mass!)Mary journeyed to the garden.THE KINGFISHER
_Under the sun, the Kingfisher_
_From his high place was watching her._
He knew she came from some far place;
For when she threw her body down,
She seemed quite tired; and her face
Had dust upon it; and her gown,
That had been yellow, now was brown.She lay near where the shadows lie
At noontime when they meet the sun.The water floated slowly by
Her feet.Her hair was all undone,
And with the grass its gold was spun.The trees were tall and green behind,
And hid the house upon the hill.This place was sheltered from the wind,
And all the little leaves were still,
And every fern and daffodil.Her face was hidden in her hands;
And through the grass, and through her hair,
The sunlight found the golden bands
About her wrists.(It was aware,
Also, that her two arms were bare.)_From his high branch, the Kingfisher_
_Looked down on her and pitied her._
He wondered who that she could be,--
This dear, strange lady, who had come
To vex him with her misery;
And why her days were wearisome,
And what far country was her home.Her home must be far |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | Had there been no one there to plead
For her when they had wronged her so?Was there no sword or pennoned lance
Omnipotent in hall or field
For her complete deliverance?we yield
Were not her colors on some shield?the Kingfisher,_
_How he had fought and died for her!_
A little yellow bird flew by;
And where the water-weeds were still,
Hovered a great blue dragon-fly;
Small fishes set the streams a-thrill
The Kingfisher forgot to kill.He only thought of her who lay
Upon the ground and was so fair,--
As fair as she who came one day
And sat long with her lover there.They had come down, because of love,
From the great house on the hillside:
This lady had no share thereof,
For now this place was sanctified!Had she come here to wait until
Her heart and soul were comforted?Why was it not within her will
To seek the lady on the hill?She, too, was lonely; for he had
Beheld her just this morning, when
Her last kiss made her lover glad
Who went to fight the heathen-men:
(He said he would return again!)That lady would have charity
He knew, because her love was great;
And this one--fairer even than she--
Should enter in her open gate
And be no more disconsolate!_Under the sun, the Kingfisher_
_Knew no one else might comfort her._
THE CONQUEROR
I will go now where my dear Lady is,
And tell her how I won in this great fight;
Ye know not death who say this shape is his
That loometh up between me and the light.As if death could wish anything of one
Who hath to-day brought many men to death!Sandra moved to the hallway.Why should it not grow dark?--Surely the sun
Hath seen since morning much that wearieth.Dead bodies; red, red blood upon the land;
Torn sails of scattered ships upon the sea;
And dead forgotten men stretched on the sand
Close to the sea's edge, where the waves are free;
What day hath seen such things and hath not fled?What day hath stayed, hearing, for frequent sounds,
The flashing swords of men well-helmeted,
The moans of warriors sick of many wounds?Ye know not death; this thing is but the night.Wherefore I should be glad that it is come:
For when I left my Lady for this fight,
I said, "At sunset I am coming home.""When you return, I shall be here," she said,
"God knows that I must pray a little while."And as she put my helmet on my head,
She kissed me; and her blue eyes tried to smile.(When we had gone a little on our way
I turned and looked; she knelt there on her knees:
I heard her praying many times to-day.)Nay, nay, I need no wine!She waiteth still
Watching and praying till I come to her.She saw the sun drop down behind the hill
And wondereth I am a loiterer.(Is there no unstained grass will clean this stain?)This day is won;--but now the great reward
Cometh!O Love, thy prayers were not in vain!I am well rested now.--Nay, I can rise
Without your help!Why do ye look at me
With so much pain and pity in your eyes,
Who gained with me to-day this victory?I think we should be glad we are not dead,
--Only, perchance, no Lady waiteth you,
No Lady who is all uncomforted,
And who hath watched and prayed these long hours through.Let me lie here and rest my aching side.The thought of her hath made me quite forget
How sharp his sword was just before he died.THE KING'S HOSTEL
Let us make it fit for him!He will come ere many hours
Are passed over.Strew these flowers
Where the floor is hard and bare!Ever was his royal whim
That his place of rest were fair.John moved to the hallway.Think you he will deign to use it?Yes, we know he would not choose it
Were there any other near;
Here there is such damp and gloom,
And such quietness is here.That he loved the light, we know;
And we know he was the gladdest
Always when the mirth was maddest
And the laughter drowned the song;
When the fire's shade and glow
Fell upon the loyal throng.Yet it may be, if he come,
Now, to-night, he will be tired;
And no more will be desired
All the music once he knew;
He will joy the lutes are dumb
And be glad the lights are few.Was their stronghold well defended
Ere it fell before his might?Did it yield soon after dawn,
Or when noon was at its height?And for a cover
Drape those scarlet colors over;
And upon these dingy walls
Hang what banners he has won.They are here!--We knew the best
When we set us to prepare him
Such a place; for they that bear him
--They as he--seem weary too;
Peace!and let him have his rest;
There is nothing more to do."Then what is the thing that troubles you?""The _dénoûment._"
"Why the _dénoûment?_ We have got that already."Mawbray comes forward as witness and says to Richard, who is about to
sign: 'You are my son, and I am the executioner!'Richard falls to the
ground and a fit of apoplexy sends him to the devil, which is the right
place for him.""No, that is not it at all," said Goubaux, shaking his head."It is the way in which he gets rid of his wife."John journeyed to the bathroom."And you have no idea how that is to be done?"Daniel went back to the bedroom."I had indeed some idea of making him put poison in her tea."It was now my turn to shake my head."The death of Jenny must be caused by something in the situation, an
act of frenzy, not by premeditation."I am well aware of that... but think of a dagger thrust...
Richard is not an Antony, he does not carry daggers about in his coat
pockets!"Mary travelled to the bedroom."Then," said I, "he shall not stab her.""But if he does not poison her or stab her what shall he do?""I must have misunderstood you," said Goubaux."But, my dear friend, you must be out of your mind.""I see the scene... just when Richard thinks Jenny has been carried
off by Tompson, he finds her hidden in the cupboard of the very room
where they are going to sign the contract; at the same moment he
hears the steps of Da Sylva and his daughter on the staircase.In
order not to be surprised with Jenny, there is but one way out of the
difficulty--to throw her out of the window.So he throws her out of the
window.""I must confess you frighten me with your methods of procedure!In the
second act, he breaks Jenny's head against the furniture; in the third
act he flings her out of the window."Listen, let me finish the thing as I like--then, if it is absurd, we
will alter it."Set your mind at rest; when I am convinced, I will, if necessary,
reconstruct the whole play from beginning to end."_"_ Come and dine with me on Thursday: it will be done.""But your rehearsals at the Odéon?"The parts are being collated to-day; for a fortnight they will
read round a table or rehearse with the parts in their hands.By the
end of the fortnight Richard will be finished."_"Amen!_"
"Adieu.""Why at _Richard_, of course!Our
first act is not an easy one to begin.""Don't forget the part of Tompson!""You needn't be anxious, I have it... When we come to the scene where
Mawbray kills him we will give him a Shakespearian death!""Yes... Did I not tell you that?"does it displease you, then, that Mawbray kills Tompson?"At that time I still maintained the
habit of writing my dramas in bed.Whilst I wrote the first scene of
the first act, Goubaux and Beudin did the election scene, a lively,
animated scene, full of character.When Goubaux came to dine with me,
on the following Thursday, everything was ready and the two scenes
could be fitted together.I then began on the second act, that is to
say, upon the vital part of the drama.Richard's talent has caused him
to reach the front rank of the Opposition, and he refuses all offers
made him by the ministers; but he is cleverly brought in contact with
an unknown benefactor, who makes him such offers and promises that
Richard sells his conscience to become the son-in-law of Lord Wilmor
and to be a minister.It is in the second scene of that act that
the divorce incident takes place between Richard and Jenny, which
was imitated from Schiller.On the Tuesday following we had a fresh
meeting.All went swimmingly, except the scene between the king and
Richard.I had completely failed in this, and so Goubaux undertook to
remould it, and he made it what it is, that is to say, one of the best
and cleverest in the work.Here is the scene imitated from Schiller--
"ACTE IV.--SCENE IX.LE ROI.--Je ne me connais plus moi-même!je ne respecte
plus aucune voix, aucune loi de la nature, aucun droit des
nations!LA REINE.--Combien je plains Votre Majesté!La pitié d'une impudique!L'INFANTE, _se jetant tout effrayée dans les bras de sa
mère._--Le roi est en colère, et ma mère chérie pleure!(_Le
roi arrache l'infante des bras de sa mère._)
LA REINE, _avec douceur et dignité mais à une voix
tremblante._--Je dois pourtant garantir cette enfant des
mauvais traitements!...Viens avec moi, ma fille!(_Elle la
prend dans ses bras._) Si le roi ne veut pas te reconnaîtra,
je ferai venir de l'autre côté des Pyrénées des protecteurs
pour défendre notre cause!(_Elle veut sortir._)
LE ROI, _trouble._--Madame!LA REINE.--Je ne puis plus supporter... C'en est trop!(_Elle s'avance vers la porte, mais s'évanouit et tombe avec
l'infante._)
LE ROI, _courant a elle avec effroi._--Dieu!L'INFANTE, _avec des cris de frayeur._--Hélas!Mary journeyed to the garden.ma mère
saigne!John travelled to the bedroom.(_Elle s'enfuit en pleurant._)
LE ROI, _avec anxiété._--Quel terrible accident!... Ai-je mérité que vous me punissiez si cruellement?...remettez-vous... On vient... levez-vous...
On vous surprendra...Faut-il que toute ma
cour se repaisse de ce spectacle?Faut-il donc vous prier de
vous lever?..."Now to _Richard._ Richard wants to force Jenny to sign the act of
divorce and she refuses."JENNY.--Mais que voulez-vous donc, alors?Expliquez-vous
clairement; car tantôt je comprends trop, et tantôt pas
assez.RICHARD.--Pour vous et pour moi, mieux vaut un consentement
mutuel.JENNY.--Vous m'avez donc crue bien lâche?Que, moi, j'aille
devant un juge, sans y être traînée par les cheveux,
déclarer de ma voix, signer de ma main que je ne suis pas
digne d'être l'épouse de sir Richard?Vous ne me connaissez
donc pas, vous qui croyez que je ne suis bonne qu'aux soins
d'un ménage dédaigné; que me croyez anéantie par l'absence;
qui pensez que je ploierai parce que vous appuierez le poing
sur ma tête; Dans le temps de mon bonheur, oui, cela aurait
pu être; mais mes larmes ont retrempé mon cœur; mes nuits
d'insomnie ont affermi mon courage?le malheur enfin m'a
fait une volonté!Ce que je suis, je vous le dois, Richard;
c'est votre faute; ne vous en prenez donc qu'a vous...
Maintenant, voyons!à qui aura le plus de courage, du faible
ou du fort.RICHARD.--Madame, jusqu'ici, je n'ai fait entendre que des
paroles de conciliation.JENNY.--Essayez d'avoir recours à d'autres!RICHARD, _marchant à elle._--Jenny!JENNY, _froidement._--Richard!Sandra journeyed to the garden.savez-vous ce dont je suis capable?RICHARD.--Et vous ne tremblez pas?RICHARD, _lui prenant les mains._--Femme!JENNY, _tombant à genoux de la secousse._--Ah!...JENNY, _les mains au ciel._--Mon Dieu, ayez pitié de lui!(_Elle se releve._)
RICHARD.--Ah!c'est de vous qu'il a pitié, car je m'en vais
... Adieu, Jenny; demandez au ciel que ce soit pour toujours!JENNY, _courant à lui, et lui jetant les bras autour du
you._--Richard!RICHARD.--Laissez-moi partir.JENNY.--Si tu savais comme je t'aime!RICHARD.--Prouvez-le-moi.RICHARD--Voulez-vous?JENNY.---Tu me l'avais bien dit!RICHARD.--Un dernier mot.JENNY.--Éc |
kitchen | Where is John? | Sandra moved to the hallway.(_Jenny se tait._) C'est bien.Mais
plus de messages, plus de lettres... Que rien ne vous
rappelle à moi, que je ne sache même pas que vous existez!Je vous laisse une jeunesse sans époux, une vieillesse sans
enfant.John moved to the hallway.JENNY.--Pas d'imprécations!JENNY.--Vous ne partirez pas!JENNY.--Vous me tuerez plutôt!(_Jenny, repoussée, va tomber la
tête sur l'angle d'un meuble._)
JENNY.--Ah!...John journeyed to the bathroom.(_Elle se relève tout ensanglantée._) Ah!(_Elle chancelle en étendant les bras de son
côté, et retombe._) Il faut que je vous aime bien!(_Elle
Évanouit._)
RICHARD.--Évanouie!...(_Il la porte sur
un fauteuil._) Et ce sang qui ne s'arrête pas... (_Il
l'étanche avec son mouchoir._) Je ne peux cependant pas
rester éternellement ici.(_Il se rapproche d'elle._) Jenny,
finissons... Je me retire... Tu ne veux pas répondre?...There remained the last act; it was composed of three scenes: the first
takes place in Richard's house in London, the second in a forest,
the third in Jenny's chamber.Daniel went back to the bedroom.My reader knows the engagement I had
undertaken, to have Jenny thrown out of the window.Very well, I boldly
prepared myself to keep it, and I wrote the scene in my bed, as usual.This is the situation: Mawbray has killed Tompson, who carried Jenny
off, and has brought her into the room where in the second act the
scene between her and her husband took place.Mary travelled to the bedroom.This room has only two
doors: one leading to the stairs, the other into a cupboard, and one
window, the view from which looks deep down into a precipice.Scarcely
is Jenny left alone with her terror,--for she has no doubt that it is
her husband who has had her carried off,--than she hears and recognises
Richard's step.Not able to flee she takes refuge in the cabinet."RICHARD.--J'arrive à temps!À peine si je dois avoir, sur
le marquis et sa famille, une demi-heure d'avance.--James,
apportez des flambeaux, et tenez-vous à la porte pour
conduire ici les personnes qui arriveront dans un instant
... Bien... Allez!(_Tirant sa montre._) Huit heures!Tompson doit être maintenant à Douvres, et, demain matin,
il sera à Calais.Voyons si rien
n'indique que cet appartement a été habité par une femme.(_Apercevant le chapeau et le châle que Jenny vient de
déposer sur une chaise._) La précaution n'était pas inutile
... Que faire de cela?Je n'ai pas la clef des armoires
... Les jeter par la fenêtre: on les retrouvera demain...
Ah!Mary journeyed to the garden.des lumières sur le haut de la montagne... C'est sans
doute le marquis; il est exact... Mais où diable mettre ces
chiffons?ce cabinet...j'en retirerai la clef.(_Il
ouvre le cabinet._)
JENNY.--Ah!RICHARD, _la saisissant par le bras._--Qui est là?JENNY.--Moi, moi, Richard... Ne me faites point de mal!RICHARD, _l'attirant sur le théâtre_.--Jenny!mais c'est
donc un démon qui me la jette à la face toutes les fois que
je crois être débarrassé d'elle?...Où est-il, que je ma
venge enfin sur un homme?JENNY.--Il est loin... bien loin... reparti pour Londres
... Grâce pour lui!JENNY.--Il a arrêté la voiture.Ne voyez-vous pas que je brûle?JENNY.--Et moi, que je...JENNY.--Ils se sont battus.JENNY.--Et Mawbray a tué Tompson.Alors, il vous a ramenée ici?JENNY.--Oui... oui.. pardon!RICHARD.--Jenny, écoutez!JENNY.--C'est le roulement d'une voiture.RICHARD.--Elle amène ma femme et sa famille.JENNY.--Votre femme et sa famille!...Et moi, moi, que
suis-je donc?Vous êtes mon mauvais
génie!vous êtes l'abîme où vont s'engloutir toutes mes
espérances!vous êtes le démon qui me pousse à l'échafaud,
car je ferai un crime!RICHARD.--C'est qu'il n'y à plus a reculer, voyez-vous!vous
n'avez pas voulu signer le divorce, vous n'avez pas voulu
quitter l'Angleterre...maintenant, maintenant, je veux tout ce que vous
voudrez.maintenant, il est trop tard!JENNY.--Qu'allez-vous donc faire alors?RICHARD.--Je ne sais... mais priez Dieu!RICHARD, _lui mettant la main sur la bouche._--Silence!Ils
montent!...ils vont trouver une femme
ici!"I had gone as far as I could go.But there was
the question of keeping my promise to Goubaux.I cried out to myself, and Goubaux said well.Richard
is to be forced to take his wife, and drag her towards the window;
she will defend herself; the public will not bear the sight of that
struggle and it will be perfectly right... Besides, when he lifts
her up over the balcony, Richard will give the spectators a view of
his wife's legs: the spectators will laugh, which is much worse than
if they hissed... Decidedly I am a fool.There must be some way out
of the difficulty!...I racked my
brains for a fortnight all in vain.Goubaux had no notion of the time
it took me to compose the third act.I did not wish to tell him the real cause of my delay; I made all
sorts of excuses: I was busy with my rehearsals; I had gone to see my
daughter at her nurse's house; I had a shooting party and all sorts
of other things;--all pretexts nearly as valid as those which Pierre
Schlemihl gave in excuse for not having a shadow.Finally, one fine
night, I woke up with a start, crying like Archimedes Ευρηκα!and in
the same costume as he, I ran, not through the streets of Syracuse,
but into the corners and recesses of my bedroom to find a tinder-box.When the candles were lit, I got back into bed and took hold of my
pencil and manuscript, shrugging my shoulders in disgust at myself.said I, it is as simple as Christopher Columbus's egg;
only, one must break the end off!The end was broken; there was no
more difficulty, Jenny no longer would have to risk showing her ankles
and Richard would still throw his wife out of the window.After the words: "Ils vont trouver une femme ici!"Richard ran to the door, closed it and double-locked it.Meanwhile,
Jenny ran to the window and cried from the balcony, "Help!Richard followed her precipitately; Jenny fell on her knees.A noise
was heard on the stairs; Richard closed the two shutters of the window
on himself, shutting himself out with Jenny on the balcony.Richard, pale and wiping his brow, reopened the two shutters
with a blow of his fist; he was alone on the balcony; Jenny had
disappeared!By eight o'clock next morning I was writing the last line of the third
act of _Richard_, and, by nine, I was with Goubaux; by ten, he had
acknowledged that the window was, indeed, Jenny's only way of exit.BOOK IV
CHAPTER I
The feudal edifice and the industrial--The workmen of
Lyons--M. Bouvier-Dumolard--General Roguet--Discussion
and signing of the tariff regulating the price of the
workmanship of fabrics--The makers refuse to submit to
it--_Artificial prices_ for silk-workers--Insurrection
of Lyons--Eighteen millions on the civil list--Timon's
calculations--An unlucky saying of M. de Montalivet
During this time three political events of the gravest importance took
place: Lyons broke into insurrection ; the civil list was debated; the
Chamber passed the law abolishing the heredity of the peerage.We will
pass these three events in review as rapidly as possible, but we owe it
to the scheme of these Memoirs to make a note of the principal details.It must be clear that every time the country has been in trouble we
have listened to its cry.Everybody knows Lyons, a poor, dirty town with a canopy of smoke and a
jumble of wealth and misery, where people dare not drive through the
streets in carriages, not for fear of running over the passengers but
for fear of being insulted; where for forty thousand unfortunate human
beings the twenty-four hours of the day contain eighteen hours of work,
noise and agony.You remember Hugo's beautiful comparison in the fourth
act of _Hernani_--
"Un édifice avec deux hommes au sommet,
Deux chefs élus auxquels tout roi-né se soumet.Être ce qui commence,
Seul, debout au plus haut de la spirale immense,
D'une foule d'États l'un sur l'autre étagés
Être la clef de voûte, et voir sous soi rangés
Les rois, et sur leurs fronts essuyer ses sandales,
Voir, au-dessous des rois, les maisons féodales,
Margraves, cardinaux, doges, ducs à fleurons;
Puis évêques, abbés, chefs de clans, hauts barons;
Puis clercs et soldats; puis, loin du faite où nous sommes,
Dans l'ombre, tout au fond de l'abîme, les hommes."Well, in comparison with this aristocratie pyramid, crowned by _those
two halves of God, the Pope and the Emperor_, resplendent with gold
and diamonds on everyone of its stages, put the popular pyramid, by
the aid of which we are going to try to make you understand what
Lyons is like, and you will have, not an exact pendant to it but, on
the contrary, a terrible contrast.So, imagine a spiral composed of
three stages: at the top, eight hundred manufacturers; in the middle,
ten thousand foremen; at the base, supporting this immense weight
which rests entirely on them, forty thousand workmen.Then, buzzing,
gleaning, picking about this spiral like hornets round a hive, are
the commissionaires, the parasites of the manufacturers, and those
who supply raw materials to the trade.Now, the commercial mechanism
of this immense machine is easy to understand.These commissionaires
live on the manufacturers; the manufacturers live on the foremen; the
foremen live on the workpeople.Add to this the Lyonnais industry, the
only one by which these fifty to sixty thousand souls live, attacked at
all points by competition--England producing and striking a double blow
at Lyons, first because she has ceased to supply herself from there,
and, secondly, because she is producing on her own account--Zurich,
Bâle, Cologne and Berne, all setting up looms, and becoming rivals
of the second town of France.John travelled to the bedroom.Forty years ago, when the continental
system of 1810 compelled the whole of France to supply itself from
Lyons, the workman earned from four to six francs a day.Then he could
easily provide for his wife and the numerous family which nearly always
results from the improvidence of the working-man.But, since the fall
of the Empire, for the past seventeen years wages have been on the
decline, from four francs to forty sous, then to thirty-five, then to
thirty, then to twenty-five.Finally, at the time we have now reached,
the ordinary weaving operative only earns eighteen sous per day for
eighteen hours work.The unfortunate workmen struggled in silence for a long time, trying,
as each quarter came round, to move into smaller rooms, to more noxious
quarters; trying, day by day, to economise something in the shape of
their meals and those of their children.But, at last, when they came
face to face with the deadening effect of bad air and of starvation
for want of bread, there went up from the Croix-Rousse,--appropriate
names, are they not?--that is to say, from the working portion of the
city--a great sob, like that which Dante heard when he was passing
through the first circle of the Inferno.It was the cry of one hundred
thousand sufferers.Sandra journeyed to the garden.Two men were in command at Lyons, one representing
the civil power, the other the military: a préfet and a general.The
préfet was called Bouvier-Dumolard; the general's name was Roguet.The
first, in his administrative capacity, came in contact with all classes
of society, and was able to study that dark and profound misery; a
misery, all the more terrible, because no remedy could be found for
it, and because it went on increasing every day.As for the general,
since he knew his soldiers had five sous per day, and that each of them
had a ration sufficiently ample for a _canut_ (silk-weaver) to feed
his wife and children upon, he never troubled his head about anything
else.The cry of misery of the poor famished creatures therefore
affected the general and the préfet very differently.John journeyed to the kitchen.They made
their separate inquiries as to the cause of this cry of misery.Sandra went to the kitchen.General Roguet called a business meeting
and demanded repressive measures.M. Bouvier-Dumolard, on the contrary,
seeing the tradespeople in council, asked them for an increase of
salary.On 11 October this council issued the following minute:--
"As it is a matter of public notoriety that many of the
manufacturers actually pay for their fabrics at too low a
rate, it is advisable that _a minimum_ tariff be fixed for
the price of fabrics."Consequently, a meeting was held at the Hôtel de la Préfecture on 15
October.The tariff was discussed on both sides by twenty-two workmen
|
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | That measure, presuming that it needed a precedent before it could be
legalised, had been authorised in 1789, by the Constituent Assembly,
in 1793 by the Convention and, finally, in 1811 by the Empire.On 21 October a new assembly was
convoked at the same place, and with the same object.The manufacturers
were less pressing than the workmen: that is conceivable enough: they
have to give and the workmen to receive; they have to lose and the
workmen to gain.The manufacturers said that having been officially
appointed they could not bind their confrères.A third meeting was
arranged to give them time to obtain a power of attorney.The
life or death of forty thousand operatives, that of their fathers and
mothers, their wives and their children, the very existence of over one
hundred thousand persons was to be discussed at that sitting.So, the
unusual, lamentable and fearful spectacle was to be seen, at ten in the
morning, of this unfortunate people waiting outside in the place de la
Préfecture to hear their sentence.But there was not a single weapon
to be seen among those thousands of supplicants!A weapon would have
prevented them from joining their hands together, and they only wanted
to pray.The préfet, terrified by that multitude, terrified of its very silence,
came forward.Amongst all that sixty to eighty thousand persons of all
ages and of both sexes, there were nearly thirty thousand men."My good people," said the préfet to them, "I beg you to withdraw--it
will be to your own interests to do so.If you stay there the tariff
will seem to have been imposed by your presence.Now, in order to be
valid, the deliberations must be doubly free: free in reality and free
in appearance."All these famished voices with laboured breathings summoned strength to
shout, "Vive le préfet!"Then they humbly retired without complaint or
comment.The tariff was signed: the result was an increase of twenty-five per
cent--not quite five sous per day.But five sous per day meant the
lives of two children.So there was great joy throughout that poor
multitude: the workmen illuminated their windows, and sang and danced
far into the night.Daniel went to the kitchen.Their joy was very innocent, but the manufacturers
thought the songs were songs of triumph and the Carmagnole dances
meant a second '93.And they were made the means of refusing the
tariff.A week had not gone before there were ten or a dozen refusals
to carry it out.The Trades Council censured those who refused.The
manufacturers met and decided that instead of a partial refusal they
would all protest.And so a hundred and four manufacturers protested,
declaring that they did not think themselves compelled to come to the
assistance of men who were bolstered up by _artificial prices_ (_des
besoins factices_)._Artificial prices_, at eighteen sous per day!The préfet, who was a goodhearted fellow but vacillating,
drew back before that protest.The Trades Council in turn drew back
when they saw that the préfet had given way.Both Trades Council and
préfet declared that the tariff was not at all obligatory, and that
those of the manufacturers who wished to avoid the increase of wage
imposed had the right to do it.Six to seven hundred, out of the
eight hundred manufacturers, took advantage of the permission.The
unfortunate weavers then decided to go on strike for a week, during
which time they walked the town as unarmed suppliants, making no
demonstration beyond affectionate and grateful salutations to those
of the manufacturers who were more humane than the others and had
observed the tariff.This humble attitude only hardened the hearts of
the manufacturers: one of them received a deputation of workmen with
pistols on his table; another, when the wretched men said to him, "For
two days we have not had a morsel of bread in our stomachs," replied,
"--Well then, we must thrust bayonets into them!"General Roguet, also,
who was ill and, consequently, in a bad temper, placarded the Riot Act.The préfet realised all the evils that would accrue from putting such
a measure into force, and went to General Roguet to try to get him to
withdraw it.There are strange
cases of blindness, and military leaders are especially liable to such
fits.Thirty thousand workpeople--unarmed, it is true, but one knows how
rapidly thirty thousand men can arm themselves--were moving about
the streets of Lyons; General Roguet had under his command only the
66th regiment of the line, three squadrons of dragoons, one battalion
of the 13th and some companies of engineers: barely three thousand
soldiers in all.It was 19
November; the general, under the pretext of a reception for General
Ordomont, commanded a review on the place Bellecour to be held on
the following day.It was difficult not to see an underlying menace
in that order.Unfortunately, those threatened had begun to come to
the end of their patience.What one of their number had said was no
poetic metaphor--many had not tasted food for forty-eight hours.Two
or three more days of patience on the part of the military authority,
and they need have had no more fear: the people would be dead.On
21 November--it was a Monday--four hundred silk-workers gathered at
the Croix-Rousse.They proceeded to march, headed by their syndics,
and with no other arms but sticks.They realised things had come to
a crisis and they resolved to go from workshop to workshop, and to
persuade their comrades to come out on strike with them until the
tariff should be adopted in a serious and definitive manner.Suddenly,
as they turned the corner of a street, they found themselves face to
face with sixty or so of the National Guard on patrol.An officer,
carried away by a war-like impulse, shouted when he saw them, "Lads,
let us sweep away all that _canaille._" And, drawing his sword, he
sprang upon the workmen, the sixty National Guards following him with
fixed bayonets.Twenty-five of the sixty National Guards were disarmed
in a trice; the rest took to flight.Then, satisfied with their
first victory, without changing the wholly peaceful nature of their
demonstration, the workmen took each other's arms again and, marching
four abreast, began to descend what is known as la Grante-Côte.But the
fugitives had given the alarm.A column of the National Guard of the
first legion, entirely composed of manufacturers, took up arms in hot
haste, and advanced resolutely to encounter the workmen.These were two
clouds, charged with electricity, hurled against each other by contrary
currents and the collision meant lightning.The column of the National Guard fired; eight workmen fell.After that,
it was a species of extermination--blood had flowed.At Paris, in 1830,
the people had fought for an idea, and they had fought well; at Lyons,
in 1831, they were going to fight for bread and they would fight better
still.A terrible, formidable, great cry went up throughout the whole
of the labour quarter of the city: To arms!Then anger set that vast hive buzzing which hunger had turned dumb.Each household turned into the streets every man that it contained old
enough to fight; all had arms of one sort or another: one had a stick,
another a fork, some had guns.In the twinkling of an eye barricades
were constructed by the women and children; a group of insurgents,
amidst loud cheers, carried off two pieces of cannon belonging to the
National Guard of the Croix-Rousse; the National Guard not only let the
cannon be taken but actually offered them.If it did not pursue the
operatives into their intrenchments it would remain neutral; but if the
barricades were attacked it would defend them with guns and cartridge.Next evening, forty thousand men were armed ready, hugging the banners
which bore these words, the most ominous, probably, ever traced by the
bloody hand of civil war--
VIVRE EN TRAVAILLANT
OU
MOURIR EN COMBATTANT!They killed each other through the whole of the night of the 21st,
and the whole day of the 22nd.how fiercely do compatriots,
fellow-citizens and brothers kill one another!Fifty years hence civil
war will be the only warfare possible.By seven o'clock at night all
was over, and the troops beat a retreat before the people, vanquished
at every point.At midnight, General Roguet, lifted up bodily on
horseback, where he shook with fever, left the town, which he found
impossible to hold any longer.He withdrew by way of the faubourg
Saint-Clair, under a canopy of fire, through a hail of bullets.The
smell of powder revived the strength of the old soldier: he sat up on
his horse, and rose in his stirrups--
"Ah!"he said, "now I can breathe once more!I feel better here than in
the Hôtel de Ville drawing-rooms."Meantime, the people were knocking at the doors of that same Hôtel de
Ville which the préfet and members of the municipality had abandoned.When at the Hôtel de Ville, that palace of the people, the people felt
they were the masters.But they scarcely realised this before they
were afraid of their power.This power was deputed to eight persons:
Lachapelle, Frédéric, Charpentier, Perenon, Rosset, Garnier, Dervieux
and Filliol.The three first were workmen whose only thought was to
maintain the tariff; the five others were Republicans who thought of
political questions and not merely of pecuniary.The next day after
that on which the eight delegates of the people had established a
provisional administration, the provisional administrators were at the
point of killing one another.Some wanted boldly to follow the path of
insurrection; others wanted to join the party of civil authority.The
latter carried the day, and M. Bouvier-Dumolard was reinstalled.On 3
December, at noon, the Prince Royal and Maréchal Soult took possession
once more of the second capital of the kingdom, and re-entered with
drums beating and torches lit.The workpeople were disarmed and fell
back to confront their necessities and the _besoins factices_ they had
created, at eighteen sous per diem.Mary travelled to the hallway.The National Guard was disbanded
and the town placed in a state of siege.M. Bouvier-Dumolard was
dismissed.His ministers, at his
dictation, were preparing a minute in which he asked the Chamber for
eighteen million francs for the civil list, fifteen hundred thousand
francs per month, fifty thousand francs per day; without reckoning his
private income of five millions, and two or three millions in dividends
from special investments.M. Laffitte had already, a year before, submitted to the committee of
the Budget a minute proposing to fix the king's civil list at eighteen
million francs.The committee had read the minute, and this degree of
justice should be given to it: it had been afraid to bring it forward.Even that minute had left a very bad impression, so disturbing, that
it had been agreed between the minister and the king, that the king
should write a confidential letter to the minister, saying he had
never thought of so high a sum as eighteen millions, and that the
demand should be attributed to too hasty courtiers, whose devotion
compromised the royal power they thought to serve.That confidential
letter had been shown in confidence and had produced an excellent
effect.But when it was learnt at court that the revolt at Lyons was
not political, and that the _canuts_ were only rising because they
could not live on eighteen sous per twenty-four hours, it was deemed
that the right moment had come to give the king his fifty thousand
francs per day.They asked for one single man that which, a hundred and
twenty leagues away, was sufficient to keep fifty-four thousand men.It
was thirty-seven times more than Bonaparte had asked as First Consul,
and a hundred and forty-eight times more than the President of the
United States handled.The time was all the more ill chosen in that, on
1 January 1832,--we are anticipating events by three months,--the Board
of Charity of the 12th Arrondissement published the following circular--
"Twenty-four thousand persons are inscribed on the registers
of the 12th Arrondissement of Paris as in need of food and
clothing.Many are asking for a few trusses of straw on
which to sleep."True, the request for eighteen millions of Civil List were stated to
be for royal necessities,--people's necessities differ.Thus, whilst
five or six thousand wretched people of the 12th Arrondissement were
asking for a few trusses of straw on which to sleep, the king _was in
need of_ forty-eight thousand francs for the medicaments necessary to
his health; the king _was in need of_ three million seven hundred and
seventy-three thousand five hundred francs for his personal service;
the king _was in need of_ a million two hundred thousand francs to
provide fuel for the kitchen fires of the royal household.It must be admitted that these were a fair number of remedies for a
king whose health had become proverbial, and who knew enough about
medicine to pass a doctor's degree, in his ordinary indispositions; it
was a great luxury for a king who had suppressed the offices of chief
equerry, master of the hounds, master of ceremonies and all the great
state expenses, and who had set forth the programme, new to France,
of a small court half-bourgeois and half-military; also it was a good
deal of wood and coal to allow a king who possessed the finest forests
in the state, either by right of inheritance or as appanage.True,
it was calculated that the sale of wood annually made by the king,
which would be sufficient to warm a tenth part of France, was not
sufficient to warm the underground kitchen fires of the Palais-Royal.There
was, at that period, a great calculator, since dead, called Timon the
misanthrope.Now just above this same door was
a device cut in stone, that was not only quaint and curious, but was
also strangely suggestive of the giant power of the man who had once
been a prisoner there.It represented Samson in the act of quelling the
lion.And had not he, Martin Luther, slain mankind’s deadly foe,--blind
superstition?“Well, to begin with,” said Rudolf, when the children had settled
themselves to listen, and sat watching him with expectant eyes, “Martin
Luther’s father, whose name was Hans Luther, was a miner at Möra, a
small town which now belongs to the Duchy of Saxe-Meiningen.Not very
long after his marriage, however, Hans and his wife, Margaret, went
to live at Eisleben, and it was here, on the 10th of November, 1483,
that a son was born to them.This day being the anniversary of Martin,
Bishop of Tours, they gave the name ‘Martin’ to their boy in memory of
the saint.“It was soon after this that Luther’s parents removed to Mansfield, and
Hans, the father, became a member of the council.Their great desire
was that Martin should follow one of the learned professions, and from
the first his education was very strict.He attended the school of the
Franciscan monks at Magdeburg; but when about fifteen years old, he
came to Eisenach and earned money as a Current-Schuler by singing from
door to door.”
“Yes, yes, dear father,” Katrina interrupted, “we know how the good
Frau Cotta, hearing him sing in the streets, took him in and gave him a
home.”
“Did he like being a Current-Schuler?” asked Fritz, to whose spirit of
adventure the idea made a strong appeal.“It is said,” responded Rudolf, “that the practice of singing for |
bathroom | Where is Mary? | Thou, my little Katrina,
art familiar with some of Martin Luther’s hymns.He wrote a number of
hymns after he grew to manhood; and thou, Fritz, hast sung with us many
an evening that grand old anthem of his, ‘Ein feste Burg ist unser
Gott.’”[2]
[2] “A Mighty Stronghold Is Our God.”
“I wonder, Herr Rudolf,” Fritz exclaimed, as the light of the sudden
thought flashed into his face, “I wonder if Luther wrote that hymn here
at the Wartburg!Don’t you think he must have done so?”
For a moment Rudolf was silent.This was a question which had not
presented itself to his mind before.“I really do not know it to be a certainty,” he answered after thinking
deeply; “but it does seem to me, Fritz, that he must have had his
inspiration here within these walls which sheltered him in a time when
his life was being threatened.But now,” Rudolf continued, “let us
turn back to the youthful Luther and follow him as he progresses in
his school life.In the year 1501 he entered the University of Erfurt,
where he studied Logic, Physics, and Ethics; but it was in Philosophy
and the ancient classics that he afterward found his greatest
satisfaction.In the year 1503 Luther received his degree of B. A., and
it was then that he complied with his father’s wish and began to study
the law.This, however, as he soon found, was not to his taste, and in
time it became a burden to him.In these days of doubt he felt strongly
drawn toward a monastic life, and finally, in spite of the opposition
of his family and friends, he determined to take the vows and become a
monk.“But even after this step had been taken, he found that his conscience
was not wholly at ease.His zealous mind seemed to be ever searching
for the truth.And, my children,” Rudolf continued, “it was in the year
1517 that Martin Luther first wrote his name indelibly on the pages of
history.”
XIII.“Yes,” Rudolf repeated, “it was in the year 1517 that Luther cut his
way through the darkness of superstition, and let in a light which has
illumined the world.For by showing how false were the teachings that
forgiveness of sin could be bought with a bit of money, instead of
through repentance and reform, he set, not only a responsibility, but a
noble value upon each individual life.It was his mighty voice, ringing
through all the land, and whose echo can be heard down the ages, which
urged man to realize that he was a child of God, and through that
sonship alone an inheritor of the kingdom.“These teachings of Martin Luther met with harsh opposition; but he
was firm in his belief.So firm was he that he nailed to the door of
the church in Wittenberg his ninety-five theses, or articles of faith.These were read by people of every rank in life, and the fame of them
spread far and wide.While his friends flocked to him, those who
opposed Luther became more and more bitter, until finally they even
sought his life.”
“It was then, wasn’t it,” cried Fritz, with eager interest, “that the
Elector showed that he was his friend?”
“Yes,” said Rudolf in reply, “it was when his life became endangered
that the Elector Frederick, under pretext of taking him a prisoner,
had him brought here to the Wartburg, where he could give him his
protection.And now since we have reached the experience in Luther’s
life which is so closely associated with this place, suppose we make
our visit to the rooms he occupied.”
Rudolf, as he spoke, rose from the bench, and, bidding the children to
follow, opened the door into a little hall, and from this they ascended
a narrow staircase.“Here, my children,” said Rudolf, as he now led the way into a small
room at the head of the stairway, “this was Luther’s sanctuary.”
A sort of awe fell upon Fritz and Katrina at the thought of being in
the same apartment where that great, good man had spent the months of
his captivity.“This,” Rudolf explained, as he pointed toward a table, “is not the one
at which Luther sat when he made his translation of the Bible; that
was carried away years ago by relic hunters, who gradually cut it into
chips.The one here now was once in his father’s house at Möra, and
Luther sat at it when a little boy.”
Fritz and Katrina, full of interest, gazed up at the portraits of
Luther and his parents hanging on the wall above the table, while
Rudolf explained that they were the work of Cranach, one of the
greatest painters of his time.He also called their attention to one
of Luther’s letters which had been framed, and was hanging near the
Cranach portraits.Then the children were told to look at a curious
mining-lamp once used by Luther’s father.But it was when Rudolf showed
them the money box carried about by the little Current-Schuler down in
Eisenach that their enthusiasm seemed to have no bounds.“Just let us touch it, father, dear!” Katrina cried.And they both laid their hands lovingly on the treasured relic.“Just think,” said Fritz, as he held it for a moment in his hand, “it
was in this very box that he got the money for his schooling.”
“Now,” said Rudolf, as he moved over to a large chest underneath the
window, “if you will both come close, I’ll open this and show you
a collection of the first editions of the Bible according to the
translation made by Luther.Here, my children,” and as he spoke, Rudolf
put a volume into the hands of each, “hold this sacred book, and as you
do so, realize that it is your privilege to have had within your clasp
one of the greatest gifts ever bestowed upon mankind.Daniel went to the kitchen.For before Luther
made his translation, which even the simplest peasant could read, as it
was written in the language of the people, the Bible was as a locked
treasure-house to which only the few had a key.”
“How thankful we should be to him!” Katrina said.“Yes, my _liebchen_,” replied her father, tenderly, “only think what it
means to be able to go each day to this sacred Book and learn from it
the way of life.”
Fritz had been silent for several moments; it was evident that he was
turning some thought over in his mind.“Wasn’t Martin Luther’s wisdom very great, Herr Rudolf?” he asked at
last.“That it was, Fritz; but why dost thou ask the question?”
“I was just thinking that it must be a great thing to be very wise, in
fact the greatest thing in the world.I’m going to study and learn all
that I possible can; then some day people will point to me and say:
‘What a wise man Fritz Albrecht is!’”
As the three stood looking out of one of the quaint windows with its
round, leaded panes, at the beautiful landscape below, it seemed to
Fritz that he heard the Ivy’s rich voice saying to him: “Search,
search, for the greatest of all treasures!” But suddenly it was as
though the whole room were filled with the breath of roses; and
Katrina’s heart responded to a soft voice down by the castle gates
which said almost in a whisper:
“Luther possessed something that was even greater than his wisdom;
Saint Elizabeth possessed it, too.”
And there also seemed to rise before Katrina’s vision an image of the
lady with the little silver cross.Fifteen years have now gone by since Fritz and Katrina paid their visit
to the Wartburg and heard among others the story of Martin Luther.To
Fritz, especially, they had been restless years.From the day when he bade farewell to his old home and the friends
up at the castle to go and live at Grünwald, Fritz had been able to
gratify every wish.In fact, with a fortune at his command, he had
in full measure the privileges of a rich man’s son.The count, being
ambitious for him, had, until his death, been always ready to satisfy
Fritz’s every want; but it was with a peculiar fervour that the
nobleman urged Fritz toward the satisfaction of that one great craving
of his life--the desire for wisdom.It was a desire which never gave
Fritz any rest, and seemed only to increase in keenness as it was fed.After having gone to a preparatory school, Fritz entered the
university, from which he bore away distinguished honours; and the
years that followed were spent in travel.To the very ends of the
earth he went in search of that treasure which from his boyhood he had
determined to discover.Sometimes reports would reach his friends at
Eisenach of wonderful researches made by him in Egypt and the Holy
Land among the buried relics of an ancient grandeur.As a traveller
and a scholar, his fame soon spread abroad, and, even surpassing his
father’s cherished wish, the name of Fritz Albrecht came to be known
far beyond the fatherland.In the first years after he went to live at Grünwald, Fritz had come
back very often to see his friends at the Wartburg.On these occasions
he would stop at Eisenach and have Gesta to open the old home that he
might see how things were going there.Then when he went away, he would
always press a gold piece into Gesta’s withered palm, and beg her to
deny herself no comfort.Unable to speak, the good creature could
only sob her gratitude.But as the years went by, and his life took on
other and larger possibilities, those simpler interests receded to the
background; until, finally, Katrina realized that her old playmate had
passed on and away from her.Mary travelled to the hallway.In comparison with Fritz’s life Katrina’s life may have seemed even
commonplace.There was the same daily round of simple duties within the
home; but they were duties lovingly performed.To Katrina’s education,
though, as she went through the years of girlhood, much care was
given, and in this, her friend with the silver cross had no little
part.For not only had letters come often from over the sea to the
“castlemaiden,” as the lady called her still, but from time to time
there had also come boxes containing books for her to read and ponder.And from these books, as well as from the letters, Katrina had gleaned
many an inspiration for her life.But it was from yet another source that Katrina gained ideals which
were even nobler and better still--and that was from the Rose-bush
growing near the castle gates.Here she would bring her work, or a
book, and sit during many a cherished hour, while she listened to the
stories of noble men and women or felt its silent sympathy.And when
at times vain longings would fill her heart for a life that was less
narrow, or more glittering, than her own, she would also come to seek
comfort from the Rose-bush, and it always soothed her.Then how often, too, as the days went by, could Katrina, her hands
filled with the fragrant crimson blossoms, be seen on her way down to
Eisenach to some one who was ill or in distress.In fact, so many were
her deeds of loving-kindness that the people there in the shadow, as
it were, of the old castle which had once known the saintly presence
had come to call her their Saint Elizabeth.Daniel went back to the garden.At the very sight of her,
every one felt a sense of joy; for not only did they realize the beauty
of her character, but in face and form as well she seemed to grow more
beautiful every day.“Our Katrina will not stay in the home nest very long, I fear,” said
Frieda one evening, as she and Rudolf talked together.But the years went by, and Katrina showed no disposition to encourage
any who would have rejoiced to be her suitor.Her every thought seemed
to be for others rather than herself, and each day was marked by some
unselfish service.In all that she accomplished there was one purpose which seemed ever
uppermost with Katrina,--it was to awaken in the dreary or sordid
toiler the heart of joy.Many a time after she had left the shop of
some humble craftsman, with a few appreciative or buoyant words, he
might be heard singing as he worked with lighter heart and swifter
hands.So when a fair, or exhibition, of the different industries
became an annual feature in the little town, Katrina was one of the
most zealous workers for its success.In order to arouse an interest,
prizes were offered for the best results in the different lines, and
the competition was always keen; while it brought together a wonderful
array of effort.People came from a distance of many miles to visit the fair, or
market, as they called it.A value had been set upon even the humblest
hand-work, and that was an incentive to better things.It was in the month of June that the building which had been erected in
the market-place began to take on an air of bustle and activity.Never
had there been so many visitors in Eisenach, and never had the little
town seemed half so prosperous.The fair was at the height of its
success, when one day there came in for exhibition a case of toys, such
toys as few of the present generation had ever seen in Eisenach.Many
had gathered about the booth to see this new exhibit, when a lady, who
had just been handed from a stately coach by an attendant, was heard to
say:
“They must have been the work of Conrad Albrecht.Mary went back to the bathroom.Whenever I made a visit to the Fatherland, years ago, I
used to buy his toys and take them to my children; but until now I
had supposed he did not make them any more.These will delight my
grandchildren.”
And saying this, the speaker selected a number of the playthings, which
were taken to her carriage; while those standing near looked on with
interest.They recognized this benevolent-looking woman, so simple,
yet impressing her dignity on all within her presence, as no less a
personage than England’s Queen.Though far removed, Victoria still
loved her Fatherland, often returning to the old home not many miles
from Eisenach, and it was in those visits that she had come to know the
work of Conrad Albrecht’s hands.All who had seen them declared that these toys which gave evidence of
unusual skill were plainly entitled to the prize, whereupon search was
made for the one who sent them.Only three of the five judges were made
aware of the name of the exhibitor to whom the prize was given, and
they were bound to secrecy.“Who was the maker of these toys?”
This was the question asked on every side, and the answer came that
they must be the work of some one elsewhere; for Eisenach, they said,
had known only one who could have made such toys, and he, Conrad
Albrecht, had been dead for fifteen years.“Dost thou know the news, Katrina?’Tis said that Fritz has returned to
Grünwald.”
Katrina, who was engaged with some bit of sewing, looked up suddenly as
her father spoke, and said:
“He was far away, I know, when Count von Scholtz, his foster-father,
died, and it must have taken him a long while to make the journey.”
“Yes,” was Rudolf’s answer, “it is said that he was somewhere in the
very heart of Asia and was obliged to make a long overland journey
before he could reach a railroad, to say nothing of the time he spent
upon the sea.”
“Has Fritz ever given his discoveries to the world?that is, |
garden | Where is Daniel? | “That I have never heard,” responded Rudolf.“But it is said that as a
scholar his name is widely known; for one so young, his reputation for
wisdom is without a parallel.”
“A reservoir without an outlet is not a very useful thing,” was
Frieda’s only comment.“Ah, _mütterchen_, speak not so of Fritz; thou knowest not what may
have been the motive that impelled him!” and as Katrina spoke a faint
flush mounted in her cheeks.“I do not speak unlovingly,” was Frieda’s answer.“I still have a
tender feeling for the son of Lizette and Conrad Albrecht, even though
it would seem that as a man he has forgotten us.”
Katrina had no more to say.Daniel went to the kitchen.She felt the truth of her mother’s words.Through the years as they passed, she had often experienced a sense
of pain in the thought that her old playmate had seemingly lost all
remembrance of their happy and united childhood.It was late in the same afternoon that Katrina sat in her beloved
haunt by the Rose-bush.She had been reading, but as the sun began to
set amid a splendid radiance, Katrina closed her book and fell into a
reverie.Something, perhaps the soft yet vivid colours of the sunset,
recalled to her mind an evening long ago, when she and Fritz had sat
upon the bench there in the courtyard, and listened to the strange,
melodious voice which had told them stories of the castle.And even
as her thoughts dwelt upon these memories of their youthful days, she
heard a sound of footsteps coming up the Wartburg hill.Katrina’s heart beat fast, but she did not stir.How often as a child
had she run gladly forth at the sound of steps so strangely like these
coming now.But that had been the light, impatient step of a boy;
while this was the heavier and firmer tread of a man.Yes, even at the sight of a tall, manly figure, Katrina, who now lifted
her blue eyes timidly, showed no surprise.He had drawn quite near, so
near that he must surely see her.In another moment he was there in the grass beside her, the breath of
roses all around.For a time both of them seemed strangely silent;
there was too much to say after the interval of years.At last he spoke, and she made no protest against his using the “thou”
of their childhood days.It seemed but yesterday since they had talked
together.“Thou art little changed, Katrina, save that thou hast grown to be a
woman.”
“I have lived such a quiet life,” she answered, “too quiet to have left
its traces.”
“Thou hast lived a beautiful life,” he said.“Have I not heard how it
has gone out in gracious, loving deeds until hundreds adore thy very
name!”
A deep flush mounted in Katrina’s cheeks.“But thou, Fritz, hast done and seen wonderful things.Even in our
seclusion word has reached us of thy vast knowledge.Mary travelled to the hallway.It must be
splendid to be known far and near as one who possesses such great
wisdom.”
“Ah, Katrina, what have I not sacrificed in that search!Home, friends,
those I held closest to my heart,--all were put aside in my eagerness
to find the greatest treasure.But thou dost not know, Katrina, what
was the impulse that sent me forth.”
At this Katrina shook her head.“Dost thou not remember the ‘voice’ which used to tell us stories of
the castle?”
“Yes;” and as she answered, the woman’s face glowed with the memories
of childhood.“Well,” said Fritz, his eyes meeting her astonished gaze, “I never
told thee this; it was a secret I carried with me.One evening I came
alone, and sat here in the courtyard, for I wished to try and discover
something.”
“I know, I know,” she interposed, “it was one evening when I felt sure
I heard thy footstep on the gravel.”
“Yes,” Fritz answered smiling, “and thou didst say next morning that
it must have been a ghost.Not only did I wish to hear the voice
again, but I felt a keen desire to ask what it meant by the greatest
of all treasures.And it was then that I discovered it to be the Ivy
speaking,--yes, that old vine yonder on the wall.In answer to my
query, it assured me that of all the treasures of the world knowledge
is the greatest.From that moment I was consumed with one overwhelming
purpose,--the determination to search until I found _the greatest
treasure_.”
“And thou hast had thy wish fulfilled,” Katrina said.Daniel went back to the garden.“Yea, but as I have said, at what a sacrifice!Its possession has not
brought me happiness, and I have come back a disappointed, discouraged
man.Thou wilt doubtless be surprised, Katrina, when I tell thee that
the only real happiness I have known in many years was only lately
when, out of love for my father’s memory, I completed some of the toys
which his hands had left unfinished.On reaching Grünwald I learned
that a fair was soon to take place at Eisenach, and I knew what pride
he would have felt to have his toys displayed; so I came to the old
home, and for many, many days I hardly left his work-bench.”
“So,” exclaimed Katrina with amazement, “it was thou who sent that
anonymous exhibit to the fair!”
“Yes,” Fritz answered, smiling, “and thou canst not guess, Katrina,
what became of the money won in prizes?”
Katrina, puzzled, shook her head.Mary went back to the bathroom.“It is the nucleus of a fund with which I intend to endow a school
where poor but ambitious boys can be provided, not only with an
education, but also with a home, and it shall be dedicated to the
memory of Martin Luther.”
As Fritz looked into Katrina’s face he saw a beauty that seemed not of
earth.He drew her hand close within his own, and long, long they sat
there by the Rose-bush.“Yea, Katrina, I have searched in all the wide world for the greatest
treasure.”
“And yet thou sayest thou hast not found it, Fritz?”
As he answered Fritz’s face seemed full of light, “I have found it, my
own Katrina; but not out there in the world.It is here, within; so close, so close.”
[Illustration: “_Long they sat there by the Rose-bush_”]
The castle had almost faded now, and the ivy looked strange and ghostly
in the gathering gloom.A soft mist crept up from the valley, then
the moon came to its throne in the sky.Still Fritz and Katrina sat
there, hand clasped in hand; while over and about them, as though in
benediction, there came a wonderful delicate fragrance--the breath,
as it were, of a beautiful, living soul.Then they heard the Roses of
Saint Elizabeth saying gently: “But the greatest of these is Love.”
THE END.Transcriber’s Note:
Spelling has been preserved as printed in the original publication.34
Leighton, Frederic, Lord--
Ancestry of, i.34-36
Career, chronological sequence of--
birth, i.36;
early travels, 37, 38;
education, 37-39, 41-42;
under Steinle's influence, 40-42;
first picture, 44;
studies in Brussels, Paris and Frankfort, 44;
visit to London, 45-48;
portrait painting, 46, 48, 51-53;
back to Frankfort, 48;
at Bergheim, 49;
in Holland, 54-55;
Italy, 72-83;
Rome, 95-96, 106 _et seq._, 161;
at Bad Gleisweiler, 134;
at Frankfort and Florence, 136;
return to Rome, 139;
at Lucca, 154 _note_ [28];
Frankfort, Venice, Florence and Rome, 154;
consultation with Graefe, 157;
success of "Cimabue's Madonna," 193;
in London, 222, 233;
in Paris, 235-237, 239 _et seq._;
to Frankfort and Italy, 281-285;
back to Rome, 289;
in Algiers, 18, 293-294, 297-304;
in Rome (1858), ii.37;
in London, 43;
at 2 Orme Square, 47, 49;
volunteering activities, i.55, 107, 111;
in Devonshire, 66;
visit to Mason, 89-90;
at Compiegne, 103-104;
the Lyndhurst fresco, 104-108, 110-112;
building of Leighton House, 114-117;
A.R.A., 118;
visit to Spain (1866), 128;
examiner at Victoria and Albert Museum (1866-1875), 212;
at Vichy (1869), 218 _note_ [56];
up the Nile, 131-187;
R.A.(1869), 123, 188;
visit to Damascus (1873), 205-209;
to Spain (1877), 209;
P.R.A.(1878), 223;
trustee of British Museum (1881), 256;
resigns volunteer commission (1883), 243-245;
made a baronet (1886), 289;
waning health, 241, 313, 318, 323, 324, 328;
visit to Spain (1889), ii.238 _note_ [62];
foreign travel, 313-316;
Algiers, 318;
made a peer, 331;
fatal illness, 333-334;
death, 334
Characteristics of--
Actuality, sense of, i.5, 26-27, 30
Art, passionate attachment to, i.338-339
Beauty, love of, i.2, 30, 328, 369
_Bonhomie_, ii.330
Boyishness, ii.317
Children, love of, ii.192, 328, 370
Consistency, ii.3, 21
Courage, ii.317
Critical faculty, i.217
Criticism, attitude towards, i.179
Depression, liability to, i.10
Duty, sense of, i.21
Enthusiasm, i.18, 41
Fastidiousness, ii.5
Gratitude, ii.266
Greek-like combination of qualities, i.24-25, 59;
ii.368, 377-378
Impartiality, i.5
Industry and strenuousness, ii.4, 207-208, 223, 369
Insight, rapidity of, i.24
Intellectual brilliancy, i.4, 23, 24, 210; ii.2, 242
Kindness, i.7, 90, 104, 242 _note_ [64]
Loyalty, i.3, 8
Mastery of others, ii.242-243 _and note_ [64]
Modesty, i.16, 233, 265, 266
Music, love of, i.108, 126
Oratorical powers, i.233-234
Originality, ii.5, 16
Selective faculty, predominant, i.2
Sensitiveness, i.31
Simplicity, i.9
Sincerity, i.8, 60, 92, 216
Smell and hearing, keen senses of, i.72
Social charm, i.8, 30
Society, general, distaste for, i.166, 168, 222-223
Spontaneity, lack of, i.1, 20, 233-234
Sympathy, i.4-6, 9 _and note_ [4], 216
Thoroughness, ii.20, 31, 208, 233
Unselfishness, ii.266
Vitality, exuberance of, i.59, 224
Will power, ii.Sandra moved to the hallway.369
Diary ("Pebbles"), extracts from, i.61-87, 198
Diary of Egyptian visit, ii.133-187
Dignities and honours conferred on, ii.380
Drawings by, _see that title_
Estimates of, by--
Anonymous, i.29-30, 374
Browning, Robert, ii.29 _note_ [6]
Costa, Prof.379
Crane, W., ii.6-9
Dyer, Sir W.T., i.219-221 _note_ [47]
East, A., ii.266
Greville, H., i.243
Kemble, Mrs., i.264
Powers, Hiram, i.39
Poynter, Sir E., ii.242 _note_ [64]
Richmond, Sir W., i.1-6
Riviere, Briton, i.5, 129, 207, 250; ii.21-22
Ruskin, J., i.212
Thornycroft, H., i.5-6, 13-14
Watts, G.F., i.22
Frescoes by, ii.104-108, 110-112, 203-204
Funeral of, i.335-338
Health difficulties, i.42, 59, 130, 169, 240, 241; ii.22, 68;
eyesight trouble, i.101, 111, 113, 123-124, 130, 131, 142, 157,
247, 309; ii.22;
waning health, 313, 318, 323, 324, 328;
fatal disease, ii.241, 302, 316, 333-334
Limitations inJohn moved to the garden. |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | 211-215
Methods of, ii.12-15, 256, 293
Pictures by, _see that title_
Portrait of, ii.Daniel went to the kitchen.259;
bust by Brock, 260 _and note_ [73], 364
Portraits by, _see that title_
Presidential addresses by, ii.229-233, 235-241
Sketches by, ii.257-259 _and note_ [71], 366-367, 371-372
Speeches by, ii.241-247
Statuary by, ii.198-200, 259-260
Leighton, Sir James (grandfather), i.35
Leighton House--
Aims of committee of, ii.378-379
Arab Hall, ii.217-222, 365
Contents of, ii.363-378
Preface to Catalogue of, ii.362-379
Preliminaries to building of, ii.115-116
Site of, ii.114 _and note_ [32]
Style of, ii.362-363
Leitch, i.181
"Les Natchez," ii.184
Leslie, Lady Constance, ii.92;
quoted, i.193
Leslie, Sir John, i.164, 261, 262
Lewes, Mr., ii.95, 100
Lewes, Marian E.95;
letters from, 96-100
Lewis, Arthur, ii.55, 92
Lindos, ii.129, 148
Lindsay, Sir Coutts, ii.286
Lister, Sir Joseph, ii.338
Lister, Villers, i.285
Listowel, Lord, ii.43 _note_ [13]
Liverpool, Leighton's speech at Art Congress at (1888), ii.247,
341-361
Loch, Lady, quoted, i.143, 174, 175
Lucas, Charles, cited, ii.Mary travelled to the hallway.362
Lugano, Lake of, i.261 _and note_ [74], 309
Lyon, Lord, ii.76
Lyons, Bickerton, i.146, 243
Mackail, ii.333
Mackenzie, Sir A., ii.338
MacWhirter, J., ii.374
Maeterlinck, ii.25, 27
_Magazine of Art_, reprint from, ii.362 _and note_ [89], 379
Mahometans, ii.146, 169-170
Malet, Sir E., ii.311, 324-325 _and note_ [85]
Man, Isle of, art exhibition in, i.3
Manchester Art Museum and Galleries, ii.274-281
_Manchester Courier_, extract from, ii.275-280
Maquay, Mrs., i.134, 285
Mariani, ii.176, 261
Marquand, Mr., i.259 _note_ [72]
Marriage, Leighton's views on, ii.66, 118;
Leighton's relations with, i.89-90, 266
Matthews, Mrs.(Augusta N. Leighton), birth of, i.36;
Leighton's advice to, on musical studies, 91-92, 97-98;
extracts from diary of, 233, 241;
in Leighton's last illness, ii.333-334;
at the funeral, ii.338;
letters to, i.97, 182;
ii.52, 64, 85, 90, 117, 216, 223, 309, 313, 315;
letter from Mrs.56;
otherwise mentioned, i.76, 87, 99, 105, 145, 169, 181;
ii.65, 95, 304, 316, 326, 363
May, Phil, ii.32
Medinet Haboo, ii.214
Melbourne, art exhibition in, i.3-4
Meli, Signor, i.37
Mendelssohn, Frau, i.71, 89, 282
Meynell, Wilfrid, ii.321, 364
Middleburgh, i.63
Millais, Sir J., Leighton's estimate of, ii.67, 68;
flower painting by, i.220;
"Needless Alarms" given to, ii.260;
letter from, 230;
otherwise mentioned, i.Daniel went back to the garden.187 _note_ [34], 221, 234, 254;
ii.60, 87, 118, 319, 322, 338, 368
Millet, Jean Francois, i.241
Mills, Sir Charles, i.4
Mills, Miss Mabel (Hon.135-136
Monbrison, George de, ii.41
Monson, Lady, i.39;
cited, 46
Moor scenery, ii.308-309, 311
Moorish interior, i.301;
music, 303
Morants, ii.220
Mortlake, M.C., ii.120 _note_ [35]
Music--
Italian, i.167
Leighton's feeling for, i.6;
his singing, i.140-141, 169-170;
his yearly gatherings, ii.216-217;
his speech at the Joachim celebration, ii.245-247
Monday popular concerts, ii.216
Moorish, i.303
Mustafa Aga, ii.143-144, 165, 172
Napier, Lord, ii.325
Naples, Leighton's visit to (1859), ii.224
Neville, Lady Dorothy, ii.111, 114
Nettleship, ii.114
Nias, Lady, _see_ Laing, Isabel
Nicholson, ii.55
Nordau, Leighton's estimate of, ii.Mary went back to the bathroom.326-327
North, Miss, i.10 _note_ [1]
Novello, Clara, ii.96, 108
_Obiter Dicta_ (Birrell), ii.304-305
O'Conor, ii.226
Ogle, Miss, ii.38
Old Masters--
Leighton's attitude towards, i.230
Winter Exhibitions of, ii.225
Ordway, Mr., ii.69, 71, 74, 75, 83
Orr, Col.3 _note_ [2], 300, 309
Orr, Mrs.Sutherland (Alexandra Leighton), birth of, i.36;
marriage of, 3 _note_ [2];
in India, 300 _and note_ [70], 306, 309;
widowed, ii.50;
portrait of, 54, 57, 61;
in Leighton's last illness, 333-334;
at the funeral, 338;
work on Browning by, 314 _and note_ [83];
letters to, i.18, 19, 22 _note_ [8], 302;
ii.Sandra moved to the hallway.John moved to the garden.240, 304, 307, 310, 311, 319, 322, 325, 326;
otherwise mentioned, i.42, 44, 46, 99, 126, 183;
ii.45, 211, 273, 315, 363
"Orphee," ii.52-53 _and note_ [14]
Ouless, W.W., i.96, 116, 132-133, 189, 190, 192;
Leighton's estimate of, 113-114;
Steinle's, 121
Paestum, ii.50
Paget, Sir James, ii.55
Panshanger, ii.92
Pantaleone, Dr., i.52
Paris, Comtesse de, telegram from, ii.321
Parry, Gambier, ii.105, 299-301;
letter from, 108
Pasta, i.267-268
Pasteur, W., letter from, ii.244 _note_ [66]
Pattison, Mrs.118, 128, 209,
303
"Pebbles," _see under_ Leighton--Diary
Perry, Walter Copland, ii.287-288 _and note_ [79]
Persian tiles, ii.364-365
Perugia, ii.19
Perugini, Carlo, i.224
Philipson, Mr., ii.265, 267, 282, 290
Phipps, Hon.202-206;
of masterpieces, ii.150-151, 154-155, 167
Piatti, ii.228
Pictures by Leighton--
"And the Sea gave up...," ii.193
"Antique Juggling Girl, The," ii.194-195, 205 _note_ [53]
"Ariadne abandoned by Theseus," ii.370
"Atalanta," ii.262-263
"Bath of Psyche, The," ii.257
"Byzantine Well," ii.42 _and note_ [12]
"Captive Andromache," ii.370
"Cimabue finding Giotto in the Fields of Florence," i.56
"Cimabue's Madonna"--
Description of, i.173
Estimate of, i.185-186;
by Richmond, 186;
by Ruskin, 186 _note_ [34]; ii.367;
by Rossetti, i.187 _note_ [34]
Exhibition of, in Rome, i.177, 180;
at Leighton House (1900), i.185
Holes in, i.260 _and note_ [59], 282-283, 290
Success of, i.367
Work on, i.128-130, 135-136, 141, 145, 148-151, 155, 175, 179,
184-186
"Cleoboulos Instructing his Daughter Cleobouline," ii.192
"Clytemnestra Watching from the Battlements of Argos," ii.195
_and note_ 46, 205 _note_ [53], 366
"Clytie," ii.96, 263, 327
"Condottiere, A," ii.193
"Crossbowman, The," ii.119
"Cymon and Iphegenia," i.258 _and note_ [70], 259
"Daedalus and Icarus," ii.188, 189
"Dante at Verona," ii.114, 123 _and note_ [38]
"Daphnephoria, The," ii.195-197
"Death of Brunelleschi, The," i.55-56
"Duel between Romeo and Tybalt, The," i.56
"Duet" (small "Johnnie"), ii.85 _note_, 88, 123
"Eastern King, The," ii.86-88, 107
"Egyptian Slinger," ii.370
"Electra at the Tomb of Agamemnon," ii.188, 189, 370
"Elijah in the Wilderness," ii.188, 256
"Eucharis," ii.9, 108, 119 _and note_ [34]
"Fisherman and the Syren, The," ii.36 _and note_ [8], 62
"Flaming June," ii.262-263
"Francesca," ii.57, 59 _note_ [18]
"Girl feeding Peacocks," ii.119 _and note_ [33]
"Golden Hours," ii.9, 114
"Greek Girl Dancing," ii.193
"Greek Girls Picking up Pebbles," ii.192
"Helen of Troy," ii.125 _and note_ [39]
"Helios and Rhodos," ii.188
"Heracles Wrestling with Death for the Body of Alcestis,"
ii.189-191, 370
"Honeymoon, The," ii.114, 123
Improvement in, by keeping, ii.258 _note_ [70]
"In a Moorish Garden," ii.194, 205 _note_ [53]
"Industrial Arts of Peace, The," ii.193-194, 202
"Industrial Arts of War, The," ii.193-194, 224
Landscapes in Oil, i.208
"Lieder ohne Worte," ii.17 _and note_ [3], 57, 58 _note_ [16], 60
_note_ [19], 61-63, 65, 367
List of, ii.381-392
"Michael Angelo Nursing his Dying Servant," ii.86-88, 93,
105-107, 370
"Music Lesson," ii.197
"Nanna, La," ii.39-41, 48
"Nausicaa," ii.200-201
"<DW64> Festival, A," i.44-47
"Neruccia," ii.256, 257
"Nile Woman, A," ii.189
"Noble Lady of Venice, A," ii.10
"Plague in Florence," ii.370
"Psyche," ii.368
Number of, during Presidency, ii.257
"Odalisque," ii.87, 88
"Old Damascus," ii.205 _and note_ [53]
"Orpheus," _see subheading_ "Triumph of Music"
"Othello and Desdemona," i.44
"Pan," i.249, 258, 278;
in America, i.45-46
"Paolo and Francesca," ii.63, 76-77
"Persephone," i.220
"Perseus and Andromeda," ii.198
Perugini, Carlo, head of, i.Daniel moved to the kitchen.237
Poetry in, i.29 _and note_ [6]
"Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets"--
America, in, i.46
Criticism of, i.287 _note_ [68]
France, in, i.235
Sale of, i.289
mentioned, i.141, 176
"Romeo," _see subheading_ "Reconciliation"
"Romeo and Juliet," ii.Mary travelled to the office.36 _and note_ [8]
"Rustic Music" (large "Johnnie"), ii.85 _note_ [22], 86, 88
"S. Jerome," ii.188
"Salome, the Daughter of Herodias," i.119 _and note_ [35]
"Samson and Delilah," ii.39, 47, 74
"Sea Echoes," ii.87 _and note_ [24], 88
"Solitude |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | 260-261 _and note_ [74]
"Spirit of the Summit, The," i.10
"Study," ii.197
"Summer Moon," ii.192-193, 366
"Sunrise--Capri," ii.Daniel went to the kitchen.53
"Syracusan Bride..., A," ii.10 _and note_ [1], 124
Texture of, ii.93
"Triumph of Music, The"--
Failure of, i.246-249
"Sketches of Orpheus," i.278
Subject of, i.244-245
mentioned, i.46, 114
"Venus," i.249, 258-259, 278, 287 _note_ [68];
in America, i.45-46
"Venus disrobing for the Bath," ii.54 _and note_ [15], 56, 57, 58 _note_
"Weaving the Wreath," ii.194
"Wedded," ii.29 _note_ [6]
"Winding the Skein," ii.201, 368
Pisano, Nicolo, i.87
Pollington, Lady, i.115;
portrait of, 54
Portraits by Leighton--
Ashburton, Lord, ii.123 _and note_ [37]
Bentinck, Count, family of, i.49, 52
Burton, Sir R., ii.195, 196
Costa, Giovanni, ii.256
Cowley, Lady, and family, i.48-49, 53
Cowper, Lord, ii.88
Guthrie, Mrs.10 _note_ [1], 114
I'Anson, Mr., i.46
Mills, Miss Mabel, ii.197
Pollington, Lady, i.Mary travelled to the hallway.251 _note_ [57]
Powers, Hiram, i.114;
estimate of Leighton by, i.Daniel went back to the garden.39
Poynter, Sir E., i.164;
estimate of Leighton by, ii.242 _note_ [64]
Prange, Mr., i.4
Pre-Raphaelites--
Burne-Jones distinguished from, ii.25;
Leighton's estimate of, i.289;
his relations with, ii.52
Pullen, Miss (Dorothy Dene), ii.267-274
Pullen, Lina, ii.268
Quilter, Sir Cuthbert, ii.258 _note_ [70]
Rafaello, i.Mary went back to the bathroom.162 _and note_ [31], 163
Ravaschieri, Duchessa, i.167
Rawnsley, Canon, ii.372
Redesdale, Lord, i.268
Rhapsodist performance, i.303-304
Rhoden, i.129-130, 148
Rhys, Ernest, cited, ii.232 _note_ [61]
Ricardo, Puliza, ii.255;
letter from, 312
Richmond, Sir Wm.55;
estimate of Leighton by, i.1-6
Ristori, i.242-243
Ritchie, Miss, ii.43 _note_ [13]
Riviere, Briton, estimate of Leighton by, i.Sandra moved to the hallway.5, 129, 207, 250;
ii.21-22;
quoted, i.233-234, 317;
letter from, ii.230;
letters to, ii.318, 324
Roberts, Dr., ii.241, 315, 316, 329
Roman Catholic faith, i.66
Rome--
Art, influence on, i.147, 188, 191
Cafe Greco, i.162 _note_ [31]
Leighton's early studies in, i.37
Steinle's estimate of, i.280-281
_Romola_, Leighton's illustrations for, ii.95-102, 121
Rosebery, Lord, ii.John moved to the garden.8
Rossetti, D.G., i.118, 288;
quoted, i.60 _note_ [19], 191, 368
Rossetti, Wm., ii.45-46, 58
Rossini, i.Daniel moved to the kitchen.166-167
Royal Academy--
Attacks on, ii.8
Chantry Bequest, terms of, ii.251-253
Codification Committee, ii.254-255
Constitution of, ii.248-251 _note_ [67]
Exhibitions of--
Burlington House, at, ii.201
Colour, as test of, ii.88
Winter, of Old Masters, ii.214
Leighton an Associate of, ii.118;
member, 123, 188;
President, ii.223;
his speeches at banquets of, ii.241-243 _and notes_ [64 and 65];
his bequest to, ii.333
Pension question, ii.252-253, 255
Presidency of, ii.231 _note_ [61]
Treasurership of, ii.249 _note_ [67]
Tresham case, ii.248-250 _note_ [67]
Women, question of admission of, to membership, ii.247-248
_and note_ [67]
Ruskin, John, estimate by, of "Cimabue's Madonna," i.186 _note_ [34];
ii.367;
of Leighton, i.373;
on "A Lemon Tree," ii.41;
on the Lyndhurst fresco, ii.112;
letters from, ii.42, 120-121;
otherwise mentioned, i.201 _note_ [42], 220, 234, 245, 247, 257;
ii.59, 377
Russell, Odo (Lord Ampthill), ii.38, 40, 52
Russell, Lady William, letters from, ii.215, 216
S. Francis of Assisi, quoted, i.22 _note_ [10]
Salisbury, ii.67
Salisbury, Lord, ii.338
Samuelson, Right Hon.190 _note_ [42]
Sandbach, Mrs., ii.54 _and note_ [15], 56
Sartoris, Hon.88 _and note_ [25];
quoted, 104
Sartoris, Edward, Leighton's friendship with, i.124, 126;
illness of, i.263, 266, 267;
otherwise mentioned, i.28, 147, 240, 241, 245, 257, 310;
ii.46, 52, 66, 68
Sartoris, Mrs.(Adelaide Kemble), Leighton's friendship with,
i.27-28, 124, 126-128, 149, 166, 168, 176, 181, 183, 194, 250,
289;
estimates of, i.126-128;
portrait of, i.172, 184, 232;
intimates of, i.183;
personal appearance of, i.194 _note_ [36];
extract from early diary of, 195-196 _note_ [36];
Leighton's family's appreciation of, i.232-233;
"A Week in a French Country House" by, ii.103;
illness of, ii.191-192;
letter from, to Greville, i.266;
to Mrs.61;
otherwise mentioned, i.Mary travelled to the office.146, 147, 182, 234, 240-245, 247, 251
_note_ [56], 258, 260-265, 278; ii.43 _and note_ [13], 52, 57,
66, 68, 81, 217, 218, 239 _note_ [62]
Saunders, Mr.305
Scarborough Borough Council, messages from, ii.225, 331
Schaeffer, i.116
Scheffer, Ary, i.245 _and note_ [55], 249; ii.46
Schlemmer, Dr., i.56
Schlosser, Frau Rath, i.64, 190
Schwind, i.293
Scottish rivers and scenery, ii.261-262, 308-309
Sculpture, Leighton's view on, i.6, 69, 88-89;
his work in, ii.198-200, 259-260
Selim, Sheykh, ii.141-143, 179
Sermoneta, Duke, i.38, 39
Seville, ii.210
Shakespear, illustration of, ii.113
Shaw, Norman, letter from, ii.239
Sheik Boran Bukh, letter to, i.306;
letter from, 307
Shelley, ii.299
Si Achmet, Syed, ii.173, 174, 176, 177
Siddons, Mrs., i.268
Siena, Leighton at the Duomo fire in, ii.242 _note_ [64]
Simon, John, ii.166, 222-223
Sohag, ii.140, 159
Somers, Lord, ii.213
"Souls," the, ii.25
South London Fine Art Gallery, ii.8
Spain, Leighton's visit to (1866), ii.128;
(1887), ii.209;
(1889), 238 _note_ [62]
Spanish language, Leighton's mastery of, ii.238 _note_ [62]
Speke, ii.172
Spencer, Lord and Lady, ii.146
Spielmann, M., letter to, ii.12
Spottiswoode, Wm., letter from, ii.216 _note_ [54]
Stanton, Col., ii.131-132
Statuary, _see_ Sculpture
Steinle, Eduard von, influence of, on Leighton, i.27, 92, 215, 250;
ii.303;
Leighton's tribute to, i.61;
list of Florentine paintings recommended by, for study,
i.Daniel travelled to the hallway.225-226;
with Leighton (1856), i.281-282;
water-colour by, i.291 _note_ [69];
portrait of (_Der Winter_), ii.303-304;
estimate of, i.40-42;
death of, ii.303;
letters to, i.22 _note_ [9], 87, 118, 119, 130, 134, 150,
154, 157, 172, 187, 190, 193, 215, 233, 237, 238, 279, 284,
291-296, 304, 305; ii.11, 49, 50, 53, 63, 64, 91, 105, 106,
112, 188, 201;
letters from, i.116, 120, 151, 189, 280; ii.127, 224, 302;
otherwise mentioned, i.24, 56, 64-65, 86, 113, 129, 136
Stephens, ii.59, 87
Sterlings, ii.133, 135, 182
Stevens, Alfred, Wellington monument by, ii.286-287
Storey, W.W., ii.7
Strafford, Alice, Countess of, i.251 _note_ [56]
Strangford, Lady, ii.222 _note_ [57]
Stratford de Redcliffe, Lady, ii.170
Swinburne, A.C., letter from, ii.307;
tribute of, ii.339;
quoted, ii.218 _note_ [56]
Symons, Arthur, quoted, ii.23-24
Syoot, ii.137-140
Tadema, Alma, i.220
Talfourd, ii.209-210
Tate, Sir Henry, ii.259
Tate Gallery, founding of, ii.284-286
Taylor, Tom, i.58
Temple, A.G., ii.364;
quoted, 366
Tennyson, ii.271 _note_ [77]
Thackeray, Miss, ii.43, 92
Thackeray, W.M., i.176
Thompson, Sir E., ii.36
Thornycroft, Hamo, ii.376;
estimate of Leighton by, i.5-6, 13-14
Titian, i.11
Tintoretto, ii.26
Tree, Beerbohm, ii.168
Tunnicliffe, Dr., ii.319
Tupper, Martin F., letters from, ii.125 _note_ [39]
Turner, ii.121
Tyrolese scenery and peasantry, i.66-69, 71, 198
Ulm, i.65
Underhill, Mr., quoted, ii.231 _note_ [61]
Valletort, Lady Katharine, ii.92
Valletort, Lord, ii.92
Van Eycke, ii.32
Van Haanen, cited, ii.235-238
Venetians, i.82-83
Venice (1852), i.77-82, 88;
(1856), 283, 285;
after Athens, ii.72, 73, 75
Viardot, Madame, ii.52-53 _and note_ [14], 217
Vibert, ii.301, 302
Vichy, ii.218 _note_ [56]
Victoria, Queen, "Cimabue's Madonna" bought by, i.187 _note_ [34],
193, 195, 222;
on Prince Consort's death, ii.85, 86;
medallion for Jubilee of, ii.288;
otherwise mentioned, i.261, 263, 265, 276
Victoria and Albert Museum--
Decoration of, ii.202-204;
Leighton examiner at, ii.212
Volunteering, Leighton's activities in, i.86, 107, 111;
his retirement (1883), ii.243-245
Vyner, Mr.92
Walker, John Hanson ("Johnny"), Leighton's friendship with, i.251
_and note_ [57];
paintings from, ii.85 _and note_ [22];
letters to, i.251 _note_ [57], 273 _and note_ [66]
Wall-painting, i.296-297, 305
Walpole, Mr.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.4
Wantage, Lady, ii.18 _note_ [4]
Ward, J., cited, ii.201 _note_ [52]
Waterhouse, A., ii.364
Watson, Wm., letters from, ii.321
Watts, G.F., estimate of Leighton by, i.22;
Leighton's estimate of, ii.18;
views on the province of art, 23-24;
theory |
garden | Where is Sandra? | 224 _and note_ [48];
compared with Leighton, 230-231;
portraits of "Dorothy Dene," ii.269 _note_ [75];
Hollyer's photographs from, 288;
baronetcy declined by, 289;
picture presented by, to Leighton House, 366;
letter from, i.231;
quoted, 208; ii.198 _note_ [49], 259, 366;
cited, ii.192, 194 _note_ [45];
otherwise mentioned, i.144, 258, 260-262;
ii.57, 119, 258-259, 264, 298
Wellington, Duke of, i.168-169;
Stevens' monument of, ii.286-287
Wells, Henry, letters from, ii.248 _note_ [67], 250 _note_ [67];
letters to, 249-255 _and note_ [67], 286, 287, 318, 322, 329
Westbury, ii.74
Westminster, architecture in, i.32
Wilkinson, Gardiner, cited, ii.237, 240
Wonista, Mrs., ii.181
Woolfe, Henry, ii.206
Yeames' "Arthur and Hubert," ii.315
THE END
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.Edinburgh & London
ERRATA
Page 41, note 2, _for_ "soeuer," _read_ "soeur."Page 148, line 21, _for_ "Lindas," _read_ "Lindos."Page 260, line 16, _for_ "Rispah," _read_ "Rizpah."Page 316, line 1, _for_ "altmodish," _read_ "altmodisch."Page 320, line 34, _for_ "men-schlich," _read_ "mensch-lich."Page 301, line 10, _for_ "Gambia Parry," _read_ "Gambier Parry."* * * * *
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| Typographical errors corrected in text: |
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| "This arrangement, is effected" |
| Page 46: "a quarelle" replaced with "aquarelle" |
| Page 69: RIVERE HOUSE replaced with REVERE HOUSE |
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| Page 131: 1878 replaced with 1868.(Grant and Colfax, |
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| Page 145: Koorveh replaced with Koorneh |
| Page 183: fastastic replaced with fantastic |
| Page 192: "Cleaboulos Instructing his Daughter Cleabouline"|
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| order.By checking the dates it clearly should be the 23rd,|
| which is confirmed with the date Wednesday, 28th on page |
| 153.This has been corrected to "Friday, 23rd" in the text.|
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* * * * *
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Life, Letters and Work of Frederic
Leighton, by Mrs.And, driven by the tyranny of
King James and of his son Charles I, small companies of Puritans
began to follow the example of the Pilgrim Fathers and go out to
New England, there to seek freedom to worship God.For King James,
although brought up as a Presbyterian himself, was bitter against
the Puritans."I shall make them conform themselves," he had said,
"or I will harry them out of the land."And as he could not make them conform he "harried" them so that
many were glad to leave the land to escape tyranny.King James has
been called the British Solomon, but he did some amazingly foolish
things.This narrow-minded persecution of the Puritans was one.Yet by it he helped to form a great nation.So perhaps he was not
so foolish after all.As has been said many companies were formed, many land charters
granted for Northern Virginia, or New England, as it was now called.At length a company of Puritans under the name of the Massachusetts
Bay Company got a charter from Charles I, granting them a large
tract of land from three miles south of the Charles River to three
miles north of the Merrimac, and as far west as the Pacific.Of
course no one in those days realised what a huge tract that would
be.For no man yet guessed how great a continent America was,
or by what thousands of miles the Pacific was separated from the
Atlantic.This charter was not unlike that given to Virginia.Nowhere in the charter did it
say that the seat of government must be in England.So when Charles dismissed his Parliament, vowing that if the members
would not do as he wished he would rule without them, a great many
Puritans decided to leave the country.They decided also to take
their charter with them and remove the Company of Massachusetts
Bay, bag and baggage, to New England.Perhaps at the time he was pleased
to see so many powerful Puritans leave the country, for without
them he was all the freer to go his own way.So in the spring of
1630 more than a thousand set sail, taking with them their cattle
and household goods.Many of these were cultured gentlemen who were thus giving up money,
ease and position in order to gain freedom of religion.Sandra moved to the kitchen.They were
not poor labourers or artisans, not even for the most part traders
and merchants.They chose as Governor for the first year a Suffolk
gentleman named John Winthrop.A new Governor was chosen every year,
but John Winthrop held the post many times, twice being elected
three years in succession.Although we may think that he was narrow
in some things, he was a man of calm judgment and even temper, and
was in many ways a good Governor.From the day he set forth from
England to the end of his life he kept a diary, and it is from
this diary that we learn nearly all we know of the early days of
the colony.It was in June of 1630 that Winthrop and his company landed at
Salem, and although there were already little settlements at Salem
and elsewhere this may be taken as the real founding of Massachusetts.Almost at once Winthrop decided that Salem would not be a good
centre for the colony, and he moved southward to the Charles River,
where he finally settled on a little hilly peninsula.There a
township was founded and given the name of Boston, after the town
of Boston in Lincolnshire, from which many of the settlers had
come.Although these settlers had more money and more knowledge of
trading, the colony did not altogether escape the miseries which
every other colony had so far suffered.And, less stout-hearted
than the founders of Plymouth, some fled back again to England.But they were only a few, and for the most part the new settlers
remained and prospered.These newcomers were not Separatists like the Pilgrim Fathers but
Puritans.When they left England they had no intention of separating
themselves from the Church of England.They had only desired a
simpler service.But when they landed in America they did in fact
separate from the Church of England.England was so far away; the
great ocean was between them and all the laws of Church and King.It seemed easy to cast them off, and they did.So bishops were done away with, great parts of the Common Prayer
Book were rejected, and the service as a whole made much more
simple.And as they wished to keep their colony free of people who
did not think as they did the founders of Massachusetts made a law
that only Church members might have a vote.With the Plymouth Pilgrims, however, Separatists though they were,
these Puritans were on friendly terms.The Governors of the two
colonies visited each other to discuss matters of religion and
trade, and each treated the other with great respect and ceremony.Sandra went back to the garden.We read how when Governor Winthrop went to visit Governor Bradford
the chief people of Plymouth came forth to meet him without the town,
and led him to the Governor's house.There he and his companions
were entertained in goodly fashion, feasting every day and holding
pious disputations.Then when he departed again, the Governor of
Plymouth with the pastor and elders accompanied him half a mile
out of the town in the dark.But although the Puritans of Massachusetts were friendly enough
with dissenters beyond their borders they soon showed that within
their borders there was to be no other Church than that which they
had set up.Two brothers for instance who wanted to have the Prayer Book used
in full were calmly told that New England was no place for them,
and they were shipped home again.Later a minister named Roger
Williams was banished from Massachusetts, for he preached that
there ought to be no connection between Church and State; that a
man |
office | Where is Mary? | It seemed to him a deadly sin to have had anything whatever to do
with the Church of England, a sin for which every one ought to do
public penance.He also said that the land of America belonged to
the natives, and not to the King of England.Therefore the King of
England could not possibly give it to the settlers, and they ought
to bargain for it with the natives.Otherwise they could have no
right to it.This idea seemed perfectly preposterous to those old settlers, for,
said they, "he chargeth King James to have told a solemn, public
lie, because in his patent he blessed God that he was the first
Christian prince that had discovered this land."They might think
little enough of their King in their hearts, but it was not for a
mere nobody to start such a ridiculous theory as this.We, looking back, can see that Williams was a good and pious man,
a man before his time, right in many of his ideas, though not very
wise perhaps in his way of pressing them.But to his fellow colonists
he seemed nothing but a firebrand and a dangerous heretic.So they
bade him be gone out of their borders.He went southward to what
is now Rhode Island, made friends with the Indians there, bought
from them some land, and founded the town of Providence.__________
Chapter 24 - The Story of Harry Vane
About this time there came to Massachusetts a handsome young
adventurer named Sir Harry Vane.His face "was comely and fair,"
and his thick brown hair curly and long, so that he looked more
like a Cavalier than a Puritan.He was in fact the eldest son of
a Cavalier, one of the King's chosen councilors.But in spite of
his birth and upbringing, in spite even of his looks, Harry Vane
was a Puritan.And he gave up all the splendour of life at court,
he left father and mother and fortune, and came to New England for
conscience' sake."Sir Henry Vane hath as good as lost his eldest son who is gone to
New England for conscience' sake," wrote a friend."He likes not
the discipline of the Church of England.None of our ministers would
give him the Sacrament standing: no persuasions of our Bishops nor
authority of his parents could prevail with him.As soon as Harry Vane arrived in Massachusetts he began to take an
interest in the affairs of the colony.And perhaps because of his
great name as much as his fair face, grey-haired men who had far
more experience listened to, his youthful advice and bowed to his
judgment.And before six months were passed he, although a mere
lad of twenty-three, was chosen as Governor.A new Governor, you
remember, was chosen every year.At home Harry Vane had been accustomed to the pomp and splendour
of courts and now he began to keep far greater state as Governor
than any one had done before him.Because he was son and heir to a
Privy Councilor in England the ships in the harbour fired a salute
when he was elected, and when he went to church or court of justice
a bodyguard of four soldiers marched before him wearing steel
corslet and cap, and carrying halberds.He made, too, a sort of
royal progress through his little domain, visiting all the settlements.But although begun with such pomp Vane's year of office was by no
means a peaceful one.He was young and inexperienced, and he was
not strong enough to deal with questions which even the oldest among
the settlers found hard to settle.Yet with boyish presumption he
set himself to the task.Sandra moved to the kitchen.And although he failed, he left his mark
on the life of the colony.His was one more voice raised in the cause
of freedom.His was one more hand pointing the way to toleration.But he was too tempestuous, too careless of tact, too eager to
hurry to the good end.So instead of keeping the colony with him
he created dissension.People took sides, some eagerly supporting
the young Governor, but a far larger party as eagerly opposing him.So after nine months of office Harry Vane saw that where he had
meant to create fair order his hand created only disorder.And
utterly disheartened he begged the Council to relieve him of the
governorship and allow him to go home to England.But when one of his friends stood up and spoke in moving terms of
the great loss he would be, Harry Vane burst into tears and declared
he would stay, only he could not bear all the squabbling that had
been going on, nor to hear it constantly said that he was the cause
of it.Then, when the Council declared that if that was the only reason
he had for going they could not give him leave, he repented of
what he had said, and declared he must go for reasons of private
business, and that anything else he had said was only said in
temper.Whereupon the court consented in silence to his going.All this was not very dignified for the Governor of a state, but
hardly surprising from a passionate youth who had undertaken a task
too difficult for him, and felt himself a failure.He stayed on to the end of his time, and even sought
to be re-elected.But feeling against him was by this time far too keen.He was
rejected as Governor, and not even chosen as one of the Council.This hurt him deeply, he sulked in a somewhat undignified manner,
and at length in August sailed home, never to return.He had flashed like a brilliant meteor across the dull life of the
colony.He made strife at the time, but afterwards there was no
bitterness.When the colonists were in difficulties they were ever
ready to ask help from Harry Vane, and he as readily gave it.Even
his enemies had to acknowledge his uprightness and generosity."At
all times," wrote his great-hearted adversary, Winthrop, "he showed
himself a true friend to New England, and a man of noble and generous
mind."He took a great part in the troublous times which now came upon
England, and more than twenty years later he died bravely on the
scaffold for the cause to which he had given his life.__________
Chapter 25 - The Story of Anne Hutchinson and the Founding of Rhode
Island
About a year before Harry Vane came to Massachusetts another
interesting and brilliant colonist arrived.She was clever, "a woman of a ready wit and bold
spirit."Like Williams she was in advance of her times, and like
him she soon became a religious leader.She was able, she was deeply
interested in religion, and she saw no reason why women should not
speak their minds on such matters.Men used to hold meetings to discuss questions of religion and
politics to which women were not allowed to go.Anne Hutchinson
thought this was insulting; and she began to hold meetings for
women in her own home.These meetings became so popular that often
as many as a hundred women would be present.They discussed matters
of religion, and as Mrs.Hutchinson held "dangerous errors" about
"grace and works" and justification and sanctification, this set
the whole colony agog.Sandra went back to the garden.By the time that Harry Vane was chosen Governor the matter had
become serious.Harry Vane,
who stood for toleration and freedom, sided with Mrs.Hutchinson,
while Winthrop, his great rival, sided against her.Hutchinson
was supported and encouraged in her wickedness by her brother-in-law
John Wheelright, a "silenced minister sometimes in England."She
also led away many other godly hearts.The quarrel affected the whole colony, and was a stumbling-block
in the way of all progress.But so long as Harry Vane was Governor,
Mrs.When he sailed
home, however, and Winthrop was Governor once more, the elders
of the community decided that Mrs.Hutchinson was a danger to the
colony, and must be silenced.So all the elders and leaders met
together in assembly, and condemned her opinions, some as being
"blasphemous, some erroneous, and all unsafe."A few women, they decided, might without serious wrong meet together
to pray and edify one another.But that a large number of sixty
or more should do so every week was agreed to be "disorderly and
without rule."Hutchinson would not cease her preaching
and teaching, but obstinately continued in her gross errors, she
was excommunicated and exiled from the colony.To the sorrow
of the godly, her husband went with her.And when they tried to
bring him back he refused."For," he said, "I am more dearly tied
to my wife than to the Church.And I do think her a dear saint and
servant of God."Hutchinson and her friends founded the towns
of Portsmouth and Newport.Others who had been driven out of one
colony or another followed them, and other towns were founded;
and for a time Rhode Island seems to have been a sort of Ishmael's
land, and the most unruly of all the New England colonies.At
length however all these little settlements joined together under
one Governor.At first the colony had no charter, and occupied the land only
by right of agreement with the Indians.But after some time Roger
Williams got a charter from Charles II.In this charter it was
set down that no one should be persecuted "for any difference in
opinion on matters of religion."Sandra journeyed to the office.Thus another new state was founded,
and in Rhode Island there was more real freedom than in almost any
other colony in New England.Massachusetts was at this time, as we can see, not exactly an
easy place to live in for any one whose opinions differed in the
slightest from those laid down by law.Those same people who had
left their homes to seek freedom of conscience denied it to others.But they were so very, very sure that their way was the only
right way, that they could not understand how any one could think
otherwise.And if they were severe
with their fellows who strayed from the narrow path, it was only
in the hope that by punishing them in this life, they might save
them from much more terrible punishment in the life to come.__________
Chapter 26 - The Founding of Harvard
One very good thing we have to remember about the first settlers of
Massachusetts is that early in the life of the colony they founded
schools and colleges.A good many of the settlers were Oxford and
Cambridge men, though more indeed came from Cambridge than from
Oxford, as Cambridge was much the more Puritan of the two.But
whether from Oxford or from Cambridge they were eager that their
children born in this New England should have as good an education
as their fathers had had in Old England.So when Harry Vane was
Governor the colonists voted £400 with which to build a school.This is the first time known to history that the people themselves
voted their own money to found a school.It was decided to build the school at "Newtown."But the Cambridge
men did not like the name, so they got it changed to Cambridge,
"to tell their posterity whence they came."Shortly before this a young Cambridge man named John Harvard had
come out to Massachusetts.Very little is known of him save that he
came of simple folk, and was good and learned."A godly gentleman
and lover of learning," old writers call him."A scholar and pious
in his life, and enlarged towards the country and the good of it,
in life and in death."Soon after he came to Boston this godly gentleman was made minister
of the church at Charlestown.But he was very delicate and in a
few months he died.As a scholar and a Cambridge man he had been
greatly interested in the building of the college at Cambridge.So
when he died he left half his money and all his books to it.The
settlers were very grateful for this bequest, and to show their
gratitude they decided to name the college after John Harvard.From the beginning
the college was a pleasant place, "more like a bowling green than
a wilderness," said one man."The buildings were thought by some to
be too gorgeous for a wilderness, and yet too mean in others'
apprehensions for a college. ""The edifice," says another, "is very faire and comely within and
without, having in it a spacious hall, and a large library with
some bookes to it."Of Harvard's own books there were nearly three hundred, a very good
beginning for a library in those far-off days.But unfortunately
they were all burnt about a hundred years later when the library
accidentally took fire.Mary moved to the office.Only one book was saved, as it was not in
the library at the time.Harvard's books are gone, nor does anything now remain of the first
buildings "so faire and comely within and without."But the memory
of the old founders and their wonderful purpose and energy is still
kept green, and over the chief entrance of the present buildings
are carved some words taken from a writer of those times."After
God had carried us safe to New England, and we had builded our
houses, provided necessaries for our livelihood, rear'd convenient
places for God's worship, and settled the Civil Government, one
of the next things we longed for and looked after was to advance
learning and perpetuate it to Posterity, dreading to leave
an illiterate ministry to the Churches when our present ministers
shall be in the Dust."In giving his money to
found a college he had no thought of making himself famous.But "he
builded better than he knew," for he reared for himself an eternal
monument, and made his name famous to all the ends of the earth.And when kings and emperors are forgotten the name of Harvard will
be remembered.__________
Chapter 27 - How Quakers First Came to New England
It was about the middle of the seventeenth century when a new kind
of religion arose.George
Fox was the founder of this sect, and they called themselves the
Friends of Truth.The name Quaker was given to them by their enemies
in derision because they "trembled before the Lord."The Quakers were a peace-loving people; they tried to be kind and
charitable; they refused to go to law; and they refused to fight.They also gave up using titles of all kinds.For, "my Lord Peter
and my Lord Paul are not to be found in the Bible."They refused
to take off their hats to any man, believing that that was a sign
of worship which belonged to God only.They refused also to take
oath of any kind, even the oath of allegiance to the King, because
Christ had said, "Swear not at all."They used "thee" and "thou"
instead of "you" in speaking to a single person (because they thought
it more simple and truthful), and they refused to say "goodnight"
or "goodmorrow," "for they knew night was good and day was good
without wishing either."There was a great deal that was good in
their religion and very little, it would seem, that was harmful,
but they were pronounced to be "mischievous and dangerous people."And, as often happens when men
do not understand, they became afraid of them.Because they wore
black clothes and broad-brimmed hats they thought they must be
Jesuits in disguise.So ignorance bred fear, and fear brought forth
persecution, and on all sides the Quakers were hunted and reviled.They were fined and imprisoned scourged and exiled and sold into
slavery.Then, like other persecuted people, they sought a refuge
in New England across the seas.But the people there were just as
ignorant as the people at home, and the Quakers found no kindly
welcome.The first Quakers to arrive in New England were two women.But
before they were allowed to land officers were sent on board the
ship to search their boxes.They found a great many books, which
they carried ashore, and while the women were kept prisoner on board
the ship the books were burned in the market place by the common
hangman.Then the women were brought ashore and sent to prison,
for no other reason than that they were Quakers.No one was allowed to speak to them on pain of a fine of £5, and
lest any should attempt it even the windows of the prison were
boarded up.They were allowed no candle, and their pens, ink, and
paper were taken from them.They might have starved but that one
good old man named Nicholas Upshal, whose heart was grieved for
them, paid the gaoler to give them food.Thus they were kept until
a ship was ready to sail for England.Then they were put on board,
and the captain was made to swear that he would put them ashore
nowhere but in England."Such," says an old writer, "was the entertainment the Quakers first
met with at Boston, and that from a people who pretended that for
conscience' sake they had chosen the wilderness of |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | The next Quakers who arrived were treated much in the same fashion
and sent back to England; and a law was made forbidding Quakers
to come to the colony.At this time the same good old man who had
already befriended them was grieved."Take heed," he said, "that
you be not found fighting against God, and so draw down a judgment
upon the land."Sandra moved to the kitchen.But the men of Boston were seized with a frenzy of
hate and fear, and they banished this old man because he had dared
to speak kindly of the accursed sect."It is true the men of New England had some excuse for trying to keep
the Quakers out of their colony.For some of them were foolish, and
tried to force their opinions noisily upon others.They interrupted
the Church services, mocked the magistrates and the clergy, and
some, carried away by religious fervour, behaved more like mad folk
than the disciples of a religion of love and charity.Yet in spite of the law forbidding them to come, Quakers kept on
coming to the colony, and all who came were imprisoned, beaten,
and then thrust forth with orders never to return.So a law was made that any Quaker coming into the colony
should have one of his ears cut off; if he came again he should
have a second ear cut off; if he came a third time he should have
his tongue bored through with a hot iron.But even this cruel law had no effect upon the Quakers.They heeded
it not, and came in as great or even greater numbers than before.Sandra went back to the garden.They had no wise to be cruel;
indeed, many hated, and were thoroughly ashamed of, the cruel
laws, made against these strange people.But they were nevertheless
determined that Quakers should not come into their land.So now
they made a law that any Quaker who came to the colony and refused
to go away again when ordered should be hanged.This, they thought,
would certainly keep these pernicious folk away.For the Quakers were determined to prove to all the world that they
were free to go where they would, and that if they chose to come
to Boston no man-made laws should keep them out.They had never meant
to hang any of them, but only to frighten them away.But having
made the law, they were determined to fulfil it, and five Quakers
were hanged, one of them a woman.But while the fifth was being
tried another Quaker named Christison, who had already been banished,
calmly walked into the court.When they saw him the magistrates were struck dumb.For they saw
that against determination like this no punishment, however severe,
might avail.On their ears Christison's words fell heavily."I am come here to warn you, he cried, "that you should shed no more
innocent blood.For the blood that you have shed already cries to
the Lord God for vengeance to come upon you."By what law will you put me to death?""We have a law," replied the magistrates, "and by our law you are
to die.""So said the Jews to Christ," replied Christison: " 'We have a law,
and by our law you ought to die.'Have you power to make laws different from the laws of
England?""Then," said Christison, "you are gone beyond your bounds."Well," said Christison, "so am I. Therefore, seeing that you and
I are subjects to the King, I demand to be tried by the laws of
my own nation.For I never heard, nor read, of any law that was in
England to hang Quakers."Yet in spite of his brave defence Christison was condemned to
death.For the people had
grown weary of these cruelties; even the magistrates, who for a
time had been carried away by blind hate, saw that they were wrong.Christison and many of his friends who had lain in prison awaiting
trial were set free.The Quakers, too, now found a strange friend in King Charles.For
the doings of the New Englanders in this matter reached even his
careless ears, and he wrote to his "Trusty and well-beloved" subjects
bidding them cease their persecutions, and send the Quakers back
to England to be tried.But henceforth the persecutions died down.And although from time
to time the Quakers were still beaten and imprisoned no more were
put to death.At length the persecution died away altogether and
the Quakers, allowed to live in peace, became quiet, hard-working
citizens.__________
Chapter 28 - How Maine and New Hampshire Were Founded
North of Massachusetts two more colonies, New Hampshire and Maine,
were founded.But they were not founded by men who fled from tyranny,
but by statesmen and traders who realised the worth of America,
not by Puritans, but by Churchmen and Royalists.The two men who
were chiefly concerned in the founding of these colonies were Sir
Ferdinando Gorges and Captain John Mason.They were both eager
colonists, and they both got several charters and patents from the
King, and from the New England Company.It would be too confusing to follow all these grants and charters,
or all the attempts at settlements made by Mason and Gorges and
others.The land granted to them was often very vaguely outlined,
the fact being that the people who applied for the land, and those
who drew up the charters, had only the vaguest ideas concerning the
land in question.So the grants often overlapped each other, and
the same land was frequently claimed by two people, and of course
confusion and quarrels followed.In 1629 Mason and Gorges, being friends, agreed to divide the province
of Maine between them, and Mason called his part New Hampshire,
after the county of Hampshire in England, of which he was fond.Mason and Gorges each now had an enormous tract of land, but they
wanted still more.The French, as you know, had already made settlements in Canada,
But just at this time that buccaneering sea captain, David Kirke,
besieged Quebec, took it and carried its brave governor, Champlain,
away prisoner.Now, as soon as they heard of this Gorges and Mason
asked the King to give them a grant of part of the conquered land,
for it was known to be a fine country for fur trade, and was also
believed to be rich in gold and silver mines.In answer to this
petition the King granted a great tract of land to Gorges and Mason.This they called Laconia, because it was supposed to contain many
lakes.They never did much with it however, and in a few years
when peace was made with France it had all to be given back to the
French.Both Mason and Gorges spent a great deal of money trying to encourage
colonists to settle on their land, and the people of Massachusetts
were not at all pleased to have such powerful Churchmen for their
neighbours.As has been said, land grants often overlapped, and part of the
land granted to Gorges and Mason was also claimed by Massachusetts.Both Gorges
and Mason therefore became their enemies, and did their best
to have their charter taken away.To this end Gorges got himself
made Governor General of the whole of New England, with power to
do almost as he liked, and he made ready to set out for his new
domain with a thousand soldiers to enforce his authority.When this news reached Massachusetts the whole colony was thrown
into a state of excitement.For in this appointment the settlers
saw the end of freedom, the beginning of tyranny.Both Gorges and
his friend Mason were zealous Churchmen and the Puritans felt sure
would try to force them all to become Churchmen also.This the settlers determined to resist with all their might.So
they built forts round Boston Harbour and mounted cannon ready to
sink any hostile vessel which might put into port.In every village
the young men trained as soldiers, and a beacon was set up on
the highest point of the triple hill upon which Boston is built.And daily these young men turned their eyes to the hill, for when
a light appeared there they knew it would be time to put on their
steel caps and corslets and march to defend their liberties.Ever
since the hill has been called Beacon Hill.The new ship which was being built for
Ferdinando Gorges mysteriously fell to pieces on the very launching
of it, and Captain Mason died."He was the chief mover in all the
attempts against us," says Winthrop."But the Lord, in His mercy,
taking him away, all the business fell on sleep."But still Gorges did not give up his plans.He did not now go out
to New England himself as he had meant to do, but sent first his
nephew and then his cousin instead.They, however, did not trouble
Massachusetts much.Over the Province of Maine, Sir Ferdinando ruled supreme.He could
raise troops, make war, give people titles, levy taxes.No one
might settle down or trade in his province without his permission,
and all must look upon him as the lord of the soil and pay him
tribute.It was the feudal system come again, and Sir Ferdinando
Gorges was as near being a king as any ruler of America ever has
been.He drew up a most elaborate constitution, too, for his kingdom,
making almost more offices than there were citizens to fill them.For, after all, his kingdom was a mere wilderness containing two
fishing villages and here and there a few scattered settlements.And when the deputy governor arrived to rule this kingdom he found
his "palace" merely a broken-down store house with "nothing of
household stuff remaining but an old pot, a pair of tongs and a
couple of irons."Thus side by side with the Puritan colonies of New England,
colonies which were almost republics, there was planted a feudal
state which was almost a monarchy.Of all the New England colonies,
New Hampshire and Maine were the only two which were not founded
for the sake of religion.For although the English Church was
established in both as the state religion that was merely because
the proprietors were of that Church.The colonies were founded for
the sake of trade and profit.In 1647 Sir Ferdinando Gorges died, and Maine was left much to
itself.For his son John took little interest in his father's great
estate.Thirty years later his grandson, another Ferdinando, sold
his rights to Massachusetts.From that time till 1820, when it
was admitted to the Union as a separate state, Maine was a part of
Massachusetts.Neither did the heirs of Mason pay much attention to their estates
at first.And when they did there was a good deal of quarrelling
and a good deal of trouble, and at length they sold their rights
to twelve men, who were afterwards known as the Masonian Proprietors.There was a great deal of trouble, too, before New Hampshire was
finally recognised as a separate colony.It was joined to Massachusetts
and separated again more than once.But at last, after many changes,
New Hampshire finally became a recognised separate colony.And
although Captain John Mason died long before this happened he has
been called the founder of New Hampshire."If the highest moral honour," it has been said, "belongs to founders
of states, as Bacon has declared, then Mason deserved it.To seize
on a tract of the American wilderness, to define its limits, to give
it a name, to plant it with an English colony, and to die giving
it his last thoughts among worldly concerns, are acts as lofty and
noble as any recorded in the history of colonisation."__________
Chapter 29 - The Founding of Connecticut and War with the Indians
Many of the people who founded Massachusetts Colony were well-to-do
people, people of good family, aristocrats in fact.They were men
accustomed to rule, accustomed to unquestioning obedience from their
servants and those under them.They believed that the few were meant
to rule, and the many meant to obey.The idea that every grown-up
person should have a share in the government never entered their
heads.Their Governor, Winthrop, was an aristocrat to the backbone.Sandra journeyed to the office.He believed heartily in the government of the many by the few, and
made it as difficult as possible for citizens to obtain the right
of voting.But there were many people who were discontented with this
aristocratic rule.Among them was a minister named Thomas Hooker,
like John Harvard a graduate of Emmanuel College, Cambridge.Mary moved to the office.So, being dissatisfied, he and his congregation decided to move
away and found a new colony.They were the more ready to do this,
as the land round Boston was not fertile, and so many new settlers
had come, and their cattle and flocks had increased so rapidly,
that it was already difficult to find food and fodder for man and
beast.Adventurers who had traveled far afield had brought back
glowing reports of the beauty and fertility of the Connecticut
Valley, and there Hooker decided to settle.But for several reasons many of the people of Massachusetts objected
to his going.He and his people, they said, would be in danger from
the Dutch, who already had a settlement there, and who claimed the
whole valley.They would also be in danger from the Indians, who
were known to be hostile, and lastly, they would be in danger from
the British Government because they had no charter permitting them
to settle in this land.The people at home, they said, "would not
endure they should sit down without a patent on any place which
our King lays claim unto."The people of Massachusetts were keeping quiet and going along
steadily in their own way, without paying any heed to the British
Government.They wanted to be left alone, and they did not want
any one else to do things which might call attention to them.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.And besides all this they were greatly troubled at the thought
of losing an eloquent preacher like Hooker.Every church was like
a candlestick giving light to the world."And the removing of
a candlestick," they said, "is a great judgment, which is to be
avoided."But in spite of all arguments Hooker determined to go.So one June
morning he and his congregation set forth.They sent their furniture
by water and they themselves, both men and women, started to walk
the hundred miles, driving their cattle before them; only Mrs.Hooker, who was ill, being carried in a litter.They went slowly, allowing the cattle to graze by the wayside, living
chiefly on the milk of the cows and the wild fruits they found.It was no easy journey, for their way led through the pathless
wilderness, their only guides being the compass and the sun.Daniel moved to the office.For in
those days we must remember that beyond the settlements the whole
of America was untrodden ground.Save the Indian trails there were
no roads.Being a charge misdemeanor no
account was committed to writing of what the witnesses said; it was
merely a note or entry of the names, as follows; “Warrant for a
misdeameanor, parties appeared by the Officer, and ordered to find bail.”
_Cross-examined by Mr.Serjeant Sellon was the magistrate
by whom the warrant was granted.The oath was administered before the
warrant was granted; there had been an _ex-parte_ examination to grant
the warrant on the oath of the party;—that is in another book left
behind; does not know any thing of it.There is a deposition on oath
prior to the granting of the warrant._Re-examined by the Common Serjeant_.—Don’t take the depositions in cases
of misdemeanor in detail.Is not aware of depositions taken in writing
in any book which he had not here; was not told to bring it.There was
nothing taken down in writing before the warrant was granted.After the
warrant was executed, and at the time of the examination, when the
Defendant was there, witness took no minutes further than the names of
the parties, and what he now produced.Gurney_.—Was present at the examination of Mr.Church
before the magistrate; is a hatter, near the Elephant and Castle, in St.George’s Fields; did not take the testimony of witnesses down in writing.Foreman, the boy, in the account he gave before the magistrate, said he
went out to the potter and told the potter that there were thieves in the
house, and that the potter and he said the came to search the house.Sellon, whether or not he searched the room
where Mr.He said, no, he did not search that room.Sellon said, “Why not search the room?” The answer he gave was, that the
potter wished to break the door open.Sellon said, |
hallway | Where is Mary? | Gurney_.—My lord, this is the case of the Defendant.Marryatt_ then replied to the Defendant’s case._Lord Ellenborough_ proceeded to sum up the evidence on which he
commented most ably.With respect to the up the evidence, on which he
commented most ably.With respect to the young man searching the house,
his Lordship said it shewed a precaution which was highly creditable to
the boy, who had also given a good reason for not going into the
Defendant’s room, namely, that it must have disturbed and alarmed his
mistress at that unseasonable hour of the night, and that as to the
alleged delay, this seemed to have arisen from the interference of the
Defendant’s friends; but, although a considerable time elapsed before the
prosecutor went to a magistrate, it was clear that he made instant
complaint to West, and to his master.His Lordship then adverted to the
admission of the Defendant as to being in the boy’s room without
assigning any reason or motive, and his Lordship asked, what earthly
purpose could the Defendant have for visiting this youth in his bed-room
in the dead of the night?Sandra moved to the kitchen.and, if no honest reason appeared, it was for
the jury to say whether the lad’s account was not irresistably confirmed
by this admission.His Lordship read the letter, before alluded to,
throughout, and most emphatically expressed his indignation at sacred
names, which ought never to be mentioned but with reverence, being used
with disgusting familiarity in such a shocking transaction.The Jury almost instantly returned a verdict of GUILTY, which gave
universal satisfaction to a crowded Court.Sandra went back to the garden.The nearer to CHURCH the further from GOD!!Sandra journeyed to the office.Jortin, in his _Adversaria_, very justly remarks, that “a sudden rise
from a low station, as it sometimes shews to advantage the virtuous and
amiable qualities, which could not exert themselves before, so it more
frequently calls forth and exposes to view, those spots of the soul which
lay lurking in secret, cramped by penury, and veiled with dissimulation.”
JOHN CHURCH, better known as the Obelisk Parson, it appears, was
abandoned by his parents, when he was scarcely six weeks old, and left
exposed in a basket, with little covering to protect him from the
inclemency of the weather, on the steps of St.In this pitiable state he was found by the overseers of the parish, and
sent to the Foundling Hospital; and it was from this circumstance he
derived the name of CHURCH.Here he remained until he was nine years
old, when a complaint to the Governor’s having been made against him by
the nurses that he was addicted to improper and disgusting practices, it
was thought prudent to apprentice him out at that early age, in order to
prevent the morals of the boys being corrupted from so dangerous an
example.He must have quitted the hospital at an earlier age than usual,
from his evident illiteracy, and the badness of his writing.In general
the boys from this institution are distinguished as good scholars.Church was accordingly placed out as an apprentice to a carver and
gilder, in the neighbourhood of Blackfriar’s Road; but before his time of
servitude had expired, he married, and abruptly quitted his master.For
a short period he followed his business, and worked for a composition
ornament maker, in Tottenham-Court-road; but being of an artful
disposition, of lazy habits, and with much hypocritical cant, he at
length succeeded in imposing upon several religious persons his great
anxiety and desire to become a minister of the Gospel.It appears, he
commenced his _pretended_ religious career, by taking upon himself the
office of a teacher of a sunday school, at that time established in
Tottenham Court-road.Thinking that preaching was a more lucrative
employment than that in which he was engaged, this hypocritical wretch,
together with two other young men, who were also candidates for the gown,
hired a garret in Compton-street, Soho, in order to acquire the method of
addressing a congregation with confidence.He made a rapid progress in
dissimulation, and even at this early period of his religious studies, he
laughed in his sleeve at the credulity and ignorance of those persons who
were induced to listen to his _pious_ harangues.An old chair was the
substitute for the pulpit.He now began, as he termed it, “to gammon the
old women.” Good luck procured him the notice of old Mother Barr, of
Orange-street, who being interested in his behalf, allowed him the use of
a room of her’s, in which he treated her and a few choice labourers in
the field of piety, with his rapturous discourses.From this he used to
hold forth more publicly.He became acquainted with one GARNET, of
notorious memory, who procured him the situation of a preacher at
Banbury.It was at this place that he first became obnoxious.But
before we proceed further, it may be necessary to inquire by what
authority such a man as CHURCH presumed to take upon himself the
functions of a minister of the gospel.A man so profligate—so
notoriously criminal—come forth to instruct others in religion.It
seems, the practice among Dissenters is, that when any man feels a strong
desire to become a preacher, he communicates the same to several
ministers, who make a strict inquiry into his qualifications as to piety,
learning, morals, &c. and if they find these established on satisfactory
evidence, they then confer on the candidate a sort of ordination, without
which he can have no authority to officiate as a minister of the Gospel.It is evident he must have played the hypocrite in a masterly style, as
he did receive an _ordination_ at Banbury, in Oxfordshire.But his
_real_ character soon made its appearance, from his having made several
violent attempts upon some young men while at the above place, he was
driven out from thence, by the trustees of the chapel in which he
preached, and the magistrates, and ordered never to shew his face there
again.He hastily decamped, leaving behind him his wife and children,
and the police-officers having been sent in pursuit of him, their
searches proved fruitless, and it was a long time before he was heard of.Mary moved to the office.He then threw off all controul, and acted _in defiance of all the
ordinances of the Dissenting Church_!preaching doctrines tending to
encourage licentiousness, and foster the worst of passions.At
Colchester he turned the whole congregation against their minister.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.The
mode of healing the consciences of profligate men was practised by the
Romish Church before the Reformation, and when it flourished in its
rankest state of corruption—when indulgences for sins to be committed,
and pardons for sins past, were openly sold for money.The manner in
which the Obelisk Preacher conducts the affairs of his chapel bears some
resemblance to this practice.He has filled his pockets, it appears,
from the money which he has raised by inflaming the passions, and
exciting hopes and fears; this _pretender_ of piety has even administered
the sacrament to persons who were nearly intoxicated with gin!It is
said that Church belongs to that sect called ANTINOMIANS, which is thus
described by the Rev.John Evans, in his “Sketch of the Denominations of
the Christian World:”—“The Antinomian derives his name from ANTI and
NOMOS; simplifying, against, and a LAW, his favourite tenet being, that
the law is not a rule of life to believers.It is not easy to ascertain
what he means by this position, but be seems to carry the doctrine of
imputed righteousness of Christ and salvation faith, without works, to
such lengths, as to injure, if not wholly destroy, the obligation to
moral obedience.Antinomianism may be traced to the period of the
Reformation, and its promulgator was John Agricola, originally a disciple
of Luther.The <DW7>s, in their disputes with the Protestants of that
day, carried the merit of good works to an extravagant length; and this
induced some of their opponents to run into the opposite extreme.”—“This
sect (says the Encyclopædia) sprung up in England during the protectorate
of Oliver Cromwell, and extended the system of libertinism much further
than Agricola, the disciple of Luther.Some of their teachers expressly
maintained, that as the elect cannot fall from grace nor forfeit the
divine favour, the wicked actions they commit are not really sinful, nor
are they to be considered as instances of their violation of the Divine
Law; consequently, they have no occasion to confess their sins, or to
break them off by repentance.According to them, it is one of the
essential and distinctive characters of the elect that they cannot do any
thing displeasing to God, or prohibited by law.” It may easily be
inferred from such doctrine as the above, the dreadful crime men may be
induced to commit, without the horrors of conscience or fear of
punishment.From his retreat in the country, it seems, he was called to
use his influence in town, by a man of his own disgraceful kind,
designated _Kitty Cambric_; and well known at the Swan, in Vere-street.Daniel moved to the office.It is notorious from the public exposure of the wretches, who were
detected in this street, and brought to punishment, that many of them
assumed the name of women, and were absolutely married together, and it
appears Church was actually the parson who performed the blasphemous mock
ceremony of joining them in the ties of “_holy matrimony_,” he being
nominated their _chaplain_.He now settled himself at Chapel-court, in
the Borough, when his old friend _Garrett_ publicly charged him with a
wicked and diabolical offence, as the law says, “not to be named amongst
Christians,” and he was obliged to run away from the accusation.By some
fortuitous event he, at length, got possession of the Obelisk Chapel,
where he began again to deliver his abominable doctrines; and several
young men were obliged to leave him, in consequence of his having used
them in a manner too indecent to be mentioned or hinted at.The first
document we have is letter dated March 7, 1810, from a person, at
Banbury, named Hall, of which the following is a copy:—
“Honoured Sir—in reply to your letter concerning Mr.C. I can only
inform you, there was a report against him of a very scandalous
nature; but how far his culpability extends, it is quite out of my
power to determine.He was absent from hence when the rumour first
spread.The managers of our chapel took great pains to inquire into
the origin of such reports, and the result was, they sent Mr.C.
positive orders never, on any account, to return to Banbury again;
which advice he has hitherto wisely observed.Now, sir, after giving
you the above information, I beg leave to conclude the subject by
referring you to your own comment hereon._Banbury_, _March_ 7, 1817.”
Then follows a letter from William Clark, of Ipswich, a young man between
19 and 20 years of age, which contains an account of attempts to horrid
to be published.The written confession (frightful indeed it is) of this
poor simple young man, whose mind was bewildered by the canting
exhortations of Church; and the whole of his statements corroborated by
the oral testimony of Mr.Wire, who resides at Colchester, and knows
Clark very well.The circumstances related by Clark would have furnished
ample grounds for a criminal prosecution had he made his complaint
_immediately_ after the _assault_ was committed:—but, suffering under the
influence of ignorance and fear, he kept it a secret too long, and
afterwards accepted of a pound note from Church.A case was laid before
two eminent barristers, to have their opinion whether such a prosecution
could be carried on with any prospect of conviction.Their opinion, in
writing, is, that after the long concealment of a charge, a jury would
pay no attention to his evidence, unless he was confirmed in his story by
other evidence._Extract from the confession of William Clark_, _of Ipswich_.“Having been called by Providence to Colchester, I went to hear John
Church preach in a barn, was invited to Mr.Abbot’s; was prevailed
upon to sleep with John Church; I did sleep with him three nights;
after being enticed to many _imprudencies_, I was under the necessity
to resist _certain attempts_, which, if I had complied with, I am
fearful must have ruined _both soul and body_: the crime is _too
horrid_ to relate.Richard Patmore, J. Ellisdon, C. Wire, H. T. Wire.This took place in March last, 1812.”
The peace of this poor lad’s mind is completely destroyed, so fatally has
the event preyed upon him;—so far as to fill the bosom of his aged father
with such a spirit of indignation and revenge, that he actually came up
to London with a full determination to be the death of him who had thus
ruined the peace of his beloved son, while the mother’s mind was not less
distracted than that of the father’s.In consequence of this, the father
entered John Church’s meeting-house, with two loaded pistols, one in each
pocket; but, under the excess of agitation, he fainted away, and was
carried out of the place.Daniel went back to the kitchen.The following will cast some light on the preceding:—
“_Colchester_, _September_ 16, 1812.“SIR,
“Last evening I had an interview with Clark’s father, who wishes him
to comply with your wishes.I mentioned to him respecting Church’s
conduct, and I find the last night to be the worst.Likewise that he
would have committed the act had not Clark prevented him.The
particulars I told you when in London, but find them worse than what
I described to you.They are not able to be at any expense; but if
the gentlemen wish to prosecute, and to pay Clark’s expenses up to
London, &c. he will have no objection to come when you please to
send.I need only say I wish you to inform the gentlemen, and give
me a line.I am, dear Sir, your’s, &c.
C. WIRE.”
In addition to the above testimonies, a very long narrative of atrocities
committed by JOHN CHURCH; while he resided at Banbury, has been written
by a minister at that place; but the facts are too disgusting and
shocking to be published.Mary moved to the hallway.In the month of April, 1813, a Mr.Webster, who was employed in the house
of Messrs.eminent Hop Merchants, in the Borough, having,
this being the time the first public exposure of Church’s character took
place, asserted his readiness to prove Church’s infamy, was immediately
seized upon by a fellow of the name of Holmes, and another creature of
the name of Shaw, a sort of attorney in St.George’s Fields, who had been
employed by Church, and dragged to a lock-up-house in the Borough, on a
charge of riot, of which the following account appeared in the Morning
Chronicle._Riots at the Obelisk_.— |
office | Where is John? | Webster, who is employed in the
house of Messrs.eminent Hop-Merchants, in the Borough, was
charged at Union-Hall, by a person of the name of Shaw, with committing a
riot and a breach of the peace, on Sunday morning, at the Obelisk, in St.George’s Fields, near the entrance of a chapel belonging to a preacher
named John Church.Birnie, who had, on
a former day, heard another case similar to this, was absent, they wished
the case might be deferred until next day, and desired Mr.The prosecutor observed, that it would be dangerous
to allow Mr.Webster to be at large, and desired that he might be kept in
custody or held to bail.The magistrate asked if there was any person
present ready to be bail for his appearance.Robert Bell, the Editor
of the _Weekly Despatch_, who accompanied Mr.Webster as his friend, a
housekeeper, in Lambeth, said he was ready to bail him.The prosecutor
then said, he had also a very serious complaint to make against Mr.Sandra moved to the kitchen.Bell,
for the article which he published in his last Sunday’s newspaper,
respecting Mr.Church, and he had one of the papers in his hand.Bell told the Magistrates that he was ready to meet any complaint of this
kind, that he conceived it to be his duty, as one of the guardians of
public liberty, and public morals, to send forth the statement in
question; that he could prove the truth of every thing he had written and
published.Webster if he would
promise, on his honour, to attend next day, which Mr.Webster assured him
he would do, and retired.Webster
had been kept in a state of imprisonment during the greater part of
Sunday, and all Sunday night.Webster having appeared again before the magistrates,
disclosed, in the course of the examination, the fact of Church having,
some years since, made an attempt of an abominable nature, on the person
of his younger brother, the magistrate, struck with horror, immediately
stopt all proceedings against Mr.Webster, and desired his brother to be
brought forward.The office was cleared of all persons, except the
parties immediately concerned; the brother’s deposition was taken, and a
warrant was issued for Church to appear there the next day.On Wednesday, J. Church appeared, in consequence of the warrant issued
the day before for his apprehension on a charge of abominable practices,
attended by a number of his deluded followers.W. Webster having
deposed as to his attempts on him, Church was ordered to find bail for
his appearance at the next Middlesex Sessions, and Mr.The magistrate observed that from the length of time which
had elapsed since the offence had been committed, he thought a jury would
not feel justified in finding him guilty.Johnston, a young
gentleman of the law, who attended for Mr.Sandra went back to the garden.Webster, replied, that it was
not the time for them to discuss what was likely to be the verdict of a
jury;—that he had recommended Mr.Sandra journeyed to the office.Webster to prefer an indictment against
Church, and Mr.Mary moved to the office.Webster had come to that resolution; and whatever might
be the result of the trial, the evidence relating to the conduct of
Church would be of that disgusting nature as to stamp his name with
eternal infamy and disgrace.Church’s attorney observed that it was a
conspiracy amongst another sect to ruin Mr.Johnson denied and said that it was merely a desire to bring him to
merited punishment.Church acted like
a man of prudence, and consulted his own interest, he would desist from
preaching until the indictment had been tried, as it would be the means
of preventing a breach of the peace, but this he declined; and Shaw; his
attorney, said they should follow their own advice.Johnston
informed Church’s attorney that it was Mr.Webster’s intention to indict,
or bring an action against him for an assault and false imprisonment.On that very evening (incredible as it may appear) this very man held to
bail for trial on the most horrid charges, given on oath, had the
impudence to go into his chapel and preach to a crowded audience.On the 6th of June, 1813, the Grand Jury for the county of Middlesex
found a bill of indictment against John Church, for his attempt, some
years ago, on a lad, named Webster.On the 12th of July following, he
was tried and _acquitted_.—If any surprise is manifested at this
acquittal, let it be recollected, that this prosecution was ordered by
the magistrates, and did not _originate_ with the prosecutor, William
Webster, on whom the abominable attempt was alleged to have been made
(now fourteen years ago).The very mention of the attempt was a mere
incidental circumstance arising out of another proceeding then before the
Magistrates.Let the reader also take notice of the following
sentence:—“The magistrate observed, that from the length of time which
had elapsed since the offence had been committed, he thought a Jury would
not feel justified in finding him guilty.” This William Webster,
therefore, must be considered, in all respects, as an unwilling
prosecutor.He was supported only by one counsel, then of young
standing, (Mr.Adolphus,) who had to struggle against two of the most
able advocate (Messrs.Gurney and Alley) in the criminal courts.It
appears also that Webster gave his evidence with embarrassment and
trepidation, and that he suffered himself to fall into some
inconsistencies.Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.With this _solitary_ and confused evidence, and after a
lapse—after a _silence_ of ELEVEN YEARS, was it possible to suppose that
a Jury would have found any man guilty?Daniel moved to the office.But the verdict did not, in the
slightest degree, affect any of the numerous accusations, of a more
recent date, which have been made against John Church.Daniel went back to the kitchen.From the reports
that had gone abroad, that he was addicted to certain abominable
propensities, gentlemen in the neighbourhood of the Surrey Theatre,
dreading the disgrace of pollution which Christianity might suffer from
the immoral character of any of its teachers, investigated these rumours,
and the following fact came to light.—James Cook was released from his
two year’s imprisonment, on the 21st of September, 1813, the landlord of
the infamous house in Vere-street.They accidentally met and recognized
each other, and a correspondence took place between these _old_
acquaintances, on the 13th of October following.A _fac simile_ of the
letter has been published, in Church’s own hand-writing, offering Cook
assistance to set up another house, as may be perceived:—
“Dear Sir,
“Lest I should not have time to call or converse with you, as I shall
not be alone to Day, I thought it But right to Drop you a Line.I
wish you all the success you can desire in getting a house _fit for
the business_ in the public line; and, as you had a great many
acquaintances, they ought not to fail you; if every one acted right,
according to there ability, I am sure you would soon accomplish it.As I am By no means Rich, but rather embarrassed, I hope you will
accept my mite towards it, 1l.and you shall have another as
convenient, wishing you all prosperity,
“I Remain Your’s sincerely,
J. CHURCH.”
For Mr.Halladay’s, Richmond: buildings, Dean-street.There is another letter bearing the two-penny post mark of the 20th of
October.—It is as follows:—
“Dear Sir,
“I received your note this morning in Bed, as I have contracted such
a Dreadful cold Being wet on Tuesday I am very much grieved i have
not been able to comply with the request concerning Mr.C— But I
shall certainly keep my eye upon him and Do him all the Good it lays
in my power where ever he is he knows my Disposition too well to
impute any remissness to my conduct But I cannot do impossibilities
as I have Lately had and have now Got so many Distressing cases in
hand Beside, I will Be sure to call on you as soon as I can—But am
not able to day
“I remain Yours, J. CHURCH.“32 hercules Buildings”
Badly directed to Mr.Oliver, (or Holloway,) No.6, Richmond’s
Buildings, Dean-street, Soho.Mary moved to the hallway.The following is a narrative which Cook has given of his acquaintance
with _Parson Church_; and which was taken down from his own dictation by
Mr.E— B—:
“In May, 1810, I was in company with Mr.Yardley and another young
man by the name of Ponder.I found after that the said Ponder was a
drummer in the Guards; I called at a house in the London-road, where
I saw Mr.Church the first time in my life: there was at this house
about twelve or fourteen altogether, drinking gin, and Mr.Church
handed me a glass of the same, which I took; Church behaved very
polite to me, and said what a fine fellow I was; he pressed me very
much to stop and get tea with them, for he said he would call and see
me when I was settled in the house in Vere-street.I stopped a
little while, and was about to leave them, when Church said I should
not go before I had tea, and flung down, a dollar; and a man, by the
name of Gaiscoin, took the money and went for the tea and other
things, but I would not stay: Church came out of the room with me,
and walked with me as far as the turnpike; there he met another
gentleman, which I never saw before, and I went on and left him for
that time; I think it was six or eight days.I went to live at the
Swan, and saw Church again; he came about three o’clock in the
afternoon, and Mr.Yardley accosted him, “Parson, what are you come
to see the chapel?” He said “Yes, and to preach too.” Church asked
me how I was; I said I was not very well: he asked me why I went away
in that shy manner; I told him he was a stranger to me, and I did not
like to be intruding on strange people: he said I was shy—he did not
know what to make of me; he also pressed me very much to take a walk
with him, but I declined it: he said I must go, but I still declined,
and did not go with him; he staid some time, and joined the company
in the back parlour—persons by the name of Miss Fox and Miss Kitty
Cambrick was among them, and the Queen of Bohemia.Church was
going away, he came to the bar and spoke to me, and said I must take
something to drink, which I did, and he paid for it, and left the
house for that time.In a few days he called again, in the
afternoon, and there was not many people there; he asked if Yardley
was at home; I said he was not; he said he was very sorry for it; I
asked him what he wanted; he said he came on purpose for me to take a
walk with him, but I did not go: he said he would wait until Yardley
came in.Church said I should do him a great favour if I would take
a walk with him; I would not go—he still pressed me very much to go:
I said I would if he would wait till I had cleaned myself: he waited
more than two hours for me; I went to sleep because I would not go
with him; and in the mean time he waited so long that he was tired;
he sent the waiter to call me, which he did, and said the Parson
wanted me, and had been waiting two hours for me; I said, let him
wait, for I should not come; he returned, and said if I would but
speak to him, he should go away happy; I found I could not get rid of
him—I went down stairs; he said, well, sir, I hope your nap has done
you good; I said, I don’t know, don’t bother me.He said I was very
cross to him; I told him there was other men without me; if he wanted
to preach, not to preach to me about crossness.He said, well, if
that was the case, he was very sorry he had offended me; I told him
he had not offended me nor pleased me; but as I was not well, the
less any one talked to me the better I liked it; he said, if I was
but friends with him, and shake hands with him, he should go away
happy.Yardley said, he never see such a fellow as I was, for I
had affronted every body that came to the house.I then shook hands
with the Parson, for at that time I did not know his name.He shook
hands with me, and we had something to drink, and Mr.Church paid for
it and went away.I never saw him till I came out of Newgate; I was
talking to Mr.Holloway, and telling them there was a Parson
somewhere about St George’s Fields, but his name I did not know.He
asked me if I should know him if I saw him, I said I should; by that
I went to the chapel and saw Mr.Church, and then I asked the people
what was the Parson’s name; they told me his name was Church.I said
he ought to be ashamed of himself to preach there, a ******** and
rascal, and left the place, and went home in the greatest pains I
ever felt in my life, and was resolved to see him, which I did the
next day, and give him one of the hand-bills; and the manner he
received me, was like a young man would his sweetheart;—I began my
conversation; Well, sir, I suppose you do not know me?He said he
did not.John went to the office.I said my name was Cook, that kept the Swan, in
Vere-street.Sandra went to the office.He said he thought so, but was not sure: he said why
did I not call before and shake hands with a-body.I told him I did
not know where he lived, nor I did not know his name until I went to
the chapel and |
garden | Where is Sandra? | He told me not to make it known that
he ever came to my house, for he and Rowland Hill had daggers drawn,
and that he should be obliged to indite Hill to clear up his
character, and for God’s sake do not expose me.”—(_Here the narrative
breaks off_.)As an orator, he delivers himself in a full, clear, articulate, tone of
voice; but, to criticise his style, or analyse the _substance_ of his
discourse, would be a fruitless labour; it would be like dissecting a
cobweb.Unmeaning rhapsodies and unconnected sentences, through which
the faintest gleam of morality is not to be traced, must, from their
evanescent nature, set the powers of recollection at defiance, they even
escape the lash of contempt.But, to gratify the reader, the following
_notes_ of a SERMON was taken down in short-hand as he delivered it:—
“God is frequently going forth, and we also are often going to the
window to look for him; the more _vile I am_ made to appear to the
_world_, the more God will _assist_ me.Every citizen is a
free-born.Many have wondered how I could go through so much
trouble.There have been a great many that have wished to see me—I
can inform them, I had much rather they had wished to see Christ.People may be laughed at for being fools, but, you may depend upon
it, the more God will like them.All that believe not will certainly
be damned.The duties of christianity are not to be preached to an
ungodly world.John Church is very much spoken of, but they had much
better speak of Jesus.The people of the established church feel no
spiritual joy.Spiritual discourse is enlivening to the senses.&c.
The bread of life is not to be given away to _dogs_.I am not going
to turn auctioneer, but I am going to inform you, that, next Lord
day, I am going to publish a book, proving that God, the Son, and the
Spirit, are all one great God.My sermon will be good news and
comfort to all poor sinners.Satan and all his spirits never sleeps;
the power of life and death is only in the hands of our Lord Jesus
Christ.Devils are allowed to harass the people of God day and
night,—no wonder they perplex those they can’t destroy.People are
mostly liable to fall, in their first love, into awful heresies and
temptation.All the Lord’s people do not see into the glory of my
text—’tis like a jewel in a rock of adamant.—The worst sin was the
murdering of God’s saints.When I sit in darkness the Lord will be a
light unto me.I am never tired of preaching, and, I believe, my
dear brethren are never tired of hearing me.Many men laugh at the
doctrine of the new birth—are there not many learned doctors that
know nothing of it?Let a man come under any circumstances, I will
receive him—Don’t laugh at the doctrine of inspiration; be wise, it
has often been preached by our church.If every one that is saved
should be as bright as the sun, what a place heaven must be, where
there will be so many millions!Angels beckon me away, and Christ
bids me come.The sight of Christ, you may depend on’t, will be
worth suffering for.O that I had the voice of an archangel, I would
indeed do wonders.I doubt the superiority of one angel over another
in heaven—Christ is entirely independent of or with God.We must
have the spirit of God before we are his people.Believe in the
predestination of eternal life, but not in eternal death; people that
suffer were before-hand predestined so to do _by God_.Bad or horrid
is the religion of a proud pharisee.The MOB is seldom stirred up
but through priests; there is now a case of the very kind: envy
bursts forth through jealous and envious neighbouring _priests_, and
published by _deists_, there can be nothing to fear; and, I verily
believe; that any thing prayed for to Christ will certainly be
granted, as has always been the case with me.Let us for ever
endeavour to turn every thing, whether good or bad, into good.I do
not care who hears me, whether _God_ or _man_, _friends_ or _foes_,
_devils_ or _angels_, or any thing else; and let them call me an
Antinomian again if they please.There must be spiritual life in the
soul.I do not believe that God begot Jesus Christ—they say too that
Joseph was an impostor, at this very day:—everything that is done
against the church is done against Christ; also, that which is done
against Christ is done against the church; and anything done against
the people of God is done against Christ.It is a most blessed thing
that we can throw our burthens upon Christ.That religion that is
preached by the people of God is God himself.There can be no going
forth until the spirit of God has entered.The Lord Jesus Christ and
the people of God are all one.Christ has no sorrow but the people
of God must sympathise with him; and the people of God have no
affliction but that Christ sympathises with them.This monster—when
he was about to preach, would frequently say to his
_favorites_;—“Well, I am going tip ’em a gammoning story, my old
women would believe the moon to be made of green cheese, If I was to
tell them so.And I must tell them something.”
In consequence of a respectable young tradesman, in the Borough, Mr.E—
B—, who was one of his hearers, becoming disgusted with his hypocrisy,
and some attempts he had made upon him, leaving him altogether, he wrote
the following beastly epistles:—
Had this wretch received a classical education, one might suppose he had
been writing a paraphrase on Virgil’s eclogue, beginning with the
line—_Formasum_ Pastor Corydon _Ardebat Alexin_.Copy of a letter, written by the Rev.John Church, Minister of the
Obelisk-Chapel, Blackfriars’-Road, to Mr.E— B—, Rodney-Street,
Kent-Street, Borough, dated March 3, 1809.“Dear Ned,
“May the best blessings be yours in life and in death, while the
sweet sensations of real genuine disinterested friendship rules every
power of your mind, body, and soul.I can only say I wish you as
much captivated with sincere friendship as I am; but we all know our
own feelings best.Friendship, those best of names,—affection, those
sweetest power,—like some powerful charm that overcomes the mind.He
looked hard into her eyes, and she returned the stare."Come here," he commanded, hoarsely, catching her arm.He led her to the brink, which was close enough to set him
shuddering anew.It's a wonder he's
on his feet; I thought he'd be dead--and serve him right.And you--you
wonder if you broke your kodak!"Beatrice drew back from him, and from the sight below, and if she were
frightened, she tried not to let him see.She was proud of the steadiness of her voice."Really, I am very much
obliged to you, Mr.Cameron, for saving me from an ugly fall.You did it
very neatly, I imagine, and I am grateful.Still, I really hope I didn't
break my kodak.Are you very disappointed because I can't faint away?There doesn't seem to be any brook close by, you see--and I haven't my
er--lover's arms to fall into.Those are the regulation stage settings,
I believe, and--"
"Don't worry, Miss Lansell.I didn't expect you to faint, or to show any
human feelings whatever."You didn't a minute ago," she reminded him."You indulged in a bit of
profanity, if I remember.""For which I beg Goldie's pardon," he retorted, his eyes unsmiling."I think it's rather absurd to stand here sparring, Mr.You'll
begin to accuse me of ingratitude, and I'm as grateful as possible for
what you did.Sir Redmond's horse was too slow to keep up, or he would
have been at hand, no doubt.""And could have supplied part of the stage setting.Keith turned and readjusted the cinch on his saddle, though it
was not loose enough to matter, and before he had finished Sir Redmond
rode up.His face was pale, and his eyes anxious.Cameron kindly helped me from the saddle in time to
prevent an accident.I wish you'd thank him, Sir Redmond."You needn't trouble," said Keith hastily, getting into the saddle.You can easily find the camp, I guess,
without a pilot."Then he galloped away and left them, and would
not look back; if he had done so, he would have seen Beatrice's eyes
following him remorsefully.Also, he would have seen Sir Redmond glare
after him jealously; for Sir Redmond was not in a position to know that
their tete-a-tete had not been a pleasant one, and no man likes to have
another fellow save the life of a woman he loves, while he himself is
limping painfully up from the rear.However, the woman he loved was very gracious to him that day, and for
many days, and Keith Cameron held himself aloof during the rest of the
trip, which should have contented Sir Redmond.Dorman toiled up the steps, his straw hat perilously near to slipping
down his back, his face like a large, red beet, and his hands vainly
trying to reach around a baking-powder can which the Chinaman cook had
given him.He marched straight to where Beatrice was lying in the hammock.If she
had been older, or younger, or a plain young woman, one might say that
Beatrice was sulking in the hammock, for she had not spoken anything but
"yes" and "no" to her mother for an hour, and she had only spoken
those two words occasionally, when duty demanded it.For one thing,
Sir Redmond was absent, and had been for two weeks, and Beatrice was
beginning to miss him dreadfully.To beguile the time, she had ridden,
every day, long miles into the hills.Three times she had met Keith
Cameron, also riding alone in the hills, and she had endeavored to amuse
herself with him, after her own inimitable fashion, and with more or
less success.The trouble was, that sometimes Keith seemed to be amusing
himself with her, which was not pleasing to a girl like Beatrice.At any
rate, he proved himself quite able to play the game of Give and Take,
so that the conscience of Beatrice was at ease; no one could call her
pastime a slaughter of the innocents, surely, when the fellow stood his
ground like that.It was more a fencing-bout, and Beatrice enjoyed it
very much; she told herself that the reason she enjoyed talking with
Keith was because he was not always getting hurt, like Sir Redmond--or,
if he did, he kept his feelings to himself, and went boldly on with
the game.Item: Beatrice had reversed her decision that Keith was
vain, though she still felt tempted, at times, to resort to "making
faces"--when she was worsted, that was.To return to this particular day of sulking; Rex had cast a shoe, and
lamed himself just enough to prevent her riding, and so Beatrice was
having a dull day of it in the house.Besides, her mother had just
finished talking to her for her good, which was enough to send an angel
into the sulks--and Beatrice lacked a good deal of being an angel.Dorman laid his baking-powder can confidingly in his divinity's lap."Be'trice, I did get some grasshoppers; you said I couldn't.And
you wouldn't go fishin', 'cause you didn't like to take Uncle Dick's
make-m'lieve flies, so I got some really ones, Be'trice, that'll wiggle
dere own self.""'Tisn't, Be'trice It's dest as cool--and by de brook it's awf-lly
cold.He pulled at the smart little pink ruffles on her
skirt."You can sleep by de brook, Be'trice.I'll let you," he promised
generously, "'cept when I need anudder grasshopper; nen I'll wake you
up."I don't believe the fish are hungry to-day.Don't
tear my skirt to pieces, Dorman!"He had never found his divinity in so unlovely
a mood.Dey are too hungry, Be'trice!Looey Sam is
goin' to fry my fishes for dinner, to s'prise auntie."Why don't you go with the child, Beatrice?Lansell could not endure selfishness--in others."You know he
will not give us any peace until you do."Dorman instantly proceeded to make good his grandmother's prophecy, and
wept so that one could hear him a mile.Be still, Dorman--your auntie has a headache.Well, get
your rod, if you know where it is--which I doubt."Beatrice flounced
out of the hammock and got her hat, one of those floppy white things,
fluffed with thin, white stuff, till they look like nothing so much as
a wisp of cloud, with ribbons to moor it to her head and keep it from
sailing off to join its brothers in the sky.Down by the creek, where the willows nodded to their own reflections in
the still places, it was cool and sweet scented, and Beatrice forgot her
grievances, and was not sorry she had come.(It was at about this time that a tall young fellow, two miles down the
coulee, put away his field glass and went off to saddle his horse.)"Don't run ahead so, Dorman," Beatrice cautioned.To her had been given
the doubtful honor of carrying the baking-powder can of grasshoppers.Even divinities must make themselves useful to man.Dorman swished his rod in unpleasant proximity to his
divinity's head."Because, honey"--Beatrice dodged--"you might step on a snake, a
rattlesnake, that would bite you.""How would it bite, Be'trice?""With its teeth, of course; long, wicked teeth, with poison on them.""I saw one when I was ridin' on a horse wis Uncle Dick.It kept windin'
up till it was round, and it growled wis its tail, Be'trice.Sandra went to the garden.And Uncle
Dick chased it, and nen it unwinded itself and creeped under a big rock.It didn't bite once--and I didn't see any teeth to it.""Carry your rod still, Dorman.Are you trying to knock my hat off my
head?Rattlesnakes have teeth, hon, whether you saw them or not.Mary travelled to the bathroom.I saw a
great, long one that day we thought you were lost."Did it growl, Be'trice?Beatrice parted her lips ever so little, and a
snake buzzed at Dorman's feet.He gave a yell of terror, and backed
ingloriously."You see, honey, if that had been really a snake, it would have |
hallway | Where is Mary? | Never mind, dear--it was only I."Dorman was some time believing this astonishing statement."How did you
growl by my feet, Be'trice?Sandra went to the garden.Beatrice, who had learned some things at school which were not included
in the curriculum, repeated the performance, while Dorman watched her
with eyes and mouth at their widest.Like some older members of his sex,
he was discovering new witcheries about his divinity every day."I don't see how can
you do it?Can't I do it, Be'trice?""I'm afraid not, honey--you'd have to learn.There was a queer French
girl at school, who could do the strangest things, Dorman--like fairy
tales, almost.And she taught me to throw my voice different places, and
mimic sounds, when we should have been at our lessons.This is how a little lamb cries, when he is lost.... And this is what a
hungry kittie says, when she is away up in a tree, and is afraid to come
down."Dorman danced all around his divinity, and forgot about the fish--until
Beatrice found it in her heart to regret her rash revelation of hitherto
undreamed-of powers of entertainment."Not another sound, Dorman," she declared at length, with the firmness
of despair."No, I will not be a lost lamb another once.No, nor a
hungry kittie, either--nor a snake, or anything.If you are not going to
fish, I shall go straight back to the house."Dorman sighed heavily, and permitted his divinity to fasten a small
grasshopper to his hook."We'll go a bit farther, dear, down under those great trees.And you
must not speak a word, remember, or the fish will all run away."When she had settled him in a likely place, and the rapt patience of the
born angler had folded him close, she disposed herself comfortably in
the thick grass, her back against a tree, and took up the shuttle of
fancy to weave a wonderful daydream, as beautiful, intangible as the
lacy, summer clouds over her head.A man rode quietly over the grass and stopped two rods away, that he
might fill his hungry eyes with the delicious loveliness of his Heart's
Desire.Dorman turned and wrinkled his nose, by way of welcome, and shook his
head vaguely, as though he might tell of several unimportant nibbles, if
it were worth the effort.Beatrice sat a bit straighter, and dexterously whisked some pink ruffles
down over two distracting ankles, and hoped Keith had not taken notice
of them.He had, though; trust a man for that!Keith dismounted, dropped the reins to the ground, and came and laid
himself down in the grass beside his Heart's Desire, and Beatrice
noticed how tall he was, and slim and strong.she wanted to know, with lifted
eyebrows.Keith wondered if there was a welcome behind that sweet, indifferent
face.He never could be sure of anything in Beatrice's face, because it
never was alike twice, it seemed to him--and if it spoke welcome for
a second, the next there was only raillery, or something equally
unsatisfying."I saw you from the trail," he answered promptly, evidently not thinking
it wise to mention the fieldglass.Not
that he wanted Dick--but a fellow, even when he is in the last stages of
love, feels need of an excuse sometimes."No--we women are alone to-day.There isn't a man on the place, except
Looey Sam, and he doesn't count."Dorman squirmed around till he could look at the two, and his eyebrows
were tied in a knot."I wish, Be'trice, you wouldn't talk, 'less you
whisper."All right, honey--we won't."Dorman turned back to his fishing with a long breath of relief.His
divinity never broke a promise, if she could help it.If Dorman Hayes had been Cupid himself, he could not have hit upon a
more impish arrangement than that.To place a girl like Beatrice beside
a fellow like Keith--a fellow who is tall, and browned, and extremely
good-looking, and who has hazel eyes with a laugh in them always--a
fellow, moreover, who is very much in love and very much in earnest
about it--and condemn him to silence, or to whispers!Keith took advantage of the edict, and moved closer, so that he could
whisper in comfort--and be nearer his Heart's Desire.He lay with his
head propped upon his hand, and his elbow digging into the sod and
getting grass-stains on his shirt sleeve, for the day was too warm for a
coat.Beatrice, looking down at him, observed that his forearm, between
his glove and wrist-band, was as white and smooth as her own.It is
characteristic of a cowboy to have a face brown as an Indian, and hands
girlishly white and soft."I haven't had a glimpse of you for a week--not since I met you down by
the river.Rex went lame, and Dick wouldn't let me ride any other horse,
since that day Goldie bolted--and so the hills have called in vain.I've
stayed at home and made quantities of Duchesse lace--I almost finished
a love of a center piece--and mama thinks I have reformed.But Rex is
better, and tomorrow I'm going somewhere.""Better help me hunt some horses that have been running down Lost Canyon
way.I'm going to look for them to-morrow," Keith suggested, as calmly
as was compatible with his eagerness and his method of speech.I doubt
if any man can whisper things to a girl he loves, and do it calmly."I shall probably ride in the opposite direction," Beatrice told him
wickedly.She wondered if he thought she would run at his beck."I never saw you in this dress before," Keith murmured, his eyes
caressing."I have so many things to wear out,
you know.""I like it," he declared, as emphatically as he could, and whisper."It
is just the color of your cheeks, after the wind has been kissing them a
while.""Fancy a cowboy saying pretty things like that!"Beatrice's cheeks did not wait for the wind to kiss them pink."Ya-as, only fawncy, ye knaw.""Good reason why; he couldn't, not if he tried a thousand years."Beatrice knew this was the truth, so she fell back upon dignity."We will not discuss that subject, I think."I know another subject a million times more
interesting than Sir Redmond."Keith caught her hand; his eyes compelled her."I think," said Beatrice, drawing her hand away, "we will not discuss
that subject, either."It occurred to Beatrice that an unsophisticated girl might easily think
Keith in earnest, with that look in his eyes.Dorman, scowling at them over his shoulder, unconsciously did his
divinity a service.Beatrice pursed her lips in a way that drove Keith
nearly wild, and took up the weapon of silence."You said you women are alone--where is milord?"Keith began again,
after two minutes of lying there watching her."Sir Redmond is in Helena, on business.He's been making arrangements to
lease a lot of land."Keith snapped a twig off a dead willow."We look for him home to-day, and Dick drove in to meet the train.""So the Pool has gone to leasing land?"The laugh had gone out of
Keith's eyes; they were clear and keen."Yes--the plan is to lease the Pine Ridge country, and fence it.I
suppose you know where that is.""It isn't Dick's idea," Beatrice told him.Mary travelled to the bathroom.Dick
is rather angry, I think, and came near quarreling with Sir Redmond
about it.But English capital controls the Pool, you know, and Sir
Redmond controls the English capital, so he can adopt whatever policy
he chooses.The way he explained the thing to me, it seems a splendid
plan--don't you think so?"Keith's tone was not quite what he meant it to be; he did not
intend it to be ironical, as it was."It's a snap for the Pool, all
right.It gives them a cinch on the best of the range, and all the
water.I didn't give milord credit for such business sagacity."Beatrice leaned over that she might read his eyes, but Keith turned
his face away.In the shock of what he had just learned, he was, at the
moment, not the lover; he was the small cattleman who is being forced
out of the business by the octopus of combined capital.Sandra moved to the bathroom.It was not less
bitter that the woman he loved was one of the tentacles reaching out to
crush him.And they could do it; they--the whole affair resolved itself
into a very simple scheme, to Keith.The gauntlet had been thrown
down--because of this girl beside him.It was not so much business
acumen as it was the antagonism of a rival that had prompted the move.Keith squared his shoulders, and mentally took up the gauntlet.He might
lose in the range fight, but he would win the girl, if it were in the
power of love to do it.I hope it isn't--will it inconvenience you?"Mary travelled to the hallway.No--" Keith seemed to forget that a
superabundance of negatives breeds suspicion of sincerity."I'm afraid that means that it will.And I'm sure Sir Redmond never
meant--"
"I believe that kid has got a bite at last," Keith interrupted, getting
up."Let me take hold, there, Dorman; you'll be in the creek yourself in
a second."He landed a four-inch fish, carefully rebaited the hook, cast
the line into a promising eddy, gave the rod over to Dorman, and went
back to Beatrice, who had been watching him with troubled eyes.Cameron, if I had known--" Beatrice was good-hearted, if she was
fond of playing with a man's heart."I hope you're not letting that business worry you, Miss Lansell.You
remind me of a painting I saw once in Boston."But this is August, so I don't apply.Isn't there some way you--"
"Did you hear about that train-robbery up the line last week?"Keith
settled himself luxuriously upon his back, with his hands clasped under
his head, and his hat tipped down over his eyes--but not enough
to prevent him from watching his Heart's Desire.And in his eyes
laughter--and something sweeter--lurked.If Sir Redmond had wealth to
fight with, Keith's weapon was far and away more dangerous, for it was
the irresistible love of a masterful man--the love that sweeps obstacles
away like straws."I am not interested in train-robberies," Beatrice told him, her eyes
still clouded with trouble."They got one fellow the next day, and another got rattled and gave
himself up; but the leader of the gang, one of Montana's pet outlaws,
is still ranging somewhere in the hills.You want to be careful about
riding off alone; you ought to let some one--me, for instance--go along
to look after you."Do you suppose, if Sir Redmond had known--"
"Those fellows made quite a haul--almost enough to lease the whole
country, if they wanted to.Something over fifty thousand dollars--and a
strong box full of sand, that the messenger was going to fool them with.He did, all right; but they weren't so slow.They hustled around and got
the money, and he lost his sand into the bargain.""If
you're quite through with the train-robbers, perhaps you will tell me
how--"
"I'm glad old Mother Nature didn't give every woman an odd dimple beside
the mouth," Keith observed, reaching for her hat, and running a ribbon
caressingly through his fingers.Beatrice smoothed the dimple complacently with her finger-tips.Oh, it would get kind of monotonous, wouldn't it?""This from a man known chiefly for his pretty speeches!"Beatrice's
laugh had a faint tinge of chagrin."Wouldn't pretty speeches get monotonous, too?"Keith's eyes were
laughing at her."Yours wouldn't," she retorted, spitefully, and immediately bit her lip
and hoped he would not consider that a bid for more pretty speeches."Be'trice, dis hopper is awf-lly wilted!"came a sepulchral whisper from
Dorman.Keith sighed, and went and baited the hook again.When he returned to
Beatrice, his mood had changed."I want you to promise--"
"I never make promises of any sort, Mr.Beatrice had
fallen back upon her airy tone, which was her strongest weapon of
defense--unless one except her liquid-air smile."I wasn't thinking of asking much," Keith went on coolly."I only wanted
to ask you not to worry about that leasing business."No, I can't say I expect to lose sleep over it.I
hope you will dismiss anything I may have said from your mind."I feel that you blame Sir Redmond, when I'm
sure he--"
"I did not say I blamed anybody.You'll tell me all about it, if I want to know."Beatrice adopted her coaxing tone, which never had failed her."A girl can't always have her own way
just because she wants it, even if she--"
"I've got a fish, Mr.Dorman squealed, and Keith was obliged
to devote another five minutes to diplomacy."I think you have fished long enough, honey," Beatrice told Dorman
decidedly."It's nearly dinner time, and Looey Sam won't have time to
fry your fish if you don't hurry home.Shall I tell Dick you wished to
see him, Mr."It's nothing important, so I won't trouble you," Keith replied, in
a tone that matched hers for cool courtesy."I'll see him to-morrow,
probably."He helped Dorman reel in his line, cut a willow-wand and
strung the three fish upon it by the gills, washed his hands leisurely
in the creek, and dried them on his handkerchief, just as if nothing
bothered him in the slightest degree.Then he went over and smoothed
Redcloud's mane and pulled a wisp of forelock from under the brow-band,
and commanded him to shake hands, which the horse did promptly."I want to shake hands wis your pony, too," Dorman cried, and dropped
pole and fish heedlessly into the grass.Dorman went up gravely and clasped Redcloud's raised fetlock solemnly,
while the tall cow-puncher smiled down at him."Kiss him, Redcloud," he said softly; and then, when the horse's nose
was thrust in his face: "No, not me--kiss the kid."He lifted the child
up in his arms, and when Redcloud touched his soft nose to Dorman's
cheek and lifted his lip for a dainty, toothless nibble, Dorman was
speechless with fright and rapture thrillingly combined."Now run home with your fish; it lacks only two hours and forty minutes
to dinner time, and it will take at least twenty minutes for the fish to
fry--so you see you'll have to hike."Beatrice flushed and looked at him sharply, but Keith was getting into
the saddle and did not appear to remember she was there.The fingers
that were tying her hat-ribbons under her chin fumbled awkwardly and
trembled.Beatrice would have given a good deal at that moment to know
just what Keith Cameron was thinking; and she was in a blind rage with
herself to think that it mattered to her what he thought.When he lifted his hat she only nodded curtly.She mimicked every beast
and bird she could think of on the way home, to wipe him and his horse
from the memory of Dorman, whose capacity for telling things best left
untold was simply marvelous.It is saying much for Beatrice's powers of entertainment that Dorman
quite forgot to say anything about Mr.Cameron and his pony, and
chattered to his auntie and grandmama about kitties up in a tree, and
lost lambs and sleepy birds, until he was tucked into bed that night.It was not until then that Beatrice felt justified in drawing a long
breath.Not that she cared whether any one knew of her meeting Keith
Cameron, only that her mother would instantly take alarm and preach to
her about the wickedness of flirting; |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | "Dick, I wish you'd tell me about this leasing business.There are
points which I don't understand."Beatrice leaned over and smoothed
Rex's sleek shoulder with her hand."What do you want to understand it for?We've got
the fence-posts strung, and a crew hired to set them.""You needn't snap your words like that, Dick.It doesn't matter--only I
was wondering why Mr.Cameron acted so queer yesterday when I told him
about it."I don't see that it matters where I saw him.You're
getting as inquisitive as mama.If you think it concerns you, why, I met
him accidentally when I was fishing with Dorman.He was coming to see
you, but you were gone, so he stopped and talked for a few minutes.And I told him you were leasing
the Pine Ridge country, and he looked--well, peculiar."Well, he had good reason for looking peculiar.But you needn't have
told him I did it, Trix.Lay that at milord's door, where it belongs.I
don't want Keith to blame me."Sandra went to the garden.But--you see, Trix, it's this way: A man goes somewhere
and buys a ranch--or locates on a claim--and starts into the cattle
business.He may not own more than a few hundred acres of land, but if
he has much stock he needs miles of prairie country, with water, for
them to range on.He takes care to
locate where there is plenty of public land that is free to anybody's
cattle.We don't own land enough to feed
one-third of our cattle.We depend on government land for range for
them.Mary travelled to the bathroom.The Cross outfit is the same, only Keith's is on a smaller scale.Sandra moved to the bathroom.He's got to have range outside his own land, which is mostly hay land.This part of the State is getting pretty well settled up with small
ranchers, and then the sheep men keep crowding in wherever they can get
a show--and sheep will starve cattle to death; they leave a range as
bare as a prairie-dog town.So there's only one good bit of range left
around here, and that's the Pine Ridge country, as it's called.That's
our main dependence for winter range; and now when this drought has
struck us, and everything is drying up, we've had to turn all our cattle
down there on account of water."Ever since I took charge of the Pool, Keith and I threw in together and
used the same range, worked our crews together, and fought the sheepmen
together.There was a time when they tried to gobble the Pine Ridge
range, but it didn't go.Keith and I made up our minds that we needed it
worse than they did--and we got it.Our punchers had every sheep herder
bluffed out till there wasn't a mutton-chewer could keep a bunch of
sheep on that range over-night."Now, this lease law was made by stockmen, for stockmen.They can lease
land from the government, fence it--and they've got a cinch on it as
long as the lease lasts.A cow outfit can corral a heap of range that
way.There's the trick of leasing every other section or so, and then
running a fence around the whole chunk; and that's what the Pool has
done to the Pine Ridge.But you mustn't repeat that, Trix."Milord wasn't long getting on to the leasing graft; in fact, it turns
out the company got wind of it over in England, and sent him over here
to see what could be done in that line."And there's the Cross outfit, frozen out completely.The Lord only
knows what Keith will do with his cattle now, for we'll have every drop
of water under fence inside of a month.I
expect he feels pretty sore with me, too, but I couldn't help it.I
explained how it was to milord, but--you can't persuade an Englishman,
any more than you can a--"
"I think," put in Beatrice firmly, "Sir Redmond did quite right.It
isn't his fault that Mr.Cameron owns more cattle than he can feed.If he was sent over here to lease the land, it was his duty to do so."Keith won't sit down and take his medicine if he can help it," Dick
said moodily."He could sell out, but I don't believe he will."I can't see how fighting will help him," Beatrice returned spiritedly."Well, there's one thing," retorted Dick."If milord wants that fence to
stand he'd better stay and watch it.I'll bet money he won't more than
strike Liverpool till about forty miles, more or less, of Pool fence
will need repairs mighty bad--which it won't get, so far as I'm
concerned.""Do you mean that Keith Cameron would destroy our fencing?""He'll be a fool if he don't, Trix.You can tell milord
he'd better send for all his traps, and camp right here till that lease
runs out.My punchers will have something to do beside ride fence.""I shall certainly tell Sir Redmond," Beatrice threatened.Cameron hate him just because he's English.You won't see what a
splendid fellow he is.It's your duty to stand by him in this business,
instead of taking sides with Keith Cameron.Why didn't he lease that
land himself, if he wanted to?""Meaning, I suppose, that Sir Redmond doesn't.I didn't think you would
be so unjust."Well, you've got a chance to marry your 'perfect gentleman," Dick
retorted, savagely."It's a wonder you don't take him if you think so
highly of him."At any rate, he isn't a male flirt.""You don't seem to fancy a fellow that can give you as good as you
send," Dick rejoined."I thought you wouldn't find Keith such easy game,
even if he does live on a cattle ranch.You can't rope him into making a
fool of himself for your amusement, and I'm glad of it."If you could overhear some of the
things he says you wouldn't be so sure--"
"I suppose you take them all for their face value," grinned Dick
ironically.I'm not a simple country girl, let me remind you.Since
you are so sure of him, I'll have the pleasure of saying, 'No, thank
you, sir,' to your Keith Cameron--just to convince you I can."Well, you just tell me when you do, Trix, and I'll give
you your pick of all the saddle horses on the ranch.""I'll take Rex, and you may as well consider him mine.A few smiles, judiciously dispensed, and--" Beatrice smiled most
exasperatingly at her brother, and Dick went moody and was very poor
company the rest of the way home.At dusk that night a glow was in the southern sky, and the wind carried
the pungent odor of burning grass.Dick went out on the porch after
dinner, and sniffed the air uneasily."I don't much like the look of it," he admitted to Sir Redmond."It
smells pretty strong, to be across the river.I sent a couple of the
boys out to look a while ago.If it's this side of the river we'll have
to get a move on.""It will be the range land, I take it, if it's on this side," Sir
Redmond remarked.Just then a man thundered through the lane and up to the very steps of
the porch, and when he stopped the horse he was riding leaned forward
and his legs shook with exhaustion."The Pine Ridge Range is afire, Mr.Dick took a long pull at his cigar and threw it away."Have the boys
throw some barrels and sacks into a wagon--and git!"He went inside and
grabbed his hat, and when he turned Sir Redmond was at his elbow."I'm going, too, Dick," cried Beatrice, who always seemed to hear
anything that promised excitement."I never saw a prairie-fire in my
life.""It's ten miles off," said Dick shortly, taking the steps at a jump."I don't care if it's twenty--I'm going.cried her mother detainingly; but Beatrice was gone to get
ready.A quick job she made of it; she threw a dark skirt over her
thin, white one, slipped into the nearest jacket, snatched her
riding-gauntlets off a chair where she had thrown them, and then
couldn't find her hat.Down in the
hall she appropriated one of Dick's, off the hall tree, and announced
herself ready.Sir Redmond laughed, caught her hand, and they raced
together down to the stables before her mother had fully grasped the
situation.Dick, his foot in the stirrup, stopped long enough to glance over his
shoulder at her."Aren't you going to wait, Dick?"Men were hurrying here and there, every move counting something done.While she stood there a wagon rattled out from the shadow of a haystack,
with empty water-barrels dancing a mad jig behind the high seat, where
the driver perched with feet braced and a whip in his hand.After him
dashed four or five riders, silent and businesslike.In a moment they
were mere fantastic shadows galloping up the hill through the smothery
gloom.Then came Jim, leading Rex and a horse for himself; Sir Redmond had
saddled his gray and was waiting.Beatrice sprang into the saddle and
took the lead, with nerves a-tingle.The wind that rushed against her
face was hot and reeking with smoke.Mary travelled to the hallway.Her nostrils drank greedily the
tang it carried.cried Sir Redmond, peering at her through the murky gloom.So they raced recklessly over the hills, toward where the night was
aglow.Before them the wagon pounded over untrailed prairie sod, with
shadowy figures fleeing always before.Here, wild cattle rushed off at either side, to stop and eye them
curiously as they whirled past.There, a coyote, squatting unseen upon
a distant pinnacle, howled, long-drawn and quavering, his weird protest
against the solitudes in which he wandered.The dusk deepened to dark, and they could no longer see the racing
shadows.The rattle of the wagon came mysteriously back to them through
the black.Once Rex stumbled over a rock and came near falling, but Beatrice only
laughed and urged him on, unheeding Sir Redmond's call to ride slower.They splashed through a shallow creek, and came upon the wagon, halted
that the cowboys might fill the barrels with water.Then they passed by,
and when they heard them following the wagon no longer rattled glibly
along, but chuckled heavily under its load.The dull, red glow brightened to orange.Then, breasting at last a long
hill, they came to the top, and Beatrice caught her breath at what lay
below.A jagged line of leaping flame cut clean through the dark of the coulee.Mary went back to the kitchen.The smoke piled rosily above and before, and the sullen roar of it
clutched the senses--challenging, sinister.Creeping stealthily,
relentlessly, here a thin gash of yellow hugging close to the earth,
there a bold, bright wall of fire, it swept the coulee from rim to rim."The wind is carrying it from us," Sir Redmond was saying in her ear.I ought to go down and lend a hand.""Oh, no, I'm not afraid.Go; there is Dick,
down there."Sir Redmond turned and rode down the ridge toward the flames.His
straight figure was silhouetted sharply against the glow.Beatrice slipped off her horse and sat down upon a rock, dead to
everything but the fiendish beauty of the scene spread out below her.Millions of sparks danced in and out among the smoke wreaths which
curled upward--now black, now red, now a dainty rose.Off to the left a
coyote yapped shrilly, ending with his mournful howl.This was a world she had never
before seen--a world of hot, smoke-sodden wind, of dead-black shadows
and flame-bright light; of roar and hoarse bellowing and sharp crackles;
of calm, star-sprinkled sky above--and in the distance the uncanny
howling of a coyote.She saw men running to and fro in the
glare, disappearing in a downward swirl of smoke, coming to view again
in the open beyond.Always their arms waved rhythmically downward,
beating the ragged line of yellow with water-soaked sacks.The trail
they left was a wavering, smoke-traced rim of sullen black, where before
had been gay, dancing, orange light.In places the smolder fanned to new
life behind them and licked greedily at the ripe grass like hungry, red
tongues.It crept slyly into an
unburned hollow, and the wind, veering suddenly, pushed it out of sight
from the fighters and sent it racing merrily to the south.The main line
of fire beat doggedly up against the wind that a minute before had been
friendly, and fought bravely two foes instead of one.It dodged, ducked,
and leaped high, and the men beat upon it mercilessly.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.But the little, new flame broadened and stood on tiptoes defiantly,
proud of the wide, black trail that kept stretching away behind it; and
Beatrice watched it, fascinated by its miraculous growth.The writer esteems this to be a successful restoration of the Nature
that was wanting in the prints of this subject, (which has often been
engraved by PICART and others,) after RUBENS.The original picture it
has been our ill-fortune never to have seen.The shaggy manes, and the
latent terror that sits gloomily enthroned in the open eyes of the
superior Lion—suited to the darkness of the den, and the nature of this
animal’s sense of vision,—are as well thought of, as they are executed;
and are varied with much address from the closed eyes of the couching
Lion beyond, of which also the character is most happily marked.A
powerful and divine spell possesses them both.THE TIGER WHICH MARCHES IN OUR PROCESSION, without an object before him
to call forth emotion, possesses a calm character, combined with the
resistless strength of that dreadful quadruped; whose very tranquillity,
in his leisure sauntering, when no excitement is acting on his nerves,
has an appalling effect.—His brow is clouded, though his claws are
sheathed.There is a possibility of a dreadful storm which may not be
far distant, and that is enough to stamp the Tiger’s character.None
shall dare to arouse his energies, nor to encounter them when aroused.V.
THIS GROUP OF PLAYFUL LEOPARDS, AFTER RUBENS, must be supposed to belong
to the jocund train of Bacchus, since they are luxuriating at their
ease, among grapes and vine branches.These Leopards are doubtless
intended to have a degree of playful expression—induced perhaps by the
exhilarating juice of the grape: and we should “guess” (as _Jonathan_
says) that this group was studied from a litter of half-grown kittens.Few, however, except the sailors who were accustomed to gambol with the
Tiger-cub on board the Pitt East-Indiaman, would like to venture to
frolic _with_ them.------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: 3
_E.Spilsbury del^t._ _T.Landseer sculp^t._
LIONS after RUBENS.]------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: 4
_E.Spilsbury del^t._ _T.Landseer sculp^t._
TIGER after NATURE.]------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: 5
_E.Spilsbury del^t._ _T.Landseer sculp^t._
LEOPARDS after RUBENS.]------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: 6
_E.Landseer del^t._ _T.Landseer sculp^t._
CONTENDING GROUP after NATURE.]------------------------------------------------------------------------
No.EDWIN LANDSEER there is much of violent animal
_Expression_, and Character fades before it, or |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | Sandra went to the garden.It tells a story of the past as well as the present, and is pregnant
with a catastrophe not difficult to anticipate from the actions and
expressions of the parties engaged.A FAWN has been seized by a LEOPARD,
who has been despoiled of his prey by a more powerful TIGER.The Tiger
in his turn becomes the victim of an enraged LION.The expression of the wounded Leopard is that of painful suffering
mingled with dread.The Tiger is still enraged and resisting, though astounded with
the power and suddenness of the Lion’s attack.He is losing his energy
of resistance, and is beginning to feel that all resistance is vain.He
roars with anguish; while his expression is that of terror, and
indignation not yet subdued.The Lion, who has just made his thundering spring, appears conscious of
having fatally seized his adversary, and luxuriates fearlessly in his
victory; and with a powerful and just expression of carnivorous
enjoyment.—Meanwhile the characters of the animals, severally, are
faithfully and specifically represented.Although our main purpose be to exhibit rather a pictorial than a
physiological view of the subject: having descanted on the word
Character, we shall probably be expected to add, at least a word or two,
on the leading characteristics of the carnivorous class of quadrupeds.The generic characters of the Feline, or Cat, kind, are easily
enumerated in the concise language of the naturalists.Their heads are
round; their visages short: they have six cutting teeth, and two canine,
in either jaw: their tongues are aculeated, the prickles inclining
backward; their claws sharp, hooked, and retractile; their ears small
and acuminated; they have five toes on each of the fore-feet, and four
only on those behind.Of this genera of Cats, we here exhibit the four principal species,
Lions, Tigers, Leopards, and Panthers, of which the Lion is justly
placed at the head—at least, the unanimous voice of ages has pronounced
him to be the king of beasts, and we have enthroned him accordingly in
our Title-page, (No.Mary travelled to the bathroom.They form a tribe that is especially and
properly _Carnivorous_, being the only class of quadrupeds that are
exclusively _flesh-eaters_.Sandra moved to the bathroom.Their jaws are very completely armed for
this purpose; their canine teeth being very long and angular, with the
edges of the angles turned toward the inside of their mouths; so that
when the animal has caused them to meet, or cross each other in the
flesh of its prey, these formidable teeth will cut or tear a way
through, by drawing them back without opening his mouth.Their claws, and the formation of their feet, too, are eminently
conducive to their predacious and carnivorous habits.They walk on their
toes: yet not so much from that habitual stealthiness of pace, by which
they advance unperceived till within a spring of their prey; as because
it is also the means of that celerity of motion which is necessary to
the very existence of animals that can feed only on flesh.Their claws are exceedingly powerful; and they are enabled to draw them
up into sheaths between their toes, so as to prevent their points from
touching the ground; whence they are called retractile; and those claws
are, in consequence, always kept sharp, unworn, and ready for active
service.The eyes of the Feline tribe—of every face in nature a striking and
important feature—vary in the different species, and are capable of much
alteration in the same animal; as instinctive impulse, or internal
emotion, changes the expression of his countenance; and also from the
degrees of light which act upon their pupils.Of Lions the pupils of the
eyes are circular, and not of a yellow colour, as has been stated in the
most diffuse modern dissertations on the Carnivora, but black.It is the
iris of the Lion’s eye that is yellow.They appear to be best suited to
nocturnal, or twilight, vision; and hence the Lion rarely hunts his prey
while the sun is above the horizon—perhaps never, but when pressed by
hunger in an extraordinary degree.The Tiger, on the contrary, will seek
his prey by day as well as by night; and during twilight the colour of
his eyes is that of a blue-green flame.If a stranger passes near a
Tiger in a menagerie, the colour of the animal’s eyes will sometimes
alter suddenly, from yellow-green to blue-green; not from any alteration
in the degree of light acting upon them, but from mental excitement, and
from a certain natural facility of expansion and contraction of the
eye-pupils.Hence a characteristic difference between the Lion and the Tiger.The
habits of the latter are diurnal, and he disregards night-fires: the
Lion, on the contrary, whose eyes are not calculated for the glare of
day, cannot bear to encounter fire-light at night.Yet these physical
conformations are sometimes overcome by the rage of hunger; and hence,
in MR.EDWIN LANDSEER’S contending group, the Lion is represented as
attacking the Tiger although it be day.BELL treats learnedly, and we believe with much originality, of the
facial-muscles of this class of quadrupeds, in his “Anatomy of
Expression.”—We shall offer a few extracts, by which the reader will
perceive how limited are their powers of expression of countenance, when
compared with those of human nature, notwithstanding their superiority
over all other quadrupeds.“The violent passions mark themselves so distinctly on the countenances
both of men and of animals, that we are apt in the first instance to
consider the movements by which they are indicated, as certain signs or
characters provided by Nature, for the express purpose of intimating the
internal emotion; and to suppose that they are interpreted by the
observer in consequence of a peculiar and instinctive faculty.This view
of things, however, so natural at first sight, is not altogether
satisfactory to philosophy; and a more jealous observation of the facts,
seems to suggest an opposite theory, in which instinctive agency is
rejected, and the appearances are explained from a consideration of the
necessities and voluntary exertions of the animal.With regard to the
observer, it has been asserted, that it is by experience alone that he
distinguishes the signs of the passions; that we learn, while infants,
to consider smiles as expressions of kindness, because they are
accompanied by acts of beneficence and by endearments; and frowns as the
contrary, because we find them followed by blows; that the expression of
anger in a brute, is only that which has been observed to precede his
biting; and that of fondness, his fawning and licking of the hand.Mary travelled to the hallway.With
regard to the creature itself, it is said, what has been called the
external signs of passion, are merely the concomitants of those
voluntary movements, which the passions or habits suggest; that the
glare of the Lion’s eye, for example, is the consequence of a voluntary
exertion to see his prey more clearly—his grin, or snarl, the natural
motion of uncasing his fangs before he uses them.This, however, is not
quite true of all animals and of all expression of passion.”
“Attending merely to the evidence furnished by anatomical investigation,
all that I shall venture to affirm is this: that a remarkable difference
is to be found between the anatomy and range of expression, in man and
in animals: that in the former there seems to be a systematic provision
for that mode of communication and that natural language, which is to be
read in the changes of the countenance: that there is no emotion in the
mind of man which has not its appropriate signs; and that there are even
muscles in the human face to which no other use can be assigned than to
serve as the organs of this language: that, on the other hand, there is
in the lower animals no range of expression which is not fairly
referable as a mere accessary to the voluntary or needful actions of the
animal; and that this accessary expression does not appear to be in any
degree commensurate to the variety and extent of the animal’s passions.”
“There appears to me (continues MR.BELL) to be no expression in the
face of any animal lower in the scale of being than quadrupeds; and in
them the strongest and most marked expression is that of rage; the
object of which is opposition, resistance, and defence.But on
examination it will be found (consistently with the position, that this
is merely an accessary of the motions natural to the accomplishment of
the object which the animal has in view) that the strength of the
expression is in exact proportion to the strength of the principal
action in the creature when thus excited.“The gramnivorous animals, which seek their subsistence, not by preying
upon others, nor by the ferocity, contest, and victory which supply the
carnivorous with food, have in their features no strong expression of
rage.Their expression is chiefly confined indeed to the effect produced
on the general system.Thus the inflamed eye and the breathing nostrils
of the Bull, are induced only by the general excitement.His only proper
expression of rage, is in the position of the head, with the horns
turned obliquely to the ground, ready to strike: and indeed it may be
observed in general that animals which strike with the horns, shew
little indication of fear or rage, except in the position of the head.In all gramnivorous animals, the skin of the head is closely attached to
the skull, and capable only of very limited motion: the eye is almost
uniformly mild, and the lips unmoved by passion.“It is in carnivorous animals, with whose habits and manner of life,
ferocity is instinctively connected, as the great means of their
subsistence, that rage is distinguished by the most remarkable strength
of expression.The eye-ball is terrible, and the retraction of the flesh
of the lips indicates the most savage fury.But the first, is merely the
exerted attention of the animal; and the other a preparatory exposure of
the canine teeth.The great animals of prey—the Lion and the Tiger—are
quite incapable of any other expression of feature, than this particular
display of ferociousness.When they fawn upon their keeper, there is no
motion in their features that indicates affection.”
In this assertion, that the countenances of the great animals of prey
are incapable of any other than ferocious expression, we do not quite
coincide with our learned physiologist.Mary went back to the kitchen.When they fawn upon their
keeper, we think that indications of affection are exhibited; and find
ourselves ready to ask what else than kindly expression is that “licking
of the hand” which our author has before mentioned.If, however, we
should grant that they may not be capable of affectionate expression
toward their keeper, we can scarcely doubt that—toward their young—if we
could observe them in their wild state, and in their moments of playful
intercourse and enjoyment among each other—they are: at least, we think
there are motions in their features that indicate affection, as well as
fear, enquiry, surprise, gratitude, pleasurable wantonness, and some
other sentiments, or emotions.This is our conviction: at the same time,
we perceive that the range of their ferocious expression far exceeds the
savage circle of their domestic charities.Are not even the least of
these observable in the habits and manners of the domestic Cat, who
belongs to the Tiger genera?But we have even seen a Tiger in his den,
who looked good-natured enough to be stroked and patted: and of the
Lion, of whom MR.GRIFFITH relates the following anecdote, what can be
said or thought?“Hearing some noise under his cage, the Lion passed his paw between the
bars, and actually hauled up his keeper who was cleaning beneath; but as
soon as he perceived that he had thus ill used his master, he instantly
lay down upon his back in an attitude of complete submission.”
Or what can be said of the circumstance mentioned by SENECA (of which he
was personally witness), of a Lion, to whom a man, who had formerly been
his keeper, was exposed for destruction in the amphitheatre at Rome; and
who was not only instantly recognised, but defended and protected by the
grateful beast?—Or of the story related by DR.SOUTHEY, of the Lion who
had broken loose, submitting to the Cid, and allowing himself to be led
back peaceably to his place of confinement?------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: 7
_E.Spilsbury del^t._ _T.Landseer sculp^t._
LION & SNAKE after NATURE.]Daniel travelled to the bedroom.------------------------------------------------------------------------
Could any painter of talent proceed to represent either of these
_facts_, without finding in the countenance of the Lion, the muscles and
the means of expressing a corresponding gentleness, or generosity, of
feeling?What could be said or thought of these things?Why it may be said, and
will be thought, by all those who take both sides of the argument fairly
into the question—that MR.BELL has discovered and declared, that the
muscles of affection, do not exist in the carnivora.Ergo, that the
sentiment which we so translate or acknowledge—the appearances (that is)
with which we may find ourselves affected—can only be expression of a
negative kind; resulting from the relaxation of those muscles whose
tension is necessary to the purposes, or the expression, of ferocity:
that “the force of Nature can no further go;” and that the painter—the
supposed painter, of such subjects, who is appealed to above—in order to
be in any degree successful, must “make a third, by joining the former
two”—that is to say, by mingling a portion of human nature with that of
the animal: which brings us round to the practice and the probable
theory of RUBENS; of which it affords more justification, and of a
higher kind, than superficial reasoners can be aware of.But, when muscles of affection are mentioned, do we talk of a positive
and acknowledged certainty; or only of a construction that has been put
upon certain muscles of the face, by those who have an hypothesis to
maintain, or who can trace affectionate expression in no other?And, are
we thence to infer the exhaustion of the subject, and non-entity of the
expression?SPILSBURY’S LION, who has turned round his head to look at a Snake,
affords a delineated example in point.Here is no more, we think, than
the latent capability of ferocity: just so much as cannot be separated
from the native character of this noble quadruped.—The eye-ball is here,
not “terrible;” nor is “the most savage fury” indicated by the
retraction of the lips, although the lower canine teeth are exposed.Here is a general sense of dignity; but the leading, present expression
of the moment, (as it strikes us,) is that of curiosity, or excited
attention; mingled with some degree of surprise that a contemptible
little Snake should presume to roll his puny volumes in the royal
presence.It would appear that the Lion has heard something hiss, and
cares a little, to know what it may be.Will it be further objected that this is _Art_?—To be sure it is.But we
think that such Lion-looks are to be seen in Nature; and that such were
seen, when the Dog which appealed to, and obtained, the _royal_ pity,
was first thrown into the Lion’s den at the Tower.We believe that this
representation of the Lion and Snake is not taken from any old master,
but is MR.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.SPILSBURY’S own design.Neither is there any expression of ferocity, but of home comfort, in
these two maneless Lions—or LION and LIONESS of SENEGAL.That which is
asleep, however, rather illustrates our definition of _Character_, and
is so far out of the question.Mary journeyed to the office.The Lioness—who is awake, is a kind of
_Belle-Sauvage_.Entirely without ferocity, she has some little
expression of attention gently aroused by some slight cause—less
important, we should think than the distant cry of a Chacal—a |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | But her expression of
countenance, is almost as mild as that of a kitten in a chimney
corner.—In fact, they seem—notwithstanding their Herculean strength—a
kind of hearth-rug Lions.Sandra went to the garden.[1]
Footnote 1:
This was written before the beautiful hearth-rug Lion introduced to us
by Mr.Crosse of Leeds, and which is equal to the finest painting.After venturing to express this slight difference of opinion (if it
amount to so much) with our distinguished anatomist of Expression, we
return, with becoming respect, to his valuable Treatise: though as we do
not propose to exhibit, like him, an anatomical and comparative view of
the Carnivorous and Gramnivorous genera, we shall confine ourselves to a
short extract or two, relating to the Carnivora alone—
“It is of man alone that we can with strict propriety say the
countenance is an index of the mind, having expression corresponding
with each emotion of the soul.Other animals have no expression but that
which arises by mere accident, the concomitant of the emotions necessary
to the accomplishment of the object of the passions.”—
“I have to remark, as relative to painting, (my original subject of
enquiry) that this remarkable difference between the expression in man,
and animals, naturally leads us to investigate what are the
peculiarities of mere animal expression.“In order to see distinctly what the peculiarities of mere animal
expression are, it seems proper to reduce the muscles of expression in
animals, to their proper classes.These muscles, as they appear in the
several quadrupeds, may be distinguished into—1.Those which raise the
lips from the teeth: 2.Those which surround the eye-lids: and 3.Mary travelled to the bathroom.Those
which move the nostrils.”
He next proceeds to state that “in the Carnivorous animal, the muscles
of the lip are so directed as to raise the lip from the canine
teeth;”—and these he distinguishes by the name of “_Ringentes_, or
snarling muscles.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: 8
_E.Spilsbury del^t._ _T.Landseer sculp^t._
SENEGAL LION & LIONESS after REYDINGER.]------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: 9
_E.Spilsbury del^t._ _T.Landseer sculp^t._
LION & TIGER after STUBBS.]------------------------------------------------------------------------
The snarling muscles take their origin from the margin of the orbit of
the eye, and from the upper jaw, and are inserted into that part of the
upper lip from which the whiskers grow, and which is opposite to the
canine teeth; and although they are assisted in this office by other
muscles, (the masticating and zygomatic muscles,) I have ventured to
distinguish them particularly as the muscles of snarling.This action of
snarling is quite peculiar to the ferocious and carnivorous animals.Muscles which surround the eye-lid.In man the upper eye-lid is
raised by a muscle coming from the bottom of the orbit.But, besides
this muscle, animals of prey in whom there is that peculiar and
ferocious splendour of the eye, which we distinguish in the Tiger, for
example, or the Lion—have three muscles infixed in the eye-lids, which
drawing the eye-lids backward upon the peculiarly prominent eye-ball,
produce the fixed straining of the eye, and by stretching the coats,
give a greater brilliancy to the reflection.These muscles may be
classed under the term _Scintillantes_.The muscles of the nostril are not less distinct and peculiar, in
different classes of animals, than those of the eyes and lips.In the
Carnivorous animals, the nose is comparatively insignificant, provision
being made in the open mouth for any occasional increase of respiration
above the uniform play of the lungs.”
Taking respectful, friendly, and reluctant leave of MR.BELL, we trust
that conformity will be found between these pictorial remarks and
anatomical elucidations of his, and our engraved representations of the
Carnivora.The interior of a rocky den, where the LION dares to intrude on the
retired repose of a ROYAL TIGER, copied by MR.SPILSBURY from the
Sketch-book of STUBBS.On the part of the Tiger, there is expressed a
certain half frantic suspension of purpose.His look is fierce, though
apprehensive, and as if his mind was not made up whether to become the
assailant, or stand on the defensive.He is evidently taken by surprise;
and if he does not fear, he is thoroughly conscious (as DR.JOHNSON
said, when he was to meet LORD THURLOW) that “there is something to
_encounter_:” while the Lion, feeling also that he has met with his
match, is arousing his terrible energies.The heroes are threatening:
the storm has gathered: and is about to burst in fury.With regard to the “ferocious splendour of their eyes,” and the exposure
of their canine teeth by means of the _Ringentes_, the reader will find
here a strict accordance with MR.X.
The TIGRESS of BENGAL, which has been designed, as well as etched, by
MR.THOMAS LANDSEER, from that at the Exeter ’Change Menagerie, affords
also a pertinent illustration of the principles which MR.BELL had
derived from combining study with dissection: theory with practice.The
“three muscles infixed in the eye-lids, which, drawing the eye-lids
backward upon the peculiarly prominent eye-ball, produce the fixed
straining of the eye, and by stretching the coats, give a greater
brilliancy to the reflection,” are here brought into action by a violent
and unexpected outrage done to the maternal feelings.Here too is
exemplified the origin, insertion, and physical use, of those snarling
muscles, which are so properly named and defined by our learned
anatomist.We cannot but wish, however, that he had written also of
those of the lower jaw, which so powerfully conduce to this snarling and
dreadful expression.Sandra moved to the bathroom.The mother has arrived at a fortunate conjuncture for her cubs, which
lie sleeping below, in a small den or dark recess of the bank, whither a
Serpent has stolen.Twisted among the jungle, which affords an
advantageous post both of attack and defence for the Serpent—the Tigress
has reason to dread an enemy so powerful and insidious; and, as in the
preceding Engraving, both parties are prepared for the encounter, and
fully aware of the importance of a first blow.THESE RAMPANT LIONS, bear the name of RUBENS as their author.Mary travelled to the hallway.SIR JOHN
SEBRIGHT, we believe, has the original picture.It would neither
deteriorate from its intrinsic merit as a work of art, nor from its
nominal value (we suspect), should it turn out to be from the pencil of
SNYDERS; or a performance of RUBENS and SNYDERS in conjunction.They not
unfrequently painted on the same canvas; but the high reputation and
rank of RUBENS, has in some measure absorbed that of his coadjutor,
except among first-rate connoisseurs—whereas, in all that relates to the
details of Nature, SNYDERS was the superior painter of _animals_: and
our reasons for thinking that he had at least a hand in this picture of
the rampant Lions, are, 1st, The superior attention which is here paid
to the details of Nature.2ndly, That the action of the nearest of the
two Lions, is precisely that of the same animal, in SNYDERS’ very
capital picture from the fable of the Lion liberated by the Mouse, now
in the Cabinet of THOMAS FRANKLIN, Esq.3rdly, That the study in oil of
a dead Lion, in the collection of G. WATSON TAYLOR, Esq.also believed
to be from the hand of SNYDERS, bears internal evidence of being
painted, not only from Nature, but from the very same individual Lion,
with the above.It appears as
if SNYDERS, having obtained possession of a dead Lion, after making the
study now belonging to MR.TAYLOR, had put him in this rampant attitude,
and painted from him as long as he lasted.But perhaps RUBENS and
SNYDERS did this in concert: for on the other hand may be recollected a
masterly sketch in oil of the heads only of these rampant Lions, which
was exhibited at the British Gallery two seasons ago, bearing the _name_
of RUBENS.If this name was written by RUBENS himself, the probability
is as above stated, that both artists painted at the same time from the
same model.On this point we do but sum up such evidence as is before
us, leaving the verdict to the reader.------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: 10
_Tho^s.et sculp^t._
TIGRESS after NATURE.]------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: 11
_E.Mary went back to the kitchen.Spilsbury del^t._ _T.Landseer sculp^t._
LIONS after RUBENS.]------------------------------------------------------------------------
We believe that this subject also, has passed through the medium of an
Etching by BLOTELING, for it differs in some minor respects from the
picture in the gallery of SIR JOHN SEBRIGHT.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.It however affords further
illustration of the theory of expression laid down by MR.BELL, while it
embodies the Scriptural idea of a “ramping and roaring Lion seeking whom
he may devour.”
We have mentioned above, our having been disposed, on a certain occasion
of visiting a public menagerie, to pat and stroke a Royal Tiger as he
lay in his den with his nose toward the spectator, and whose looks,
though certainly far from angelic, we could almost have called amiable:
yet this is very far from being the character of the Tiger.To stroke,
or pat, or touch them in any way, however, no person should ever
venture, except their keepers; even the tame Tigers, that are sometimes
brought up almost without animal food by the mendicant priests of
Hindostan, are strictly prohibited from being touched—“under the utmost
rigours of religious anathema,” says COL.WILLIAMSON, who relates a
circumstance of his having visited a Faukeer who kept a Tiger of this
kind in the wilds of Colgong.The amiable-looking Tiger of whom we have spoken, lay something in the
attitude and manner of the principal PANTHER, in the present picturesque
group which MR.SPILSBURY copied from the Sketch-book of that admirable
painter and anatomist of animals, STUBBS.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.Perhaps this sentiment of ours, may be ascribed—in part at least—to the
undulations of form, glossiness of surface, and brilliancy of colours,
of these interesting creatures, reviving the early mental impressions
which we remember to have received at the sight of shining and speckled
shells, butterflies’ wings, and other objects of pure beauty; and in
part to our having associated ideas of innocence and domesticated habits
and comfort, with the “sympathetic mirth” (as GOLDSMITH’S phrase is) of
sportive kittens.It may not be unworthy of our best philosophy to pause here, and observe
how Nature contrives to mingle, and seems to insist on mingling,
sentiments and mental impressions, which analysing man is so fond of
reducing to first elements—as he calls them.Surely there is, about
these Carnivorous and terrible creatures, a saving grace—a beauty in
their dreadfulness, which is exceedingly interesting, although it
co-exist with cruelty: for if they are cruel, their cruelty is
involuntary, and not implacable; and therefore, if not pardonable, not
hateful—while the external beauty which they possess, is of a positive
nature.Reverting here to our own scholastic distinction, we think that Nature
has, in the instance of this species of quadrupeds, mingled with similar
success, energy of character, with a degree of mildness of expression.The natural character of the Panther is fearfully ferocious, yet a
superinduced kindly expression may be seen in this group from the pencil
of STUBBS—a sworn disciple of Nature—which may shew that in their home
retiredness, they have not been left destitute of the means of letting
each other see that they are sociable, friendly, and not entirely
without the means of expressing the gentler emotions.Mary journeyed to the office.Men are perhaps
too exclusively disposed to look at the objects around them, as those
objects immediately concern themselves: MR.Mary went back to the bedroom.STUBBS, in composing this
capital group, took a more extensive and genuine view of things; and
notwithstanding the Panther is larger and more formidable than the
Leopard (from which quadruped he is not always easily distinguishable),
has depicted them as scarcely less mild and gentle than the domestic
Cat.The evidence of facts, however, when set in apposition, affords, in all
probability, the most efficacious and convincing means of manifesting
such principles as we are here submitting, while they exhibit the
_varieties_ of animal expression to the best advantage; and we therefore
introduce another GROUP of PANTHERS, from the same Sketch-book, by
STUBBS, more malignant in their aspects.------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: 12
_E.Spilsbury del^t._ _T.Daniel went to the garden.Landseer sculp^t._
PANTHERS after STUBBS.]------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: 13
_E.Spilsbury del^t._ _T.Landseer sculp^t._
PANTHERS after STUBBS.]------------------------------------------------------------------------
No.This is what one might call a domestic, or family, group; but they seem
here to be meditating prey, and by no means so good-humoured as in the
former instance, where they might be fancied to be quietly enjoying
themselves after a sufficient repast.The two groups, when viewed
together, seem very much to assist our perceptions of the capability of
this animal of gentle, as well as of savage, expression.—They are
contrasted, indeed, though without the direct opposition of violent
brutal action, to calm repose: the eye being the chief seat of the
difference.But neither the gentle, nor the more ferocious and
malignant-looking, Panthers, or Tigers, will bear any comparison for
commanding majesty of appearance with the regal Lion, whether in a calm
or an excited state—as the vignette of our title-page is ready to bear
witness.There is good chiaroscuro in both of the above groups; and the scene of
rocky wildness in which the latter are placed, as well as the rich
colouring of the fur of the animals, are ably indicated.The reader may perhaps not be displeased to attend here for a moment, to
a short epitome of what the Naturalists have said concerning the
distinctive marks of this interesting quadruped, the Panther: nor to be
informed or reminded of the strong resemblance which he bears to the
Leopard.SHAW observes that LINNÆUS himself has confounded the Panther with
the Leopard; but adds, that “a true distinctive mark between them, is by
no means easy to communicate either by description or even by figure.”
He thinks that the Leopard is the smaller of the two species of animals,
and its colour a paler yellow: and MR.GRIFFITH, in his “Carnivora,”
says, “A very fine animal is now exhibiting at Exeter ’Change under the
name of Leopard, which is much larger as well as brighter than any other
Leopard in that Menagerie, and should, therefore, according to SHAW,
seem to be the Panther.But |
office | Where is Sandra? | CROSS, who has had
opportunities of inspecting probably some hundreds of specimens, insists
that he has never observed any specific difference between those brought
from Asia and Africa, among themselves, except that the Asiatic are
generally larger and brighter.”
LICHTENSTEIN, in a note communicated to MAJOR SMITH, describes the
Panther as resembling the Jaguar, in having the same number of rows of
spots, but different in having no full spots, on the dorsal line.If
this be correct, then is the existence of the Panther established as
being distinct from the Leopard: but I do not find that full spots on
the dorsal line always make a specific difference of the Jaguar.When,
therefore, it is said, that the Panther much resembles the Jaguar, it is
always strongly to be suspected that the type whence the observations
are taken is an American animal.If the contrary be clearly established,
and the animal be found to have large round or oval open marks of black,
with a central spot on the sides and back, and a tail longer than from
its insertion to the ground, it may be concluded that it is the real
Panther.Lastly, that indefatigable investigator, CUVIER, says he was long in
doubt whether the Panther and Leopard were distinct: but a comparison of
a great number of skins, as well as observations on the numerous animals
sent to the French Museum, have satisfied him that they are different;
and he accordingly describes the Panther as having six or seven rows of
rose-like spots in transverse lines, the tail longer and the head larger
than the Jaguar, and the ground-colour of the fur paler.The Leopard he
describes as a little less than the Panther, though with the same
proportions; but the spots, as much more numerous, forming ten
transverse lines.The opinion of CUVIER is certainly deserving of the greatest attention;
but it may be observed that his enumeration of the six or seven rows of
spots in the Panther, and of ten in the Leopard, is not so certainly
intelligible as might be desired, when it is considered that the spots
or marks in question have really little or no parallelism.Notwithstanding, therefore, this respectable authority, it seems very
probable that the Panther and Leopard are one and the same species,
which branches into two varieties, the Asiatic and the African; the
former of which is brighter in colour, and probably something larger
than the latter; and that the females of both are paler and less than
the other sex.CICERO, in his letters to ATTICUS, speaks of the Panther
of Africa, and the Asiatic Panther; as if they were different.The ancient naturalists were not a whit more successful in
distinguishing these two quadrupeds, than the moderns, notwithstanding
the opportunities which they possessed of inspecting so many.GRIFFITH comments on SHAW, LICHTENSTEIN, and CUVIER; so did CICERO and
PLINY, on ARISTOTLE.Her marriage with the Duke of Kent was one of unmistakable
affection, and was a very happy one.Their tastes were similar; but her
meekness and tact had a beneficial influence in mitigating a certain stern
and abrupt brusqueness which he partly inherited from his father, and
partly derived from the camps and garrison towns in which his youth was
spent.The simplicity and tender unaffectedness of her manners--a
peculiarity distinctive of the highest class of well-bred German
women--and her fascinating combination of gentleness with gaiety, not
only won and bound, by daily increasing ties, the affections of her
husband, but of all those who had the good fortune to become personally
acquainted with her admirable life and disposition.FIRST YEARS OF CHILDHOOD.Old Memories of Kensington Palace--Enlargements of the Structure by
William III., Anne, Queen Caroline, and the Duke of Sussex--Maids of
Honour--Rank and Beauty in the Gardens--Wilberforce and the Infant
Princess--Victoria at Ramsgate--A Picture of Victoria when Five Years
old--Her Physical Training--Popularity as a Child--Her Youthful
Charities--A Narrow Escape from Death--Early Development of Quick
Intelligence--Anecdotes--Love of Nature--Proneness to Self-will--But
Counterbalanced by Candour--Waggishness--A Portrait of the
Child-Princess by Leigh Hunt.The infancy, girlhood, and budding womanhood of the Princess Victoria were
chiefly spent at the Royal Palace of Kensington.It was her mother's fixed
residence, but the family were much at Claremont, where the Queen
testifies that she spent the happiest days of her childhood.There were
frequent trips made, too, to various watering-places; and, as the Princess
grew in years, visits were paid at the country houses of some of the
nobility.Leigh Hunt, in his exquisite book of gossip entitled "The Old
Court Suburb," thus happily describes the more salient and prominent
features of the somewhat sombre region of the Queen's up-bringing:--
In vain we are told that Wren is supposed to have built the south
front, and Kent (a man famous in his time) the east front.We can no
more get up any enthusiasm about it as a building, than if it were a
box or a piece of cheese.But it possesses a Dutch solidity; it can
be imagined full of English comfort; it is quiet; in a good air; and,
though it is a palace, no tragical history is connected with it: all
which considerations give it a sort of homely, fireside character,
which seems to represent the domestic side of royalty itself, and thus
renders an interesting service to what is not always so well
recommended by cost and splendour.Windsor Castle is a place to
receive monarchs in; Buckingham Palace to see fashion in; Kensington
Palace seems a place to drink tea in: and this is by no means a state
of things in which the idea of royalty comes least home to the good
wishes of its subjects.The reigns that flourished here, appositely
enough to this notion of the building, were all tea-drinking
reigns--at least on the part of the ladies; and if the present Queen
does not reign there, she was born and bred there, growing up quietly
under the care of a domestic mother; during which time, the
pedestrian, as he now goes quietly along the gardens, fancies no
harsher sound to have been heard from the Palace windows than the
"tuning of the tea-things," or the sound of a pianoforte.Mary journeyed to the garden.[Sidenote: KENSINGTON PALACE.]The associations of Kensington Palace are almost entirely with the earlier
Hanoverian reigns; the later Georges neglected it.Rumour hath it that
this royal domain originated in the establishment of a nursery for the
children of Henry VIII.If it were so, Elizabeth and Victoria must have
been brought up on the same spot; but the tradition is not well supported.Its first ascertained proprietor was Heneage Finch, Speaker of the House
of Commons at the accession of the First Charles, who built and occupied
only a small nucleus of the present structure, which was enlarged from
time to time by most of its successive occupants, but with no pretension,
and without much plan.From the second Earl of Nottingham, the grandson of
Finch, William III.The latter he enlarged
to the extent of twenty-six acres.To these Anne added thirty, and to
these in turn Queen Caroline, wife of George II., added three hundred.The house had been the while proportionately growing.Its last expansion
was contributed by the Duke of Sussex.The gardens were pedantically squared to Dutch uniformity by William of
Orange, and the semblance of a Court which he held in this Palace was
correspondingly gloomy and dismal.The most singular visitor ever received
by William was the Czar Peter, who drove hither _incognito_ in a hackney
coach, on his arrival in London, and was afterwards entertained here with
some slight show of state.In Anne's time, the palace and gardens were
little livelier than in William's.The Queen hedged herself in behind
absurd _chevaux-de-frise_ of etiquette, and the court chroniclers of the
period record little else than eating and drinking.Swift and Prior,
Bolingbroke and Marlborough, Addison and Steele, nevertheless, lent
occasional gleams of brightness and dignity to the otherwise sombre scene.The most fascinating and memorable association of Kensington Palace is in
connection with the Courts of the first two Georges, and of the son of the
latter, Frederick Prince of Wales.These associations are specially
connected with the bevies of frolicsome, and sometimes frail, maids of
honour, who now live in the pages of Pope and Gay, of Hervey and Walpole.Chief among them was the gay, sprightly, and irresistible Molly Leppell,
who resisted, in a manner equally indignant and comical, the degrading
overtures of the coarse-souled George II.She married Hervey, the most
effeminate and egregious dandy of his time.Chesterfield thus toasted her
in a ballad on the beauties of the Court;--
Oh!if I had Bremen and Varden,
And likewise the Duchy of Zell,
I'd part with them all for a farden,
To have my dear Molly Leppell.Caroline of Anspach, consort of Frederick, Prince of Wales, introduced the
habit of promenading in gorgeous costume in the gardens, first on
Saturday, then on Sunday, afternoons.By degrees the quality were admitted
as well as the royal family and their immediate attendants.The liberty
was gradually extended to the general public.Hence it was that Kensington
Gardens became in time as open to all comers as are the royal parks.These
gorgeous promenades ceased with the commencement of the last malady of
George III.It was in allusion to the stately train of attendant beauties
who accompanied the Princess Caroline of Wales, that Tickell wrote--
Each walk, with robes of various dyes bespread,
Seems from afar a moving tulip bed,
Where rich brocades and glossy damasks glow,
And chintz, the rival of the showery bow.Here England's Daughter, darling of the land,
Sometimes, surrounded with her virgin band,
Gleams through the shades.She, towering o'er the rest,
Stands fairest of the fairer kind confess'd;
Form'd to gain hearts that Brunswick's cause denied,
And charm a people to her father's side.With the death of George II., the glory departed from Kensington.No
future English King favoured or frequented it.never resided
in the Palace, and it was altogether too dull and homely for his eldest
son.He was willing enough that his bookish brother Sussex, and his steady
brother Kent, should abide in it; and, as one writer puts it, depicting
the "first gentleman in Europe" in a light far from pleasing, but for the
use of which we fear there was too much foundation--"He was well content
to think that the staid-looking house and formal gardens rendered the spot
a good out-of-the-way sort of place enough, for obscuring the growth and
breeding of his niece and probable heiress, the Princess Victoria, whose
life, under the guidance of a wise mother, promised to furnish so
estimable a contrast to his own."[Sidenote: WILBERFORCE AND THE PRINCESS.]It was in the rooms, rich with such varied associations as those, some few
of which we have cited, and surrounded by the remarkable collection of
pictures, chiefly by Byzantine and early German painters--that England's
future Queen grew up from babyhood to womanhood.Amongst the very earliest
notices of the infant Princess is the following, which we cite from a
letter written by Wilberforce to his friend, Hannah More, on the 21st
July, 1820.He says:--
In consequence of a very civil message from the Duchess of Kent, I
waited on her this morning.She received me with her fine animated
child on the floor by her side, with its playthings, of which I soon
became one.She was very civil; but, as she did not sit down, I did
not think it right to stay above a quarter of an hour; and there being
but a female attendant and footman present, I could not well get up
any topic, so as to carry on a continued discourse.She apologised for
not speaking English well enough to talk it; but intimated a hope that
she might talk it better and longer with me at some future time.She
spoke of her situation [this was, probably, in reference to the cold
treatment of her and hers by George IV.], and her manner was quite
delightful.Four years later, the Duchess and the little Princess paid one of many
visits to Ramsgate: and it would appear that the Duchess of Kent had
already succeeded in being able to talk English "better and longer" with
Wilberforce "at some future time;" for an eye-witness, who was familiar
with all the group, witnessed the following scene.It was a fine summer
day: too warm anywhere but on the shore of the sea, the breeze from which
sufficiently moderated the temperature.A little girl, with a fair, light
form, was sporting on the sands in all the redolence of youth and health.Her dress was simple--plain straw bonnet, with a white riband round the
crown, a coloured muslin frock, and "as pretty a pair of shoes, on as
pretty a pair of feet, as I ever remember to have seen from China to
Kamschatka"--so testifies the authority from whom we quote.The child had
two companions--her mother and William Wilberforce.Sandra went back to the office.The latter looked as
lovingly on the child as did her mother.His kindly eye followed with
tender interest her every footstep, and he was evidently meditating on the
great destiny which was in store for her, when her mother, less
meditative, more concerned with the affairs of the present, suddenly
observed that her daughter had got her shoe's wetted by a breaker.She
waved her hand, and Victoria, obedient to the signal, at once rejoined her
mother and her friend.Perhaps another motive might have been at work in
the mother's breast; for immediately the child had joined the elders,
Wilberforce took her hand in both of his, and addressed to her some kindly
words, doubtless of excellent counsel, for the blue eyes of the girl
looked fixedly at her venerable instructor, and the devoted mother glanced
from one to the other, evidently interested and affected by the contrast.Wilberforce was no wearisome restrainer of the buoyancy of youth; a few
minutes later, he and his young companion were standing at the margin of
the tide, watching the encroachments of each new breaker, and the
dexterity with which a pet Newfoundland dog brought bits of stick out of
the waves.[Sidenote: MORAL TRAINING.]During the earliest years of her childhood, Victoria does not seem to have
been harassed with book-learning--a most wise and excellent omission.In
1823, the Dowager Duchess of Coburg wrote to her daughter--"Do not yet
tease your little puss with learning; she is so young still."The Queen's
mother followed the good advice; it was the cultivation of the heart of
her child at which she first strove.Above everything, any approach to
pride or hauteur was discouraged.The convictions equally with the natural
temperament of the Duchess, led her to regard such a quality as specially
to be avoided.She was trained to be courteous, affable, lively, and to
put social inferiors perfectly at their ease.In her juvenile sea-side and
other excursions, it was constantly observed by every one that the faces
of the bathing-women, and others of the same class, whose services were
needed, lighted up with genuine, unaffected gladness whenever the young
Princess appeared.The following little picture deserves to be |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | Whether she was too depressed to beg, or too exhausted at that moment to
make the effort, I cannot tell, but she asked for no alms, and even
looked not at the passers-by.The young Princess was attracted by her
appearance, and spoke to the Duchess: 'I think not,' were the only words I
heard from her mamma; and, 'Oh, yes, indeed!'was all I could catch of the
youthful reply.I have no doubt the Duchess thought the old woman was not
in need of relief, or would be offended by the offer of alms; but the
Princess had looked under her bonnet, and gained a better insight into her
condition.There was a momentary pause; the Princess ran back a few steps
most nimbly, and with a smile of heartfelt delight placed some silver in
the hands of the old Irishwoman.Tall and stately was the poor creature,
and as she rose slowly with clasped hands and riveted features, she
implored the blessing of Heaven on the 'English lady.'She was so taken by
surprise by this unexpected mark of beneficence on the part of she knew
not whom, that she turned over her sixpences again and again, thanked the
Virgin, as well as the 'young lady,' a thousand times, and related to
those who stopped to hear her exclamations, the 'good luck' that had come
upon her."[Sidenote: THE QUEEN'S CHILDHOOD.]While still not a year old, and ere her father's death, the intensity of
interest which the people took in the safety and welfare of the Princess
had been strongly displayed in the universal satisfaction which was
expressed at her providential escape from being wounded, if not killed, in
consequence of some boys shooting at birds near the temporary residence of
the Duke at Sidmouth.Some of the shots penetrated the window of the
nursery, and passed very near the child's head.This universal interest
became yet deeper, when, after the lapse of two or three years, both of
the daughters of the Duke of Clarence having died, and there being no
probability of any issue in the line of either the Dukes of York or
Clarence, she became the eventual successor to the throne, in the event of
the deaths of these two elder brothers of her father.It was now learned
with delight that she passed through the ordinary maladies of childhood
favourably, and that her recovery from them was speedy.The public had
ample opportunities afforded them of observing her growing and healthful
strength; and all commented with pleasure upon the circumstance that she
was not kept secluded from the view and observation of the people, that
her rides and walks were generally in public, that she was growing up
towards maturity in the sight of the nation, and as the child of the
country.It was further a matter of great general rejoicing that those who
were selected, even from the earliest period, to surround her person were
of the most irreproachable character, and that moral worth was sought for
in her preceptors even more than brilliant attainments.It is especially worthy of notice that the Duke and Duchess of Clarence,
their hearts not being made in the slightest degree callous or soured by
their own melancholy bereavements and the disappointment of their fondest
hopes, formed and displayed for their niece a sincere and warm attachment.They took from the very first the warmest interest in all her vicissitudes
and illnesses; and when they became King and Queen their elevated
positions only seemed to increase the warmth of their regard, and the
copious flow of their practical kindness.It was, therefore, no wonder
that when, under Providence, Victoria became Queen she treated the Queen
Dowager with most unequivocal respect and esteem, regarding her
suggestions with deference, and her wishes with loving compliance.Spite of many sinister rumours, the Princess grew up strong and vigorous.Her mother was especially careful to fortify her constitution, and so to
prepare it to encounter the hard work and manifold anxiety which are the
inevitable lot of a British sovereign.Many there were--some of them with
ends of their own to gain--who kept prophesying that "the daughter of the
Duke of Kent would never attain her legal majority;" or, that "she would
never marry;" again, that "she could never become the mother of a family."Much alarm was caused by these prognostications.For one thing was above
all others ardently desired by the nation--that the Duke of Cumberland,
who stood next in succession after the Princess, should never become King
of England.Mary journeyed to the garden.Even if he had not been an object of something more than
suspicion, it was universally desired that England should never again
(after King William's death) be united with Hanover under one monarch.But
as facts became known by degrees about the Princess, as her healthy face
and agile frame became familiar in London, and in many parts of the land,
the apprehensions died away, and the "frail, delicate, sickly child,"
whose fabricated ailments had been made the subject of so much sham
sympathy, was looked upon as a fabulous invention.Sandra went back to the office.[Sidenote: LEARNING TO READ.]It soon became known that her physical and mental characteristics were of
a nature directly the opposite of what had been so industriously reported.She was extremely active, and had a healthy love of sports and games.She
had an inquiring mind, not only restless in the pursuit, but clear in the
comprehension of knowledge.She soon developed, too, much decision of
character.Seemingly incapable of fatigue, she was the first to begin, and
the last to leave off, a study, a romp, a game, a new duty, and equally
eager to resume an old occupation.This peculiarity, it was gladly
observed, was an inheritance from her father; but her mother also set her
a congenial example of industry and perseverance.Such stories as the
following were gleefully passed throughout the land from lip to lip.While
she was learning her alphabet, she, doubtful of the utility of being so
tormented, ejaculated--"What good this?--what good this?"She was told
that "mamma could know all that was contained in the great book on the
table because she knew _her_ letters, whilst the little daughter could
not."This was quite enough, and the young acolyte of the alphabet cried
out, "I learn, too--I learn, too--very quick."And she did become rapidly
mistress of her letters.Her mother sought to teach her to be satisfied
with simple pleasures, and here she was a most apt pupil.Once, when she
was so young that she could not express what she felt, she dragged her
uncle Clarence to the window to observe a beautiful sunset.To her uncle
Leopold, too, she was constantly pointing out objects of natural beauty,
on which he invariably improved the opportunity by giving her prompt and
clear explanations of the phenomena which evoked her admiration.Her
engrossing passion, indeed--as was that of her future husband--was for
cabinets of natural history, menageries, museums, &c. For pictures she had
an equal love, and one of the first acquirements in which she became
proficient was sketching from nature.Perhaps the greatest danger she incurred, and the one which her mother had
to take the greatest pains to avert, was the likelihood that her
independent decision of character, which she derived from the Hanoverian
half of her ancestry, might degenerate into stubbornness and self-will.But her natural sense of justice, and ready openness to clear conviction,
proved an admirable counterpoise.With peculiar ingenuousness of
character, she unreservedly admitted an error the very instant she
perceived it.Once, for example, when on a visit to Earl Fitzwilliam, a
bosom friend of her father, the party were walking in the grounds, and she
had run on in advance.Sandra went to the bathroom.An under-gardener cautioned her not to go down a
certain walk, as, said he, in his provincial dialect, the rain had made
the ground "slape."cried she, rapidly, and in the true
George III.style; "and pray, what is'slape?'""Very slippery, miss--your
Royal Highness--ma'am," replied he.that's all," she replied; "thank
you," and at once proceeded.She had not advanced many yards, when she
came down heavily to the ground.The Earl had been observing all that had
passed, from a few yards' distance, and he cried out, "There!now your
Royal Highness has an explanation of the term'slape,' both theoretically
and practically.""Yes, my lord," she somewhat meekly said, "I think I
have.I shall never forget the word'slape.'"On a similar occasion, when
cautioned not to frolic with a dog whose temper was not very reliable, she
persisted in doing so, and he made a snap at her hand.Her cautioner ran
solicitously, believing that she had been bitten."You're right, and I am wrong; but he didn't bite me--he
only warned me.[Sidenote: JUVENILE ANECDOTES.]The following incident shows that at least on some occasions a keen spirit
of waggishness entered strongly into her self-will.When first she took
lessons on the piano, she objected strongly to the monotonous fingering,
as she had formerly done to A B C. She was, of course, informed that all
success as a musician depended upon her first becoming "mistress of the
piano.""Oh, I am to be mistress of my piano, am I?"To that the reply
was a repetition of the statement."Then what would you think of me if I became mistress at once?""Oh, there is no royal road to music, eh?And I am not
mistress of my pianoforte?But I will be, I assure you; and the royal road
is this"--at the same time closing the piano, locking it, and taking the
key--"There!and the royal road to
learning is, never to take a lesson till you're in the humour to do it."After the laugh which her joke had provoked in herself and others had
subsided, she at once volunteered to resume the lesson.We cannot more fitly conclude this chapter, ere we proceed to travel an
important stage further in our attempt to trace the youthful days of the
Queen, than by presenting a picture of her, as she appeared at this period
of her life to the genial eyes of Leigh Hunt, to whom we have been
already indebted at the commencement of this chapter:--
We remember well the peculiar kind of personal pleasure which it gave
us to see the future Queen, the first time we ever did see her, coming
up a cross path from the Bayswater Gate, with a girl of her own age by
her side, whose hand she was holding, as if she loved her.It brought
to our mind the warmth of our own juvenile friendships, and made us
fancy that she loved everything else that we had loved in like
measure--books, trees, verses, Arabian tales, and the good mother who
had helped to make her so affectionate.A magnificent footman, in
scarlet, came behind her, with the splendidest pair of calves, in
white stockings, that we had ever beheld.He looked somehow like a
gigantic fairy, personating, for his little lady's sake, the grandest
footman he could think of; and his calves he seemed to have made out
of a couple of the biggest chaise-lamps in the possession of the
godmother of Cinderella.As the Princess grew up, the world seemed
never to hear of her except as it wished to hear--that is to say, in
connection with her mother; and now it never hears of her but in
connection with children of her own, and her husband, and her mother
still [this was written in 1855], and all good household pleasures and
hospitalities, and public virtues of a piece with them.May life ever
continue to appear to her what, indeed, it really is to all who have
eyes for seeing beyond the surface--namely, a wondrous fairy scene,
strange, beautiful, mournful too, yet hopeful of being "happy ever
after," when its story is over; and wise, meantime, in seeing much
where others see nothing, in shedding its tears patiently, and in
doing its best to diminish the tears around it.CHAPTER V.
EDUCATION OF THE PRINCESS VICTORIA.Additional Grant by Parliament for the Maintenance and Education of
the Princess--Wise Lessons learned at her Mother's Knees--A Visit to
George IV.John travelled to the bathroom.at Windsor--Assiduous Pursuit of Knowledge--Accession of
William IV.--Victoria becomes next in succession to the Crown--Regency
Bill--Satisfaction of the good Grandmother at Coburg--Her Death--Joy
of Victoria at the Elevation of her Uncle to the Belgian
Throne--Parliamentary Inquiry into the Progress of her
Education--Satisfactory Report in Response--Presented at Court--Great
Ball on her Twelfth Birthday at St.James's Palace--Court Scandal and
Baseless Rumours--The Duchess of Northumberland appointed
Governess--The Princess and the Poet Southey.The time had now arrived when, in the opinion, not only of the private
friends of the Duchess of Kent, but of the Ministers of the Crown, it was
held that a more liberal provision should be made for the increasing cost
of the training of the Princess, than the very moderate annual allowance
which the Duchess of Kent had as yet received.This matter was formally
brought before Parliament on the occasion of the Princess attaining her
sixth birthday.Up to this date, and for some little time subsequently to
it, King George IV.seems to have hardly paid the slightest heed to his
niece and ultimate successor.On her fifth birthday, Prince Leopold, who
throughout filled a true father's place, gave a banquet in her honour, at
which most of the members of the English Royal Family, and the Prince
Leiningen, son of the Duchess of Kent and half-brother of Victoria, were
present.On this occasion, the child was much admired for her frankness,
quickness, and talent, but especially for her deep attachment to her
mother.Her mother took occasion to impress upon her the consideration
that such attentions as those which were then shown her were rendered in
the hope that she would cultivate the qualities and graces which alone
could make her a worthy and acceptable ruler of the British empire."It is
not you," said she, "but your future office and rank which are regarded by
the country; and you must so act as never to bring that office and that
rank into disgrace or disrespect."And when the Duchess took her child to
see for the first time the statue which had just been erected at the top
of Portland Place to her father's memory, she was careful to make her know
and feel that "dear papa's likeness was placed there, not merely because
he was a prince, but because he was a good man, was kind to the poor,
caused little boys and girls to be taught to read and write, helped to get
money from good people to cure the sick, the lame, the blind, the deaf,
and did all he could to make bad people good."In May, 1825, the sixth birthday of the Princess arrived.It became
desirable, not merely to extend the sphere of her knowledge, but to
introduce her to society at unavoidable expense; and, when she appeared in
public and took trips in the country, to surround her with some of the
splendour which properly belonged to her position.Accordingly, Lord
Liverpool, the Premier, presented a Message from the King, requesting that
some provision should be made for the Princess.His lordship spoke in the
highest terms of the Duchess of Kent; eulogised her for having supported
and educated her daughter without making any application to Parliament;
and demonstrated, that her education must, from that date, be much more
wide and costly.He proposed an additional grant of L6,000 per annum to
the Duchess, to continue throughout the minority of her daughter.The
House of Lords cordially acquiesced in the proposal.Brougham, although uniting mother and daughter in one common eulogy,
objected to the amount proposed.Hume supported him, suggesting an
annuity increasing from year to year; but, on a division |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | AND THE PRINCESS VICTORIA.]Only after this formal act of national recognition does it appear that the
King deigned to turn his personal attention in the direction of his niece.The year after, we find the Duchess of Coburg writing to her daughter, and
referring to the fact that she had seen by the English papers, that "His
Majesty, Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent, and the Princess
Victoria, went on Virginia Water.""The little monkey," she writes, "must
have pleased him.It was reported at
the time that the King, on the occasion of this visit to Windsor, shared
the general delight at the intelligence and sprightliness of his charming
little niece.He caused her to dine in state with him, and when he asked
her what tune she would like the band to play during dinner, she
courteously and naively replied, "God save the King."The years intervening until 1830 were passed in almost complete quietude
and seclusion by the Princess; her education being now most assiduously
pursued.The year 1830 made an important difference in the position of the
Princess.By the death of George IV., the Duke of Clarence became King,
and--the Duke of York having died in 1827--she now stood next in direct
succession to the throne.In the last month of the year a Regency Bill was
passed, of which these were the chief provisions:--In the event of Queen
Adelaide bearing a posthumous child, Her Majesty should be guardian and
Regent during the minority.If that event should not occur, the Duchess of
Kent was to be guardian and Regent during the minority of her daughter,
the Princess Victoria, the heiress-presumptive.That Princess should not
marry while a minor, without the consent of the King; or, if he died,
without the consent of both Houses.When the Report of the Regency Bill
was brought up, Lord Lyndhurst moved and carried a clause to the effect
that in case the Duchess of Kent should marry a foreigner in the lifetime
of His Majesty, but without his consent, she should, by that act, forfeit
all pretensions to the Regency.The Duke of Buckingham, in his "Courts and Cabinets of William IV.and
Victoria," thus remarked on this proviso:--
The position of the Princess attracted towards her Royal Highness the
solicitude and sympathy of all classes of the people.A proper
consideration of her chance of succeeding to the throne showed that
there was much at stake, and the bitter disappointment caused by the
untimely fate of the last female heiress presumptive, gave deeper
feeling to the interest with which she was regarded.It was desirable
that her youth should be, as much as possible, watched over to protect
it from all evil contingencies, and though there could not be a better
guardian for the Princess than the one nature had provided her with,
the anxiety of a nation demanded precautions that, under other
circumstances, would have been considered totally unnecessary.We can
now (1861) afford to smile on the jealous affection with which Her
Royal Highness was fenced round thirty years ago.[Sidenote: THE QUEEN'S GRANDMOTHER.]The satisfactory settlement of the Regency question gave great
satisfaction to the good grandmother at Coburg.She wrote to her daughter,
on receipt of the news--
I should have been sorry if the Regency had been given into other
hands than yours.It would not have been a just return for your
constant devotion and care to your child, if this had not been done.May God give you wisdom and strength to do your duty, if called upon
to undertake it.May God bless and protect my little darling!--If I
could but once see her again!The print you have sent to me is not
like the dear picture I have; the quantity of curls hide the
well-shaped head, and make it look too large for the lovely little
figure.It was not fated that the Duchess of Coburg should ever see her
granddaughter again; she died within a twelvemonth of writing the above.Her latest letters to her daughter were characterised by a peculiar warmth
of affection for the Princess.Writing in the summer of 1830, on the
occasion of Victoria's birthday, she said--
My blessings and good wishes for the day which gave you the sweet
Blossom of May!May God preserve and protect the valuable life of that
lovely flower from all the dangers that will beset her mind and heart!And when the news of the death of George IV.reached her, she wrote--
God bless Old England, where my beloved children live, and where the
sweet Blossom of May may one day reign!May God yet for many years
keep the weight of a crown from her young head, and let the
intelligent, clever child grow up to girlhood, before this dangerous
grandeur devolves upon her!England owes a deep debt of gratitude to this excellent and intelligent
woman, for to her we are indebted for that training of her daughter, which
fitted that daughter to train in turn, for us and for our advantage, Queen
Victoria.An event of considerable influence upon the well-being and happiness of
the Queen we must not omit to chronicle, ere we pass onwards in the course
of our narrative.Prince Leopold had been designated by the great
guaranteeing Powers as the ruler of the newly emancipated state of Greece.This distressed his niece, who had
been brought up under his kindly tutelage from her birth; but
circumstances which it does not concern our purpose to dwell upon, induced
Leopold to break off the Greek negotiation.Shortly after, to the great
delight of Victoria, he was nominated by the Powers, and accepted by his
future subjects, as King of the Belgians.This ensured his being
constantly comparatively near to his niece.How frequent were his visits
to England, as long as his life lasted, no resident in London needs to be
informed; up till within the last few years, his face was almost as
familiar in the parks as those of the members of the Queen's own family.He often appeared in London suddenly, and without announcement, having
been summoned, it was generally believed, on such occasions, to consult
with the Queen on some point of imminent moment.Such summonses he always
responded to with instant alacrity.[Sidenote: ABSURD RUMOURS.]In the year 1831, the public became anxious to know how the education of
the heiress-presumptive to the throne progressed; what was the nature of
her studies, and which she preferred and most diligently pursued.Prompt,
responsive, and satisfactory statements were rendered.It appeared that
since the accession of King William, her tuition had been almost entirely
entrusted to English teachers.Mary journeyed to the garden.Amos instructed her in the principles
of the English Constitution, Mr.Westall in drawing; she had made
considerable progress in Latin, and could read Horace with fluency.It was
further stated that her love of music was enthusiastic, and that it was
the orchestral rather than the dramatic attraction that caused her to
frequent the theatres so much as she did.It was remarked that, on the
occasion of the coronation of William IV., which took place on the 8th of
September, neither the Princess nor her mother were present.Their absence
was explained by the announcement, that the health of the Princess
rendered a sojourn in the Isle of Wight necessary.Prudent persons held
that, even had it been otherwise, her tender years and peculiar position
rendered her absence preferable to her presence.She was but twelve years
old, and it was commonly stated that only a year before had it been deemed
wise _fully_ to make her aware of the regal destiny which was before her.Gossip-mongers--a whole host of whom circulated the most absurd rumours
about the Princess from her most tender years until long after she had
become Queen--alleged that the real reason of her absence was the fact
that her proper place in the ceremony was not assigned to her.The real
truth we believe to have been as follows.Since the accession of her uncle
Clarence, Victoria had been plunged into a round of gaiety which did not
at all comport either with her years or a certain fragility of health,
which now for a short time succeeded the fine animal power and spirits of
the years preceding.She had been presented at the first drawing-room held
by Queen Adelaide, the most magnificent that had been held since the
presentation of Charlotte, Princess of Wales, on the occasion of her
marriage.She arrived with her
mother, attended by the Duchess of Northumberland, Lady Charlotte St.The next time they met was
in the afternoon late, when Hester was returning from a visit to Mrs.It was nearly dark, and it startled her to see him standing
waiting for her under one of the trees past the gate of the Heronry.She
went slowly, somewhat reluctantly, to join him on the sign just
discernible in the dark which he made her.He caught her hand quickly,
as she came up, and drew it within his arm."You have been so long with that old woman, and I have wanted you so,"
he cried, leading her away along the deserted country road, which struck
off at right angles with the Common."Couldn't you divine that I wanted
you?Didn't you know by instinct I was longing for consolation?"What has made so great a change in you?"He drew her arm closer and closer through his, and leaned upon her as if
his appeal for support was physical too."I told you it was too long to explain," he said; "it is all the worry
of business.Sometimes things seem going well, and then I am top-gallant
high, and vex you with my levity, as the other night--you know you were
vexed the other night: and then things turn badly, and I am low, low
down in the depths, and want my love to comfort me.Oh, if you only
belonged to me, Hester, and we had a home somewhere where I could go in
to you and say 'Console me!'""But Edward, your business never used to be a fever and an excitement
like this."I did not dare to come to you; and you were a child
then.Ah, but you are quite right, Hester; it was different.Sandra went back to the office.But a man
cannot vegetate for ever.Now it is all
on a turn of the cards, and I may be able to face the world to-morrow,
and have my own way."You are not
a--gambler?"Hester gave a little convulsive cry, clutching him by the
arm with both her hands."Not with cards, certainly," he said."I am a respectable
banker, my darling, and very knowing in my investments, with perhaps a
taste for speculation--but that nobody has brought home to me yet.It is
a very legitimate way of making a fortune, Hester.It is only when you
lose that it becomes a thing to blame.""Something of that sort; a capital horse when it carries you over the
ford--and everything that is bad when you lose.""But do you mean--tell me--that it is simple speculation--that this is
all that makes you anxious?"Hester had never heard that speculation was
immoral, and her mind was relieved in spite of herself.Sandra went to the bathroom.he cried, in
a sort of unconscious aside, with a strange laugh; then added, with mock
gravity, "that's all, my darling; not much, is it?You don't think it is
worth making such a fuss about?""I did not say that," said Hester, gravely, "for I don't understand it,
nor what may be involved; but it cannot touch the heart.I was
afraid----"
"Of something much worse," he said, with the same strange laugh."What
were you afraid of?--tell me.You did not think I was robbing the bank,
or killing Catherine?"--she did not like these pleasantries--"why do you talk so
wildly?Come in with me, and my mother will give you some tea.""I want you, and not any tea.I should like to take you up in my arms,
and carry you away--away--where nobody could know anything about us
more.I should like to disappear with you, Hester, and let people
suppose we were dead or lost, or whatever they pleased.""I wonder," said Hester, "why you should have lived so long close to me,
and never found out that you wanted me so much till now.You have always been very cool, and quite master of yourself, till
now.""It was time enough, it appears, when you make so little response," he
said; "but all that is very simple if you but knew.I had to keep well
with so many.Now that it is all on a turn of the dice, and a moment may
decide everything, I may venture to think of myself."What you say is all about gambling, Edward."Chance is everything
in business--luck, whatever that may be: so that gambling words are the
only words that come natural.But don't leave the talking to me; you can
talk better than I can; you are not a silent angel.Tell me what this little
heart is saying now."Hester was not touched by that reference to her little heart, which was
not a little heart, but a great one, bounding wildly in her breast with
perplexity and pain, as well as love, but ready for any heroic effort.John travelled to the bathroom."If I were to tell you perhaps you would not like it, Edward.It makes
me happy that you should want me, and lean on me, and give me your
burden to bear; but I want so much more.Perhaps I am not so gentle as
women ought to be.My mother would be content, but I am not.I want to
know everything, to help you to think, to understand it all.And
besides, Edward----No, one thing is enough; I will not say that.""Yes, say everything; it is all sweet from you.""Then, Edward, come home and let my mother know.We ought not to meet in the dark like two----to send little hidden
notes.We are responsible to the people who love us.We ought to be
honest--to mamma, to Catherine Vernon.""We ought to go and hand in the banns, perhaps," he said, with sudden
bitterness, "like two--honest shopkeepers, as you say.And is this all you know of love, Hester?--it is the
woman's way, I suppose--congratulations, wedding presents, general
triumph over everybody.How should you understand me when I speak of
disappearing with my love, getting lost, dying even, if it were
together--?"Sandra moved to the bedroom.There was a pause, for Hester was wounded, yet touched, both to the
heart.She said, after a moment, almost under her breath, "I can
understand that too."The faltering of her voice, the droop of her head,
and his own need for her, more urgent than either, changed Edward's
sarcastic mood.He drew her closer to him, and put down his face close
to her ear."We must not fight," he said, "my only love.I am going away, and I
can't quarrel with you, my only love!I will come back in two or three days;
but Hester, another time, if it should be for good, would you come?--you
would come?--with me?"she said, breathless, her eyes large in the darkness, straining
upon the face which was too near her own to be very clear."If you like the word; it is an innocent word.Sandra travelled to the hallway.Yes, elope
then," he said.It would wound them all--it would break their
hearts; and for what reason?"He had often been away before,
and his absence had caused no particular commotion: but now it affected
a good many people.To Catherine, if it were possible, it might be said
to have been a certain relief.He and she had got over that explanation
when she had intended to say so many things to him, and had found the
words taken out of her mouth.All things had gone on again in their
usual way.But the suspicion which he had supposed to exist so long
without any reason now had actually arisen in her mind.She showed it
less than he had supposed her to show it when she had no such feeling.She did not worry |
bathroom | Where is Mary? | But at night when all was still in the
house and Edward down stairs at work in his room, or supposed to be at
work, if any sound of the door closing echoed upwards, Catherine would
steal behind the curtains and watch if it was he who was going out, and
which way he took.She believed him, of course; but yet there was always
in her soul a wish to ask--was he really, really sure that he was true?Doubts like these are beyond the power of any but the sternest
self-command to crush, and Catherine was capable of that in his
presence.She would not betray her anxiety to him: but when he was not
there no such effort was necessary, and she betrayed it freely, to the
silence, to the night, when there was nobody to see.And her thoughts had travelled fast and far since that evening.She had
no longer any doubt that he loved somebody, and she had made up her mind
that it was Hester who was the object of his love.This had caused her
perhaps the greatest mental conflict she had ever known in her life--for
her life had this good thing in it, that it had been wonderfully free
from struggle.She had been the arbiter of all things in her little
world, and nobody had made any actual stand against her will.Many
pretences had surrounded her, feigned assents and furtive oppositions,
but nobody had stood out against her.It was a great wonder to her that
he or any one should do so now (though he did not: he had opposed her in
nothing, nor ever said a word from which it could be inferred that he
rejected or questioned Catherine's sway), but with all her natural
strength of mind she set herself to reconsider the question.If she
disliked Hester before, if for all these years the bright-eyed,
all-observant girl, mutely defiant of her, had been a sort of Mordecai
to Catherine, it is not to be supposed that she could easily receive her
into favour now.Her parentage, her looks, her mind, her daring setting
up of her own personality as a child, as if she were something
important, had all exasperated Catherine.Even the consciousness of her
own prejudice, of the folly of remembering against a girl the follies of
her childhood, helped to aggravate this sentiment; nor was it likely
that the fact that this girl was Edward's chosen love should make her
heart softer.Mary journeyed to the garden.She said to herself that she could not endure Hester; but
yet she prepared herself for the inevitable from the first day.Perhaps
she thought it well to propitiate fate by going to the very furthest
length at once, and forecasting all that the most evil fortune could
bring her.No one knew what was going on
in her mind in those wintry days of the early year: her preoccupation
was attributed to other things: afterwards, when events seemed to
account for it, her wonderful prevision was admired and wondered at.But
in reality the previsions in Catherine's mind were all of one kind.She
saw a series of events happen in succession, as to which she was as
confident as if they were past already; and in her imagination she did
the only thing that nobody expected of her, the thing which fate did not
demand of her--she made up her mind that she would make no stand against
this hateful thing.If the young but held out,
even the most unwise and the most cruel, they must win in the end.It
would not be for her dignity, she said to herself, to stand out.She
would make no opposition to Edward's choice.The separation that must
ensue she would bear as she could--with dignity at least if nothing
else.The elevation of her enemy and her enemy's house she must submit
to.She would withdraw, she would have no hand in it; but at least she
would not oppose.This, by dint of a hard fight, Catherine obtained of
herself.She would say nothing, forestall nothing, but at the same time
oppose nothing.All the long hours which a lonely woman must spend by
herself she appropriated to this.She must lose Edward; had she not lost
him now?He had been her sole weakness, her one delusion; and it was
not, she said to herself, a delusion--the boy had loved her and been
true to her.He had made her happy like a mother with a true son.But
when that vagrant sentiment comes in which is called love (the fools!as
if the appropriation of the name to one kind of affection, and that the
most selfish of all, was not a scorn to love, the real, the
all-enduring!)what was previous virtue, what was truth, and gratitude,
and everything else in life, in comparison?Sandra went back to the office.Of course they must all give
place to the fascination of a pair of shining eyes.Father and mother,
and home and duty, what were they in comparison?Everybody was aware of
that, and the old people struggled often enough as was well known.Sometimes they appealed to heaven and earth, sometimes were hysterical
and made vows and uttered curses.But in the long run the battle was to
the young ones.They had time and passion, and universal human sympathy,
on their side, whereas the old people had none of all these, neither
time to wait, nor passion to inspire, nor sympathy anywhere in heaven or
earth.Catherine said to herself proudly that she would not expose
herself to the pity which attends the vanquished.She would clothe herself in double armour of stoicism, and
teach herself to see the humour in this as in so many things.Was not
seeing the humour of it the last thing that remained to the noble soul
amid the wonder of life?Her sense, however, of this great downfall which was approaching, and in
which she meant to enact so proud and magnanimous a part, was so strong
and bitter that Edward's absence was a relief to her.Sandra went to the bathroom.She expected every
day that he would present himself before her, and burst forth into some
agitated statement--a statement which she would not help out with a
word, but which she would receive, not as he would expect her to receive
it, with opposition and wrath, but with the calm of one who knew all
about it, and had made up her mind to it long ago.But when he was
absent she felt that here was a respite.She was freed from the eager
desire she had, against her will, to know what he was doing, where he
went, who he was with, which tormented her, but which she could not
subdue.All this ferment of feeling was stilled when he was away.She
did not ask why he should go away so often, what the business was that
called him to London.John travelled to the bathroom.For the first time in her life she was
overmastered by a conflict of individual feeling; and she was glad when
there came a lull in it, and when the evil day was postponed.Sandra moved to the bedroom.She went
on seeing her friends, visiting and being visited, keeping a fair face
to the world all the time.But it began to be whispered in Redborough
that Catherine Vernon was beginning to fail, that there were signs in
her of breaking up, that she began to show her age.People began to ask
each other about her.Some said she had
been so strong a woman always, and had taken so much out of herself,
that probably the break-up would be speedy if it was true that she was
beginning to break up; while others held more hopefully that with her
wonderful constitution she might yet rally, and see twenty-years of
comfort yet.The fact was that she was not ill at all.It seemed to
herself that she was more keenly alive, more highly strung to every use
of existence than ever.She saw better, heard more quickly, having every
sense on the alert.Nothing had so quickened her and stimulated her
powers for years.She was eager for every new day which might carry some
new crisis in it.She did not even feel the deadly chill of Edward's
desertion for the intense occupation which the whole matter brought her.And then, though she said to herself it was certain, yet it was not so
certain after all.It might turn out that she was mistaken yet.There
was still an outlet for a secret hope.Sometimes indeed a flattering
unction was laid to her heart, a feeling that if it is only the
unforeseen that happens, the so carefully thought out, so elaborately
calculated upon, might not happen.But this Catherine only permitted
herself by rare moments.For the most part she felt very sure of the
facts, and almost solemnly cognisant of what was to come.It had appeared to Edward himself as
certain that some great _coup_ must have settled his fate long before.It was his inexperience, perhaps, and the excitement of his
determination to act for himself, which had made everything appear so
imminent; but after all it did not turn out so.The course of events
went on in that leisurely current which is far more deadly in its sweep
than any sudden cataract.He did not lose or gain anything in a moment,
his ventures either did not turn out so vast as he imagined, or they
were partial failures, partial successes.Step by step he went on,
sacrificing, jeopardising, gradually, slowly, without being himself
aware of what he was doing, the funds he had under his control.Sandra travelled to the hallway.He had
been ready in the first passion of his desire for wealth to risk
everything and finish the whole matter at one swoop; but that passed
over, and he was not really aware how one by one his counters were being
swept out of his hands.It went on through all the awakening time of the
year, as it might have gone on for half a life time, and he was
impatient of the delay.Besides, this new accompaniment, this love which
he would not have suffered himself to indulge had he not believed
everything on the eve of a crisis, became a great addition to his
difficulties when the crisis did not come.The habit of resorting to
Hester was one which grew upon him.But the opportunities of indulging
in it were few, for he was as anxious not to betray himself nor to let
Catherine suspect what was going on, as at the beginning, when he
believed that all would be over in a week or two.And Hester herself was
not a girl with whom it was easy to carry on a clandestine intercourse.She had almost ceased now to
think of the mystery in which he hid his proceedings, or to rebel
against the interest and sympathy which he demanded from her blindly,
out of the keen humiliation and distress which it cost her to feel that
she was deceiving her friends and the world, conspiring with him to
deceive Catherine.This consciousness made Hester disagreeable to live
with, an angry, resentful, impatient woman, absorbed in her own affairs,
little accessible to the world.Her mother could not understand what had
come to her, and still less could the old Morgans, who loved and had
understood her so completely, understand.She avoided them now, she
cared for nobody.Week by week with a joyless regularity she went to
Ellen Merridew's dances, where half the evening at least was spent with
Edward in a curious duel of mingled love and dislike--yes, sometimes
hatred almost.It seemed to her that her distaste for everything that
was going on was more than her love could balance, that she so hated the
expedients he drove her to, that he himself took another aspect in her
eyes.Sometimes she felt that she must make the crisis which he had so
often anticipated, and instead of consenting to fly with him must fly by
herself, and cut the tie between them with a sharp stroke.It was all
pain, trouble, misery--and what was worse, falsehood, wherever she
turned.As the year slid round into sunshine, and the days grew longer,
everything became intolerable to Hester.She had his secret to keep whether he was there or away, or rather
her secret: for nothing she felt could be so dreadful to her as the
secresy in which her own life was wrapped, and which he was terrified
she should betray.And though it was now nearly six months after Christmas, Emma Ashton
still lived with the old Morgans, and pursued her adventures with her
bow and spear in the dances and entertainments of the neighbourhood.Reginald Merridew so far from "speaking" had been sent off by his father
to America, professedly on business, but, as was well known in the
family, to put a stop to the nonsense which at his age was so utterly
out of the question; and though other expectations had stirred her from
time to time, nothing had given certainty to her hopes of being settled.Mary moved to the bathroom.She was going home at last, to Roland, in the beginning of June, and the
old people were looking forward to their deliverance with no small
impatience.Emma never failed at the _Thés Dansantes_.The old fly with
the white horse rumbled along in the dusk of the early summer nights and
mornings, carrying these two young women to and fro almost as regularly
as the Thursday came--Hester reluctant, angry, and pale, obeying a
necessity which she resented to the very depths of her being; Emma
placid, always with a certain sense of pleasure animating her
business-like arrangements.Catherine, who did not sleep very well on
these nights, got to recognise the sound, and would sometimes look out
from her window and wonder bitterly whether _that girl_ too was glancing
out, perhaps with triumph in her eyes as she passed the shut-up house,
thinking of the day when it would be her own.It gave her a little
pleasure on the first of June when she heard the slow vehicle creeping
by to think that Edward had been called away that afternoon, and that if
Hester had expected to meet him she would be disappointed.She heard it creeping back again about one in
the morning, earlier than usual, with a satisfied smile.There had been
no billing and cooing that evening, no advance made towards the final
triumph.She thought there was a sound of disappointment even in the
rumble of the fly; and so indeed there might have been, for Emma was
sobbing, and discoursing among her tears upon the sadness of her
prospects.It was the last _Thé Dansante_ to which Emma could hope to
go."And here I'm going just as I came," Emma said, "though I had such a
good opening, and everybody has been so kind to me.I can't say here
that it has been for want of having my chance.I have been introduced to
the best people, and grandmamma has given me two new dresses, and you
have never grudged me the best partners, I will say that for you,
Hester; and yet it has come to nothing!I am sure I sha'n't be able to
answer Roland a word if he says after this that balls are an unnecessary
expense--for it is not much I have made by them.To think that not one
single gentleman in all Redborough----!Oh, Hester, either Elinor and
Bee tell awful stories of what happened to them, or things have changed
dreadfully, quite dreadfully, since their day!"Hester could find no words in which to console this victim of the times.She listened indeed somewhat sternly, refusing compassion."To be sure,
there was poor Reginald, it was not his fault," Emma sobbed."If I
should live to be a hundred I never should believe it was his fault.But, after all, he was very young, and he could have had no money to
speak of, and what should I have done with him?John went to the kitchen.Morris, whom I could have got on with;
that was his mother's doing:--ladies are always jealous, don't you
think?--and I should not have minded that Captain Sedgely, that
volunteer captain.But it is of no use talking, for this is my last
Thursday.Oh, you don't mind; you have a good home, and a mother, and
everything you can desire.It seemed to her that she would be willing to
change lives even with Emma, to fall to her petty level, and estimate
the chances of being settled, and count the men whom she could have
managed to get on with, rather than carry on such an existence as hers.It was no glance of triumph, but one of humiliation, that she had cast,
as they passed, upon the shuttered windows and close-drawn white
draperies at the Grange.In her imagination she stole into the very
bedchamber where Catherine had smiled to think of her disappointment,
and delivered her soul of her secret."I am not ashamed that we love
each other: but I am ashamed that we have concealed it," she imagined
herself saying.She |
kitchen | Where is John? | Edward had warned her in a hurried note that he was called
to town."I think it is coming at last," he said."I think we have made
the grand _coup_ at last."He had said it so often that she had no faith
in him; and how long was it to go on like this--how long?Meanwhile the house of the young Merridews was still ringing with mirth
and music.There was no restraint, or reserve, or prudence or
care-taking, from garret to basement.Algernon, the young husband who
was now a father as well, had perhaps taken a little more champagne than
usual in honour of his wife's first re-appearance after that arrival.She was so brave, so "plucky," they all said, so unconventional, that
she had insisted on the _Thés Dansantes_ going on all the same, though
she was unable to preside over them, and was still up, a little pale but
radiant with smiles, at the last supper-table when every one was gone.Harry had been looking very grave all the evening.He had even attempted
a little lecture over that final family supper."If I were you, Algy and
Nell," he said, "I'd draw in a little now.You've got your baby to think
of--save up something for that little beggar, don't spend it all on a
pack of fools that eat you up.""Oh, you old Truepenny," Ellen said, without knowing what she meant,
"you are always preaching.Hold your tongue, Algy, you have had too much
wine; you ought to go to bed.If I can't stand up for myself it's
strange to me.Who are you calling a pack of fools, Harry?It's the only
thing I call society in Redborough.Mary journeyed to the garden.All the other houses are as stiff as
Spaniards.There is nobody but me to put a little life into them.They
were all dead-alive before.If there's a little going on now I think
it's all owing to me.""She is a wonderful little person is Nell," cried her husband, putting a
half-tipsy arm round her.To think she
should carry on just the same, to let the rest have their pleasure when
she was up stairs.I am proud of her, that is what I am.I am proud----"
"Oh, go to bed, Algy!If you ever do this again I will divorce you.Harry, shut up," said the young mistress of the
house, who was fond of slang."And as for the money," said Algy, with a jovial laugh, "I don't care a
---- for the money.Ned's put me up to a good thing or two.Ned's not
very much on the outside, but he's a famous good fellow.He's put me
up," he said, with a nod and broad smile of good humour, "to two--three
capital things."cried Harry, almost with a roar of terror and annoyance, like the
cry of a lion."Do you mean to say you've put yourself in Ned's hands?"Upon which Ellen jumped up, red with anger, and pushed her husband away."Oh, go to bed, you stupid!"Harry had lost all his colour; his fair hair and large light moustache
looked like shadows upon his whiteness.he
said; "did you know of this?"Sandra went back to the office."Know of what?--it's nothing," she cried.Sandra went to the bathroom."Yes, of course I know about
it.I pushed him into it--he knows I did.What have you got to do with
where we place our money?You may be sure we sha'n't want you to pay
anything for us," she said.John travelled to the bathroom.Harry had never resented her little impertinences; he had always been
submissive to her.Sandra moved to the bedroom.He shook his head now more in sorrow than in anger."Let's hope you won't want anybody to pay for you," he said, and kissed
his sister and went away.Harry had never been in so solemn a mood before.The foolish young
couple were a little awed by it, but at last Ellen found an explanation."It's ever since he was godfather to baby.He thinks he will have to
leave all his money to him," she said; and the incident ended in one of
Algy's usual bursts of laughter over his wife's _bons mots_.Harry, however, took the matter a great deal more seriously; he got
little or no sleep that night.In the morning he examined the letters
with an alarmed interest.Edward was to be back that evening, it was
expected, and there was a mass of his letters on his desk with which his
cousin did not venture to interfere.Edward had a confidential clerk,
who guarded them closely.Edward did not think there would be
anything urgent, anything to trouble you about," he said, following
Harry into the room with unnecessary anxiety."I can find that out for
myself," Harry said, sharply, turning upon this furtive personage.But
he did not meddle with any of the heap, though it was his right to do
so.They frightened him, as though there had been infernal machines
inside, as indeed he felt sure enough there were--not of the kind which
tear the flesh and fibre, but the mind and soul.When he went back to
his room he received a visit very unexpectedly from the old clerk, Mr.Rule, with whom Hester had held so long a conversation on the night of
the Christmas party.It was his habit to come now and then, to patronise
everybody, from the youngest clerks to the young principals, shaking his
white head and describing how things used to be "in John Vernon's time."Usually nobody could be more genial and approving than old Rule.He
liked to tell his story of the great crisis, and to assure them that,
thanks to Miss Catherine, such dangers were no longer possible."A woman
in the business just once in a way, in five or six generations," he
thought an admirable institution."She looks after all the little things
that you young gentlemen don't think worth your while," he said.Rule was not in this easy way of thinking.He wanted to know
how long Edward had been gone, and where he was, and when he was
expected back?He told Harry that things were being said that he could
not bear to hear.is it
horse-racing, or that sort of thing?Harry, but I'm so
anxious I don't know what I'm saying.You have always taken it easy, I
know, and left the chief management to Mr.But you must act,
sir, you must act," the old clerk said.Sandra travelled to the hallway.Harry's face had a sort of tragic helplessness in it."He's coming back
to-night--one day can't matter so much.Oh, no, it's not horse-racing,
it's business.Edward isn't the sort of fellow----"
"One day may make all the difference," cried the old man, but the more
fussy and restless he was, the more profound became Harry's passive
solemnity.When he had got rid of the old clerk he sat for a long time
doing nothing, leaning his head in his hands: and at last he jumped up
and got his hat, and declared that he was going out for an hour."Several gentlemen have been here asking for Mr.Edward," he was told as
he passed through the outer office.Merridew, sir, the old
gentleman: Mr.Fish has just been to know for certain
when he will be back."Harry answered impatiently what they all knew,
that his cousin would be at the bank to-morrow morning, and that he
himself would return within the hour.There were some anxious looks cast
after him as he went away, the elder clerks making their comments.Edward's headpiece, sir, could be put on Mr.Mary moved to the bathroom.Harry's shoulders," one
of them said.They had no fear that _he_ would be absent when there was
any need for him, but then, when he was present, what could he do?Harry went on with long strides past the Grange to the Heronry; it was a
curious place to go for counsel.He passed Catherine sitting at her
window, she who once had been appealed to in a crisis and had saved the
bank.He did not suppose that things were so urgent now, but had they
been so he would not have gone to Catherine.She had never been very kind to him, beyond the mere fact of
having selected him from among his kindred for advancement; but Harry
had a tender regard for Catherine, a sort of stolid immovable force of
gratitude.His heart melted as he saw her seated in the tranquillity of
the summer morning in the window, looking out upon everything with, he
thought, a peaceful interest, the contemplative pleasure of age.It was
not so, but he thought so--and it seemed to him that if he could but
preserve her from annoyance and disturbance, from all invasion of rumour
or possibility of doubt as to the stability of Vernon's, that there was
nothing he would not endure.He made himself as small as he could, and
got under the shadow of the trees that she might not observe him as he
passed, and wonder what brought him that way, and possibly divine the
anxiety that was in him.Catherine saw him very well, and the feeling that sprang up in her mind
was bitter derision, mixed with a kind of unkindly pleasure."If you
think that _you_ will get a look from her, when she has _him_ at her
feet?"Catherine said to herself, and though the idea that Hester had
_him_ at her feet was bitter to her, there was a pleasure in the
contempt with which she felt Harry's chances to be hopeless indeed.She
was very ungrateful for his kindness, thinking of other things, quite
unsuspicious of his real object.She smiled contemptuously to see him
pass in full midday when he ought to have been at his work, but laughed,
with a little aside, thinking, poor Harry, he would never set the Thames
on fire, it did not matter very much after all whether he was there or
not.The master head was absent, too often absent, but Edward had
everything so well in hand that it mattered the less."When he is
settled he will not go away so often," she said to herself.What a
change it would have made in all her thoughts had she known the gloomy
doubts and terrors in Harry's mind, his alarmed sense that he must step
into a breach which he knew not how to fill, his bewildered questionings
with himself.If Edward did not turn up that night there would be
nothing else for it, and what was he to do?He understood the common
course of business, and how to judge in certain easy cases, but what to
do in an emergency he did not know.John went to the kitchen.He went on to the Heronry at a great
rate, making more noise than any one else would with the gate, and
catching full in his face the gaze of those watchful observers who
belonged to the place, Mr.Mildmay Vernon in the summer-house with his
newspaper, and the Miss Vernon-Ridgways at their open window.He thought
they all rose at him like so many serpent-heads erecting themselves with
a dart and hiss.Harry was so little fanciful that only an excited
imagination could have brought him to this.John was in the verandah, gardening--arranging the pots in which
her pelargoniums were beginning to bloom.She would have had him stay
and help her, asking many questions about Ellen and her baby which Harry
was unable to answer."I have no time to stay; I would
like to see her for a moment."Harry's embarrassment, she thought, could
only mean one thing--a sudden impulse to renew the suit which Hester had
been so foolish as to reject.She looked at him kindly and shook her
head."She is in the parlour; but I wouldn't if I were you," she said,
her eyes moist with sympathy.It was hard upon poor Harry to be
compelled thus to take upon himself the credit of a second humiliation."I should like to see her, please," he answered, looking steadfastly
into Mrs.John's kind, humid eyes, as she shook her head in warning."Well, my dear boy; she is in the parlour.I wish--I wish---- But, alas!there is no change in her, and I wouldn't if I were you.""Never mind, a man can but have his chance," said magnanimous Harry.He
knew that few men would have done as much, and the sense of the
sacrifice he was making made his heart swell.His pride was to go too;
he was to be supposed to be bringing upon himself a second rejection;
but "Never mind, it is all in the day's work," he said to himself, as he
went through the dim passages and knocked at the parlour door.Hester was sitting alone over a little writing-desk on the table.She
was writing hurriedly, and he could see her nervous movement to gather
together some sheets of paper, and shut them up in her little desk, when
she found herself interrupted.She gave a great start when she perceived
who it was, and sprang up, saying, "Harry!"breathlessly, as if she
expected something to follow.But at first Harry was scarcely master of
himself to speak.The girl he loved, the one woman who had moved his
dull, good, tenacious heart--she whom, he thought, he should be faithful
to all his life, and never care for another; but he knew that her start,
her breathless look, the colour that flooded her face, coming and going,
were not for him, but for some one else, and that his question would
plunge her into trouble too; that he would be to her henceforth as an
emissary of evil, perhaps an enemy.All this ran through his mind as he
stood looking at her and kept him silent.And when he had gathered
himself together his mission suddenly appeared to him so extraordinary,
so presumptuous, that he did not know how to explain it."You must be surprised to see me," he said, hesitating."I don't know
what you will think.Katharine had nestled close to his side,
and was looking wistfully into his face."There isn't any trouble now, Nelson.Mother may be angry for awhile,
but it won't be forever.""I was thinking," said Thrasher, with his eyes resolutely fixed on the
ground, "I was thinking that, as it had gone so far, we had better put
off telling about it till after my next trip."Katharine turned white, and suddenly shrank away from him.Daniel moved to the bathroom.He did not
seem to notice it, but went on in the same even voice."It will not be long--not more than two or three months at the most."Katharine held her breath and listened, but sobs were gathering thick
and heavy in her bosom.and now the sobs broke forth
with painful violence."It may be less than that--I will get the shortest voyage that can be
found.But for the shipwreck this might not have been so necessary; as
it is, one must have a little money to go to housekeeping with.You
wouldn't have me ask my father for that?"Besides, what would mother do without me just now--with this
dreadful news to bear up against?"cried Katharine, hushing her sobs."I was sure you would see the whole thing in this sensible way, dear."Katharine wiped her eyes and made a miserable effort to smile.But what if something happens to keep you
away longer?--I should die!If it should--that is, if I do not come back
in three months at the furthest--take your certificate, go up to my
mother, show it to her, and tell the old folks to take care of you for
my sake; for after that, you may consider yourself a widow!""Yes, beyond a doubt; for if I do not come back in three months, be sure
that nothing but death keeps me!"cried the poor wife, lifting her hands as if to ward off
a blow.Daniel went to the office."Well, well; there's nothing so dreadful about all this.One would
think, by that face, you saw me in the water now, with a stone at my
feet."Again Katharine held up her hands and shut her eyes.Spite of himself, Thrasher was touched by this evidence of affection; he
changed his position, and stole his arm around her waist."There, now, we have settled all this terrible business, and can |
office | Where is Mary? | "Have you seen much of the old
people since I went away?""I had no heart to go there often; but sometimes I saw your father at
the gate.He always stopped if I was there when he rode by; and when
mother was sick, Mrs."When was she ever away
when help could be given?Under all circumstances she will be good to
you, wife or widow.""Don't use that word widow; it makes me cold.""Yet it is sometimes a pleasant word," said Thrasher, forgetting her
presence in thoughts of another."Pleasant!-did I say so?How strange that one's tongue will make such
blunders."Something in her husband's manner
brought back the feelings she had experienced at Mrs.Vague spasms of jealousy, that culminated in a sharp pang
when she remembered that the beautiful woman who had almost taunted her,
was a widow now."Nelson," she said, awaking from her grief, for there was something of
indignation mingled with it now, "last night I was at Mrs."Only when I went to get news of the ship; for I don't much like her.""No; she hurts one's feelings without meaning it, I dare say.Her
haughtiness keeps every one at a distance."Thrasher turned his face away, to conceal the proud smile that broke
over it.He longed to defend the haughtiness of which Katharine
complained--to say that it was the birthright of Ellen's great
superiority over all other women.But he checked the impulse and only
answered:
"Perhaps it is so.I have seen very little of her since she married
that--that--I mean since she married Captain Mason.""She told me something last night that surprised me.""She said that you had loved her before she accepted Captain Mason, and
that she refused you.""Ah, she told you that; and did her ladyship tell you why she took Mason
instead of me?""Because you was a third or second mate, I forget which, and he was a
captain; that was the reason she gave--but you speak as if it were
true.""Well, when I say that I had never been to sea in my life when John
Mason married Ellen Palmer, you'll probably believe this nonsense."cried Katharine, smiling happily the first time
that day."When women boast of their conquests, they seldom are true, Kate.""But how unfeeling to say all this to me, your wife!""She didn't know that; with a secret like ours, one is always getting
into trouble, Kate; as for this haughty woman, I would not go near her
again--she'll find you out in no time.""I suppose she would, for when the heart is full, it is hard to look
calm.Last night I longed to tell the woman to her face, that I had a
right to inquire after you--just as good a right as she had to be taking
on about her husband."The little girl seemed to grudge
me that comfort, for she said I had no husband nor father off to sea,
and she couldn't tell what I wanted to cry for like her own mother.""So they were having a general
season of mourning, because Mason did not present himself?""Not exactly that," said Katharine; "still, I was sorry for Mrs.Mason
and the little girl, for they felt bad enough; and now, when you are
safe--when I ought to be so happy--it is a shame to talk over their
faults.I dare say she didn't mean any thing.Such women sometimes fancy
that men want to offer themselves who never had the idea.Mason to her face that I didn't believe a word of it.""And so you managed to get up a little sparring-match between you, and
all upon my account?""Not quite that," answered Katharine, laughing also."But I was so
disappointed that every thing went wrong.Besides, it's no use denying
it, Mrs.The idea of a married woman speaking of
her offers!But then, you never did make her an offer--and I knew it.""Well, any way, you have a pretty sure safeguard that I never shall make
her one."She looked toward him with a
long, steady glance of affection.Tears trembled on her long lashes, and
shone like dew where they had fallen on the damask of her cheek.But the
smile upon her mouth, and the tenderness in her eyes, were enough to
excuse any man for remembering, just then, that she was his own wife.Thrasher drew her toward him, and kissed her with hearty warmth for the
first time since his return home.I am afraid the dear old people standing by the window saw it, for they
looked at each other slyly and turned away.MASON'S RICH UNCLE IN THE SOUTH."Nelson Thrasher came home last night."answered the stern old lady, thrusting her
knitting-needle into the goose-quill tube of her sheath, which was
fastened, like the leaf of some great, red flower, on the right side of
her waist."No good ever followed his coming, that I ever heard of."The color came into Katharine's face at this, for no woman likes to hear
the man she loves spoken lightly of.Still she was striving to lead her
mother's mind quietly to the bad news which lay heavy at her own heart,
and did not feel the scornful tones in which the words were spoken, as
she would have done.For a little time there was no sound save the rattle of Mrs.Allen's
needle in its sheath, which grew quicker and sharper each moment--a sure
sign that the old lady was disturbed in her mind.After knitting twice
round the top of a mixed stocking with unceasing vigor, amid a great
click and rattle of the needles, she drew a length of yarn from the ball
in her lap, with a jerk, and commenced again more deliberately.Katharine sat still, for she knew that this was preliminary to a renewal
of the conversation.The first words, however, came out with a
suddenness that made her start.Katharine could keep a secret, to her sorrow, poor thing; but she was
incapable of a direct falsehood, so she answered truly, but with a
quiver of fear in her voice."Yes, mother, he overtook me on my way home from Mrs."You saw him last night, last night, and got no word of my son.Where is
he--when will he come, Katharine Allen?"No, mother; but I--I was afraid to say any thing--indeed, I did not
know until this morning, for I saw him under the great butternut tree by
the road, and went out--I did not know what sad news he brought."cried the woman, drawing herself up as if to ward
off a blow; "did you say sad news, Katharine?""Yes, mother," answered the beautiful girl, stealing close to the
high-backed chair that her own face might be concealed, but her voice
and limbs shook with the emotion she strove to suppress, and this the
old woman felt to the core of her heart.she inquired, in a deep, hoarse voice.Can't you see that I must know,
or--or drop dead in my chair!"My brother, my poor, poor brother would not abandon
the vessel."Every soul on board--no, I remember a <DW64> and a little boy stayed
with him.""And the man Nelson Thrasher left my son on the stormy seas to die?""No, no, he only went with the rest; besides, he did not know, 'till I
told him, that David was my brother, or your son.""And they left him alone on the high seas to starve or drown," said the
old woman, hoarsely."Katharine Allen, never mention that man's name to
me while you live.If you see him passing my house, give warning, that I
may turn away and not curse him."The old woman's face was bloodless as parchment.She tried to go on with
her work, but it fell from her hands, while she, unconscious of the
loss, kept on with the motion of knitting, and looked down with her
heavy black eyes as if she were counting the stitches that were only
made in air.The old lady did not speak, but the two hands dropped heavily in her
lap, and her face fell down upon her bosom.The stillness of her grief
was appalling.Katharine knelt before her, pale as death."Katharine Allen, tell me word for word what that man said to you of my
son David.""Be composed, don't look so hard, and I will--you shake so, mother."She placed the needle in its sheath, and began taking her
stitches with slow precision.True enough, her nerves were braced like steel, and like steel were her
features locked.Katharine, poor soul, repeated what Thrasher had told
her of the shipwreck, faithfully; softening it with the sweet tenderness
of her voice, and putting in a word of excuse here and there.Then she
came to the end, and told how that little boy and his noble slave
insisted upon staying with Rice, after they had been saved from the very
jaws of death--a terrible death--like that which threatened him.Now the old woman's heart began to heave, and her great, heavy eyes
kindled with living fire."Katharine," she said, "were these three martyrs alive when the cowards
left them?""Brave spirits," cried the old lady, rising suddenly."They were in the
hands of a merciful God, and he will save them!We will not mourn David
as lost till that wreck is heard from.Had
there been no hope he would have left with the rest.""Oh, mother, if it should prove so!""God did not inspire that brave child and the <DW64> to stand by him for
nothing.I _feel_ that he is alive in the return of my own strength.When a strong man dies, his mother should feel weak, though he were a
thousand miles off.But I, look, am I feeble and drooping, as if the
staff of my age were torn from under me.If I stand upright, it is
because he was, he is a good man.If I feel a power of vitality here, it
is a proof that kindred life beats somewhere in response to it."Katharine gazed at her mother in astonishment.There was something
sublime in her great faith, a grandeur in her attitude like that which
we give to a prophetess of the Bible.In her language and voice she
seemed lifted out of herself.Katharine always held her mother in profound reverence, in which love
and fear were so equally blended, that she was seldom quite at rest in
her presence.Now these feelings arose almost to religious exaltation.With all the softening influence of love and youth about her, she
possessed many of the vigorous and noble traits which gave the old woman
an acknowledged superiority in the neighborhood.With her mother's
faith her hopes arose, and coming out of their deep grief the two sat
down together, and strove to wrest some assurance of the son and
brother's safety from the news that had reached them."He is alive--I feel that he is alive--my noble, strong boy!"said the
old woman, as she laid her head on the pillow, but a heavy fear lay at
her heart all the time."He was alive, and while there is life we may hope," whispered
Katharine, sadly, as she sank to an unquiet sleep.A heavier sorrow,
alas, lay upon her; the sorrow of a corroding secret which the last few
hours had rendered almost a guilty burden from the new causes of
detestation that had sprung up between her mother and the man she had so
rashly married.Thus every thing conspired to keep that young creature
silent--Thrasher's request and the mother's prejudices, made more bitter
by that man's desertion of her son in his hour of need, kept the secret
weighed down in her bosom.Mary moved to the office.True, this prejudice seemed very
unreasonable; no one had compelled Rice to remain on the wreck.The same
means of escape which brought the others home in safety was free to him;
but a feeling stronger than facts possessed the old lady.Dead or alive,
she believed that some treachery had been practiced on her son, and that
the traitor was Nelson Thrasher.Katharine remembered that the man was her husband--that in a few months
she might be called upon to choose between the mother whom she regarded
with loving reverence and the husband whom she almost adored.No wonder
the poor girl shrunk from the moment which was to force the
heart-rending decision upon her.It was a terrible position for one so
young and so helpless.Between these two strong, positive characters,
there was little hope of tranquillity for her, even though a partial
reconciliation should take place.One gleam of consolation did break upon her that night, when she
remembered her mother's faith.David Rice was as good, as noble-hearted
a man as ever drew breath.It was the forlorn hope that he yet lived,
and would mediate for her and her husband with the stern mother.It was impossible for Thrasher to visit Mrs.Allen's house; Katharine
told him so on their next interview.Thus the young wife had no cause to
complain that he spent but little time with her, and seemed both
occupied and anxious when they did meet.After the news which had disturbed her so, the old lady kept her room,
and all the duties of the house fell upon Katharine, so that she had
little opportunity to go any distance from home, and the gossip of the
neighborhood seldom reached her.Indeed, there was almost nothing for her to hear.Thrasher held very
slight intercourse with the neighbors; and as his father's farm was,
like Mrs.Allen's house, isolated among the hills, they knew little of
his movements.That he occasionally was seen going down the footpath
that led to Mrs.Mason's cottage in the pine woods, counted for nothing.Mason had been his captain, and it was but kind and right that he should
offer sympathy to the widow.All the neighborhood was excited to pity in
her behalf.What could she do, so proud and helpless, with that pretty
child to support?The widow was very desponding at first, and went about the house
mournfully, her beautiful eyes heavy with tears, and her red lips ready
to tremble if any one spoke to her.The kind farmers stopped on their way from mill, and insisted on leaving
a baking of flour at the gate.Pretty girls came with their aprons full
of newly-laid eggs; and a little fellow, diverging every morning from
his way to school, set a small tin pail, bright as silver, through the
fence, and ran away as if he had been stealing.The pail always
contained milk, with more cream in it than ever came there naturally,
and sometimes, on the grass close by it, Mrs.Mason found a roll of
golden butter folded up in a cool cabbage leaf.Was it these kindnesses that softened the widow's grief, and brought the
rich bloom back to her cheek so early after her loss?or had she some
hidden source of consolation which kindled her face into more superb
beauty, as the earth looks fresher and more heavenly after a tempest?Certain it was, her step soon regained its firmness, and her person its
haughty poise.She spoke of Captain Mason less frequently, and there was
in her manner something that surprised the good neighbors and repelled
their sympathies.She seemed ashamed of the meagre attempts at mourning
that she had been enabled to make; and exhausted quantities of vinegar
and cold tea in refreshing bits of French crape and breadths of
bombazine, which would look worn and rusty spite of all she could do,
and this brought tears into her eyes when they had ceased to weep for
deeper cares.But, as I have said, after awhile all her beauty and animation came
back.She began to talk hopefully of an uncle, who lived away off in the
South, who would, perhaps, send for her and little Rose, when he
received her letter, informing him of the helpless state in which they
had been left.No one of the neighbors had ever heard of this uncle
before, and her constant boasting about his wealth and the style in
which he lived, rather set them aback.It cast their own little kindness
quite into the shade.How could they offer fresh eggs and rolls of
butter to a woman who wore her cheap black dress like a queen, and
talked of pearls and diamonds all the day long, as if she had discovered
a mine, and wanted to find out its exact value.MASON LEAVES THEDaniel went to the kitchen. |
office | Where is Daniel? | Mason announced that the expected letter had arrived, with
money for her expenses to the South--she never told the exact
locality--and that she and little Rose would set forth at once, taking
the steamboat from New Haven to New York, where her passage southward
was already engaged.All this was very magnificent and almost startling, but corroborated by
a supply of money which the widow evidently possessed, and by the
disposition of her little household furniture, which she distributed
among her friends with the careless prodigality of a princess.The preparations for her departure went on spiritedly.With nothing to
prepare; for all her new mourning dresses, she announced, were to be
made in New York; it was only packing a small trunk, and taking leave of
the old neighbors, and she was ready with little Rose to go forth into
her new life.A neighbor had been engaged to take her to town in a
dashing, one horse wagon, which he had just bought, and in this way the
whole arrangement promised to go off with the eclat which the widow
Mason always affected.Thus time passed until the night before her journey.The furniture had
not yet been removed, and every thing retained the old homelike aspect;
from any appearance of confusion that existed, you would have fancied
that the mistress of the house was only going out for a morning drive.She seemed rather elated than otherwise, and received her friends with
half royal condescension, not absolutely offensive, but calculated to
check the honest grief with which old neighbors parted on those days
when a household was breaking up.Many kind wishes were, however,
exchanged, little presents were brought in, such as patchwork holders,
work bags, and pincushions, besides a pair of fine, lambs' wool mittens,
knitted by the oldest woman in the town, was presented to her with a
gentle message of farewell, followed by various other trifles,
calculated to appeal eloquently to a kind heart.All these, the widow
received with concealed and smiling indifference, thinking in her soul
how paltry such things were to a person of her expectations.But little Rose made up for all her mother's lack of feeling.She was
broken-hearted at the thought of leaving her playmates, burst into tears
when the old people patted her on the head, and refused to be comforted
by all the promises of grandeur which were whispered in her ear, either
by her mother or her friends.Mary moved to the office.That night--after the neighbors had gone away, and Rose was in bed
hugging a home-made doll which one of the little girls had brought
her--a boy who had been kept late with his lessons, climbed softly over
the door yard fence.He was afraid that the gate would creak, and
disturb the family if Rose should be in bed; so with a long string of
robins' eggs held in one hand, he leaped into the grass and stole softly
up to one of the front windows.A corner of the paper blind was turned
up by the back of a chair which it had fallen against, and through this
opening, our little adventurer saw clearly into the room.First, he
looked for Rose, the object of his juvenile idolatry; but her little
chair was empty, and her tiny morocco shoes and red worsted stockings
lay in a heap on the seat, sure proofs that she had gone to bed.This was a sad disappointment to the lad, but he soon forgot it in the
surprise which followed.Mason and some strange man were sitting by
a work table, which stood near the window.A tallow candle shed its
light on the widow's face, but the man sat with his back to the window,
his features all in deep shadow.His hand was extended half over the
table, clutching a quantity of gold or silver coins, the boy could not
tell which, for gold money he had never seen, and the pieces that
escaped between the man's fingers, and fell ringing on the table, might
have been Spanish quarters, or guineas, for aught he knew.At any rate,
that great handful of money seemed a marvellous sum to him, and when
Mrs.Mason received it in her two hands, he wondered that she did not
jump for joy.But instead of this, she took a variegated work bag from
the table drawer, poured the money into it with some smiling remark, and
crossing the room, unlocked her trunk and placed the bag in one corner.While she was thus occupied, the lad observed a strange looking box
upon the table, which the person still sitting there had opened.A
bright flash came out of the box, as if something had struck fire
within.She had taken off her
mourning dress, replacing it with a black silk skirt and dimity short
gown, with loose, open sleeves that left her fine arms partially
exposed, every time she lifted them.She came up to the table and seemed
struck with wonder, for lifting up both arms, she uttered an exclamation
of delight which the boy heard clearly.The man snatched something from the box, arose, and seized her arm.A
little struggle followed, quick, impassioned words, which the listener
did not understand, but he saw that the man was pleading for something
which she smilingly refused.That boy knew at last what it meant; he had
begged and coaxed exactly in the same way for a good-by kiss, which
little Rose resisted, almost as her mother was doing now.He had
promised the very string of robins' eggs in his hand, as a temptation,
and all to no effect.He remembered his own disappointment, and rather
pitied the poor man, who, baffled and mortified, bent down and kissed
Mrs.Mason's arm, just above a glittering band which circled the wrist,
flashing there like a ribbon of fire.Mason was evidently angry and resentful, even of this liberty.She
tore the bracelet from her arm, and tossed it haughtily into the box.Still the man's back was toward the window, so it was impossible to mark
the effect this had on him, save by the droop of his shoulders, and a
deprecating action of the hands.But the widow motioned him away,
frowning heavily.The man sat down, closed the box, and bent his
forehead upon it.She leaned over the table and spoke to him.He
started up with a suddenness that frightened the lad, who leaped the
fence like a deer, and fled up the road.It was a long time before the boy ever mentioned what he had witnessed
that night.The remembrance of his own shy feelings about little Rose
kept him silent.Besides this, he had a consciousness that there was
something to be ashamed of in peeping through the windows of a
neighbor's house, and so wisely kept his peace about what he had
discovered in this surreptitious manner.The next morning, a little group of neighbors gathered to see Mrs.A light, yellow wagon, stood before the gate, a restive, gray
horse, stamped and chafed beneath his harness till it rattled again.The
widow was shaking hands in the entry, while the proud owner of that
equipage carried out her little hair trunk, and put it behind the seat.Rose was crying bitterly over a gray kitten that came and rubbed itself
against her ankles, and purred as if it rather enjoyed the unusual
commotion.This pretty child really seemed to feel the parting from her
home much more keenly than her mother.It was the father of the bright boy that had so naughtily looked into
the window--who owned the wagon.With his heart full of grief, the poor
fellow had begged a ride, and stood dolefully by the gate, peeping at
little Rose through an opening of the boards.Mason came forth into the morning sunshine, prepared for
her journey.The earth was wet, and she gathered up the skirt of her
dark dress, as a queen manages her train, revealing a finely shaped
foot, with which she trod daintily through the grass.Really it was
difficult to say which struck the beholder most forcibly in that woman;
the regal style with which she carried herself, or the marvellous
physical beauty which gave grace to her very haughtiness.No one could
deny that she was a superb creature, even in that cheap bombazine dress
and gloomy black bonnet.The owner placed himself by her
side, and began to unwind the long lash from his whip handle, with the
air of a man who meant to do the thing up handsomely.Little Rose had
been lifted over the wheel, and placed into the centre of the seat, like
an exclamation point in the middle of a short sentence.Thus they were
all crowded together a little uncomfortably."Wait, wait," cried the lad, dashing into the house, and bringing forth
Rose's tiny arm-chair with its pretty crimson cushion."There," he said,
choking back a great sob, "if pa brings it back in the wagon, maybe
you'll let me keep it; nobody shall ever sit in it, Rose, 'till you come
home again."Then Rose covered her face with two dimpled little hands that were wet
all over in a moment."Oh, don't--la, don't!"The lad sprang up on the hub of the front wheel, and laid the string of
robins' eggs into her lap, his face all in a blaze, and his eyes full of
tears."Don't forget me, Rose, don't--no boy will ever love you half so much as
I do."Rose dropped her hands, looked down at the blue eggs in her lap, and
throwing her arms around his neck, kissed him three or four times.Mason looked at each other, and laughed softly.The
boy heard them, sprang down from the wheel, and dashed into the house,
where no one could see what a great baby he was ready to make of
himself.Then he watched the wagon drive off through a flood of blinding
tears, while little Rose flung kisses back at random, sobbing as if her
heart would break, and wondering if any of them would reach him.When the farmer returned from his ten miles' drive into New Haven, he
brought news that a steamboat lay at the foot of "Long Wharf," ready to
sail in half an hour after Mrs.Mason reached it, and that he saw her go
on board in great spirits, with Rose, who had cried all the way, but
seemed a little pacified by the sight of the broad waters, and the great
puffing boat in which she was about to cross them.Nelson Thrasher happened to be standing near when the farmer said this,
and one of the rare smiles I have spoken of crossed his face, but he
made no observations, and soon took a cross-cut through the fields which
led him by Mrs.Katharine was watching for him
at the back window.Mason's journey, and exulted a
little when Nelson passed the house on his way to Falls Hill, an hour
after she had started.All that night she had been troubled lest he
should wish to bid the widow farewell; for, spite of herself, a
lingering distrust still kept its hold on her heart, when she remembered
the conversation of that evening.Thrasher saw her at the window, and made a signal, which soon brought
her outside of the stone wall, and under a huge apple tree, which flung
its branches across it and into the garden.Never since his return had Thrasher seemed so cheerful.He even
inquired after the old lady with something of interest, and spoke of the
time when she would regard him with less prejudice.All this gave
Katharine a lighter heart; her beauty, which had been dimmed by
adversity of late, bloomed out again.Mason,
she was far more lovely, and her fair, sweet face was mobile with
sentiments which the widow could not have understood.Compared to that
woman, she was like the apple blossoms of May contrasted with autumn
fruit--one a child of the pure, bright spring, appealing to the
imagination; the other a growth of storm, sunshine, and dew, mellowing
down from its first delicate beauty to a perfection of ripeness which
sense alone can appreciate.There existed elements in that young
creature's character from which the best poetry of life is wrought.Heroism, self-abnegation, endurance, and truthfulness--all these
rendered her moral character beautiful as her person.Why should we attempt
to foreshadow in words a destiny and a nature like hers?It is enough
that she looked lovely as an April morning that bright day, as she stood
under the apple tree, leaning against the mossy old wall, talking to her
husband, sometimes with her lips, sometimes with her wonderful eyes,
which said a thousand loving things that her voice refused to utter.He
fell into the current of her cheerfulness, and chatted pleasantly, till
the slanting shadows warned her that the tea hour had arrived, and that
her mother would be impatient.With his kisses warm upon her mouth, she
went singing into the house, happy and rich in sudden joyousness.Mason's departure, when Thrasher began
to talk of going to sea again.They
had hoped that his attachment to Katharine Allen would have kept him at
the homestead.Thus they had carefully avoided any allusion to the
subject of his departure, satisfied that every thing was progressing to
forward their wishes.When he spoke of going away in the course of
another week, it was a terrible shock to them, and seemed a painful
subject to himself.Katharine had, from the first, expected his departure--its necessity had
been urged upon her on their first meeting under the butternut tree.She
acquiesced in his decision then, and never thought of disputing it
afterward.But, as the time drew near, she became very sad--vague doubts
beset her night and day--formless, reasonless, as she strove to convince
herself; but the struggle was always going on--the feelings reasoned out
of her mind overnight, were certain to return in the morning.It was a sorrowful position for a young creature like her, inexperienced
every way, needing counsel as no human being ever required it before,
yet afraid to breathe a word of the trouble that oppressed her, lest it
should alienate her entirely from her suffering mother, whom, next to
Thrasher, she loved with the tenderest devotion.It was an honor to this young creature that she bore all this load of
anxiety without a single word of complaint.Daniel went to the kitchen.She felt that all the
concealment that followed her marriage had sprung from her own desire.But the dread of giving pain to her mother had exerted an overpowering
influence over her.Thrasher had not seemed to care about the matter.Sandra went to the bathroom.Whether his marriage was proclaimed at once or not, had been a subject
of indifference.If secrecy had become more important now, she did not
realize it; but imagined that he was still indulging her fears rather
than guiding them.The sad news that he had brought, the sickness it had
inflicted upon her mother, were stern reasons why she should not speak
then.All this Thrasher knew, and was content to leave things to their natural
course.So, instead of offering hindrance to his departure, Katharine
was almost anxious for him to go, that his return within the promised
time might be more certain.Still the young man lingered at the homestead, though letters reached
him from New York twice in one week, from ship owners, he said, urging
him to be on hand for a fresh voyage, where, he could not exactly tell.The vessel belonged to no established line, but traded with the West
Indies, generally.It seemed, they both said plaintively,
as if they were parting with their son forever.The homestead and all they possessed in the world should be his
if he would but marry and settle down.They only wanted a comfortable
room in some corner of the old house, where, with a knowledge of his
presence and happiness, their content would be perfect.He could not answer these tender entreaties, but sat moodily, striving
not to listen.His mind was made up--his career marked out.The great
loves of his life were antagonistic; one must be surrendered--the holy
or the unholy.He turned from the wholesome fruit, and took that which
was ashen at the core.Daniel moved to the office.Thrasher might have avoided the last farewell; but painful as it was, he
could not force himself to leave the old people unawares.The last
evening must come, the last good-night must be said.He would listen to
the old man's voice on his knees once more, and let his mother kiss him,
as of old, before he went to sleep in that house for the last time.It
was all very painful--worse than leaving his young wife; worse than
death, he said to himself, a hundred times; all his innocent memories,
all his household affections |
office | Where is Daniel? | Would other love come into his life and compensate for this which he
threw away?His teeth were clenched, and great drops stood on his
forehead, as he asked these questions.But his resolve was made; nothing
could change that--not even the gentle old woman, with sweet motherly
love in her eyes, who came and sat by him so meekly, and talked of the
next thanksgiving, when he would be at home again, and they would have
such a dinner.She had set aside the plumpest young turkey on the farm,
and it should not be killed till he came back--thanksgiving or no
thanksgiving.He stood out against all this; every affectionate
string in his heart trembled in the struggle, but his bad, strong will,
carried him through.Mary moved to the office.That night he met Katharine by the old stone wall, when they bade each
other farewell.He was gentle to her then, and his voice was so full of
anguish, that she gathered up her strength to comfort him.The poor
girl spoke hopefully of the little time they would be apart, and how
constantly she would think of him--pray for him.She dwelt, too, on
other things--on the great happiness that would come in the future.Her
voice grew soft with tenderness, and her sweet face looked heavenly in
the starlight, as she made this womanly effort to console him; but his
eyes were cast down, and a heavy, leaden feeling, weighed upon his
shoulders.Dumb and granite-hearted, he listened, striving not to hear.Katharine's time was up; in a few minutes her old mother would be
calling for her.She already saw her tall person casting its shadow
across the window, as she walked to and fro, impatient of her
loneliness.Daniel went to the kitchen.He begins, "Uncle Plumpton, I recommend me unto you," and
finishes, "Your nephew," simply, or still more laconically, "Your."The rule was, to be deliberately perfect in
all epistolary observances, however near the relationship.Not that the
forms used were hard forms, entirely fixed by usage and devoid of personal
feeling and individuality.They appear to have been more flexible and
living than our own, as they were more frequently varied according to the
taste and sentiment of the writers.Sometimes, of course, they were
perfunctory, but often they have an original and very graceful turn.One
letter, which I will quote at length, contains curious evidence of the
courtesy and discourtesy of those days.The forms used in the letter
itself are perfect, but the writer complains that other letters have not
been answered.Sir Robert Plumpton had a daughter, Dorothy,
who was in the household of Lady Darcy (probably as a sort of maid of
honor to her ladyship), but was not quite pleased with her position, and
wanted to go home to Plumpton.She had written to her father several
times, but had received no answer, so she now writes again to him in these
terms.The date of the letter is not fully given, as the year is wanting;
but her parents were married in 1477, and her father died in 1523, at the
age of seventy, after a life of strange vicissitudes.The reader will
observe two leading characteristics in this letter,--that it is as
courteous as if the writer were not related to the receiver, and as
affectionate as if no forms had been observed.As was the custom in those
days, the young lady gives her parents their titles of worldly honor, but
she always adds to them the most affectionate filial expressions:
_To the right worshipfull and my most entyerly beloved, good, kind
father, Sir Robart Plompton, knyght, lying at Plompton in Yorkshire,
be thes delivered in hast._
Ryght worshipfull father, in the most humble manner that I can I
recommend me to you, and to my lady my mother, and to all my brethren
and sistren, whom I besech almyghtie God to mayntayne and preserve in
prosperus health and encrese of worship, entyerly requiering you of
your daly blessing; letting you wyt that I send to you mesuage, be
Wryghame of Knarsbrugh, of my mynd, and how that he should desire you
in my name to send for me to come home to you, and as yet I had no
answere agane, the which desire my lady hath gotten knowledg.Wherefore, she is to me more better lady than ever she was before,
insomuch that she hath promysed me hir good ladyship as long as ever
she shall lyve; and if she or ye can fynd athing meyter for me in this
parties or any other, she will helpe to promoote me to the uttermost
of her puyssaunce.Wherefore, I humbly besech you to be so good and
kind father unto me as to let me know your pleasure, how that ye will
have me ordred, as shortly as it shall like you.And wryt to my lady,
thanking hir good ladyship of hir so loving and tender kyndnesse
shewed unto me, beseching hir ladyship of good contynewance thereof.And therefore I besech you to send a servant of yours to my lady and
to me, and show now by your fatherly kyndnesse that I am your child;
for I have sent you dyverse messuages and wryttings, and I had never
answere againe.Wherefore yt is thought in this parties, by those
persones that list better to say ill than good, that ye have litle
favor unto me; the which error ye may now quench yf yt will like you
to be so good and kynd father unto me.Also I besech you to send me a
fine hatt and some good cloth to make me some kevercheffes.Sandra went to the bathroom.And thus I
besech _Jesu_ to have you in his blessed keeping to his pleasure, and
your harts desire and comforth.Wryten at the Hirste, the xviii day of
Maye.By your loving daughter,
DORYTHE PLOMPTON.It may be worth while, for the sake of contrast, and that we may the
better perceive the lost fragrance of the antique courtesy, to put the
substance of this letter into the style of the present day.A modern young
lady would probably write as follows:--
HIRST, _May 18_.DEAR PAPA,--Lady Darcy has found out that I want to leave her, but she
has kindly promised to do what she can to find something else for me.I wish you would say what you think, and it would be as well, perhaps,
if you would be so good as to drop a line to her ladyship to thank
her.I have written to you several times, but got no answer, so people
here say that you don't care very much for me.Would you please send
me a handsome bonnet and some handkerchiefs?Best love to mamma and
all at home.Your affectionate daughter,
DOROTHY PLUMPTON.Daniel moved to the office.This, I think, is not an unfair specimen of a modern letter.[28] The
expressions of worship, of humble respect, have disappeared, and so far it
may be thought that there is improvement, yet that respect was not
incompatible with tender feeling; on the contrary, it was closely
associated with it, and expressions of sentiment have lost strength and
vitality along with expressions of respect.Tenderness may be sometimes
shown in modern letters, but it is rare; and when it occurs it is
generally accompanied by a degree of familiarity which our ancestors would
have considered in bad taste.Dorothy Plumpton's own letter is far richer
in the expression of tender feeling than any modern letter of the
courteous and ceremonious kind, or than any of those pale and commonplace
communications from which deep respect and strong affection are almost
equally excluded.Please observe, moreover, that the young lady had reason
to be dissatisfied with her father for his neglect, which does not in the
least diminish the filial courtesy of her style, but she chides him in the
sweetest fashion,--"_Show now by your fatherly kindness that I am your
child_."Could anything be prettier than that, though the reproach
contained in it is really one of some severity?Dorothy's father, Sir Robert, puts the following superscription on a
letter to his wife, "To my entyrely and right hartily beloved wife, Dame
Agnes Plumpton, be this Letter delivered."He begins his letter thus, "My
deare hart, in my most hartily wyse, I recommend mee unto you;" and he
ends tenderly, "By your owne lover, Robert Plumpton, Kt."She, on the
contrary, though a faithful and brave wife, doing her best for her husband
in a time of great trial, and enjoying his full confidence, begins her
letters, "Right worshipful Sir," and ends simply, "By your wife, Dame
Agnes Plumpton."She is so much absorbed by business that her expressions
of feeling are rare and brief.Sandra went to the office."Sir, I am in good health, and all your
children prays for your daly blessing.And all your servants is in good
health and prays diligently for your good speed in your matters."The generally courteous tone of the letters of those days may be judged of
by the following example.The reader will observe how small a space is
occupied with the substance of the letter in comparison with the
expressions of pure courtesy, and how simply and handsomely regret for the
trespass is expressed:--
_To his worshipful Cosin, Sir Robart Plompton, Kt._
Right reverend and worshipful Cosin, I commend me unto you as hertyly
as I can, evermore desiring to heare of your welfare, the which I
besech _Jesu_ to continew to his pleasure, and your herts desire.Cosin, please you witt that I am enformed, that a poor man somtyme
belonging to mee, called Umfrey Bell, hath trespased to a servant of
youres, which I am sory for.Wherefore, Cosin, I desire and hartily
pray you to take upp the matter into your own hands for my sake, and
rewle him as it please you; and therein you wil do, as I may do that
may be plesur to you, and my contry, the which I shalbe redy too, by
the grace of God, who preserve you.By your own kynsman,
ROBART WARCOPP, of Warcoppe.The reader has no doubt by this time enough of these old letters, which
are not likely to possess much charm for him unless, like the present
writer, he is rather of an antiquarian turn.[29]
The quotations are enough to show some of the forms used in correspondence
by our forefathers, forms that were right in their own day, when the state
of society was more ceremonious and deferential, but no one would propose
to revive them.We may, however, still value and cultivate the beautifully
courteous spirit that our ancestors possessed and express it in our own
modern ways.I have already observed that the essentially modern form of courtesy is
the rapidity of our replies.This, at least, is a virtue that we can
resolutely cultivate and maintain.In some countries it is pushed so far
that telegrams are very frequently sent when there is no need to employ
the telegraph.The Arabs of Algeria are extremely fond of telegraphing for
its own sake: the notion of its rapidity pleases and amuses them; they
like to wield a power so wonderful.It is said that the Americans
constantly employ the telegraph on very trivial occasions, and the habit
is increasing in England and France.The secret desire of the present age
is to find a plausible excuse for excessive brevity in correspondence, and
this is supplied by the comparative costliness of telegraphing.It is a
comfort that it allows you to send a single word.I have heard of a letter
from a son to a father consisting of the Latin word _Ibo_, and of a still
briefer one from the father to the son confined entirely to the imperative
_I_.These miracles of brevity are only possible in letters between the
most intimate friends or relations, but in telegraphy they are common.It is very difficult for courtesy to survive this modern passion for
brevity, and we see it more and more openly cast aside.All the long
phrases of politeness have been abandoned in English correspondence for a
generation, except in formal letters to official or very dignified
personages; and the little that remains is reduced to a mere shred of
courteous or affectionate expression.We have not, it is true, the
detestable habit of abridging words, as our ancestors often did, but we
cut our phrases short, and sometimes even words of courtesy are abridged
in an unbecoming manner.If I am
dear enough to these correspondents for their sentiments of affection to
be worth uttering at all, why should they be so chary of expressing them
that they omit two letters from the very word which is intended to affect
my feelings?"If I be dear, if I be dear,"
as the poet says, why should my correspondent begrudge me the four letters
of so brief an adjective?The long French and Italian forms of ceremony at the close of letters are
felt to be burdensome in the present day, and are gradually giving place
to briefer ones; but it is the very length of them, and the time and
trouble they cost to write, that make them so courteous, and no brief form
can ever be an effective substitute in that respect.I was once placed in the rather embarrassing position of having suddenly
to send telegrams in my own name, containing a request, to two high
foreign authorities in a corps where punctilious ceremony is very strictly
observed.Sandra went to the hallway.My solution of the difficulty was to write two full ceremonious
letters, with all the formal expressions unabridged, and then have these
letters telegraphed _in extenso_.This was the only possible solution, as
an ordinary telegram would have been entirely out of the question.It
being rather expensive to telegraph a very formal letter, the cost added
to the appearance of deference, so I had the curious but very real
advantage on my side that I made a telegram seem even more deferential
than a letter.The convenience of the letter-writer is consulted in inverse ratio to the
appearances of courtesy.In the matter of sealing, for example, that seems
so slight and indifferent a concern, a question of ceremony and courtesy
is involved.The old-fashioned custom of a large seal with the sender's
arms or cipher added to the importance of the contents both by strictly
guarding the privacy of the communication and by the dignified assertion
of the writer's rank.Besides this, the time that it costs to take a
proper impression of a seal shows the absence of hurry and the disposition
to sacrifice which are a part of all noble courtesy; whilst the act of
rapidly licking the gum on the inside of an envelope and then giving it a
thump with your fist to make it stick is neither dignified nor elegant.There were certain beautiful associations with the act of sealing.There
was the taper that had to be lighted, and that had its own little
candlestick of chased or gilded silver, or delicately painted porcelain;
there was the polished and graven stone of the seal, itself more or less
precious, and enhanced in value by an art of high antiquity and noble
associations, and this graven signet-stone was set in massive gold.The
act of sealing was deliberate, to secure |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | These little
things may be laughed at by a generation of practical men of business who
know the value of every second, but they had their importance, and have it
still, amongst those who possess any delicacy of perception.[30] The
reader will remember the sealing of Nelson's letter to the Crown Prince of
Denmark during the battle of Copenhagen."A wafer was given him," says
Southey, "but he ordered a candle to be brought from the cockpit, and
sealed the letter with wax, _affixing a larger seal than he ordinarily
used_.'This,' said he, 'is no time to appear hurried and informal.'"The
story is usually told as a striking example of Nelson's coolness in a time
of intense excitement, but it might be told with equal effect as a proof
of his knowledge of mankind and of the trifles which have a powerful
effect on human intercourse.The preference of wax to a wafer, and
especially the deliberate choice of a larger seal as more ceremonious and
important, are clear evidence of diplomatic skill.No doubt, too, the
impression of Nelson's arms was very careful and clear.In writing to French Ministers of State it is a traditional custom to
employ a certain paper called "papier ministre," which is very much larger
than that sent to ordinary mortals.Paper is by no means a matter of
indifference.It is the material costume under which we present ourselves
to persons removed from us by distance; and as a man pays a call in
handsome clothes as a sign of respect to others, and also of self-respect,
so he sends a piece of handsome paper to be the bearer of his salutation.Besides, a letter is in itself a gift, though a small one, and however
trifling a gift may be it must never be shabby.The English understand
this art of choosing good-looking letter-paper, and are remarkable for
using it of a thickness rare in other nations.French love of elegance has
led to charming inventions of tint and texture, particularly in delicate
gray tints, and these papers are now often decorated with embossed
initials of heraldic devices on a large scale, but that is carrying
prettiness too far.The common American habit of writing letters on ruled
paper is not to be recommended, as the ruling reminds us of copy-books and
account-books, and has a mechanical appearance that greatly detracts from
what ought to be the purely personal air of an autograph.Mary moved to the office.Modern love of despatch has led to the invention of the post-card, which,
from our present point of view, that of courtesy, deserves unhesitating
condemnation.To use a post-card is as much as to say to your
correspondent, "In order to save for myself a very little money and a very
little time, I will expose the subject of our correspondence to the eyes
of any clerk, postman, or servant, who feels the slightest curiosity about
it; and I take this small piece of card, of which I am allowed to use one
side only, in order to relieve myself from the obligation, and spare
myself the trouble, of writing a letter."To make the convenience
absolutely perfect, it is customary in England to omit the opening and
concluding salutations on post-cards, so that they are the _ne plus
ultra_, I will not say of positive rudeness, but of that negative rudeness
which is not exactly the opposite of courtesy, but its absence.Here
again, however, comes the modern principle; and promptitude and frequency
of communication may be accepted as a compensation for the sacrifice of
formality.It may be argued, and with reason, that when a man of our own
day sends a post-card his ancestors would have been still more laconic,
for they would have sent nothing at all, and that there are a thousand
circumstances in which a post-card may be written when it is not possible
to write a letter.Daniel went to the kitchen.A husband on his travels has a supply of such cards in
a pocket-book.With these, and his pencil, he writes a line once or twice
a day in train or steamboat, or at table between two dishes, or on the
windy platform of a railway station, or in the street when he sees a
letter-box.He sends fifty such communications where his father would
have written three letters, and his grandfather one slowly composed and
slowly travelling epistle.Many modern correspondents appreciate the convenience of the post-card,
but their conscience, as that of well-bred people, cannot get over the
fault of its publicity.For these the stationers have devised several
different substitutes.There is the French plan of what is called "Un Mot
a la Poste," a piece of paper with a single fold, gummed round the other
three edges, and perforated like postage-stamps for the facility of the
opener.[31] There is the miniature sheet of paper that you have not to
fold, and there is the card that you enclose in an envelope, and that
prepares the reader for a very brief communication.Here, again, is a very
curious illustration of the sacrificial nature of courtesy.A card is
sent; why a card?Why not a piece of paper of the same size which would
hold as many words?The answer is that a card is handsomer and more
costly, and from its stiffness a little easier to take out of the
envelope, and pleasanter to hold whilst reading, so that a small sacrifice
is made to the pleasure and convenience of the receiver, which is the
essence of courtesy in letter-writing.All this brief correspondence is
the offspring of the electric telegraph.Our forefathers were not used to
it, and would have regarded it as an offence.Sandra went to the bathroom.Even at the present date
(1884) it is not quite safe to write in our brief modern way to persons
who came to maturity before the electric telegraph was in use.Daniel moved to the office.There is a wide distinction between brevity and hurry; in fact, brevity,
if of the intelligent kind, is the best preservative against hurry.Some
men write short letters, but are very careful to observe all the forms;
and they have the great advantage that the apparent importance of the
formal expressions is enhanced by the shortness of the letter itself.This
is the case in Robert Warcopp's letter to Sir Robert Plumpton.When hurry really exists, and it is impossible to avoid the appearance of
it, as when a letter _cannot_ be brief, yet must be written at utmost
speed, the proper course is to apologize for hurry at the beginning and
not at the end of the letter.The reader is then propitiated at once, and
excuses the slovenly penmanship and style.It is remarkable that legibility of handwriting should never have been
considered as among the essentials of courtesy in correspondence.It is
obviously for the convenience of the reader that a letter should be easily
read; but here another consideration intervenes.To write very legibly is
the accomplishment of clerks and writing-masters, who are usually poor
men, and, as such, do not hold a high social position.Aristocratic pride
has always had it for a principle to disdain, for itself, the
accomplishments of professional men; and therefore a careless scrawl is
more aristocratic than a clean handwriting, if the scrawl is of a
fashionable kind.Perhaps the historic origin of this feeling may be the
scorn of the ignorant mediaeval baron for writing of all kinds as beneath
the attention of a warrior.In a cultured age there may be a reason of a
higher order.It may be supposed that attention to mechanical excellence
is incompatible with the action of the intellect; and people are curiously
ready to imagine incompatibilities where they do not really exist.As a
matter of fact, some men of eminent intellectual gifts write with as
exquisite a clearness in the formation of their letters as in the
elucidation of their ideas.It is easily forgotten, too, that the same
person may use different kinds of handwriting, according to circumstances,
like the gentleman whose best hand some people could read, whose middling
hand the writer himself could read, and whose worst neither he nor any
other human being could decipher.Legouve, in his exquisite way, tells a
charming story of how he astonished a little girl by excelling her in
calligraphy.His scribble is all but illegible, and she was laughing at it
one day, when he boldly challenged her to a trial.Both sat down and
formed their letters with great patience, as in a writing class, and it
turned out, to the girl's amazement, that the scribbling Academician had
by far the more copperplate-like hand of the two.He then explained that
his bad writing was simply the result of speed.Frenchmen provokingly
reserve their very worst and most illegible writing for the signature.You
are able to read the letter but not the signature, and if there is not
some other means of ascertaining the writer's name you are utterly at
fault.The old habit of crossing letters, now happily abandoned, was a direct
breach of real, though not of what in former days were conventional, good
manners.To cross a letter is as much as to say, "In order to spare myself
the cost of another sheet of paper or an extra stamp, I am quite willing
to inflict upon you, my reader, the trouble of disengaging one set of
lines from another."Very economical people in the past generation saved
an occasional penny in another way at the cost of the reader's eyes.They
diluted their ink with water, till the recipient of the letter cried,
"Prithee, why so pale?"The modern type-writing machine has the advantage of making all words
equally legible; but the receiver of the printed letter is likely to feel
on opening it a slight yet perceptible shock of the kind always caused by
a want of consideration.The letter so printed is undoubtedly easier to
read than all but the very clearest manuscript, and so far it may be
considered a politeness to use the instrument; but unluckily it is
impersonal, so that the performer on the instrument seems far removed from
the receiver of the letter and not in that direct communication with him
which would be apparent in an autograph.The effect on the mind is almost
like that of a printed circular, or at least of a letter which has been
dictated to a short-hand writer.The dictation of letters is allowable in business, because men of business
have to use the utmost attainable despatch, and (like the use of the lead
pencil) it is permitted to invalids, but with these exceptions it is sure
to produce a feeling of distance almost resembling discourtesy.In the
first place, a dictated letter is not strictly private, its contents
being already known to the amanuensis; and besides this it is felt that
the reason for dictating letters is the composer's convenience, which he
ought not to consult so obviously.If he dictates to a short-hand writer
he is evidently chary of his valuable time, whereas courtesy always at
least _seems_ willing to sacrifice time to others.These remarks, I
repeat, have no reference to business correspondence, which has its own
code of good manners.The most irritating letters to receive are those which, under a great show
of courtesy, with many phrases and many kind inquiries about your health
and that of your household, and even with some news adapted to your taste,
contain some short sentence which betrays the fact that the whole letter
was written with a manifestly selfish purpose.The proper answer to such
letters is a brief business answer to the one essential sentence that
revealed the writer's object, not taking any notice whatever of the froth
of courteous verbiage.Is it a part of necessary good breeding to answer letters at all?Are we
really, in the nature of things, under the obligation to take a piece of
paper and write phrases and sentences thereupon because it has pleased
somebody at a distance to spend his time in that manner?This requires consideration; there can be no general rule.It seems to me
that people commit the error of transferring the subject from the region
of oral conversation to the region of written intercourse.If a man asked
me the way in the street it would be rudeness on my part not to answer
him, because the answer is easily given and costs no appreciable time,
but in written correspondence the case is essentially different.I am
burdened with work; every hour, every minute of my day is apportioned to
some definite duty or necessary rest, and three strangers make use of the
post to ask me questions.To answer them I must make references; however
brief the letters may be they will take time,--altogether the three will
consume an hour.Have these correspondents any right to expect me to work
an hour for them?Would a cabman drive them about the streets of London
during an hour for nothing?Would a waterman pull them an hour on the
Thames for nothing?Would a shoe-black brush their boots and trousers an
hour for nothing?And why am I to serve these men gratuitously and be
called an ill-bred, discourteous person if I tacitly decline to be their
servant?We owe sacrifices--occasional sacrifices--of this kind to friends
and relations, and we can afford them to a few, but we are under no
obligation to answer everybody.Those whom we do answer may be thankful
for a word on a post-card in Gladstone's brief but sufficient fashion.I
am very much of the opinion of Rudolphe in Ponsard's "L'Honneur et
l'Argent."A friend asks him what he does about letters:--
_Rudolphe._ Je les mets
Soigneusement en poche et ne reponds jamais._Premier Ami._ Oh!Je ne puis pas admettre
Qu'un importun m'oblige a repondre a sa lettre,
Et, parcequ'il lui plait de noircir du papier
Me condamne moi-meme a ce facheux metier.LETTERS OF FRIENDSHIP.Sandra went to the office.If the art of writing had been unknown till now, and if the invention of
it were suddenly to burst upon the world as did that of the telephone, one
of the things most generally said in praise of it would be this.It would
be said, "What a gain to friendship, now that friends can communicate in
spite of separation by the very widest distances!"Yet we have possessed this means of communication, the fullest and best of
all, from remote antiquity, and we scarcely make any use of it--certainly
not any use at all responding to its capabilities, and as time goes on,
instead of developing those capabilities by practice in the art of
friendly correspondence, we allow them to diminish by disuse.The lowering of cost for the transport of letters, instead of making
friendly correspondents numerous, has made them few.The cheap
postage-stamp has increased business correspondence prodigiously, but it
has had a very different effect on that of friendship.Great numbers of
men whose business correspondence is heavy scarcely write letters of
friendship at all.Their minds produce the business letter as by a second
nature, and are otherwise sterile.As for the facilities afforded by steam communication with distant
countries, they seem to be of little use to friendship, since a moderate
distance soon puts a stop to friendly communication.Except in cases of
strong affection the Straits of Dover are an effectual though imaginary
bar to intercourse of this kind, not to speak of the great oceans.The impediment created by a narrow sea is, as I have said, imaginary, but
we may speculate on the reasons for it; and my own reflections have ended
in the somewhat strange conclusion that it must have something to do with
sea-sickness.Sandra went to the hallway.Mary went to the garden.It must be that people dislike the idea of writing a letter
that will have to cross a narrow channel of salt-water, because they
vaguely and dimly dread the motion of the vessel.Daniel moved to the kitchen.Nobody would consciously
avow to himself such a sympathy with a missive exempt from all human ills,
but the feeling may be unconsciously present.How else are we to account
for the remarkable fact that salt-water breaks friendly communication by
letter?If you go to live anywhere out of your native island your most
intimate friends cease to give any news of themselves.They do not even
send printed announcements of the marriages and deaths in their families.This does not imply any cessation of friendly feeling on their part.If
you appeared in England again they would welcome you with the utmost
kindness and hospitality, but they do not like to post anything that will
have to cross the sea.The news-vendors have not the same delicate
imaginative sympathy with the possible sufferings of rag- |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | You excuse the married
man, because he is too much intoxicated with happiness to be responsible
for any omission; and you excuse the dead man, because he cannot send
letters from another world.Still you think that somebody not preoccupied
by bridal joys or impeded by the last paralysis might have sent you a line
directly, were it only a printed card.Mary moved to the office.Not only do the writers of letters feel a difficulty in sending their
manuscript across the sea, but people appear to have a sense of difficulty
in correspondence proportionate to the distance the letter will have to
traverse.One would infer that they really experience, by the power of
imagination, a feeling of fatigue in sending a letter on a long journey.If this is not so, how are we to account for the fact that the rarity of
letters from friends increases in exact proportion to our remoteness from
them?A simple person without correspondence would naturally imagine that
it would be resorted to as a solace for separation, and that the greater
the distance the more the separated friends would desire to be drawn
together occasionally by its means, but in practice this rarely happens.People will communicate by letter across a space of a hundred miles when
they will not across a thousand.The very smallest impediments are of importance when the desire for
intercourse is languid.The cost of postage to colonies and to countries
within the postal union is trifling, but still it is heavier than the cost
of internal postage, and it may be unconsciously felt as an impediment.Another slight impediment is that the answer to a letter sent to a great
distance cannot arrive next day, so that he who writes in hope of an
answer is like a trader who cannot expect an immediate return for an
investment.To prevent friendships from dying out entirely through distance, the
French have a custom which seems, but is not, an empty form.On or about
New Year's Day they send cards to _all_ friends and many acquaintances,
however far away.The useful effects of this custom are the following:--
1.It acquaints you with the fact that your friend is still
alive,--pleasing information if you care to see him again.It shows you that he has not forgotten you.Daniel went to the kitchen.In case of marriage, you receive his wife's card along with his own;
and if he is dead you receive no card at all, which is at least a negative
intimation.[32]
This custom has also an effect upon written correspondence, as the printed
card affords the opportunity of writing a letter, when, without the
address, the letter might not be written.When the address is well known
the card often suggests the idea of writing.When warm friends send visiting-cards they often add a few words of
manuscript on the card itself, expressing friendly sentiments and giving a
scrap of brief but welcome news.Here is a suggestion to a generation that thinks friendly letter-writing
irksome.Sandra went to the bathroom.With a view to the sparing of time and trouble, which is the
great object of modern life (sparing, that is, in order to waste in other
ways), cards might be printed as forms of invitation are, leaving only a
few blanks to be filled up; or there might be a public signal-book in
which the phrases most likely to be useful might be represented by
numbers.Daniel moved to the office.The abandonment of letter-writing between friends is the more to be
regretted that, unless our friends are public persons, we receive no news
of them indirectly; therefore, when we leave their neighborhood, the
separation is of that complete kind which resembles temporary death.Sandra went to the office."No
word comes from the dead," and no word comes from those silent friends.It
is a melancholy thought in leaving a friend of this kind, when you shake
hands at the station and still hear the sound of his voice, that in a few
minutes he will be dead to you for months or years.The separation from a
corresponding friend is shorn of half its sorrows.You know that he will
write, and when he writes it requires little imagination to hear his voice
again.For correspondence to reach its highest
value, both friends must have the natural gift of friendly letter-writing,
which may be defined as the power of talking on paper in such a manner as
to represent their own minds with perfect fidelity in their friendly
aspect.A man may be a charming companion, full of humor
and gayety, a well of knowledge, an excellent talker, yet his
correspondence may not reveal the possession of these gifts.Some men are
so constituted that as soon as they take a pen their faculties freeze.I
remember a case of the same congelation in another art.A certain painter
had exuberant humor and mimicry, with a marked talent for strong effects
in talk; in short, he had the gifts of an actor, and, as Pius VII.called
Napoleon I., he was both _commediante_ and _tragediante_.Any one who knew
him, and did not know his paintings, would have supposed at once that a
man so gifted must have painted the most animated works; but it so
happened (from some cause in the deepest mysteries of his nature) that
whenever he took up a brush or a pencil his humor, his tragic power, and
his love of telling effects all suddenly left him, and he was as timid,
slow, sober, and generally ineffectual in his painting as he was full of
fire and energy in talk.That which ought to be the
pouring forth of a man's nature often liberates only a part of his nature,
and perhaps that part which has least to do with friendship.Your friend
delights you by his ease and affectionate charm of manner, by the
happiness of his expressions, by his wit, by the extent of his
information, all these being qualities that social intercourse brings out
in him as colors are revealed by light.The same man, in dull solitude at
his desk, may write a letter from which every one of these qualities may
be totally absent, and instead of them he may offer you a piece of
perfunctory duty-writing which, as you see quite plainly, he only wanted
to get done with, and in which you do not find a trace of your friend's
real character.Such correspondence as that is worth having only so far
as it informs you of your friend's existence and of his health.Another and a very different way in which a man may represent himself
unfairly in correspondence, so that his letters are not his real self, is
when he finds that he has some particular talent as a writer, and
unconsciously cultivates that talent when he holds a pen, whereas his real
self has many other qualities that remain unrepresented.Sandra went to the hallway.In this way humor
may become the dominant quality in the letters of a correspondent whose
conversation is not dominantly humorous.Habits of business sometimes produce the effect that the confirmed
business correspondent will write to his friend willingly and promptly on
any matter of business, and will give him excellent advice, and be glad of
the opportunity of rendering him a service, but he will shrink from the
unaccustomed effort of writing any other kind of letter.There is a strong temptation to blame silent friends and praise good
correspondents; but we do not reflect that letter-writing is a task to
some and a pleasure to others, and that if people may sometimes be justly
blamed for shirking a _corvee_ they can never deserve praise for indulging
in an amusement.There is a particular reason why, when friendly
letter-writing is a task, it is more willingly put off than many other
tasks that appear far heavier and harder.It is either a real pleasure or
a feigned pleasure, and feigned pleasures are the most wearisome things in
life, far more wearisome than acknowledged work.But first explain to me how much
depends upon the major's compliance.How far is it of consequence that
the romance with the music-master's daughter should be brought to a
conclusion and the marriage with Lady Milford effected?If the match with Lady Milford is
broken off I stand a fair chance of losing my whole influence; on the
other hand, if I force the major's consent, of losing my head.The major
must be entangled in a web.Your whole power must be employed against
his mistress.We must make her write a love-letter, address it to a
third party, and contrive to drop it cleverly in the way of the major.As if she would consent to sign her own
death-warrant.She must do so if you will but let me follow my own plan.I know
her gentle heart thoroughly; she has but two vulnerable sides by which
her conscience can be attacked; they are her father and the major.The
latter is entirely out of the question; we must, therefore, make the most
of the musician.From the description your excellency gave me of what passed in his
house nothing can be easier than to terrify the father with the threat of
a criminal process.The person of his favorite, and of the keeper of the
seals, is in some degree the representative of the duke himself, and he
who offends the former is guilty of treason towards the latter.At any
rate I will engage with these pretences to conjure up such a phantom as
shall scare the poor devil out of his seven senses.But recollect, Worm, the affair must not be carried so far as
to become serious.It shall be carried no further than is necessary to
frighten the family into our toils.The musician, therefore, must be
quietly arrested.To make the necessity yet more urgent, we may also
take possession of the mother;--and then we begin to talk of criminal
process, of the scaffold, and of imprisonment for life, and make the
daughter's letter the sole condition of the parent's release.Louisa loves her father--I might say even to adoration!Mary went to the garden.The
danger which threatens his life, or at least his freedom--the reproaches
of her conscience for being the cause of his misfortunes--the
impossibility of ever becoming the major's wife--the confusion of her
brain, which I take upon myself to produce--all these considerations make
our plan certain of success.But my son--will he not instantly get scent of it?Will it
not make him yet more desperate?Leave that to me, your excellency!The old folks shall not be set
at liberty till they and their daughter have taken the most solemn oath
to keep the whole transaction secret, and never to confess the deception.None upon us, my lord, but the most binding upon people of their
stamp.Observe, how dexterously by this measure we shall both reach the
goal of our desires.The girl loses at once the affection of her lover,
and her good name; the parents will lower their tone, and, thoroughly
humbled by misfortune, will esteem it an act of mercy, if, by giving her
my hand, I re-establish their daughter's reputation.PRESIDENT (shaking his head and smiling).I confess
myself outdone--no devil could spin a finer snare!The next question is, to whom must the letter be addressed--
with whom to accuse her of having an intrigue?Daniel moved to the kitchen.It must necessarily be some one who has all to gain or all to lose
by your son's decision in this affair.I can think of no one but the
marshal.He would certainly not be my
choice were I Louisa Miller.A man who dresses in
the height of fashion--who carries with him an atmosphere of eau de mille
fleurs and musk--who can garnish every silly speech with a handful of
ducats--could all this possibly fail to overcome the delicacy of a
tradesman's daughter?No, no, my good friend, jealousy is not quite so
hard of belief.Mary went back to the kitchen.While your excellency takes care of him, and of the fiddler's
arrest, I will go and indite the aforesaid letter.PRESIDENT (seats himself at his writing-table).Do so; and, as soon as
it is ready, bring it hither for my perusal.John journeyed to the hallway.[The PRESIDENT, having written, rises and hands the paper
to a servant who enters.See this arrest executed without a moment's delay, and let Marshal von
Kalb be informed that I wish to see him immediately.The marshal's carriage has just stopped at your lordship's
door.So much the better--as for the arrest, let it be managed with
such precaution that no disturbance arise.The PRESIDENT--MARSHALL KALB.I have just looked in, en passant, my dear friend!We are to have the grand opera Dido
to-night!Such a conflagration!--a whole town will be in flames!--you
will come to the blaze of course--eh?I have conflagration enough in my own house, one that
threatens the destruction of all I possess.You arrive very opportunely to give me your advice and assistance in a
certain business which will either advance our fortunes or utterly ruin
us both!Don't alarm me so, my dear friend!As I said before, it must exalt or ruin us entirely!You
know my project respecting the major and Lady Milford--you are not
ignorant how necessary this union is to secure both our fortunes!Marshal, our plans threaten to come to naught.I have
published the news through the whole town.The union is the general
topic of conversation.Then you will be talked of by all the town as a spreader of
false reports,--in short, Ferdinand loves another.With such an enthusiast a most insurmountable one!Can he be mad enough to spurn his good-fortune?Ask him yourself and you'll hear what he will answer.That he will publish to the world the crime by which we rose
to power--that he will denounce our forged letters and receipts--that he
will send us both to the scaffold.Nay, that is what he has already answered?He was actually
on the point of putting these threats into execution; and it was only by
the most abject submission that I could persuade him to abandon his
design.MARSHAL (with a look of bewildered stupidity).But my spies have just brought
me notice that the grand cupbearer, von Bock, is on the point of offering
himself as a suitor to her ladyship.Don't
you know that we are mortal enemies?The first word that I ever heard of it!You shall hear--your hair will stand on end!You must remember the famous court ball--it is now just twenty years ago.It was the first time that English country-dances were introduced--you
remember how the hot wax trickled from the great chandelier on Count
Meerschaum's blue and silver domino.Surely, you cannot have forgotten
that affair!Well, then, in the heat of the dance Princess Amelia lost her
garter.The whole ball, as you may imagine, was instantly thrown into
confusion.Von Bock and myself--we were then fellow-pages--crept through
the whole saloon in search of the garter.Von Bock perceives my good-fortune--rushes forward--tears it from my
hands, and, just fancy--presents it to the princess, and so cheated me of
the honor I had so fortunately earned.I thought I should have fainted upon the spot.A trick so
malicious was beyond the powers of mortal endurance.At length I
recovered myself; and, approaching the princess, said,--"Von Bock, 'tis
true, was fortunate enough to present the garter to your highness; but he
who first discovered that treasure finds his reward in silence, and is
dumb!"But till the day of judgment will I remember his
conduct--the mean, sneaking sycophant!And as if that were not
aggravation enough, he actually, as we were struggling on the ground for
the garter, rubbed all the powder from one side of my peruke with his
sleeve, and ruined me for the rest of the evening.This is the man who will marry Lady Milford, and consequently
soon take the lead at court.Because Ferdinand refuses her, and there is no other
candidate.But is there no possible method of obtaining your son's
consent?Let the measure be ever so extravagant or desperate--there is
nothing to which I should not willingly consent in order to supplant the
hated von Bock.I know but one means of accomplishing this, and that rests
entirely with you.Name it, my dear count, name it!You must set Ferdinand and his mistress against each other.How do you mean?--and how would that be
possible.Everything is ours could we make him suspect the girl.No, no--I mean that she
is carrying on an intrigue with another.And this other, who is he to be?What an idea!--she is the daughter of a
musician.A plebeian?--that will never do!Who |
bathroom | Where is John? | But consider, my dear count, a married man!I beg a thousand pardons,
marshal; I was not aware that a man of unblemished morals held a higher
place in your estimation than a man of power!I, too, am weary
of office.I shall throw up the game, tender my resignation to the duke,
and congratulate von Bock on his accession to the premiership.This
duchy is not all the world.It is very fine for you to talk thus!What shall I be if his
highness dismisses me?A stale jest!--a thing out of fashion!I implore you, my dearest, my most valued friend.Will you lend your name to an assignation to which this
Louisa Miller shall invite you in writing?John went back to the bathroom.Well, in God's name let it be so!And drop the letter where the major cannot fail to find it.For instance, on the parade, where I can let it fall as if
accidentally in drawing out my handkerchief.And when the baron questions you will you assume the
character of a favored rival?I'll cure him of
interfering in my amours!Come in the evening to receive it, and we will talk
over the part you are to play.I will be with you the instant I have paid sixteen visits of
the very highest importance.Permit me, therefore, to take my leave
without delay.The music-master and his wife have been arrested without the least
disturbance.poison like this would convert health itself into jaundiced leprosy.The
marshal, too, has taken the bait.Now then away with my proposals to the
father, and then lose no time--with the daughter.SCENE IV.--Room in MILLER'S House.LOUISA and FERDINAND.All
my hopes are levelled with the dust.He will force me
to become an unnatural son.I will not answer for my filial duty.Rage
and despair will wring from me the dark secret that my father is an
assassin!The son will deliver the parent into the hands of the
executioner.This is a moment of extreme danger, and extreme danger
alone could prompt my love to take so daring a leap!A
thought, vast and immeasurable as my love, has arisen in my soul--Thou,
Louisa, and I, and Love!Lies not a whole heaven within this circle?Or
dost thou feel that there is still something wanting?I tremble to think what you would say.If we have no longer a claim upon the world, why should we
seek its approbation?Why venture where nothing can be gained and all
may be lost?Will thine eyes sparkle less brightly reflected by the
Baltic waves than by the waters of the Rhine or the Elbe?Where Louise
loves me there is my native land!Thy footsteps will make the wild and
sandy desert far more attractive than the marble halls of my ancestors.Be we where we may, Louisa, a sun will
rise and a sun will set--scenes before which the most glorious
achievements of art grow pale and dim!Though we serve God no more in
his consecrated churches, yet the night shall spread her solemn shadows
round us; the changing moon shall hear our confession, and a glorious
congregation of stars join in our prayers!Think you our talk of love
can ever be exhausted!One smile from Louisa were a theme for
centuries--the dream of life will be over ere I can exhaust the charms of
a single tear.And hast thou no duty save that of love?FERDINAND (embracing her).Cease, then, and leave me.I have a father who
possesses no treasure save one only daughter.To-morrow he will be sixty
years old--that he will fall a victim to the vengeance of the President
is most certain!FERDINAND (interrupting her).Therefore no more
objections, my beloved.I will go and convert my valuables into gold,
and raise money on my father's credit!It is lawful to plunder a robber,
and are not his treasures the price for which he has sold his country?This night, when the clock strikes one, a carriage will stop at your
door--throw yourself into it, and we fly!a curse, unthinking one, which
is never pronounced in vain even by murderers--which the avenging angel
hears when uttered by a malefactor in his last agony--which, like a fury,
will fearfully pursue the fugitives from shore to shore!If naught but a crime can preserve you to me, I still have courage to
resign you!FERDINAND (mutters gloomily).Horrible enough to pierce the immortal spirit and pale the glowing cheeks
of joy!Yet how can one resign what one
never possessed?My claim
was sacrilege, and, shuddering, I withdraw it!FERDINAND (with convulsed features, and biting his underlip).Gnash not your teeth so
bitterly!Come, let my example rouse your slumbering courage.Let me be
the heroine of this moment.Let me restore to a father his lost son.I
will renounce a union which would sever the bonds by which society is
held together, and overthrow the landmarks of social order.My bosom has nourished proud and foolish wishes, and my
present misery is a just punishment.leave me then the sweet, the
consoling idea that mine is the sacrifice.Canst thou deny me this last
satisfaction?(FERDINAND, stupefied with agitation and anger, seizes a
violin and strikes a few notes upon it; and then tears away the strings,
dashes the instrument upon the ground, and, stamping it to pieces, bursts
into a loud laugh.)This hour requires fortitude; it is the hour of separation!You have a heart, dear Walter; I know that heart--warm as life is your
love--boundless and immeasurable--bestow it on one more noble, more
worthy--she need not envy the most fortunate of her sex!(Striving to
repress her tears.)Leave the vain
disappointed girl to bewail her sorrow in sad and lonely seclusion; where
her tears will flow unheeded.Dead and gone are all my hopes of
happiness in this world; yet still shall I inhale ever and anon the
perfumes of the faded wreath!(Giving him her trembling hand, while her
face is turned away.)FERDINAND (recovering from the stupor in which he was plunged).LOUISA (who has retreated to the further end of the apartment, conceals
her countenance with her hands).thou liest--some other motive chains thee here!LOUISA (in a tone of the most heartfelt sorrow).Haply it may make our parting more supportable.And dost thou
think to cheat me with that delusion?Some rival detains thee here, and
woe be to thee and him should my suspicions be confirmed!SCENE V.
LOUISA (she remains for some time motionless in the seat upon which she
has thrown herself.At length she rises, comes forward, and looks
timidly around).My father promised to return
in a few minutes; yet full five dreadful hours have passed since his
departure.(Here WORM enters, and remains
standing unobserved in the background.)'Tis
but the terrible delusion of my over-heated blood.When once the soul is
wrapped in terror the eye behold spectres in every shadow.(Perceives him, and starts back in
terror.)I fear some dire misfortune is even
now realizing the forebodings of my soul!(To WORM, with a look of
disdain.)I wonder, then, that you did not direct your steps towards the
market-place.Release your betrothed from the pillory.Louisa, you cherish some false suspicion----
LOUISA (sharply interrupting him).LOUISA (with a look towards heaven).Who thinking his own dignity offended by the insults offered to
the person of his representative----
LOUISA.WORM.----Has resolved to inflict the most exemplary punishment.I now feel that
my heart does love another besides Ferdinand!(After a moment's pause, she turns to WORM.)Must choose between Lady Milford's hand and his father's curse and
disinheritance.Terrible choice!--and yet--yet is he the happier of the two.He
has no father to lose--and yet to have none is misery enough!My father
imprisoned for treason--my Ferdinand compelled to choose between Lady
Milford's hand or a parent's curse and disinheritance!LOUISA (with a smile of despair).It is full,
and I am free--released from all duties--all sorrows--all joys!Speak freely--now I can
hear anything with indifference.(Another pause, during
which she surveys WORM from head to foot.)you
have entered on a melancholy employment, which can never lead you to
happiness.To cause misery to others is sad enough--but to be the
messenger of evil is horrible indeed--to be the first to shriek the
screech-owl's song, to stand by when the bleeding heart trembles upon
the iron shaft of necessity, and the Christian doubts the existence of a
God--Heaven protect me!Wert thou paid a ton of gold for every tear of
anguish which thou must witness, I would not be a wretch like thee!This light-shunning embassy trembles
at the sound of words, but the spectre betrays itself in your ghastly
visage.You said the duke will inflict
upon him a most exemplary punishment.Else thou
hast not so well learned to prolong the torture of thy victim before
giving the finishing stroke to the agonized heart!Death thou canst announce with a laughing sneer--what
then must that be which thou dost hesitate to disclose?Let
me at once receive the overwhelming weight of thy tidings!I am an ignorant, innocent girl, and
understand but little of your fearful terms of law.Should the simpleton perchance--
confusion!Surely she will not--I must follow her.(As he is going towards the door, LOUISA returns, wrapped in a
cloak.)WORM (alarmed, detains her).Even to that very duke whose
will is to decide upon my father's life or death.Yet no?--'tis not his
will that decides, but the will of wicked men who surround his throne.He lends naught to this process, save the shadow of his majesty, and his
royal signature.I know the meaning of that sneering laugh--you would tell me
that I shall find no compassion there.But though I may meet (God
preserve me!)with nothing but scorn--scorn at my sorrows--yet will I to
the duke.I have been told that the great never know what misery is;
that they fly from the knowledge of it.But I will teach the duke what
misery is; I will paint to him, in all the writhing agonies of death,
what misery is; I will cry aloud in wailings that shall creep through the
very marrow of his bones, what misery is; and, while at my picture his
hairs shall stand on end like quills upon the porcupine, will I shriek
into his affrighted ear, that in the hour of death the sinews of these
mighty gods of earth shall shrivel and shrink, and that at the day of
judgment beggars and kings shall be weighed together in the same balance
(Going.)You can really do
nothing more prudent; I advise you heartily to the step.Only go, and I
give you my word that the duke will grant your suit.Something wicked
surely, since this man approves it--how know you that the prince will
grant my suit?Because he will not have to grant it unrewarded.And what price does he set on his humanity?The person of the fair suppliant will be payment enough!LOUISA (stopping for a moment in mute dismay--in a feeble voice).And I trust that you will not think your father's life over-valued
when 'tis purchased at so gracious a price.The great are
entrenched from truth behind their own vices, safely as behind the swords
of cherubim.Your child can die--
but not sin for thee.Mary travelled to the bathroom.This will be agreeable news for the poor disconsolate old man."My Louisa," says he, "has bowed me down to the earth; but my Louisa will
raise me up again."(Affects to be
about to depart.)LOUISA (flies after him and holds him back).How nimble this Satan is, when his business is to drive
humanity distracted!And your father approves of it----
LOUISA.Suppose you were to release the major from his engagement?Do you call that a choice to
which force compelled me?The major must resign you willingly,
and be the first to retract his engagement.Should we, do you think, have had recourse to you
were it not that you alone are able to help us?What is brooding in thy artful brain?LOUISA (sitting down in the greatest uneasiness).How well thou knowest to torture souls to thy purpose."My dear Sir (LOUISA writes with a trembling
hand,) three days, three insupportable days, have already passed--already
passed--since last we met."LOUISA (starts, and lays down her pen)."But for this you must blame the major--the major--who watches me
all day with the vigilance of an Argus."LOUISA (paces to and fro, wringing her hands).If mortals provoke thee, punish them like
mortals; but wherefore must I be placed between two precipices?Wherefore am I hurled by turns from death to infamy, from infamy to
death?Wherefore is my neck made the footstool of this blood-sucking
fiend?No; do what thou wilt, I will never write that!Suspend some unfortunate over the pit of hell; then make your demands,
and ask your victim if it be his pleasure to grant your request!Thou knowest but too well that the bonds of nature bind our hearts as
firmly as chains!Artifices of hell, I yield to ye!(She resumes her seat at
the table.)It was amusing to see how warm
the poor major was in defence of my honor.""I had recourse to a swoon--a swoon--that I might not laugh
aloud"----
LOUISA."But the mask which I have worn so long is becoming insupportable
--insupportable.LOUISA (rises, and walks a few turns with her head bent down, as if she
sought something upon the floor: then returns to her place, and continues
to write)."He will be on duty to-morrow--observe when he leaves me, and
hasten to the usual place.""To the usual place, to meet your devotedly attached Louisa."A name as foreign to my ear as these
scandalous lines are to my heart!(She rises, and for some moments
surveys the writing with a vacant gaze.At length she hands it to WORM,
speaking in a voice trembling and exhausted.)What I now
put into your hands is my good name.It is Ferdinand--it is the whole
joy of my life!You have it, and now I am a beggar----
WORM.You inspire me with the
most heartfelt pity!I might even now overlook
certain parts of your conduct--yes!Heaven is my witness, how deeply I
compassionate your sorrows!LOUISA (giving him a piercing look).You are
on the point of asking something more terrible than all.WORM (attempting to kiss her hand).for I should strangle you on the
bridal night: and for such a deed I would joyfully yield my body to be
torn on the rack!(She is going, but comes hurriedly back.)Is all
settled between us, sir?You must swear, by the holy
sacrament, to acknowledge this letter for your free and voluntary act.And wilt thou grant thine own seal to confirm
the works of hell?SCENE I. Saloon in the PRESIDENT'S House.FERDINAND VON WALTER enters in great excitement with an open letter
in his hand, and is met by a SERVANT.My lord, his highness the president is inquiring for you.His honor is engaged at the faro-table, above stairs.Tell his honor, in the name of all the devils in hell, to
make his appearance this instant!FERDINAND (hastily reading the letter, at one moment seeming petrified
with astonishment, at the next pacing the room with fury).A form so heavenly cannot hide so devilish a heart.Though all the angels of heaven should descend on
earth and |
bathroom | Where is John? | Treachery, monstrous, infernal treachery, such
as humanity never before witnessed!This, then, was the reason she so
resolutely opposed our flight!This, then, is why she surrendered
with so much seeming heroism her claims on my affection, and all but
cheated me with her saint-like demeanor!(He traverses the chamber
rapidly, and then remains for some moments in deep thought.)To fathom
my heart to its very core!To reciprocate every lofty sentiment, every
gentle emotion, every fiery ebullition!To sympathize with every secret
breathing of my soul!John went back to the bathroom.To mount with me
to the sublimest heights of passion--to brave with me, undaunted, each
fearful precipice!Oh, if falsehood can assume so lovely an appearance of truth
why has no devil yet lied himself back into heaven?When I unfolded to her the dangers which threatened our affection, with
what convincing artifice did the false one turn pale!With what
overpowering dignity did she repulse my father's licentious scoffs!yet
at that very moment the deceiver was conscious of her guilt!Nay, did
she not even undergo the fiery ordeal of truth?Forsooth, the hypocrite
fainted!What must now be thy language, sensibility, since coquettes
faint?How wilt thou vindicate thyself, innocence?--for even strumpets
faint?She knows her power over me--she has seen through my very heart!My soul
shone conspicuous in my eyes at the blush of her first kiss.or perhaps felt only the triumph of her
art; whilst my happy delirium fancied that in her I embraced a whole
heaven, my wildest wishes were hushed!No thought but of her and
eternity was present to my mind.but that her artifice had triumphed!FERDINAND, the MARSHAL.MARSHAL (tripping into the room).I am told, my dear baron, that you
have expressed a wish----
FERDINAND (muttering to himself).Mary travelled to the bathroom.Marshal, this letter must have dropped out of your pocket on parade.Now, balance thy account with
heaven!If I am not good
enough for a lover perhaps I may do for a pimp.Mary went to the garden.(While the MARSHAL
reads, FERDINAND goes to the wall and takes down the pistols.)KALB (throws the letter upon the table, and rushes off).FERDINAND (leads him back by the arm).The intelligence contained in that letter appears to be agreeable!MARSHAL (starts back in alarm).FERDINAND (in a terrible voice).I have more than enough left to rid the
world of such a scoundrel as you!(He
forces a pistol into the MARSHAL'S hand, and then draws out his
handkerchief.)And now take the other end of this handkerchief!It was
given me by the strumpet herself!or you will be sure to miss your aim,
coward!You should thank God, you pitiful
coward, that you have a chance for once of getting something in your
empty brain-box.(The MARSHAL takes to his heels.)(Overtakes him and bolts the door.)Surely you will not fight in the chamber?As if you were worth the trouble of a walk beyond the
boundaries!The report, my dear fellow, will be louder, and, for the
first time, you will make some noise in the world.Would you risk
your precious life, young and promising as you are, in this desperate
manner?I have nothing more to do in this world!But I have much, my dearest, most excellent friend!What hast thou to do, but to play the
stop-gap, where honest men keep aloof!To stretch or shrink seven times
in an instant, like the butterfly on a pin?To be privy registrar in
chief and clerk of the jordan?To be the cap-and-bell buffoon on which
your master sharpens his wit?I will not name it in the street,
For shops would stare, that I,
So shy, so very ignorant,
Should have the face to die.The hillsides must not know it,
Where I have rambled so,
Nor tell the loving forests
The day that I shall go,
Nor lisp it at the table,
Nor heedless by the way
Hint that within the riddle
One will walk to-day!They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,
Like petals from a rose,
When suddenly across the June
A wind with fingers goes.They perished in the seamless grass, --
No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
Can summon every face.X.
The only ghost I ever saw
Was dressed in mechlin, -- so;
He wore no sandal on his foot,
And stepped like flakes of snow.His gait was soundless, like the bird,
But rapid, like the roe;
His fashions quaint, mosaic,
Or, haply, mistletoe.His conversation seldom,
His laughter like the breeze
That dies away in dimples
Among the pensive trees.Our interview was transient,--
Of me, himself was shy;
And God forbid I look behind
Since that appalling day!Some, too fragile for winter winds,
The thoughtful grave encloses, --
Tenderly tucking them in from frost
Before their feet are cold.Never the treasures in her nest
The cautious grave exposes,
Building where schoolboy dare not look
And sportsman is not bold.This covert have all the children
Early aged, and often cold, --
Sparrows unnoticed by the Father;
Lambs for whom time had not a fold.As by the dead we love to sit,
Become so wondrous dear,
As for the lost we grapple,
Though all the rest are here, --
In broken mathematics
We estimate our prize,
Vast, in its fading ratio,
To our penurious eyes!Death sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
Entreat us tenderly
To ponder little workmanships
In crayon or in wool,
With "This was last her fingers did,"
Industrious until
The thimble weighed too heavy,
The stitches stopped themselves,
And then 't was put among the dust
Upon the closet shelves.A book I have, a friend gave,
Whose pencil, here and there,
Had notched the place that pleased him, --
At rest his fingers are.Now, when I read, I read not,
For interrupting tears
Obliterate the etchings
Too costly for repairs.I went to heaven, --
'T was a small town,
Lit with a ruby,
Lathed with down.Stiller than the fields
At the full dew,
Beautiful as pictures
No man drew.People like the moth,
Of mechlin, frames,
Duties of gossamer,
And eider names.Almost contented
I could be
'<DW41> such unique
Society.Their height in heaven comforts not,
Their glory nought to me;
'T was best imperfect, as it was;
I'm finite, I can't see.The house of supposition,
The glimmering frontier
That skirts the acres of perhaps,
To me shows insecure.The wealth I had contented me;
If 't was a meaner size,
Then I had counted it until
It pleased my narrow eyes
Better than larger values,
However true their show;
This timid life of evidence
Keeps pleading, "I don't know."There is a shame of nobleness
Confronting sudden pelf, --
A finer shame of ecstasy
Convicted of itself.A best disgrace a brave man feels,
Acknowledged of the brave, --
One more "Ye Blessed" to be told;
But this involves the grave.There's triumph in the room
When that old imperator, Death,
By faith is overcome.There's triumph of the finer mind
When truth, affronted long,
Advances calm to her supreme,
Her God her only throng.A triumph when temptation's bribe
Is slowly handed back,
One eye upon the heaven renounced
And one upon the rack.Severer triumph, by himself
Experienced, who can pass
Acquitted from that naked bar,
Jehovah's countenance!Pompless no life can pass away;
The lowliest career
To the same pageant wends its way
As that exalted here.The hospitable pall
A "this way" beckons spaciously, --
A miracle for all!I noticed people disappeared,
When but a little child, --
Supposed they visited remote,
Or settled regions wild.Now know I they both visited
And settled regions wild,
But did because they died, -- a fact
Withheld the little child!I had no cause to be awake,
My best was gone to sleep,
And morn a new politeness took,
And failed to wake them up,
But called the others clear,
And passed their curtains by.Sweet morning, when I over-sleep,
Knock, recollect, for me!I looked at sunrise once,
And then I looked at them,
And wishfulness in me arose
For circumstance the same.'T was such an ample peace,
It could not hold a sigh, --
'T was Sabbath with the bells divorced,
'T was sunset all the day.So choosing but a gown
And taking but a prayer,
The only raiment I should need,
I struggled, and was there.If anybody's friend be dead,
It's sharpest of the theme
The thinking how they walked alive,
At such and such a time.Their costume, of a Sunday,
Some manner of the hair, --
A prank nobody knew but them,
Lost, in the sepulchre.How warm they were on such a day:
You almost feel the date,
So short way off it seems; and now,
They're centuries from that.How pleased they were at what you said;
You try to touch the smile,
And dip your fingers in the frost:
When was it, can you tell,
You asked the company to tea,
Acquaintance, just a few,
And chatted close with this grand thing
That don't remember you?Past bows and invitations,
Past interview, and vow,
Past what ourselves can estimate, --
That makes the quick of woe!Our journey had advanced;
Our feet were almost come
To that odd fork in Being's road,
Eternity by term.Our pace took sudden awe,
Our feet reluctant led.Before were cities, but between,
The forest of the dead.Retreat was out of hope, --
Behind, a sealed route,
Eternity's white flag before,
And God at every gate.Make this bed with awe;
In it wait till judgment break
Excellent and fair.Be its mattress straight,
Be its pillow round;
Let no sunrise' yellow noise
Interrupt this ground.On such a night, or such a night,
Would anybody care
If such a little figure
Slipped quiet from its chair,
So quiet, oh, how quiet!That nobody might know
But that the little figure
Rocked softer, to and fro?On such a dawn, or such a dawn,
Would anybody sigh
That such a little figure
Too sound asleep did lie
For chanticleer to wake it, --
Or stirring house below,
Or giddy bird in orchard,
Or early task to do?There was a little figure plump
For every little knoll,
Busy needles, and spools of thread,
And trudging feet from school.Playmates, and holidays, and nuts,
And visions vast and small.Strange that the feet so precious charged
Should reach so small a goal!Essential oils are wrung:
The attar from the rose
Is not expressed by suns alone,
It is the gift of screws.The general rose decays;
But this, in lady's drawer,
Makes summer when the lady lies
In ceaseless rosemary.I lived on dread; to those who know
The stimulus there is
In danger, other impetus
Is numb and vital-less.As 't were a spur upon the soul,
A fear will urge it where
To go without the spectre's aid
Were challenging despair.If I should die,
And you should live,
And time should gurgle on,
And morn should beam,
And noon should burn,
As it has usual done;
If birds should build as early,
And bees as bustling go, --
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!'T is sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with daisies lie,
That commerce will continue,
And trades as briskly fly.It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene,
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!Her final summer was it,
And yet we guessed it not;
If tenderer industriousness
Pervaded her, we thought
A further force of life
Developed from within, --
When Death lit all the shortness up,
And made the hurry plain.We wondered at our blindness, --
When nothing was to see
But her Carrara guide-post, --
At our stupidity,
When, duller than our dulness,
The busy darling lay,
So busy was she, finishing,
So leisurely were we!One need not be a chamber to be haunted,
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.Far safer, of a midnight meeting
External ghost,
Than an interior confronting
That whiter host.Far safer through an Abbey gallop,
The stones achase,
Than, moonless, one's own self encounter
In lonesome place.Ourself, behind ourself concealed,
Should startle most;
Assassin, hid in our apartment,
Be horror's least.Sandra moved to the garden.The prudent carries a revolver,
He bolts the door,
O'erlooking a superior spectre
More near.She died, -- this was the way she died;
And when her breath was done,
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.Her little figure at the gate
The angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side.Wait till the majesty of Death
Invests so mean a brow!Almost a powdered footman
Might dare to touch it now!Wait till in everlasting robes
This democrat is dressed,
Then prate about "preferment"
And "station" and the rest!Around this quiet courtier
Obsequious angels wait!Full royal is his retinue,
Full purple is his state!A lord might dare to lift the hat
To such a modest clay,
Since that my Lord, "the Lord of lords"
Receives unblushingly!Amid no bells nor bravos
The bystanders will tell!Cheerful, as to the village,
Tranquil, as to repose,
Chastened, as to the chapel,
This humble tourist rose.Did not talk of returning,
Alluded to no time
When, were the gales propitious,
We might look for him;
Was grateful for the roses
In life's diverse bouquet,
Talked softly of new species
To pick another day.Beguiling thus the wonder,
The wondrous nearer drew;
Hands bustled at the moorings --
The crowd respectful grew.Ascended from our vision
To countenances new!A difference, a daisy,
Is all the rest I knew!Taken from men this morning,
Carried by men to-day,
Met by the gods with banners
Who marshalled her away.One little maid from playmates,
One little mind from school, --
There must be guests in Eden;
All the rooms are full.Far as the east from even,
Dim as the border star, --
Courtiers quaint, in kingdoms,
Our departed are.What inn is this
Where for the night
Peculiar traveller comes?No ruddy fires on the hearth,
No brimming tankards flow.Necromancer, landlord,
Who are these below?It was not death, for I stood up,
And all the dead lie down;
It was not night, for all the bells
Put out their tongues, for noon.It was not frost, for on my flesh
I felt siroccos crawl, --
Nor fire, for just my marble feet
Could keep a chancel cool.And yet it tasted like them all;
The figures I have seen
Set orderly, for burial,
Reminded me of mine,
As if my life |
kitchen | Where is John? | But most like chaos, -- stopless, cool, --
Without a chance or spar,
Or even a report of land
To justify despair.I should not dare to leave my friend,
Because -- because if he should die
While I was gone, and I -- too late --
Should reach the heart that wanted me;
If I should disappoint the eyes
That hunted, hunted so, to see,
And could not bear to shut until
They "noticed" me -- they noticed me;
If I should stab the patient faith
So sure I 'd come -- so sure I 'd come,
It listening, listening, went to sleep
Telling my tardy name, --
My heart would wish it broke before,
Since breaking then, since breaking then,
Were useless as next morning's sun,
Where midnight frosts had lain!Great streets of silence led away
To neighborhoods of pause;
Here was no notice, no dissent,
No universe, no laws.By clocks 't was morning, and for night
The bells at distance called;
But epoch had no basis here,
For period exhaled.A throe upon the features
A hurry in the breath,
An ecstasy of parting
Denominated "Death," --
An anguish at the mention,
Which, when to patience grown,
I've known permission given
To rejoin its own.Of tribulation these are they
Denoted by the white;
The spangled gowns, a lesser rank
Of victors designate.All these did conquer; but the ones
Who overcame most times
Wear nothing commoner than snow,
No ornament but palms.Surrender is a sort unknown
On this superior soil;
Defeat, an outgrown anguish,
Remembered as the mile
Our panting ankle barely gained
When night devoured the road;
But we stood whispering in the house,
And all we said was "Saved"!I think just how my shape will rise
When I shall be forgiven,
Till hair and eyes and timid head
Are out of sight, in heaven.I think just how my lips will weigh
With shapeless, quivering prayer
That you, so late, consider me,
The sparrow of your care.I mind me that of anguish sent,
Some drifts were moved away
Before my simple bosom broke, --
And why not this, if they?And so, until delirious borne
I con that thing, -- "forgiven," --
Till with long fright and longer trust
I drop my heart, unshriven!After a hundred years
Nobody knows the place, --
Agony, that enacted there,
Motionless as peace.Weeds triumphant ranged,
Strangers strolled and spelled
At the lone orthography
Of the elder dead.Winds of summer fields
Recollect the way, --
Instinct picking up the key
Dropped by memory.Lay this laurel on the one
Too intrinsic for renown.veil your deathless tree, --
Him you chasten, that is he!So nice was her sense of her own dignity that even in
the privacy of her own household her conduct at all times was marked
by a rigorous elegance; and in public she carried herself with a grave
stateliness that would have befitted a queen.But this young lady had a bad heart, Senor, as I have already
mentioned; and toward Don Mendo, to whom she owed everything, she did
not behave well at all.So far from ministering to him in his
infirmities, she left him wholly to the care of hired servants; when
she made her rare visits to his sick-room she carried always a scented
kerchief, and held it to her nose closely--telling him that the smell
of balsams and of plasters was distasteful to her; and never, by any
chance whatever, did she give him one single kind look or kind word.As was most natural, Don Mendo did not like the way that Dona Paz
treated him: therefore, in the inside of him, he made his mind up that
he would pay her for it in the end.And in the end he did pay her for
it: as she found out when, on a day, that worthy old man was called to
go to heaven and they came to read his will.Dona Paz listened to the reading of the will with the greatest
satisfaction, Senor, until the reading got to the very end of it:
because Don Mendo uniformly styled her his beloved niece--which
somewhat surprised her--and in plain words directed that every one of
his three millions and a half of dollars should be hers.But at the
very end of the will a condition was made that had to be fulfilled
before she could touch so much as a tlaco of her great inheritance:
and that condition was so monstrous--and all the more monstrous
because Dona Paz was so rigorously elegant in all her doings, and so
respectful of her own dignity--that the mere naming of it almost
suffocated her with fright and shame.And, really, Senor, that Dona Paz felt that way about it is not be
wondered at, because what Don Mendo put at the very end of his will
was this: "So to Paz, my beloved niece, I leave the whole of my
possessions; but only in case that she comply precisely with the
condition that I now lay upon her.And the condition that I now lay
upon her is this: That, being dressed in her richest ball dress, and
wearing her most magnificent jewels, she shall go in an open coach to
the Plaza Mayor at noonday; and that, being come to the Plaza Mayor,
she shall walk to the very middle of it; and that there, in the very
middle of it, she shall bow her head to the ground; and that then, so
bowing, she shall make the turn which among the common people of
Mexico is called a'machincuepa.'And it is my will that if my
beloved niece Paz does not comply precisely with this condition,
within six months from the day on which I pass out of life, then the
whole of my possessions shall be divided into two equal parts: of
which one part shall belong to the Convent of Nuestra Senora de la
Merced, and the other part shall belong to the Convent of San
Francisco; and of my possessions my beloved niece Paz shall have no
part at all.And this condition I lay upon my beloved niece Paz that,
in the bitterness of the shame of it, she may taste a little of the
bitterness with which her cruelties have filled my dying years."Well, Senor, you may fancy the state that that most proud and most
dignified young lady was in when she knew the terms on which alone her
riches would come to her!John went back to the bathroom.And as to making her mind up in such a case,
she found it quite impossible.On the one side, she would say to
herself that what was required of her to win her inheritance would be
done, and done with, in no more than a moment; and that then and
always--being rich beyond dreaming, and in her own right a
marquesa--she would be the greatest lady in the whole of New Spain.Mary travelled to the bathroom.And then, on the other side, she would say to herself that precisely
because of her great wealth and her title she would be all the more
sneered at for descending to an act so scandalous; and that if she did
descend to that act she would be known as the Marquesa de la
Machincuepa to the end of her days.And what to do, Senor, she did not
know at all.And as time went on and on, and she did not do anything,
the Mercedarios and the Franciscanos--being always more and more sure
that they would share between them Don Mendo's great fortune--talked
pleasantly about new altars in their churches and new comforts in
their convents: and as they talked they rubbed their hands.And so it came to the very last day of the six months that Don Mendo
had given to Dona Paz in which to make her mind up; and the morning
hours of that day went slipping past, and of Dona Paz the crowds that
filled the streets and the Plaza Mayor saw nothing; and the
Mercedarios and the Franciscanos all had smiling faces--being at last
entirely certain that Don Mendo's millions of dollars would be
theirs.And then, Senor, just as the Palace clock was striking the half hour
past eleven, the great doors of Don Mendo's house were opened; and out
through the doorway came an open coach in which Dona Paz was seated,
dressed in her richest ball dress and wearing the most magnificent of
her jewels; and Dona Paz, pale as a dead woman, drove through the
crowds on the streets and into the crowd on the Plaza Mayor; and then
she walked, the crowd making way for her, to the very middle of
it--where her servants had laid a rich carpet for her; and there, as
the Palace clock struck twelve--complying precisely with Don Mendo's
condition--Dona Paz bowed her head to the ground; and then, so bowing,
she made the turn which among the common people of Mexico is called a
machincuepa!So did Dona Paz win for herself Don Mendo's millions of
dollars: and so did come into the soul of her the bitterness of shame
that Don Mendo meant should come into it--in reward for the bitterness
with which her cruelties had filled his dying years!What became of this young lady--who so sacrificed propriety in order
to gain riches--I never have heard mentioned: but it is certain that
the street in which she lived immediately got the name of the Street
of the Machincuepa--and the exact truth of every detail of this
curious story is attested by the fact that that is its name now.Mary went to the garden.Perhaps the meaning of this word machincuepa, Senor--being, as Don
Mendo said in his will, a word in use among the common people of
Mexico--is unknown to you.The meaning of it, in good Spanish, is
salto mortal--only it means more.And it was precisely that sort of an
excessive somersault--there in the middle of the crowded Plaza Mayor
at noonday--that the most proud and the most dignified Dona Paz
turned!LEGEND OF THE CALLE DEL PUENTE DEL CUERVO
As you know, Senor, in the street that is called the Street of the
Bridge of the Raven, there nowadays is no bridge at all; also, the
house is gone in which this Don Rodrigo de Ballesteros lived with his
raven in the days when he was alive.As to the raven, however, matters
are less certain.Sandra moved to the garden.My grand-father long ago told me that more than
once, on nights of storm, he had heard that evil bird uttering his
wicked caws at midnight between the thunderclaps; and a most
respectable cargador of my acquaintance has given me his word for it
that he has heard those cawings too.Yet if they still go on it must
be the raven's spectre that gives voice to them; because, Senor, while
ravens are very long-lived birds, it is improbable that they live--and
that much time has passed since these matters happened--through more
than the whole of three hundred years.This Don Rodrigo in his youth, Senor, was a Captain of Arcabuceros in
the Royal Army; and, it seems, he fought so well with his crossbowmen
at the battle of San Quintin (what they were fighting about I do not
know) that the King of Spain rewarded him--when the fighting was all
over and there was no more need for his services--by making him a
royal commissioner here in Mexico: that he might get rich comfortably
in his declining years.It was the Encomienda of Atzcapotzalco that
the King gave to him; and in those days Atzcapotzalco was a very rich
place, quite away from the City westward, and yielded a great revenue
for Don Rodrigo to have the fingering of.Nowadays, as you know,
Senor, it is almost a part of the City, because you get to it in the
electric cars so quickly; and it has lost its good fortune and is but
a dreary little threadbare town.It was with the moneys which stuck to his fingers from his
collectorship--just as the King meant that they should stick, in
reward for his good fighting--that Don Rodrigo built for himself his
fine house in the street that is now called, because of the bridge
that once was a part of it, and because of the raven's doings, the
Puente del Cuervo.If that street had another name, earlier, Senor, I
do not know what it was.John went to the kitchen.This Don Rodrigo, as was generally known, was a very wicked person;
and therefore he lived in his fine house, along with his raven, in
great magnificence--eating always from dishes of solid silver, and
being served by pages wearing clothes embroidered with gold.But, for
all his riches, he himself was clad as though he were a beggar--and a
very dirty beggar at that.Over his jerkin and breeches he wore a long
capellar that wrapped him from his neck to his heels loosely; and this
capellar had been worn by him through so many years that it was shabby
beyond all respectability, and stained with stains of all colors, and
everywhere greasy and soiled.Yet on the front of it, upon his breast,
he wore the Cross of Santiago that the King had given him; and wearing
that cross, as you know, Senor, made him as much of a caballero as the
very best.In various other ways the evil that was in him showed
itself.He never went to mass, and he made fun openly of all holy
things.The suspicion was entertained by many people that he had
intimacies with heretics.Such conduct gives a man a very bad name
now; but it gave a man a worse name then--and so he was known
generally as the Excommunicate, which was the very worst name that
anybody could have.As to the raven, Senor, Don Rodrigo himself named it El Diablo; and
that it truly was the devil--or, at least, that it was a devil--no one
ever doubted at all.Daniel moved to the bathroom.The conduct of that reprobate bird was most
offensive.It would soil the rich furnishings of the house; it would
tear with its beak the embroidered coverings of the chairs and the
silken tapestries; it would throw down and shatter valuable pieces of
glass and porcelain; there was no end to its misdeeds.But when Don
Rodrigo stormed at his servants about these wreckings--and he was a
most violent man, Senor, and used tempestuous language--the servants
had only to tell him that the raven was the guilty one to pacify him
instantly."If it is the work of the Devil," he would say without
anger, "it is well done!"Suddenly, on a day, both Don Rodrigo and the raven disappeared.Their
going, in that strange and sudden way, made a great commotion; but
there was a greater commotion when the Alcalde--being called to look
into the matter--entered the house to search it and found a very
horrible thing.In the room that had been Don Rodrigo's bedroom, lying
dishonored upon the floor, broken and blood-spattered, was the most
holy image; and all about it were lying raven feathers, and they also
were spattered with blood.Therefore it was known that the raven-devil
and Don Rodrigo had beaten the holy image and had drawn blood from it;
and that the great devil, the master of both of them, in penalty for
their dreadful act of sacrilege, had snatched them suddenly home to
him to burn forever in hell.Never were they seen again either on sea or land.Naturally, Senor, respectable people declined to live in a house where
there had been such shocking doings.Even the people living in the
adjoining houses, feeling the disgrace that was on the neighborhood,
moved away from them.And so, slowly, as the years went on, all of
those houses crumbled to pieces and fell into ruins which were carted
away--and that is why they no longer are there.But it is generally
known, Senor, that until Don Rodrigo's house did in that way go out of
existence, Don Rodrigo continued to inhabit it; and that the raven
continued to bear him company.Just a year from the time that the devil had snatched away to hell the
two of them--and it was at midnight, |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | Then it became
known that the raven nightly took up its post on the parapet of the
bridge that was in that street; and that, when his cawing for midnight
was ended, he habitually flew up into the balcony of Don Rodrigo's
house; and that on the balcony he found Don Rodrigo--a yellow
skeleton, and over the bones of it the dirty old capellar--ready and
waiting for him.Don Rodrigo's skeleton would be sitting quite at its
ease on the balcony; on the railing of the balcony would be perched
the raven; and with his dry-bone fingers--making a little clicking
sound, like that of castanets--Don Rodrigo would stroke gently the
back of that intensely wicked bird.All this would show for a moment
while the lightning was flashing; then darkness would come, and a
crash of thunder; and after the thunder, in the black silence, the
little clicking sound of Don Rodrigo's dry-bone fingers stroking the
raven's back gently again would be heard.And so it all went on, Senor, my grandfather told me, until the house
tumbled down with age, and these disagreeable horrors no longer were
possible; and it is most reasonably evident--since the street got its
name because of them--that they really must have happened, and that
they must have continued for a very long time.As I have mentioned, Senor, my friend the cargador--who is a most
respectable and truthful person--declares that sometimes on stormy
nights he himself has heard the raven's cawings when the Palace clock
has finished its twelve strokes; and from that it would appear that
the raven is to be met with in the Puente del Cuervo even now.LEGEND OF LA LLORONA[9]
As is generally known, Senor, many bad things are met with by night in
the streets of the City; but this Wailing Woman, La Llorona, is the
very worst of them all.She is worse by far than the vaca de
lumbre--that at midnight comes forth from the potrero of San Pablo and
goes galloping through the streets like a blazing whirlwind, breathing
forth from her nostrils smoke and sparks and flames: because the Fiery
Cow, Senor, while a dangerous animal to look at, really does no harm
whatever--and La Llorona is as harmful as she can be!Seeing her walking quietly along the quiet street--at the times when
she is not running, and shrieking for her lost children--she seems a
respectable person, only odd looking because of her white petticoat
and the white reboso with which her head is covered, and anybody might
speak to her.But whoever does speak to her, in that very same moment
dies!The beginning of her was so long ago that no one knows when was the
beginning of her; nor does any one know anything about her at all.But
it is known certainly that at the beginning of her, when she was a
living woman, she committed bad sins.As soon as ever a child was born
to her she would throw it into one of the canals which surround the
City, and so would drown it; and she had a great many children, and
this practice in regard to them she continued for a long time.At last
her conscience began to prick her about what she did with her
children; but whether it was that the priest spoke to her, or that
some of the saints cautioned her in the matter, no one knows.But it
is certain that because of her sinnings she began to go through the
streets in the darkness weeping and wailing.And presently it was said
that from night till morning there was a wailing woman in the streets;
and to see her, being in terror of her, many people went forth at
midnight; but none did see her, because she could be seen only when
the street was deserted and she was alone.Sometimes she would come to a sleeping watchman, and would waken him
by asking: "What time is it?"And he would see a woman clad in white
standing beside him with her reboso drawn over her face.And he would
answer: "It is twelve hours of the night."And she would say: "At
twelve hours of this day I must be in Guadalajara!"--or it might be in
San Luis Potosi, or in some other far-distant city--and, so speaking,
she would shriek bitterly: "Where shall I find my children?"--and
would vanish instantly and utterly away.And the watchman would feel
as though all his senses had gone from him, and would become as a dead
man.This happened many times to many watchmen, who made report of it
to their officers; but their officers would not believe what they
told.But it happened, on a night, that an officer of the watch was
passing by the lonely street beside the church of Santa Anita.And
there he met with a woman wearing a white reboso and a white
petticoat; and to her he began to make love.John went back to the bathroom.He urged her, saying:
"Throw off your reboso that I may see your pretty face!"And suddenly
she uncovered her face--and what he beheld was a bare grinning skull
set fast to the bare bones of a skeleton!And while he looked at her,
being in horror, there came from her fleshless jaws an icy breath; and
the iciness of it froze the very heart's blood in him, and he fell to
the earth heavily in a deathly swoon.When his senses came back to him
he was greatly troubled.In fear he returned to the Diputacion, and
there told what had befallen him.And in a little while his life
forsook him and he died.What is most wonderful about this Wailing Woman, Senor, is that she is
seen in the same moment by different people in places widely apart:
one seeing her hurrying across the atrium of the Cathedral; another
beside the Arcos de San Cosme; and yet another near the Salto del
Agua, over by the prison of Belen.More than that, in one single night
she will be seen in Monterey and in Oaxaca and in Acapulco--the whole
width and length of the land apart--and whoever speaks with her in
those far cities, as here in Mexico, immediately dies in fright.Also,
she is seen at times in the country.Once some travellers coming along
a lonely road met with her, and asked: "Where go you on this lonely
road?"And for answer she cried: "Where shall I find my children?"Being come here to the City they told what they had seen; and were
told that this same Wailing Woman had maddened or killed many people
here also.Because the Wailing Woman is so generally known, Senor, and so greatly
feared, few people now stop her when they meet with her to speak with
her--therefore few now die of her, and that is fortunate.But her loud
keen wailings, and the sound of her running feet, are heard often; and
especially in nights of storm.I myself, Senor, have heard the running
of her feet and her wailings; but I never have seen her.Mary travelled to the bathroom.NOTES
NOTE I
LEGEND OF DON JUAN MANUEL
Don Juan Manuel was a real person: who lived stately in a great house,
still standing, in the street that in his time was called the Calle
Nueva, and that since his time has borne his name; who certainly did
murder one man--in that house, not in the street--at about, probably,
eleven o'clock at night; and who certainly was found hanging dead on
the gallows in front of the Capilla de la Espiracion, of an October
morning in the year 1641, without any explanation ever being
forthcoming of how he got there.What survive of the tangled curious
facts on which the fancies of this legend rest have been collected by
Senor Obregon, and here are summarized.Don Juan Manuel de Solorzano, a native of Burgos, a man of rank and
wealth, in the year 1623 came in the train of the Viceroy the Marques
de Guadalcazar to Mexico; where for a long while he seems to have led
a life prosperous and respectable.In the year 1636 he increased his
fortune by making an excellent marriage--with Dona Mariana de Laguna,
the daughter of a rich mine-owner of Zacatecas.His troubles had their
beginning in an intimate friendship that he formed with the Viceroy
(1635-1640) the Marques de Cadereita; a friendship of so practical a
sort on the side of the Viceroy as to cause remonstrance to be made in
Spain against his excessive bestowal of official favors on his
favorite.Moreover, "the evil speaking of the curious" was excited by
the fact that Don Juan and his wife spent a great part of their time
at the Palace in the Viceroy's company.Matters were brought to a crisis by Don Juan's appointment as
Administrator of the Royal Hacienda; an office that gave him control
of the great revenues derived from the fleets which plied annually
between Mexico and Spain.The conduct of this very lucrative
administration previously had been with the Audiencia; and by the
members of that body vigorous protest was made against the Viceroy's
action in enriching his favorite at their cost."Odious gossip" was
aroused; threats were made of a popular uprising; an appeal--duly
freighted with bribes to assure its arrival at the throne--was made to
the King."But the springs put in force by the Viceroy must have been
very powerful--more powerful than the money sent by the
Audiencia--since Philip IV.confirmed Don Juan in the enjoyment of his
concession."[Illustration: HOUSE OF DON JUAN MANUEL]
While the case thus rested, an incidental scandal was introduced into
it.By the fleet from Spain came one Dona Ana Porcel de Velasco: a
lady of good birth, very beautiful, the widow of a naval officer,
reduced by her widowhood and by other misfortunes to poverty.In her
happier days she had been a beauty at Court, and there the Marques de
Cadereita had known her and had made suit to her, wherefore she had
come to Mexico to seek his Viceregal protection.Housing her in the
Palace being out of the question, the Viceroy begged that Don Juan
would take her into his own home: and that disposition of her,
accordingly, was made--with the result that more "odious gossip"
was aroused.What became of the beautiful Dona Ana is unrecorded.Her
episodic existence in the story seems to be due to the fact that
because of her the popular ill-will against Don Juan and against the
Viceroy was increased.A far-reaching ripple from the wave of the Portuguese and Catalonian
revolt of the year 1640, influencing affairs in Mexico, gave
opportunity for this ill-will to crystallize into action of so
effective a sort that the Viceroy was recalled, and his favorite--no
longer under protection--was cast into prison.Mary went to the garden.Don Juan's
commitment--the specific charge against him is not recorded--was
signed by one Don Francisco Velez de Pereira: who, as Senor Obregon
puts it, "was not only a Judge of the criminal court but a criminal
Judge" (_no era solamente un Alcalde del crimen sino un Alcalde
criminal_) because he made dishonest proposals to Dona Mariana as the
price of her husband's liberation.It would seem that Dona Mariana
accepted the offered terms; and in so grateful a spirit that she was
content to wait upon the Alcalde's pleasure for their complete
ratification by Don Juan's deliverance.Pending such liquidation of
the contract, news was carried to Don Juan in prison of the irregular
negotiations in progress to procure his freedom: whereupon he procured
it for himself, one night, by breaking jail.Going straight to his own
home, he found there the Alcalde--and incontinently killed him.That one killing that Don Juan Manuel certainly did commit--out of
which, probably, has come the legend of his many murders--created,
because of the high estate of all concerned in it, a deplorable
scandal: that the Audiencia--while resolved to bring Don Juan to
justice--sought to allay by hushing up, so far as was possible, the
whole affair.Sandra moved to the garden.The Duque de Escalona, the new Viceroy (1640-1642), was
at one with the Audiencia in its hushing-up policy; but was
determined--for reasons of his own which are unrecorded--that Don Juan
should not be executed.So, for a considerable period of time, during
which Don Juan remained in prison, the matter rested.The event seems
to imply that the Audiencia accomplished its stern purpose, as opposed
to the lenient purpose of the Viceroy, by means as informal as they
were effective.John went to the kitchen.Certainly, on a morning in October, 1641, precisely as
described in the legend, Don Juan Manuel was found hanging dead on the
gallows in front of the Capilla de la Espiracion.Senor Obregon
concludes the historical portion of his narrative in these words: "The
Oidores, whose orders it is reasonable to suppose brought about that
dark deed, attributed it to the angels--but there history ends and
legend begins."Daniel moved to the bathroom.[Illustration: DOORWAY, HOUSE OF DON JUAN MANUEL]
Somewhere in the course of my readings--I cannot remember where--I
have come upon the seriously made suggestion that Don Juan Manuel
practically was a bravo: that the favors which he received from the
Viceroy were his payment for putting politically obnoxious persons out
of the way.This specious explanation does account for his traditional
many murders, but is not in accord with probability.Daniel went back to the hallway.Aside from the
fact that bravos rarely are men of rank and wealth, a series of
murders traceable to political motives during the Viceregal term of
the Marques de Cadereita--whose many enemies keenly were alive to his
misdoings--almost certainly would be found, but is not found,
recorded in the chronicles of his time.Such omission effectively puts
this picturesque explanation of Don Juan's doings out of court.NOTE II
LEGEND OF THE ALTAR DEL PERDON
Simon Peyrens, a Flemish painter, came to Mexico in the suite of the
third Viceroy (1566-1568) Don Gaston de Peralta, Marques de Falces.If
he painted--and, presumably, he did paint--a Virgin of Mercy for the
Altar del Perdon, his picture has disappeared: doubtless having been
removed from the altar when the present Cathedral (begun, 1573;
dedicated, though then incomplete, 1656) replaced the primitive
structure erected a few years after the Conquest.The Virgin of the
Candelaria on the existing Altar del Perdon was painted by Baltasar de
Echave, the Elder; a Spanish artist of eminence who came to Mexico
about the end of the sixteenth century.Peyrens certainly had the
opportunity to do his work under conditions akin to, but decidedly
more unpleasant than, those set forth in the legend: as Senor Obregon
has made clear by producing facts which exhibit the afflictions of
that unfortunate artist; and which also, incidentally, account for the
appearance in Mexico of a miracle-story that in varying forms is found
in the saintly chronicles of many lands.Senor Obregon's source is an original document of the time of Fray
Alonso de Montufar; a Dominican brother who was the second Archbishop
of Mexico (1554-1572), and who also held the office of Inquisitor--in
accordance with the custom that obtained until the formal
establishment (1571) of the Inquisition in Mexico.It was before him,
therefore, as represented by his Provisor, that the case of Peyrens
was brought.Mary went to the kitchen.As stated in this document, Peyrens had declared in familiar talk with
friends that simple incontinence was not a sin; and he farther had
declared that he liked to paint portraits, and that he did not like
to |
hallway | Where is Daniel? | His
friends admonished him that his views in regard to incontinence made
him liable to arraignment before the ecclesiastical authorities;
whereupon--seemingly seeking, as a measure of prudence, to forestall
by his own confession any charge that might be brought against him--he
"denounced himself," on September 10, 1568, to Fray Bartolome de Ledesma,
Gobernador de la Mitra.As the result of his confession--instead
of being granted the absolution that he obviously expected to
receive--he was arrested and cast into prison.John went back to the bathroom.Four days later, September 14th, he was examined formally.To the
questions propounded to him, he replied, in substance: That he had
been born in Antwerp, the son of Fero Peyrens and of Constanza Lira
his wife; that he was not of Jewish descent; that none of his family
had been dealt with by the Inquisition; that in his early manhood he
had gone to Lisbon and later to Toledo, where the Court then was
seated, to practice his profession as a painter; that he had come to
New Spain, in the suite of the Viceroy, in the hope of bettering his
fortunes.In regard to the charges against him, he explained: That
what he had said about the sinlessness of simple incontinence had been
spoken lightly in friendly talk, and, moreover, very well might have
been misunderstood because of his imperfect knowledge of the Spanish
tongue; and that what he had said about liking to paint portraits and
not being willing to paint saints had been said only because
portrait-painting was the better paid.His trial followed: at which
nothing more was produced against him--although a number of witnesses,
including "many painters," were interrogated--than the facts brought
out in his own examination.In order to force from Peyrens himself a fuller and more incriminating
confession, the Provisor, Don Esteban de Portillo, ordered that he
should be "submitted to the test of torture."This test was applied on
December 1st--when Peyrens "supported three turns of the rack and
swallowed three jars of water dripped into his mouth by a linen rag,"
without modifying or enlarging his previous declarations.By the rules
of the game--he having, in the jargon of the Inquisition, "conquered
his torment"--the proceedings against him then should have ended.Lea, commenting on his case ("The Inquisition in the Spanish
Dependencies," p.198), writes: "This ought to have earned his
dismissal, but on December 4th he was condemned to pay the costs of
his trial and to give security that he would not leave the City until
he should have painted a picture of Our Lady of Merced, as an
altar-piece for the church.He complied, and it was duly hung in the
Cathedral."Mary travelled to the bathroom.I have not found--seemingly, Mr.Lea did find--a record of the actual
painting of the picture.The sentence passed on Peyrens is given in
full by Senor Obregon--in archaic Spanish, whereof much of the queer
flavor evaporates in translation--and is as follows:
"In the criminal plea now pending before me, preferred by the
Holy Office against simon peireins fleming held in the prison
of this Arcobispado in regard to the words which the said simon
peireins spoke and on which he has been prosecuted, on the acts
and merits of this case it is found that for the crime
committed by simon peyrens using him with equity and mercy I
condemn him to paint at his own cost an altar-piece (retablo)
of our lady of mercy for this holy church [the Cathedral] very
devout and to me pleasing, and that in the interim while he is
painting this altar-piece he shall not leave this city under
penalty of being punished with all rigor as one disobedient to
the mandates of the holy office, and I admonish and command the
said simon peireins that from this time forth he shall not
speak such words as those for the speaking of which he has been
arrested nor shall he question any matters touching our holy
catholic faith under penalty of being rigorously punished and
in addition I condemn him to pay the costs of this trial, and
this is my definitive sentence so judging and I pronounce and
order it in and by this writing
El D^{or} Estevan de Portillo
* * * * *
"In Mexico the fourth of december of the year one thousand
five hundred and sixty eight was given and pronounced this
definitive sentence of the above tenor by the aforesaid sor
doctor barbosa (_sic_) provisor and vicar general of this
Archbishopric of Mexico in the presence of me joan de avendano
apostolic notary public and of the audiencia of this
Archbishopric of mexico witnesses el bachiller villagomez and
juan vergara
johan de avendano"
The ancient record ends with the statement that this sentence was
communicated to Peyrens on the day that it was pronounced, and that he
"consented and did consent" with it--_y dixo que consentia y
consentio_.Mary went to the garden.NOTE III
LEGEND OF THE ADUANA DE STO.Sandra moved to the garden.DOMINGO
Carved over an arch half-way up the main stairway of the
ex-Aduana--the building no longer is used as a custom-house--still may
be read Don Juan's acrostic inscription that sets forth the initials
of Dona Sara de Garcia Somera y Acuna, the lady for whom he so
furiously toiled:
Siendo prior del Consulado el coronel D^n Juan Gutierrez Rubin
de Celis, caballero del Orden de S^ntiago, y consules D^n
Garza de Alvarado del mismo Orden, y D^n Lucas Serafin Chacon,
se acabo la fabrica de esta Aduana en 28 de Junio de 1731.John went to the kitchen.NOTE IV
LEGEND OF THE CALLE DE LA CRUZ VERDE
Senor Arellano has documented the legend of the Green Cross by adding
to his sympathetic version of it the following note: "Some years ago I
saw in either the church of San Miguel or the church of San Pablo, set
aside in a corner, a bronze tablet that once had rested upon a tomb.On it was the inscription, 'Dona Maria de Aldarafuente Lara y Segura
de Manrique.Agosto 11 de 1573 anos.'; and beneath the
inscription was a large Latin cross.When I went to look for it, later, it was not to be found."This record testifies to the truth of the pretty legend to the extent
that it proves that the hero and the heroine of it were real people,
and that their wedding really took place; and it also testifies to the
melancholy fact--since Don Alvaro came to Mexico in the train of the
Viceroy Don Gaston de Peralta, whose entry into the Capital was made
on September 17, 1566--that their wedded life lasted less than seven
years.The once stately but now shabby house whereon the cross is
carved is in what anciently was a dignified quarter of the City; and
the niche for a saint, vacant now, above the cross is one of the
characteristics of the old houses in which people of condition lived.No other house in the City is ornamented in this
way.NOTE V
LEGEND OF THE MUJER HERRADA
Doubtless this legend has for its foundation an ancient real scandal:
that--being too notorious to be hushed up--of set purpose was given to
the public in a highly edifying way.Certainly, the story seems to
have been put in shape by the clerics--the class most interested in
checking such open abuses--with the view of driving home a deterrent
moral by exhibiting so exemplary a punishment of sin.Substantially as in the popular version that I have used in my text,
Don Francisco Sedano (circa 1760) tells the story in his delightful
"Noticias de Mexico"--a gossiping chronicle that, on the dual ground
of kindly credulity and genial inaccuracy, cannot be commended in too
warm terms."In the years 1670-1680, as I have verified," Sedano writes, "there
happened in this City of Mexico a formidable and fearful matter"; and
without farther prelude he tells the story practically as I have told
it, but in much plainer language, until he reaches the climax: when
the priest and the blacksmith try to awaken the woman that she may
enjoy the joke with them.Thence he continues: "When a second call
failed to arouse her they looked at her more closely, and found that
she was dead; and then, examining her still more closely, they found
nailed fast to her hands and to her feet the four iron shoes.Then
they knew that divine justice thus had afflicted her, and that the two
blacks were demons.Being overcome with horror, and not knowing what
course to follow in a situation so terrible, they agreed to go
together for counsel to Dr.Don Francisco Ortiz, cura of the parish
church of Santa Catarina; and him they brought back with them.On
their return, they found already in the house Father Jose Vidal, of
the Company of Jesus, and with him a Carmelite monk who also had been
summoned.Daniel moved to the bathroom.All of them together
examining the woman, they saw that she had a bit in her mouth [the
iron shoes on her hands and feet are not mentioned] and that on her
body were the welts left by the blows which the demons had given her
when they took her to be shod in the form of a mule.The three
aforesaid [the Cura, Father Vidal, and the Carmelite] then agreed that
the woman should be buried in a pit, that they then dug, within the
house; and that upon all concerned in the matter should be enjoined
secrecy.The terrified priest, trembling with fear, declared that he
would change his life--and so left the house, and never appeared
again."Daniel went back to the hallway.And, what was worse, his evidence would have overborne mine, for he
would have sworn that the man who called out and fought Colwan was the
same he met leaving my apartment, and there was an end of it.And,
moreover, it is well known that this same man--this wretch of whom I
speak, never mistook one man for another in his life, which makes the
mystery of the likeness between this incendiary and Drummond the more
extraordinary."Mary went to the kitchen."If it was Drummond, after all that you have asserted, then are my
surmises still wrong.""There is nothing of which I can be more certain than that it was not
Drummond.We have nothing on earth but our senses to depend upon.If
these deceive us, what are we to do?I own I cannot account for it; nor
ever shall be able to account for it as long as I live."Daniel went to the garden."Could you know the man in black, if you saw him again?""I think I could, if I saw him walk or run: his gait was very
particular.He walked as if he had been flat-soled, and his legs made
of steel, without any joints in his feet or ankles."Pray will you take a few
days' journey into the country with me, to look at such a man?""You have preserved my life, and for you I will do anything.I will
accompany you with pleasure: and I think I can say that I will know
him, for his form left an impression on my heart not soon to be
effaced.But of this I am sure that my unworthy companion will
recognize him, and that he will be able to swear to his identity every
day as long as he lives."He is the wretch whom you heard giving me up to the
death; who, after experiencing every mark of affection that a poor
ruined being could confer, and after committing a thousand atrocities
of which she was ignorant, became an informer to save his diabolical
life, and attempted to offer up mine as a sacrifice for all.We will go
by ourselves first, and I will tell you if it is necessary to send any
farther."The two dames, the very next morning, dressed themselves like country
goodwives, and, hiring two stout ponies furnished with pillions, they
took their journey westward, and the second evening after leaving
Edinburgh they arrived at the village about two miles below Dalcastle,
where they alighted.Calvert's judgment, without either hint or preparation, took care not
to mention that they were so near to the end of their journey.In
conformity with this plan, she said, after they had sat a while:
"Heigh-ho, but I am weary!What, suppose we should rest a day here
before we proceed farther on our journey?"Calvert was leaning on the casement and looking out when her
companion addressed these words to her, and by far too much engaged to
return any answer, for her eyes were riveted on two young men who
approached from the farther end of the village; and at length, turning
round her head, she said, with the most intense interest, "Proceed
farther on our journey, did you say?That we need not do; for, as I
live, here comes the very man!"Logan ran to the window, and, behold, there was indeed Robert
Wringhim Colwan (now the Laird of Dalcastle) coming forward almost
below their window, walking arm in arm with another young man; and, as
the two passed, the latter looked up and made a sly signal to the two
dames, biting his lip, winking with his left eye, and nodding his head.Calvert was astonished at this recognizance, the young man's
former companion having made exactly such another signal on the night
of the duel, by the light of the moon; and it struck her, moreover,
that she had somewhere seen this young man's face before.Daniel travelled to the hallway.She looked
after him, and he winked over his shoulder to her; but she was
prevented from returning his salute by her companion, who uttered a
loud cry, between a groan and shriek, and fell down on the floor with a
rumble like a wall that had suddenly been undermined.She had fainted
quite away, and required all her companion's attention during the
remainder of the evening, for she had scarcely ever well recovered out
of one fit before she fell into another, and in the short intervals she
raved like one distracted or in a dream.After falling into a sound
sleep by night, she recovered her equanimity, and the two began to
converse seriously on what they had seen.Calvert averred that the
young man who passed next to the window was the very man who stabbed
George Colwan in the back, and she said she was willing to take her
oath on it at any time when required, and was certain, if the wretch
Ridsley saw him, that he would make oath to the same purport, for that
his walk was so peculiar no one of common discernment could mistake it.Logan was in great agitation, and said: "It is what I have
suspected all along, and what I am sure my late master and benefactor
was persuaded of, and the horror of such an idea cut short his days.Calvert, is the born brother of him he murdered, sons
of the same mother they were, whether or not of the same father, the
Lord only knows.Calvert, that is not the main thing that
has |
bathroom | Where is Mary? | Who do
you think the young man was who walked in his company to-night?""I cannot for my life recollect, but am convinced I have seen the same
fine form and face before.""And did not he seem to know us, Mrs.You who are able to
recollect things as they happened, did he not seem to recollect us, and
make signs to that effect?""He did, indeed, and apparently with great good humour.""Oh, Mrs Calvert, hold me, else I shall fall into hysterics again!Tell me who you suppose he is, for I cannot say my
own thought.""Did you note the appearance of the young gentleman you saw slain that
night?Do you recollect aught of the appearance of my young master,
George Colwan?"Calvert sat silent, and stared the other mildly in the face.Their
looks encountered, and there was an unearthly amazement that gleamed
from each, which, meeting together, caught real fire, and returned the
flame to their heated imaginations, till the two associates became like
two statues, with their hands spread, their eyes fixed, and their chops
fallen down upon their bosoms.An old woman who kept the lodging-house,
having been called in before when Mrs.Logan was faintish, chanced to
enter at this crisis with some cordial; and, seeing the state of her
lodgers, she caught the infection, and fell into the same rigid and
statue-like appearance.No scene more striking was ever exhibited; and
if Mrs.Calvert had not resumed strength of mind to speak, and break
the spell, it is impossible to say how long it might have continued."It is he, I believe," said she, uttering the words as it were
inwardly.I
saw him stabbed through and through the heart; I saw him roll backward
on the green in his own blood, utter his last words, and groan away his
soul.Yet, if it is not he, who can it be?"cried the landlady, in unison."Hold your peace then till you recover your senses, and tell me, if you
can, who that young gentleman is who keeps company with the new Laird
of Dalcastle?"cried the landlady, wringing hers.Calvert turned the latter gently and civilly out of the apartment,
observing that there seemed to be some infection in the air of the
room, and she would be wise for herself to keep out of it.The two dames had a restless and hideous night.Sleep came not to their
relief, for their conversation was wholly about the dead, who seemed to
be alive, and their minds were wandering and groping in a chaos of
mystery."Did you attend to his corpse, and know that he positively
died and was buried?""Oh, yes, from the moment that his fair but mangled corpse was brought
home, I attended it till that when it was screwed in the coffin.I
washed the long stripes of blood from his lifeless form, on both sides
of the body.I bathed the livid wound that passed through his generous
and gentle heart.There was one through the flesh of his left side too,
which had bled most outwardly of them all.I bathed them, and bandaged
them up with wax and perfumed ointment, but still the blood oozed
through all, so that when he was laid in the coffin he was like one
newly murdered.He was always as a
son to me, and no son was ever more kind or more respectful to a
mother.But he was butchered--he was cut off from the earth ere he had
well reached to manhood--most barbarously and unfairly slain.And how
is it, how can it be, that we again see him here, walking arm in arm
with his murderer?"It is a phantasy of our disturbed
imaginations, therefore let us compose ourselves till we investigate
this matter farther.""It cannot be in nature, that is quite clear," said Mrs."Yet
how it should be that I should think so--I who knew and nursed him from
his infancy--there lies the paradox.As you said once before, we have
nothing but our senses to depend on, and, if you and I believe that we
see a person, why, we do see him.Whose word, or whose reasoning can
convince us against our own senses?We will disguise ourselves as poor
women selling a few country wares, and we will go up to the Hall, and
see what is to see, and hear what we can hear, for this is a weighty
business in which we are engaged, namely, to turn the vengeance of the
law upon an unnatural monster; and we will further learn, if we can,
who this is that accompanies him."Calvert acquiesced, and the two dames took their way to Dalcastle,
with baskets well furnished with trifles.They did not take the common
path from the village, but went about, and approached the mansion by a
different way.But it seemed as if some overruling power ordered it
that they should miss no chance of attaining the information they
wanted.For ere ever they came within half a mile of Dalcastle they
perceived the two youths coming as to meet them, on the same path.The
road leading from Dalcastle towards the north-east, as all the country
knows, goes along a dark bank of brush-wood called the Bogle-heuch.It
was by this track that the two women were going, and, when they
perceived the two gentlemen meeting them, they turned back, and, the
moment they were out of their sight, they concealed themselves in a
thicket close by the road.Logan was
terrified for being discovered, and because they wished to reconnoitre
without being seen.Calvert now charged her, whatever she saw, or
whatever she heard, to put on a resolution, and support it, for if she
fainted there and was discovered, what was to become of her!The two young men came on, in earnest and vehement conversation; but
the subject they were on was a terrible one, and hardly fit to be
repeated in the face of a Christian community.Wringhim was disputing
the boundlessness of the true Christian's freedom, and expressing
doubts that, chosen as he knew he was from all eternity, still it might
be possible for him to commit acts that would exclude him from the
limits of the covenant.The other argued, with mighty fluency, that the
thing was utterly impossible, and altogether inconsistent with eternal
predestination.The arguments of the latter prevailed, and the laird
was driven to sullen silence.But, to the women's utter surprise, as
the conquering disputant passed, he made a signal of recognizance
through the brambles to them, as formerly, and, that he might expose
his associate fully, and in his true colours, he led him back, wards
and forwards by the women more than twenty times, making him to confess
both the crimes that he had done and those he had in contemplation.Mary went back to the bedroom.At
length he said to him: "Assuredly I saw some strolling vagrant women on
this walk, my dear friend: I wish we could find them, for there is
little doubt that they are concealed here in your woods.""I wish we could find them," answered Wringhim."We would have fine
sport maltreating and abusing them."Now tell me, Robert, if you found a
malevolent woman, the latent enemy of your prosperity, lurking in these
woods to betray you, what would you inflict on her?""I would tear her to pieces with my dogs, and feed them with her flesh.Oh, my dear friend, there is an old strumpet who lived with my
unnatural father, whom I hold in such utter detestation that I stand
constantly in dread of her, and would sacrifice the half of my estate
to shed her blood!""What will you give me if I will put her in your power, and give you a
fair and genuine excuse for making away with her; one for which you
shall answer at the bar, here or hereafter?""I should like to see the vile hag put down.She is in possession of
the family plate, that is mine by right, as well as a thousand valuable
relics, and great riches besides, all of which the old profligate
gifted shamefully away.And it is said, besides all these, that she has
sworn my destruction."But I see not how she can accomplish that, seeing
the deed was done so suddenly, and in the silence of the night.""It was said there were some onlookers.But where shall we find that
disgraceful Miss Logan?""I will show you her by and by.But will you then consent to the other
meritorious deed?Come, be a man, and throw away scruples.""If you can convince me that the promise is binding I will.""Then step this way, till I give you a piece of information."They walked a little way out of hearing, but went not out of sight;
therefore, though the women were in a terrible quandary, they durst not
stir, for they had some hopes that this extraordinary person was on a
mission of the same sort with themselves, knew of them, and was going
to make use of their testimony.Logan was several times on the
point of falling into a swoon, so much did the appearance of the young
man impress her, until her associate covered her face that she might
listen without embarrassment.But this latter dialogue roused different
feelings within them; namely, those arising from imminent personal
danger.They saw his waggish associate point out the place of their
concealment to Wringhim, who came towards them, out of curiosity to see
what his friend meant by what he believed to be a joke, manifestly
without crediting it in the least degree.When he came running away,
the other called after him: "If she is too hard for you, call to me."As he said this, he hasted out of sight, in the contrary direction,
apparently much delighted with the joke.Wringhim came rushing through the thicket impetuously, to the very spot
where Mrs.She held the wrapping close about her
head, but he tore it off and discovered her."The curse of God be on
thee!""What fiend has brought thee here, and for what purpose
art thou come?But, whatever has brought thee, I have thee!"and with
that he seized her by the throat.The two women, when they heard what
jeopardy they were in from such a wretch, had squatted among the
underwood at a small distance from each other, so that he had never
observed Mrs.Calvert; but, no sooner had he seized her benefactor,
than, like a wild cat, she sprung out of the thicket, and had both
hands fixed at his throat, one of them twisted in his stock, in a
twinkling.She brought him back-over among the brushwood, and the two,
fixing on him like two harpies, mastered him with case.Then indeed was
he woefully beset.He deemed for a while that his friend was at his
back, and, turning his bloodshot eyes towards the path, he attempted to
call; but there was no friend there, and the women cut short his cries
by another twist of his stock."Now, gallant and rightful Laird of
Dalcastle," said Mrs.Logan, "what hast thou to say for thyself?Lay
thy account to dree the weird thou hast so well earned.Now shalt thou
suffer due penance for murdering thy brave and only brother.""Thou liest, thou hag of the pit!"I saw thee do it with these eyes that now look thee in the face; ay,
when his back was to thee, too, and while he was hotly engaged with thy
friend," said Mrs."I heard thee confess it again and again this same hour," said Mrs."Ay, and so did I," said her companion."Murder will out, though the
Almighty should lend hearing to the ears of the willow, and speech to
the seven tongues of the woodriff."said he, foaming with rage, "and creatures
fitted from the beginning for eternal destruction.I'll have your bones
and your blood sacrificed on your cursed altars!Here, here is the proper food for
blessed vengeance!There was no friend, no Gil-Martin there to hear or assist him: he was
in the two women's mercy, but they used it with moderation.They
mocked, they tormented, and they threatened him; but, finally, after
putting him in great terror, they bound his hands behind his back, and
his feet fast with long straps of garters which they chanced to have in
their baskets, to prevent him from pursuing them till they were out of
his reach.As they left him, which they did in the middle of the path,
Mrs.Calvert said: "We could easily put an end to thy sinful life, but
our hands shall be free of thy blood.Nevertheless thou art still in
our power, and the vengeance of thy country shall overtake thee, thou
mean and cowardly murderer, ay, and that more suddenly than thou art
aware!"The women posted to Edinburgh; and as they put themselves under the
protection of an English merchant, who was journeying thither with
twenty horses laden, and armed servants, so they had scarcely any
conversation on the road.Logan's house, then
they spoke of what they had seen and heard, and agreed that they had
sufficient proof to condemn young Wringhim, who they thought richly
deserved the severest doom of the law."I never in my life saw any human being," said Mrs.Calvert, "whom I
thought so like a fiend.If a demon could inherit flesh and blood, that
youth is precisely such a being as I could conceive that demon to be.The depth and the malignity of his eye is hideous.His breath is like
the airs from a charnel house, and his flesh seems fading from his
bones, as if the worm that never dies were gnawing it away already.""He was always repulsive, and every way repulsive," said the other,
"but he is now indeed altered greatly to the worse.While we were
hand-fasting him, I felt his body to be feeble and emaciated; but yet I
know him to be so puffed up with spiritual pride that I believe he
weens every one of his actions justified before God, and, instead of
having stings of conscience for these, he takes great merit to himself
in having effected them.Still my thoughts are less about him than the
extraordinary being who accompanies him.He does everything with so
much ease and indifference, so much velocity and effect, that all
bespeak him an adept in wickedness.The likeness to my late hapless
young master is so striking that I can hardly believe it to be a chance
model; and I think he imitates him in everything, for some purpose or
some effect on his sinful associate.Do you know that he is so like in
every lineament, look, and gesture, that, against the clearest light of
reason, I cannot in my mind separate the one from the other, and have a
certain indefinable expression on my mind that they are one and the
same being, or that the one was a prototype of the other.""If there is an earthly crime," said Mrs.Calvert, "for the due
punishment of which the Almighty may be supposed to subvert the order
of nature, it is fratricide.But tell me, dear friend, did you remark
to what the subtile and hellish villain was endeavouring to prompt the
assassin?"Mary travelled to the bathroom.My senses were altogether so bewildered
that I thought they had combined to deceive me, and I gave them no
credit.""Then bear me: I am almost certain he was using every persuasion to
induce him to make away with his mother; and I likewise conceive that I
heard the incendiary give his consent!"Let us speak and think no more about it, till we see
the issue.In the meantime, let us do that which is our bounden
duty--go and divulge all that we know relating to this foul murder."Accordingly the two women went to Sir Thomas Wallace of Craigie, the
Lord justice Clerk (who was, I think, either uncle or grandfather to
young Drummond, who was outlawed and obliged to fly his country on
account of Colwan's death), and to that gentleman they related every
circumstance of what they had seen and heard.He examined Calvert very
minutely, and seemed deeply interested in her evidence--said he knew
she was relating the truth, and, in testimony of it, brought a letter
of young Drummond's from his desk, wherein that young gentleman, after
protesting his innocence in the most forcible terms, confessed having
been with such a woman in such a house, after leaving the |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | Mary went back to the bedroom.He begged of his relative, if ever an opportunity
offered, to do his endeavour to clear up that mystery, and remove the
horrid stigma from his name in his country, and among his kin, of
having stabbed a friend behind his back.Lord Craigie, therefore, directed the two women to the proper
authorities, and, after hearing their evidence there, it was judged
proper to apprehend the present Laird of Dalcastle, and bring him to
his trial.But, before that, they sent the prisoner in the Tolbooth, he
who had seen the whole transaction along with Mrs.Calvert, to take a
view of Wringhim privately; and, his discrimination being so well known
as to be proverbial all over the land, they determined secretly to be
ruled by his report.They accordingly sent him on a pretended mission
of legality to Dalcastle, with orders to see and speak with the
proprietor, without giving him a hint what was wanted.Mary travelled to the bathroom.On his return,
they examined him, and he told them that he found all things at the
place in utter confusion and dismay; that the lady of the place was
missing, and could not be found, dead or alive.On being asked if he
had ever seen the proprietor before, he looked astounded and unwilling
to answer.But it came out that he had; and that he had once seen him
kill a man on such a spot at such an hour.Officers were then dispatched, without delay, to apprehend the monster,
and bring him to justice.On these going to the mansion, and inquiring
for him, they were told he was at home; on which they stationed guards,
and searched all the premises, but he was not to be found.It was in
vain that they overturned beds, raised floors, and broke open closets:
Robert Wringhim Colwan was lost once and for ever.His mother also was
lost; and strong suspicions attached to some of the farmers and house
servants to whom she was obnoxious, relating to her disappearance.The Honourable Thomas Drummond became a distinguished officer in the
Austrian service, and died in the memorable year for Scotland, 1715;
and this is all with which history, justiciary records, and tradition,
furnish me relating to these matters.I have now the pleasure of presenting my readers with an original
document of a most singular nature, and preserved for their perusal in
a still more singular manner.I offer no remarks on it, and make as few
additions to it, leaving everyone to judge for himself.We have heard
much of the rage of fanaticism in former days, but nothing to this.The Private Memoirs and
Confessions of a Sinner
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
PRIVATE MEMOIRS AND CONFESSIONS OF A SINNER
My life has been a life of trouble and turmoil of change and
vicissitude; of anger and exultation; of sorrow and of vengeance.My
sorrows have all been for a slighted gospel, and my vengeance has been
wreaked on its adversaries.Therefore, in the might of Heaven, I will
sit down and write: I will let the wicked of this world know what I
have done in the faith of the promises, and justification by grace,
that they may read and tremble, and bless their gods of silver and gold
that the minister of Heaven was removed from their sphere before their
blood was mingled with their sacrifices.I was born an outcast in the world, in which I was destined to act so
conspicuous a part.My mother was a burning and a shining light, in the
community of Scottish worthies, and in the days of her virginity had
suffered much in the persecution of the saints.But it so pleased
Heaven that, as a trial of her faith, she was married to one of the
wicked; a man all over spotted with the leprosy of sin.As well might
they have conjoined fire and water together, in hopes that they would
consort and amalgamate, as purity and corruption: She fled from his
embraces the first night after their marriage, and from that time forth
his iniquities so galled her upright heart that she quitted his society
altogether, keeping her own apartments in the same house with him.I was the second son of this unhappy marriage, and, ere ever I was
born, my father according to the flesh disclaimed all relation or
connection with me, and all interest in me, save what the law compelled
him to take, which was to grant me a scanty maintenance; and had it not
been for a faithful minister of the gospel, my mother's early
instructor, I should have remained an outcast from the church visible.He took pity on me, admitting me not only into that, but into the bosom
of his own household and ministry also, and to him am I indebted, under
Heaven, for the high conceptions and glorious discernment between good
and evil, right and wrong, which I attained even at an early age.It
was he who directed my studies aright, both in the learning of the
ancient fathers and the doctrines of the reformed church, and designed
me for his assistant and successor in the holy office.I missed no
opportunity of perfecting myself particularly in all the minute points
of theology in which my reverend father and mother took great delight;
but at length I acquired so much skill that I astonished my teachers,
and made them gaze at one another.I remember that it was the custom,
in my patron's house, to ask questions of the Single Catechism round
every Sabbath night.John travelled to the office.He asked the first, my mother the second, and so
on, everyone saying the question asked and then asking the next.It
fell to my mother to ask Effectual Calling at me.I said the answer
with propriety and emphasis."Now, madam," added I, "my question to you
is: What is Ineffectual Calling?"There is no such thing, Robert," said she."But there is, madam," said I, and that answer proves how much you say
these fundamental precepts by rote, and without any consideration.Ineffectual Calling is the outward call of the gospel without any
effect on the hearts of unregenerated and impenitent sinners.Have not
all these the same calls, warnings, doctrines, and reproofs, that we
have?Has not Patrick M'Lure the same?Has not the Laird of Dalcastle and his
reprobate heir the same?Mary travelled to the bedroom.And will any tell me that this is not
Ineffectual Calling?""I'm feared he turn out to be a conceited gowk," said old Barnet, the
minister's man."No," said my pastor, and father (as I shall henceforth denominate
him)."No, Barnet, he is a wonderful boy; and no marvel, for I have
prayed for these talents to be bestowed on him from his infancy: and do
you think that Heaven would refuse a prayer so disinterested?But my dread is, madam," continued he, turning to my
mother, "that he is yet in the bond of iniquity.""I have struggled with the Almighty long and hard," continued he; "but
have as yet no certain token of acceptance in his behalf, I have indeed
fought a hard fight, but have been repulsed by him who hath seldom
refused my request; although I cited his own words against him, and
endeavoured to hold him at his promise, he hath so many turnings in the
supremacy of his power, that I have been rejected.How dreadful is it
to think of our darling being still without the pale of the covenant!But I have vowed a vow, and in that there is hope."My heart quaked with terror when I thought of being still living in a
state of reprobation, subjected to the awful issues of death, judgment,
and eternal misery, by the slightest accident or casualty; and I set
about the duty of prayer myself with the utmost earnestness.I prayed
three times every day, and seven times on the Sabbath; but, the more
frequently and fervently that I prayed, I sinned still the more.About
this time, and for a long period afterwards, amounting to several
years, I lived in a hopeless and deplorable state of mind; for I said
to myself, "If my name is not written in the book of life from all
eternity, it is in vain for me to presume that either vows or prayers
of mine, or those of all mankind combined, can ever procure its
insertion now."I had come under many vows, most solemnly taken, every
one of which I had broken; and I saw with the intensity of juvenile
grief that there was no hope for me.I went on sinning every hour, and
all the while most strenuously warring against sin, and repenting of
every one transgression as soon after the commission of it as I got
leisure to think.But, oh, what a wretched state this unregenerated
state is, in which every effort after righteousness only aggravates our
offences!I found it vanity to contend; for, after communing with my
heart, the conclusion was as follows: "If I could repent me of all my
sins, and shed tears of blood for them, still have I not a load of
original transgression pressing on me that is enough to crush me to the
lowest hell.I may be angry with my first parents for having sinned,
but how I shall repent me of their sin is beyond what I am able to
comprehend."Still, in those days of depravity and corruption, I had some of those
principles implanted in my mind which were afterwards to spring up with
such amazing fertility among the heroes of the faith and the promises.In particular, I felt great indignation against all the wicked of this
world, and often wished for the means of ridding it of such a noxious
burden.I liked John Barnet, my reverend father's serving-man,
extremely ill; but, from a supposition that he might be one of the
justified, I refrained from doing him any injury.He gave always his
word against me, and when we were by ourselves, in the barn or the
fields, he rated me with such severity for my faults that my heart
could brook it no longer.He discovered some notorious lies that I had
framed, and taxed me with them in such a manner that I could in no wise
get off.My cheek burnt, with offence, rather than shame; and he,
thinking he had got the mastery of me, exulted over me most
unmercifully, telling me I was a selfish and conceited blackguard, who
made great pretences towards religious devotion to cloak a disposition
tainted with deceit, and that it would not much astonish him if I
brought myself to the gallows.I gathered some courage from his over-severity, and answered him as
follows: "Who made thee a judge of the actions or dispositions of the
Almighty's creatures--thou who art a worm and no man in his sight?How
it befits thee to deal out judgments and anathemas!Hath he not made
one vessel to honour, and another to dishonour, as in the case with
myself and thee?Hath he not builded his stories in the heavens, and
laid the foundations thereof in the earth, and how can a being like
thee judge between good and evil, that are both subjected to the
workings of his hand; or of the opposing principles in the soul of man,
correcting, modifying, and refining one another?"I said this with that strong display of fervour for which I was
remarkable at my years, and expected old Barnet to be utterly
confounded; but he only shook his head, and, with the most provoking
grin, said: "There he goes!Sickan sublime and ridiculous sophistry I
never heard come out of another mouth but ane.There needs nae aiths to
be sworn afore the session wha is your father, young goodman.I ne'er,
for my part, saw a son sac like a dad, sin' my een first opened."With
that he went away, saying with an ill-natured wince: "You made to
honour and me to dishonour!Dirty bow-kail thing that thou be'st!""I will have the old rascal on the hip for this, if I live," thought I.
So I went and asked my mother if John was a righteous man.She could
not tell, but supposed he was, and therefore I got no encouragement
from her.I went next to my reverend father, and inquired his opinion,
expecting as little from that quarter.He knew the elect as it were by
instinct, and could have told you of all those in his own, and some
neighbouring parishes, who were born within the boundaries of the
covenant of promise, and who were not."I keep a good deal in company with your servant, old Barnet, father,"
said I."You do, boy, you do, I see," said he."I wish I may not keep too much in his company," said I, "not knowing
what kind of society I am in."Why, boy, he is but so so.A morally good man John is, but very little
of the leaven of true righteousness, which is faith, within.I am
afraid old Barnet, with all his stock of morality, will be a castaway."My heart was greatly cheered by this remark; and I sighed very deeply,
and hung my head to one side.The worthy father observed me, and
inquired the cause, when I answered as follows: "How dreadful the
thought, that I have been going daily in company and fellowship with
one whose name is written on the red-letter side of the book of life;
whose body and soul have been, from all eternity, consigned over to
everlasting destruction, and to whom the blood of the atonement can
never, never reach!Father, this is an awful thing, and beyond my
comprehension.""While we are in the world, we must mix with the inhabitants thereof,"
said he; "and the stains which adhere to us by reason of this mixture,
which is unavoidable, shall all be washed away.It is our duty,
however, to shun the society of wicked men as much as possible, lest we
partake of their sins, and become sharers with them in punishment.John, however, is morally a good man, and may yet get a cast of grace.""I always thought him a good man till to-day," said I, "when he threw
out some reflections on your character, so horrible that I quake to
think of the wickedness and malevolence of his heart.He was rating me
very impertinently for some supposed fault, which had no being save in
his own jealous brain, when I attempted to reason him out of his belief
in the spirit of calm Christian argument.But how do you think he
answered me?He did so, sir, by twisting his mouth at me, and remarking
that such sublime and ridiculous sophistry never came out of another
mouth but one (meaning yours) and that no oath before a kirk session
was necessary to prove who was my dad, for that he had never seen a son
so like a father as I was like mine.""He durst not for his soul's salvation, and for his daily bread, which
he values much more, say such a word, boy; therefore, take care what
you assert," said my reverend father."He said these very words, and will not deny them, sir," said I.
My reverend father turned about in great wrath and indignation, and
went away in search of John, but I kept out of the way, and listened at
a back window; for John was dressing the plot of ground behind the
house; and I hope it was no sin in me that I did rejoice in the
dialogue which took place, it being the victory of righteousness over
error."Well, John, this is a fine day for your delving work.""Ay, it's a tolerable day, sir.""Are you thankful in heart, John, for such temporal mercies as these?""Aw doubt we're a' ower little thankfu', sir, baith for temporal an'
speeritual mercies; but it isna aye the maist thankfu' heart that maks
the greatest fraze wi' the tongue.""I hope there is nothing personal under that remark, John?""Gin the bannet fits ony body's head, they're unco welcome to it, sir,
for me.""John, I do not approve of these innuendoes.You have an arch malicious
manner of vending your aphorisms, which the men of the world are too
apt to read the wrong way, for your dark hints are sure to have one
very bad meaning.""Hout na, sir, |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | He may
say, “I love and revere the Bible as much as any person can do, and am as
ready to associate for its distribution; but I wish, whilst I am
promoting this laudable work, to perform at the same time my duties as a
churchman.And, therefore, as the Society for Promoting Christian
Knowledge consists entirely of churchmen; will provide me with Bibles at
a cheaper rate: such as are more useful, from their notes and comments;
and will also provide me with Prayer Books and Religious Tracts, I shall
prefer that; because no harm can thereby happen to the Established
Church; and because I shall thus be enabled to do my duty as a Christian,
and at the same time my duty as a churchman.Whilst, by uniting in the
distribution of the Bible, through the hands of sectaries of every
description, I should consider myself, by promoting their means of
conversion, in every convert who was made, or in every intention formed
by them for drawing persons from the Established Church, not only an
assistant, but an accessary.”
These are certainly very fair and reasonable objections to a churchman’s
subscribing to the British and Foreign Bible Society.If there were no
other Society formed for the distribution of the Bible, the case would be
different.But since there is one, which offers superior advantages, and
which affords him an opportunity of performing the duties of a churchman,
at the same time that he is performing the duties of a Christian, there
is abundant reason for his rejection of the one Society, and his adoption
of the other.There is one other plan proposed by the British and Foreign Bible
Society, which requires to be shortly noticed; _viz._ The pennies
collected from the poor.Gisborne are
correct, as to the flourishing state of the Auxiliary Bible Society, that
their revenue amounted in 1815 to £124,019.was expended for the foreign department; that there was left for home
consumption annually the sum of £97,331.; that, in addition to
this income, there are exchequer bills to the amount of £33,822.8d.,
besides funded property to the amount of £10,000 more: with such an
immense sum, an unappropriated surplus of £43,000 and upwards, and an
income for home consumption of £90,000 and upwards, it may be fairly
asked, for what Christian purpose are the poor to be taxed a penny a
week, in support of a Society whose income exceeds it expenditure?What
reason can there be to tax the paupers of this kingdom to supply foreign
nations with Bibles?There is no poor family in the kingdom, to whom 4s.is not, at the end of the year, a real object, in the purchase of
clothing for children, payment of rent, or procuring food and fuel.To
deduct such a sum, therefore, from a poor family, is a cruel, a wicked,
and an unchristian act.Mary went back to the bedroom.If the poor cannot claim a Bible gratuitously,
for what reason is £90,000 taken every year from the pockets of the rich?Mary travelled to the bathroom.It is greatly to be feared, that the real purport of this vexatious
impost has a more mischievous tendency; and though there are some who
have united in this scheme, more from error in judgment, than from
badness of intention, yet there are others, whose aim and ambition it is
to puritanize the whole community, and to raise the fabric of enthusiasm
upon the ruins of Church and State.{15}
* * * * *
* * * * *
FINIS.* * * * *
_Printed by J. Keymer_, _King-Street_, _Yarmouth_.{5a} That edition of the Bible is now sold by the Society for Promoting
Christian Knowledge for 3s.; and therefore, the advantage is still
greater than here represented.{5b} It has been asserted, that the Bible Society affords to its
subscribers these Bibles at 3s.; but as the poor do not receive them
till they have paid one penny weekly for a whole year, to them it is not
allowed at less than 4s.; and there are instances, where they have
not received them even for that.Whatever indulgence, therefore, the
rich subscribers may receive, the poor are not in the least benefited.And the price is far above that allowed by the Society for Promoting
Christian Knowledge, as may be seen by the note above.{15} See British Critic, November, 1815.The boy knocked on the door, which was answered by Mrs."Sorry," she said, in response to Roger's question, "but Professor
Bailey is not home.He went away this morning, to be gone several weeks."No," replied Roger, and his heart sank.It would be too late, unless he
could soon find out what the white crystals were, for his uncle was not
likely to delay in the sale of the land on merely a boy's suspicion.Pondering on this problem, he left the front gate of
the professor's house just as a wagon rattled up.CHAPTER XXI
ROGER TAKES A JOURNEY
Roger was uncertain for a few minutes what to do.He heard the wagon
rumbling past him, but gave no notice to the driver until the latter
called out:
"Hello, young man!Then the boy saw that the man was his uncle's neighbor, Enberry Took.Up
to that minute Roger had not the remotest idea of taking a ride, but for
some reason he could not explain, he resolved to get into the wagon.He
wanted time to think of some new plan.called Enberry to his mare, and pulled up opposite
Professor Bailey's gate.Roger climbed to the seat, having first wrapped
his precious crystals in a piece of paper before placing them in an
inside pocket."She's a little
deef," the driver explained, indicating his mare."Gittin' wuss, too.Hev t' git her a ear trumpet soon, ef it keeps on.Look kinder queer,
wouldn't it, a mare 'ith a ear trumpet?""I think it would," replied Roger, smiling at the idea.Took again, and this time the mare started off at
a slow pace.The two rode for a few minutes in silence."Nice day," ventured Enberry at length.Took, flicking a fly from the mare's back."Why, yes--er--that is--I don't know."Wa'al, we'll git at it arter a while," laughed Enberry.asked Roger, a sudden thought coming to him.Made up yer mind rather suddint," commented Enberry, with a
grin."But ye're welcome, all th' same.I won't be comin' back 'til
rather late though, 'long about nine o'clock," he added."That will suit me good enough," said Roger."I'll tell you what it is,"
growing confidential, and knowing he could trust Mr."I want to go
to Syracuse to find a chemist.I have something, and I want to find out
what it is.I was going to ask Professor Bailey, but he has gone away,
and I'm in a hurry.I don't s'pose you know of a man out to the city who
could tell all about minerals and such things, do you?""Ye say ye've got suthin' 'n' don't know what it is?"Took,
with rather a puzzled look on his face."Then I know th' very place fer ye," said Enberry, suddenly."Perfessor
Bootsky's th' man fer ye.He'll reveal th' past, present, 'n' future.Told me
I'd hev bad luck inside of a month, 'n' I'll be gol-swizzled ef one a'
my cows didn't up 'n' die on me.Tell ye anythin'
'bout nothin' 'n' nothin' 'bout everythin', jest's ye like.and fired with sudden energy and enthusiasm, Mr.Took sent the mare along at a flying pace."I have something I want analyzed, to find out what sort of stuff it
is," said Roger."Hain't nobody been tryin' t' pizen ye, hev they?"asked Enberry, with a
startled look."I read 'bout a case like thet in th' papers onct.Feller
most died from drinkin' well water.Took it t' a
perfessor, 'n' what d' he s'pose he said?""Oh, this is nothing like that," said Roger."At least I do not believe
what I have is poison.""And you want jest a ordinary chemist 'n' not a fortune teller, eh?"Took, at length, "ye come t' th' right place fere
information fer onct in yer life, Roger.I know jest th' feller ye want.John travelled to the office.He used t' live out here 'fore he growed up, got a eddercation, 'n'
become one a' them chaps what looks through a glass, 'n' tells ye 'bout
bugs in th' drinkin' water, 'n' wigglers turnin inter musquiters.'N' he
looks through a thing like a telescope, 'n' tells ye 'bout lines, 'n'
angles, 'n' feet, 'n' chains, 'n' links, 'n' so on.What d' ye call them
fellers?"He's one of 'em
employed by the city, 'n' his office is in th' town hall.I'll take ye
right t' him; I know him, 'n' he'll fix ye up."I didn't tell the folks I was coming away," said Roger, "so I hope
we'll be back before very late.I wouldn't like them to be worried on my
account.""We'll git back all right," answered Mr."'Long 'bout haf-past
eight er nine o'clock.Bert's folks won't miss ye 'til then,'specially
as boys is allers traipsin' off sommers er other.""I guess nine o'clock will not be too late," said Roger.Took," the boy went on, "not speaking about this trip to
people in Cardiff?You see I want to surprise my uncle, and I don't want
him to know anything about what I am doing.There's nothing wrong in it,
though."Took promised readily enough, as he knew he could trust the boy, and
he did not ask any questions, for which Roger was grateful.They were
well on their journey now, driving along the pleasant valley road in the
sunshine.It yet lacked considerable of noon, but Roger began to feel
hungry, for, in the excitement, he had not eaten much breakfast.Took seemed to know this, and with a good-natured smile, he reached
under the seat and pulled out a pail."My wife allers puts this snack up for me when I go t' th' city," he
said."Here, help yerself," and he extended the pail filled with crisp,
brown doughnuts and some cream cheese.Took's excellent cooking, and, when he had finished the fifth cake he
felt much better.Took been a whit behind him in disposing
of the toothsome fried cakes."They're fine," was Roger's verdict."Allers make me thirsty," commented Mr.Took, "but I know where I kin
git a drink."He shook the reins, and Kate trotted on.shouted Enberry, suddenly pulling the mare in.Beside the road was a hollowed-out tree trunk, moss lined, filled to the
edges and running over with clear, cool, sparkling water, that flowed
and bubbled into the trough from a wooden pipe, made from a hollow log,
which extended back to the spring.There was a dried yellow gourd for a
dipper, and Mr.Took and Roger drank their fill, while Kate stuck her
nose deep into the liquid, and sucked it up with queer little noises."Finest water in th' state," said Mr.Took, wiping his mouth dry on the
back of his hand, "finest water in th' state.""Wa'al, we'll git along I guess," said Enberry, after a pause, and they
made no other stop until they reached Syracuse.Took drove under the
sheds back of the Candee House, where the Cardiff stage put up.This
lumbering vehicle had arrived a few minutes before them.Took, glancing at his big silver watch.he called to the
stage driver, who just then emerged from the barn.Most got
in ahead on ye, didn't I?""Had t' make a few extra stops," explained Mr."Made me a
leetle late," and, with a nod, he passed on.Now Roger was almost as hungry as if he had not eaten the doughnuts, and
he wanted his dinner very much.But he knew hotels charged for food,
even if it was for a small boy, and he realized, for the first time,
that, in his hurry he had come away without any money.So he began to
wonder how he could pay for a meal, or even a half of one, providing
they had that kind.He did not like to go in with Mr.Took, under the
circumstances, so he rather hung back, when his friend followed the
stage driver into the public parlor of the Candee House.But Enberry was
quick to notice the boy's diffidence, and, rightly guessing the cause,
he said:
"I'm standin' treat t'-day, Porter.You 'n' Roger here, is invited t'
dine at my expense.'T ain't often I git a chanst t' hev company at my
hotel, 'n' when I do I make th' most on it.Mary travelled to the bedroom.Now, now," as he saw Roger
hesitating, "no excuses, jest come right along.I've got lots t' do, 'n'
no time t' stand on ceremony.'Sides, I'm's hungry's a b'ar 'n' her
four cubs."So there was nothing to do but accept the invitation, and soon all three
were sitting down to a plain, but bountifully spread table."I'll take ye t' thet feller I spoke about, Roger," said Mr.Took, as he
began on his second piece of pie."Then I'll hev t' leave ye.Be back
here by six o'clock,'s I'll start then.Can't do my tradin' much afore
thet.John journeyed to the kitchen.That'll give us a chanst t' git a bite a' supper, 'n' we kin be in
Cardiff by nine o'clock.Th' moon's full, 'n' it'll be good drivin'.""He kin go back 'ith me, 'bout three o'clock," spoke up Mr."I'd like t' hev him on th' stage."Roger thanked his friend for the offer, but said he was not sure he
could be through with what he had to do in that short time, and so he
decided to stick to his original plan and go back with Mr.John moved to the hallway.It
would be more fun, too, he thought, driving home by moonlight.The
dinner was soon over, and, when Mr.Took had paid the bill, he and Roger
walked up the main street of Syracuse.They made their way to the city hall, and Enberry soon located his
acquaintance.Vanter was glad to see some one from Cardiff,
especially Mr.Took, with whom he was quite friendly."He's a N' York city boy, out on a visit to his uncle, a neighbor a'
mine," explained Enberry."He has a notion he wants t' see ye 'bout
suthin', jest what, I don't know, but he'll tell ye.Remember, Roger, be at th' Candee House by six o'clock.""I will," replied the boy, as Mr."Now, |
garden | Where is Mary? | Roger pulled from his pocket the paper containing the mysterious white
crystals.Then,
taking a tiny piece of one of the particles he touched it on the tip of
his tongue."It must be," he muttered to
himself, as Roger looked anxiously on.Then the chemist got a test tube,
put some of the crystals in it, and poured a little water on them.He
shook the glass violently, until the white particles had all dissolved.Then he brought out several bottles of chemicals, and began his tests.Roger was much interested, and, at the conclusion of the experimenting,
when Mr.Vanter put his materials aside, the boy leaned forward, and
asked breathlessly:
"What is it?"Vanter, smiling a little, "a very fine sample
of--pure rock salt."Mary went back to the bedroom.Roger's heart went away down into his shoes.Dudley have been so elated over a little salt."Just ordinary salt, though a very fine grade," repeated the surveyor."Only salt," and there was a world of disappointment in Roger's tone."But salt is not to be despised, by any means," went on Mr."If
it wasn't for the salt wells, Syracuse would not be such a fine city as
it is.Besides, if there was no salt, the people of the whole world
would be very badly off.Perhaps if you tell me I may be able to help you more than I can now.As
it is I am working in the dark."Mary travelled to the bathroom."Then I'll tell you everything," said Roger, and he did so, from the
arrival of the two strangers in Cardiff, and his suspicions of them, the
manner in which he had discovered them drilling the hole, how they
sought to keep him away from the spring glade, and, finally, his escape
from Mr.John travelled to the office.Ranquist that morning, ending with his journey to Syracuse.He pursed up his lips, and
wrinkled his forehead in deep thought as he paced rapidly back and forth
in his office.Then he clapped his hands together with a resounding
whack, and cried aloud:
"That's it!By the Great Horn Spoon, but that's it!No wonder they want
to keep it secret.""Well," began the surveyor, cautiously, "I wouldn't want to raise any
false hopes, but, Roger, my boy, I think you have stumbled across a big
discovery, or, rather, you have probably done so at the same time these
two men did.And it's a mighty good thing for you and your uncle.You
say he is greatly in need of money to pay off this mortgage."I'm afraid they do," said Roger, thinking of how Adrian had
incautiously told something of his father's affairs to the engineers
that day."That's bad, that's bad," went on Mr."Now,
since they know you are on the track of their secret, they'll act
promptly.They may get your uncle to sign an
agreement to-day promising to sell his land to them, and if he does so,
it's as binding as if he deeded it away, if they choose to make him
fulfil the contract, as, no doubt, they would do.If I had only known of
this yesterday.asked Roger, who did not yet understand what
made Mr.Vanter so excited, all over a little salt."It's this," replied the surveyor."Unless I'm very much mistaken,
those men have discovered on your uncle's farm a valuable deposit of
rock salt.Of its extent and worth I can only guess, but, from the
actions of Mr.Ranquist, the mine must be a rich one.Kimball's land, or that part of it in the spring-glade,
before the fact becomes known that there is salt under the surface.Thus
he can obtain, for the price of ordinary farming real estate, property
that may be worth thousands and thousands of dollars.""And it's our business to prevent this," said Mr."Now," he went
on, "I'll tell you what we'll do."He seemed to be thinking out a plan, and Roger waited, all impatience."You take the stage back to Cardiff," continued the surveyor."I'll come
on after you with Mr.Took, and that will give me time to make some
arrangements here.Don't tell any one you
have seen me, and, when I arrive in Cardiff, don't recognize me if you
meet me in the road.You have only just time to catch
the stage.When you get home, say to your uncle the first thing: 'Don't
sign any papers to sell the spring-glade land for at least a week.'If
he wants to know why, tell him, and say you have seen me.But, if he
hasn't signed, don't let him.Now hurry, and good luck go with you."With wildly beating heart, thinking of what might happen in the next few
hours, Roger made his way to the Candee House, where he found the stage
just pulling out.said Porter, as he pulled up his
team and helped Roger to climb on the high seat."Wa'al, I'm glad t' hev
ye come along.I didn't hev no one t' ride 'ith me.Nothin' but a lot a'
weemin passengers this trip.G'lang, Pete 'n' Jim," and he nicked the
horses lightly.Roger thought the ride to Cardiff would never come to an end.But, at
last, he came in sight of the white church.He jumped off the stage at
the post-office, and ran all the way to his uncle's house.He burst into
the kitchen, where he saw Mr."Fer th' land sakes," burst out Mrs.Kimball, "we thought a b'ar had
carried ye off, Roger."cried the boy, earnestly, "don't sign any papers, agreeing
to sell the land near the spring!"Kimball gazed slowly over the rims of his spectacles at his nephew."Wa'al," he began slowly, "I didn't know's ye knew anythin' 'bout this
transaction, but ye're a leetle too late.Ranquist brought th' agreement t' me, 'n' I must say I think I got a
good price.Enough t' pay off th' mortgage, 'n' a leetle over."spoke the boy, waiting in fear for the answer."I'm too late," exclaimed Roger, bitterly."They got ahead of me, after
all."CHAPTER XXII
A QUESTION OF LAW
The sudden entrance of Roger, his words and manner, and his earnestness,
created no small excitement in the Kimball household.Adrian and Clara,
who had been in the sitting-room, discussing the situation, and
rejoicing over the sale of the land, by means of which the mortgage
could be paid, came hurrying into the kitchen as they heard their cousin
speak.Mary travelled to the bedroom."I was just going out to hunt you up."Out to Syracuse," answered Roger, briefly.Kimball folded up the agreement of sale he had been reading, and
came over to where his nephew stood."Roger, my boy," he began, "what do ye mean?What is all this about,
anyhow?Ain't I got a right t' sell my land ef I want t'?'N' ain't two
thousand dollars a good price fer th' spring-glade?"You've gone
and bargained away land worth probably twenty times what you have agreed
to sell it for."I guess ye don't know what ye're talkin' about, Roger.""I guess I do," said Roger, stoutly, but not forgetting the deference
due his uncle.and he held out a few of the white crystals.There's lots of it, out t' Syracuse.""And there's lots of it on that land you've agreed to sell," exclaimed
Roger."That's what I went to the city for.That's what I've been
following Mr.Uncle Bert, your farm, or
part of it, anyhow, is right over a salt mine.I know this, though I
can't say how big the mine is.But a man who knows something about such
things believes it will be worth lots of money.That's why I tried to
hurry home, to prevent you from signing the property away."Kimball, in rather a husky tone, "I s'pose I ought t'
hev, but how'd I know there was salt on my land?There ain't never been
no evidences of it."Because," answered the boy, earnestly, "I saw Mr.Dudley drilling a hole near the spring.I saw them pull up something on
the end of a rod, from deep down under the earth.This morning I lowered
a weight on a string down the hole, and these white crystals stuck to
the wax on the end of the lead.Ranquist saw me, and he chased me,
but I beat him running.Enberry Took
gave me a ride out.The man told me what this stuff was, and wanted me
to warn you not to agree to sell."Then Roger related the whole story to his uncle and the rest of the
family, just as he had told Mr.When he had finished a silence
fell on the little group in the farmhouse kitchen.I
wonder I didn't smell a rat when this feller Ranquist come so hot arter
my land, when there's plenty other t' be hed in Cardiff.I never
suspicioned nothin'.He offered me one thousand dollars, 'n' I says make
it two thousand, so's I could pay off th' mortgage.""Never hesitated a minute," went on Mr.'N' then he hed me go up t' Squire Bimmer's office, 'n' sign th'
agreement.Paid me five hundred dollars down," and Mr.Kimball drew out
a crisp bank-note, and gazed rather sorrowfully at it."He said he'd pay
th' balance's soon's we could draw th' deed, t'-morrow er next day,
but he said th' agreement were's bindin''s ef he hed a deed.""I guess it is," said Roger, remembering what Mr."Plowshares 'n' hoe handles, but why didn't I wait!""Though how in th' name a' th' sacred cat was I t' know there
were salt on th' land.But I guess I've made a bad mistake."So, instead of being glad because the land was sold, Mr.Kimball, and
all the family, were greatly downcast after they had listened to Roger's
story.And he, too, took very much to heart the disappointment of his
uncle.If he had only acted a day sooner, all this trouble would have
been avoided.But it was too late for regrets now, and the only thing to
do, was to make the best of it, the boy thought.Yet it was very hard to
see valuable land sold for such a small sum, particularly when his uncle
needed money so badly.There was just a faint hope in Roger's heart,
that perhaps Mr.Vanter might be able to suggest a way out of the
difficulty.But the hope was so faint that he hardly dared speak of it.He could only wait until the promised arrival of the surveyor, and see
what would come of it.Troubled dreams disturbed the usually quiet slumbers of more than one
member of the Kimball home that night.John journeyed to the kitchen.Roger's uncle was so restless,
tossing to and fro on the bed, and thinking of his lost opportunity,
that he was glad when morning came, so he could get up and go to work.The others, also, thought too much of what had happened to sleep well.Kimball paid a visit to the spring
glade.To his eyes, not experienced in looking for signs of mineral
wealth, there were no indications of a salt mine beneath the surface,
and he felt himself almost wishing such a thing could not be true.But
he could scarcely doubt it, after what had occurred.With a heavy heart
he took up the duties of the day."Come on, Roger," called Adrian, as soon as he had done his part of the
morning's work about the farm, "let's go up by the spring, and see where
the salt mine is.I wish I'd been along when you went fishing on
dry land.I'll bet I'd fired a stone at Ranquist.""I wish you had been along," said Roger."Your father would not have
signed then.But I thought I was acting for the best."The two boys walked up the hill, and were soon at the place.On the way
Roger was wondering whether Mr.He remembered his
instructions, to pretend not to recognize the surveyor.As the lads
approached the spring they could hear through the trees, the noise of
men digging, and voices in conversation.The click of spades and shovels
was plainly audible."Hurry up, and let's see 'em
get the salt out.""I guess they won't reach it very soon," said Roger."It's about
twenty-five feet under the surface."The boys quickened their steps, and soon came to the open glade.Three
men were busy at work, two of them laborers, while the third was a
familiar figure to Roger, who gave a start of surprise as he recognized
Mr.But even in the intense excitement of
the moment, Roger did not forget his promise, and he was prepared to
show by no sign that he had ever seen the surveyor before."Why, there's a new man," said Adrian, as he caught sight of Mr."I thought, at first, it was Mr.Anyhow, let's see what they are doing."Vanter glanced
up and saw Roger, but, though he gave just the faintest smile, to show
he knew his young friend, he made no motion to indicate that the order
of last night was not to be obeyed, so Roger kept silent.John moved to the hallway.The two laborers were digging a sort of inclined shaft, sinking it about
the place where Mr.Their picks and
shovels made the brown dirt fly, and Mr.Daniel moved to the hallway.Vanter urged them on, as though
they were working against time.The boys watched for perhaps ten
minutes, when there came a sound, as if some one was approaching.Roger
started in surprise, wondering what would happen now, but Mr.Vanter
gave no indication that he saw the engineers, and the laborers kept on
digging.Ranquist, at length, "I must say I consider this a
rather high-handed proceeding.By what right, sir, are you working on my
property?Vanter, "that you and your men
are trespassing, and are liable to arrest?""This
belongs to Bert Kimball, a friend of mine, and--"
"It doesn't belong to him any more," broke in Mr."Since when has he ceased to own it?""Well, I don't know as that is any of your affair, but I'll tell you.Kimball ceased to be the owner, when he
signed an agreement to sell this piece to the Universal Salt Company."Vanter started, and looked at Roger, who sorrowfully nodded in
confirmation of what the engineer had said."There's his son; ask him," went on Mr."I guess it's true," said the boy, in response to Mr."But," he added, "my father would never have agreed to sell it if he had
known there was salt on it."Mary went back to the garden."That was his lookout, not mine," came from Mr.Vanter, he added: "I advise you to leave here, my friend.I'll overlook
the trespass for once, but don't let it happen again," and he frowned in
a significant manner."Suppose I refuse to go until you prove to me that you own this land, or
have a legal right, by virtue of an agreement, to order me off," asked
Mr."Then I'm afraid there'll be an unpleasant scene," exclaimed Mr.Ranquist, in a harsh voice, and with a sudden motion he drew a revolver,
and aimed it full at the surveyor."I don't want to resort to forceful
measures," he went on, "but I'll have no hesitation in using this if you
remain here three minutes longer.""You needn't worry," spoke up Mr."I'm not afraid of
that popgun, for I've faced bigger ones than that, but at present you
seem to have the law on your side.Ranquist, we may meet
again, when perhaps the shoe will be on the other foot.I'll bid you
good-morning," and, bowing politely, with not a trace of anger in his
face, Mr.Vanter walked slowly down the hill, followed by the two
laborers.Roger and Adrian remained behind |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | "I guess I can get along without you two boys," remarked Mr.Ranquist,
in strange contrast to his pleasant tones of a few days before."And as
for you, Master Roger, if I catch you on this land after to-day, it
won't be well for you.I'll see your
father, Adrian, and have him keep you away also.""You needn't trouble yourself," said Adrian, quickly.He was as angry as
ever a boy could be."We don't have any great hankering to get on your
land, which you had to cheat to get control of," and with this parting
shot Adrian and Roger made their way in the direction taken by Mr.They caught up to him before he had gone very far, and though
Roger, in obedience to his instructions, was not going to speak, the
surveyor addressed him."Well, Roger," he said, "I see you were too late.Your uncle must have
signed before you got home last night.""He was reading the agreement when I got in.I think he said he is to sign the deed to-morrow."Vanter, sympathetically, "but I suppose it
couldn't be helped.I think I'll go down and see Mr.He
used to know me when I was a Cardiff boy.I suppose," turning to Adrian,
"this is his son?"Adrian nodded pleasantly, and while the party advanced Roger told his
cousin in a low tone who Mr.Vanter was, and how he had met him.At the
foot of the hill the surveyor dismissed his laborers and went on with
the boys."I didn't have a chance to do much in the way of examining the land,"
said Mr."I would have dug deeper if I hadn't been
interrupted.But from what I saw, and the way Ranquist acted, I am
pretty sure the salt deposit is a large one, and valuable.Kimball's sake, I had known this two days ago."When the three reached the house, they found Mr.Vanter, and the farmer at once recalled the
man who, as a youngster, used to play about the village streets."I ain't forgot ye," he said, clapping Mr."I remember onct when I ketched ye in my melon patch," and he laughed
at the recollection, Mr."I have even better cause than you have not to forget that little
incident," responded the surveyor, as he rubbed the back of his legs
reflectively."I reckon I switched ye good 'n' proper," commented Mr.Kimball, a smile
playing about the corners of his mouth."I hear you have been selling a salt mine just as if it was ordinary
pasture land," said Mr."Why, how'd ye know thet?""I
calalated nobody--Oh!You're th' feller Roger went to see in Syracuse,"
he cried suddenly.Wa'al, it ain't th' boy's fault.I took up Ranquist's offer too quick, thet's th'
hull trouble.In fact, here's a letter now,
tellin' me thet onless I raise th' cash by th' end a' th' week, th'
mortgage'll be foreclosed, 'n' I'll lose th' farm.Mary went back to the bedroom.By sellin' th'
spring-glade when I did, I've got nuff t' make th' payment.Ha'f a
loaf's better'n' no bread, ye know.But I s'pose I ought t' hev waited.""I understand you have
given a binding agreement to sell, so it's no use trying to get out of
that."Kimball are t' put our signatures on th' deed
t'-morrow," replied the farmer, "'n' I git th' balance a' th' two
thousand dollars then.Handy 'nuff it'll be, too, but I wish now it
were more.I'll be pretty heavily in debt, even arter I pay off th'
mortgage.Yes, sir, me 'n' mother here signs t'-morrow," and he motioned
to his wife who had come to the door.Kimball's name in connection with signing the
deed, Mr.He seemed to have an idea
that proved a pleasant thought, for he rubbed his hands together, and
began pacing up and down the room, as he had done when Roger saw him the
first time, in the Syracuse office.Kimball, and speaking very
earnestly, "did Mrs."Why, no, she didn't, come t' think on 't," replied the farmer,
scratching his head.Mary travelled to the bathroom.I guess she'd gone over t' Mrs.It were only a matter a' form,
havin' her sign, Ranquist said, 'n' he mentioned she could sign th'
deed.'N' so, he bein' in a hurry, he left 'fore she got back.So th'
agreement's got only my name on 't.""If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at that agreement," said Mr.Vanter, smiling as though something pleased him."Wa'al, I guess ye kin hev it," remarked Mr."'Tain't much use
t' me, seein''s how Ranquist has a copy.But what in th' name a' th'
Cardiff giant d'ye want it fer?"Kimball from signing it by mistake," replied Mr.Is there any hope thet I won't hev t' deed away thet land?""Oh, no; I guess you'll have t' sign the deed, as you have agreed to,"
was the answer."Well," said the surveyor slowly, "I may think of a plan to outwit Mr.Put on your hat and coat, and we'll go to Squire Bimmer's
office."shouted Roger, gaily, as he saw his uncle and Mr.Kimball, who had heard the talk, did not see how, and she was
in no happy frame of mind, over the prospect of selling the valuable
land for such a small sum.CHAPTER XXIII
THE PLOTTERS FOILED
The news of salt being discovered on Mr.Kimball's farm soon became
known all over Cardiff.People rubbed their eyes, and wondered if
something of the kind wouldn't happen on their land.Several began to
dig in their gardens and back-yards, others on their hillsides, while a
number hurried to the spring-glade to see what a salt mine looked like.These persons were much disappointed, however, as the only thing they
saw was what digging Mr.Ranquist was on
guard, also, and warned all curious ones away.The deed was to be signed at ten o'clock the next day, and, from the
time Mr.Kimball off with him, until that night, the two
spent many busy hours.There was much looking over of legal books and
records, and a number of consultations in Squire Bimmer's office.Toward
the close of the day, that had been so full of exciting incidents, Mr.Vanter, as he and the farmer left the squire's
house, "that we'll have a little surprise for Mr."I'm sure I hope it'll come out right," remarked Mr.Vanter started off toward the Pine Tree Inn."Why I thought I'd put up at the tavern, just as I did last night,"
rejoined Mr."Not much, ye won't," interposed Mr."I ain't goin' t' hev a
friend a' mine eatin' th' kind a fodder ye'll find up at th' Pine Tree.Ye're comin' home 'ith me.I guess we'll be able t' give ye suthin' t'
eat, 'n' a place t' sleep.""Well, if you insist," agreed Mr.Vanter, to whom the prospect of
another night in the tavern, under the same roof with Mr.Dudley, was not a pleasant one.Kimball went back to
the big, comfortable farmhouse, where a smoking-hot supper was waiting
for them.Vanter did full justice to the tender chicken, fried
crisp in sweet butter, the salt-rising bread, the buckwheat honey, the
preserved plums, the generously frosted fruit and chocolate cakes, and a
lot besides."It's the best meal I've had in a year," he told the delighted Mrs.John travelled to the office.Kimball, while Clara blushed at the praise bestowed on her cakes.Every one was up early next morning, and, soon after breakfast, Squire
Bimmer came along, bearing his seal as Commissioner of Deeds, his law
books, and various legal papers."I don't calalate I'll hev much need a' this," said the squire,
indicating his seal.Kimball," and he smiled a little as he said this."Wa'al I guess I kin make out t' act jest's ye told me to," remarked
that lady."Ye needn't be afraid a' me goin' back on ye."It was about ten o'clock, when Mr.Dudley
and a lawyer, appeared at the farmhouse.Mary travelled to the bedroom.They were led into the parlor,
a table was cleared, and Mr.Kimball, and Squire Bimmer drew
up close to it.John journeyed to the kitchen.Vanter, and smiled in an easy
sort of fashion, as though he already had the property in his
possession.He slowly drew from his valise a bundle of bank-bills."There's fifteen hundred dollars in that package," he said, addressing
no one in particular."I suppose everything is in readiness," said Mr.All that is necessary now
is for him to put his name on the deed.""'N' I'm ready to do thet," spoke up the farmer.Roger and Adrian, who
had entered the room, wondered at his easy compliance.They had expected
him to refuse, and looked to see Mr.Ranquist compel him, by means of
the agreement.Pens and ink were ready, and, in a few seconds Mr.Kimball had affixed his signature to the deed, by the terms of which he
conveyed a certain tract of land, described very carefully, to the
Universal Salt Company, to have and to hold, and so on, with a lot of
legal terms."Now," remarked the lawyer for the two engineers, when he had blotted
Mr.Kimball's name, "as soon as Mrs.Kimball has signed you will get the
fifteen hundred dollars."Kimball now," said her husband, smiling a bit,
and not at all like a man who has been cheated into selling a valuable
salt mine for a small sum.Here, mother," he said, going to the door, "come in.She was a little excited
over the part she was to play."Sign right there, please," said the lawyer, pointing to the space below
Mr.Kimball's name, and seeing to it, as the law requires, that the
husband was not present when the wife signed the deed.She made no motion to pick up
the pen.I reeked with cold
sweat, and my flesh crawled--I could feel it crawl.John moved to the hallway.If ever I came
nearer to abject cowardice, I do not recall the instance; and yet it
was not that I was afraid to die, for I had long since given myself up
as lost--a few days of Caspak must impress anyone with the utter
nothingness of life.The waters, the land, the air teem with it, and
always it is being devoured by some other form of life.Life is the
cheapest thing in Caspak, as it is the cheapest thing on earth and,
doubtless, the cheapest cosmic production.No, I was not afraid to
die; in fact, I prayed for death, that I might be relieved of the
frightfulness of the interval of life which remained to me--the
waiting, the awful waiting, for that fearsome beast to reach me and to
strike.Daniel moved to the hallway.Mary went back to the garden.Presently it was so close that I could hear its breathing, and then it
touched me and leaped quickly back as though it had come upon me
unexpectedly.For long moments no sound broke the sepulchral silence
of the cave.Then I heard a movement on the part of the creature near
me, and again it touched me, and I felt something like a hairless hand
pass over my face and down until it touched the collar of my flannel
shirt.And then, subdued, but filled with pent emotion, a voice cried:
"Tom!"I think I nearly fainted, so great was the reaction."Ajor, my girl, can it be you?"she cried again in a trembly little voice and flung herself
upon me, sobbing softly.I had not known that Ajor could cry.As she cut away my bonds, she told me that from the entrance to our
cave she had seen the Band-lu coming out of the forest with me, and she
had followed until they took me into the cave, which she had seen was
upon the opposite side of the cliff in which ours was located; and
then, knowing that she could do nothing for me until after the Band-lu
slept, she had hastened to return to our cave.With difficulty she had
reached it, after having been stalked by a cave-lion and almost seized.I trembled at the risk she had run.It had been her intention to wait until after midnight, when most of
the carnivora would have made their kills, and then attempt to reach
the cave in which I was imprisoned and rescue me.She explained that
with my rifle and pistol--both of which she assured me she could use,
having watched me so many times--she planned upon frightening the
Band-lu and forcing them to give me up.She would
have risked her life willingly to save me.But some time after she
reached our cave she heard voices from the far recesses within, and
immediately concluded that we had but found another entrance to the
caves which the Band-lu occupied upon the other face of the cliff.Daniel went back to the office.Then she had set out through those winding passages and in total
darkness had groped her way, guided solely by a marvelous sense of
direction, to where I lay.She had had to proceed with utmost caution
lest she fall into some abyss in the darkness and in truth she had
thrice come upon sheer drops and had been forced to take the most
frightful risks to pass them.I shudder even now as I contemplate what
this girl passed through for my sake and how she enhanced her peril in
loading herself down with the weight of my arms and ammunition and the
awkwardness of the long rifle which she was unaccustomed to bearing.I could have knelt and kissed her hand in reverence and gratitude; nor
am I ashamed to say that that is precisely what I did after I had been
freed from my bonds and heard the story of her trials.Wonder-girl out of the dim, unthinkable past!Never before had
she been kissed; but she seemed to sense something of the meaning of
the new caress, for she leaned forward in the dark and pressed her own
lips to my forehead.A sudden urge surged through me to seize her and
strain her to my bosom and cover her hot young lips with the kisses of
a real love, but I did not do so, for I knew that I did not love her;
and to have kissed her thus, with passion, would have been to inflict a
great wrong upon her who had offered her life for mine.No, Ajor should be as safe with me as with her own mother, if she had
one, which I was inclined to doubt, even though she told me that she
had once been a babe and hidden by her mother.I had come to doubt if
there was such a thing as a mother in Caspak, a mother such as we know.From the Bo-lu to the Kro-lu there is no word which corresponds with
our word mother.They speak of _ata_ and _cor sva jo:, meaning
_reproduction_ and _from the beginning_, and point toward the south; but no
one has a mother.After considerable difficulty we gained what we thought was our cave,
only to find that it was not, and then we realized that we were lost in
the labyrinthine mazes of the great cavern.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.We retraced our steps and
sought the point from which we had started, but only succeeded in
losing ourselves the more.Ajor was aghast--not so much from fear of
our predicament; but that she should have failed in the functioning of
that wonderful sense she possessed in common with most other creatures
Caspakian, which makes it possible for them to move unerringly from
place to place without compass or guide.Hand in hand we crept along, searching for an opening into the outer
world, yet realizing that at each step |