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CHARLIE SCOTT;
OR,
THERE'S TIME ENOUGH.
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY,
56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, AND 164, PICCADILLY.
* | 225.137128 |
2023-11-16 18:20:49.2218930 | 324 | 10 |
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[Illustration: The Merriwell Series No. 137 Frank Merriwell's Son By
Burt L. Standish]
Frank Merriwell's Son
OR,
A CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK
BY
BURT L. STANDISH
Author of the famous MERRIWELL STORIES.
[Illustration]
STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York
Copyright, 1906
By STREET & SMITH
Frank Merriwell's Son
(Printed in the United States of America)
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. A NEW LIFE.
CHAPTER II. THE BIRTHMARK.
CHAPTER III. ON THE VERANDA.
CHAPTER IV. A MAID OF MYSTERY.
CHAPTER V. THE SURPRISE.
CHAPTER VI. THE FACE IN THE WATCH.
CHAPTER VII. A BLACK SAMSON.
CHAPTER VIII. THE SUBSTITUTES.
CHAPTER IX. SPARKFAIR'S HIT.
CHAPTER X. A MOONLIGHT MEETING.
CHAPTER XI. THE TRUTH.
CHAPTER XII. A HEART LAID BARE.
CHAPTER XIII. THE PLEDGE OF FAITH.
CHAPTER XIV. THE SIGNAL FOR SILENCE.
CHAPTER XV. KIDNAPED!
CHAPTER XVI. | 225.241933 |
2023-11-16 18:20:49.2220450 | 883 | 10 |
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THE CODE OF THE MOUNTAINS
BY CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK
AUTHOR OF THE CALL OF THE CUMBERLANDS, THE BATTLE CRY, ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
G. W. GAGE
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY
W. J. WATT & COMPANY
_Published May_
* * * * *
_OTHER BOOKS BY_
CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK
THE KEY TO YESTERDAY
THE LIGHTED MATCH
THE PORTAL OF DREAMS
THE CALL OF THE CUMBERLANDS
THE BATTLE CRY
[Illustration: "Newty," she said softly, "why don't you shake the dirt
of this place offen your feet?"]
THE CODE OF THE MOUNTAINS
CHAPTER I
This morning the boy from the forks of Troublesome Creek had back his
name once more. It was not a distinguished name, nor one to be flaunted
in pride of race or achievement. On the contrary, it was a synonym for
violent law-breaking and in the homely parlance of the Cumberland
ridges, where certain infractions are condoned, it stood for "pizen
meanness." Generations of Spooners before him had taken up the surname
and carried it like runners in a relay race--often into evil ways. Many
had laid down their lives and name with abruptness and violence.
When the pioneers first set their feet into the Wilderness trail out of
Virginia, some left because the vague hinterland west of the ridges
placed them "beyond the law's pursuing."
Tradition said that of the latter class were the Spooners, but Newt
Spooner had no occasion to probe the remote past for a record of
turpitude. It lay before him inscribed in a round clerical hand on the
ledger which the warden of the Frankfort Penitentiary was just closing.
Though the Governor's clemency had expunged the red charge of murder
set against his name at the tender age of eighteen, there was another
record which the Governor could not erase. A sunken grave bore testimony
in a steep mountainside burial-ground back in "Bloody Breathitt," where
dead weed stalks rattled and tangled ropes of fox-grapes bore their
fruit in due season.
However, even the name of Newt Spooner is a better thing than the Number
813, which for two years had been his designation within those gray and
fortressed walls along whose tops sentry-boxes punctuated the angles.
This morning he wore a suit of black clothes, the gift of the
commonwealth, and his eyes were fixed rather avidly on a five-dollar
note which the warden held tightly between his thumb and forefinger.
Newt knew that the bill, too, was to be his. Yet the warden seemed
needlessly deliberate in making the presentation. That functionary
intended first to have something to say; something meant in all
kindliness, but as Newt waited, shifting his bulk uneasily from foot to
foot, his narrowed eyes traveled with restlessness, and his thin lips
clamped themselves into a line indicative of neither gratitude nor
penitence. The convict's thoughts for two years had been circling with
uncomplicated directness about one focus. Newt Spooner had a fixed idea.
The office of the warden was not a cheery place. Its walls and desk and
key-racks spoke suggestively of the business administered there. The
warden tilted back in his swivel chair, and gazed at the forgiven, but
unforgiving prisoner.
"Spooner," he began in that tone which all homilies have in common;
"Spooner, you have been luckier than you had any reason to expect. It's
up to you to see that I don't get | 225.242085 |
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Internet Archive)
[Illustration: Portrait signed of Cyrus W. Field.]
CYRUS W. FIELD
HIS LIFE AND WORK
[1819-1892]
EDITED BY
ISABELLA FIELD JUDSON
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration: colophon]
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1896
Copyright, 1896, by ISABELLA FIELD JUDSON.
_All rights reserved._
[Illustration]
TO
MY FATHER'S FAMILY AND FRIENDS
THESE PAGES
Are Dedicated
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PARENTAGE AND EARLY HOME LIFE (1819-1835) 1
II. EARLY LIFE IN NEW YORK (1835-1840) 14
III. MARRIAGE AND BUSINESS LIFE (1840-1853) 27
IV. OUT OF DEBT--A VOYAGE TO SOUTH AMERICA
(1853) 42
V. THE FIRST CABLE (1853-1857) 59
VI. THE FIRST CABLE (CONTINUED) (1857) 74
VII. A FLEETING TRIUMPH (1858) 86
VIII. FAILURE ON ALL SIDES (1858-1861) 122
IX. THE CIVIL WAR (1861-1862) 131
X. CAPITAL RAISED FOR THE MAKING OF A NEW
CABLE--STEAMSHIP "GREAT EASTERN"
SECURED (1863-1864) 154
XI. THE FAILURE OF 1865 182
XII. THE CABLE LAID--CABLE OF 1865 GRAPPLED
FOR AND RECOVERED--PAYMENT OF DEBTS
(1866) 199
XIII. THE RECONSTRUCTION PERIOD (1867-1870) 232
XIV. INTERNATIONAL POLITICS--RAPID TRANSIT
(1870-1880) 267
XV. THE PACIFIC CABLE--THE GOLDEN WEDDING
(1880-1891) 303
XVI. LAST DAYS AND DEATH--IN MEMORIAM (1891-1892) 321
ILLUSTRATIONS
CYRUS W. FIELD _Frontispiece_
SUBMIT DICKINSON FIELD _Facing page_ 2
DAVID DUDLEY FIELD " 6
THE PARSONAGE, STOCKBRIDGE, MASS. " 10
VALENTIA: LANDING THE SHORE-END OF
THE CABLE, 1857 " 94
CYRUS W. FIELD, 1860 " 124
LAST TWO PAGES OF LETTER FROM MR.
GLADSTONE, DATED NOVEMBER 17, 1862 " 148
ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH CABLE CHART, 1865 " 188
THE NIGHT-WATCH " 194
ARDSLEY, IRVINGTON-ON-HUDSON " 264
CERTIFICATE OF DISCHARGE FROM THE MERCANTILE
MARINE SERVICE " 296
THE ANDRE MONUMENT, TAPPAN, NEW YORK " 302
CYRUS W. FIELD
HIS LIFE AND WORK
CHAPTER I
PARENTAGE AND EARLY HOME LIFE
(1819-1835)
CYRUS WEST FIELD, the eighth child and seventh son of David Dudley
Field, was born in Stockbridge, Mass., November 30, 1819. He took his
double name from Cyrus Williams, President of the Housatonic Bank (in
Stockbridge), and from Dr. West, for sixty years his father's
predecessor in the pastorate of the old Church of Stockbridge. He was
the sixth in descent from Zachariah Field, the founder of the family in
this country, who was the grandson of John Field | 225.434449 |
2023-11-16 18:20:49.5169520 | 1,292 | 12 |
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The
Story of Genesis and Exodus,
AN EARLY ENGLISH SONG,
ABOUT A.D. 1250.
EDITED
FROM A UNIQUE MS. IN THE LIBRARY OF CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
WITH INTRODUCTION, NOTES, AND GLOSSARY,
BY THE
REV. RICHARD MORRIS, LL.D.,
AUTHOR OF "HISTORICAL OUTLINES OF ENGLISH ACCIDENCE;"
EDITOR OF "HAMPOLE'S PRICKS OF CONSCIENCE;" "EARLY ENGLISH ALLITERATIVE
POEMS,"
ETC. ETC.;
ONE OF THE VICE-PRESIDENTS OF THE PHILOLOGICAL SOCIETY.
[Second and Revised Edition, 1873.]
LONDON:
PUBLISHED FOR THE EARLY ENGLISH TEXT SOCIETY,
BY N. TRÜBNER & CO., 57 & 59, LUDGATE HILL.
MDCCCLXV.
PREFACE.
DESCRIPTION OF THE MANUSCRIPT, ETC.
The Editor of the present valuable and interesting record of our old
English speech will, no doubt, both astonish and alarm his readers by
informing them that he has never seen the manuscript from which the work he
professes to edit has been transcribed.
But, while the truth must be told, the reader need not entertain the
slightest doubt or distrust as to the accuracy and faithfulness of the
present edition; for, in the first place, the text was copied by Mr F. J.
Furnivall, an experienced editor and a zealous lover of Old English lore;
and, secondly, the proof sheets have been most carefully read with the
manuscript by the Rev. W. W. Skeat, who has spared no pains to render the
text an accurate copy of the original.[1] I have not been satisfied with
merely the general accuracy of the text, but all _doubtful_ or _difficult_
passages have been most carefully referred to, and compared with the
manuscript, so that the more questionable a word may appear, either as
regards its _form_ or _meaning_, the more may the reader rest assured of
its correctness, so that he may be under no apprehension that he is
perplexed by any typographical error, but feel confident that he is dealing
with the reading of the original copy.
The editorial portion of the present work includes the punctuation,
marginal analysis, conjectural readings, a somewhat large body of
annotations on the text of the poem, and a Glossarial Index, which, it is
hoped, will be found to be complete, as well as useful for reference.
The Corpus manuscript[2] is a small volume (about 8 in. × 4½ in.), bound in
vellum, written on parchment in a hand of about 1300 A.D., with several
final long ſ's, and consisting of eighty-one leaves. Genesis ends on fol.
49_b_; Exodus has the last two lines at the top of fol. 81_a_.
The writing is clear and regular; the letters are large, but the words are
often very close together. Every initial letter has a little dab of red on
it, and they are mostly capitals, except the _b_, the _f_, the _ð_, and
sometimes other letters. Very rarely, however, _B_, _F_, and _Ð_ are found
as initial letters.
The illuminated letters are simply large vermilion letters without
ornament, and are of an earlier form than the writing of the rest of the
manuscript. Every line ends with a full stop (or metrical point), except,
very rarely, when omitted by accident. Whenever this stop occurs in the
middle of a line it has been marked thus (.) in the text.
DESCRIPTION OF THE POEM.
Our author, of whom, unfortunately, we know nothing, introduces his subject
to his readers by telling them that they ought to love a rhyming story
which teaches the "layman" (though he be learned in no books) how to love
and serve God, and to live peaceably and amicably with his fellow
Christians. His poem, or "song," as he calls it, is, he says, turned out of
Latin into English speech; and as birds are joyful to see the dawning, so
ought Christians to rejoice to hear the "true tale" of man's fall and
subsequent redemption related in the vulgar tongue ("land's speech"), and
in easy language ("small words").
So eschewing a "high style" and all profane subjects, he declares that he
will undertake to sing no other song, although his present task should
prove unsuccessful.[3] Our poet next invokes the aid of the Deity for his
song in the following terms:—
"Fader god of alle ðhinge,
Almigtin louerd, hegeſt kinge,
ðu giue me ſeli timinge
To thaunen ðis werdes biginninge,
ðe, leuerd god, to wurðinge,
Queðer ſo hic rede or ſinge!"[4]
Then follows the Bible narrative of Genesis and Exodus, here and there
varied by the introduction of a few of those sacred legends so common in
the mediæval ages, but in the use of which, however, our author is far less
bold than many subsequent writers, who, seeking to make their works
attractive to the "lewed," did not scruple to mix up with the sacred
history the most absurd and childish stories, which must have rendered such
compilations more amusing than instructive. It seems to have been the
object of the author of the present work to present to | 225.536992 |
2023-11-16 18:20:49.5178130 | 2,608 | 34 | SCIENCE***
E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, Paul Clark, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 40706-h.htm or 40706-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40706/40706-h/40706-h.htm)
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40706/40706-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/introductiontohi00libb
Transcriber's note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as
faithfully as possible. Some changes have been made.
They are listed at the end of the text, apart from
some changes of puctuation in the Index.
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Characters enclosed by curly braces are subscripts
(example: H{2}O).
Dalton's symbols for the elements have been represented
as follows:
White circle ( ) Hydrogen
Circle with vertical bar (|) Nitrogen
Circle with central dot (.) Oxygen
Black cirle (*) Carbon
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF SCIENCE
by
WALTER LIBBY, M.A., Ph.D.
Professor of the History of Science
in the Carnegie Institute of Technology
[Illustration]
Boston New York Chicago
Houghton Mifflin Company
The Riverside Press Cambridge
Copyright, 1917, by Walter Libby
All Rights Reserved
The Riverside Press
Cambridge. Massachusetts
U. S. A
TO MY STUDENTS OF THE LAST TWELVE YEARS IN THE CHICAGO AND
PITTSBURGH DISTRICTS THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED IN FURTHERANCE OF THE
ENDEAVOR TO INCULCATE A DEMOCRATIC CULTURE, EVER MINDFUL OF THE
DAILY TASK, NOT ALTOGETHER IGNORANT OF THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE PAST
PREFACE
The history of science has something to offer to the humblest
intelligence. It is a means of imparting a knowledge of scientific facts
and principles to unschooled minds. At the same time it affords a simple
method of school instruction. Those who understand a business or an
institution best, as a contemporary writer on finance remarks, are those
who have made it or grown up with it, and the next best thing is to know
how it has grown up, and then watch or take part in its actual working.
Generally speaking, we know best what we know in its origins.
The history of science is an aid in scientific research. It places the
student in the current of scientific thought, and gives him a clue to
the purpose and necessity of the theories he is required to master. It
presents science as the constant pursuit of truth rather than the
formulation of truth long since revealed; it shows science as
progressive rather than fixed, dynamic rather than static, a growth to
which each may contribute. It does not paralyze the self-activity of
youth by the record of an infallible past.
It is only by teaching the sciences in their historical development that
the schools can be true to the two principles of modern education, that
the sciences should occupy the foremost place in the curriculum and that
the individual mind in its evolution should rehearse the history of
civilization.
The history of science should be given a larger place than at present in
general history; for, as Bacon said, the history of the world without a
history of learning is like a statue of Polyphemus with the eye out. The
history of science studies the past for the sake of the future. It is a
story of continuous progress. It is rich in biographical material. It
shows the sciences in their interrelations, and saves the student from
narrowness and premature specialization. It affords a unique approach to
the study of philosophy. It gives new motive to the study of foreign
languages. It gives an interest in the applications of knowledge, offers
a clue to the complex civilization of the present, and renders the mind
hospitable to new discoveries and inventions.
The history of science is hostile to the spirit of caste. It shows the
sciences rising from daily needs and occupations, formulated by
philosophy, enriching philosophy, giving rise to new industries, which
react in turn upon the sciences. The history of science reveals men of
all grades of intelligence and of all social ranks cooperating in the
cause of human progress. It is a basis of intellectual and social
homogeneity.
Science is international, English, Germans, French, Italians,
Russians--all nations--contributing to advance the general interests.
Accordingly, a survey of the sciences tends to increase mutual respect,
and to heighten the humanitarian sentiment. The history of science can
be taught to people of all creeds and colors, and cannot fail to enhance
in the breast of every young man, or woman, faith in human progress and
good-will to all mankind.
This book is intended as a simple introduction, taking advantage of the
interests of youth of from seventeen to twenty-two years of age (and
their intellectual compeers) in order to direct their attention to the
story of the development of the sciences. It makes no claim to be in any
sense complete or comprehensive. It is, therefore, a psychological
introduction, having the mental capacity of a certain class of readers
always in view, rather than a logical introduction, which would
presuppose in all readers both full maturity of intellect and
considerable initial interest in the history of science.
I cannot conclude this preface without thanking those who have assisted
me in the preparation of this book--Sir William Osler, who read the
first draft of the manuscript, and aided me with his counsel; Dr.
Charles Singer, who read all the chapters in manuscript, and to whom I
am indebted for advice in reference to the illustrations and for many
other valuable suggestions; the officers of the Bodleian Library, whose
courtesy was unfailing during the year I worked there; Professor Henry
Crew, who helped in the revision of two of the chapters by his judicious
criticism; Professor J. E. Rush, whose knowledge of bacteriology
improved the chapter on Pasteur; Professor L. O. Grondahl, who read one
of the chapters relating to the history of physics and suggested
important emendations; and Dr. John A. Brashear, who contributed
valuable information in reference to the activities of Samuel Pierpont
Langley. I wish to express my gratitude also to Miss Florence Bonnet for
aid in the correction of the manuscript.
W. LIBBY.
February 2, 1917.
CONTENTS
I. SCIENCE AND PRACTICAL NEEDS--EGYPT AND BABYLONIA 1
II. THE INFLUENCE OF ABSTRACT THOUGHT--GREECE: ARISTOTLE 15
III. SCIENTIFIC THEORY SUBORDINATED TO APPLICATION--ROME:
VITRUVIUS 30
IV. THE CONTINUITY OF SCIENCE--THE MEDIEVAL CHURCH AND
THE ARABS 43
V. THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES--FRANCIS BACON 57
VI. SCIENTIFIC METHOD--GILBERT, GALILEO, HARVEY, DESCARTES 72
VII. SCIENCE AS MEASUREMENT--TYCHO BRAHE, KEPLER, BOYLE 86
VIII. COOPERATION IN SCIENCE--THE ROYAL SOCIETY 99
IX. SCIENCE AND THE STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY--BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 114
X. THE INTERACTION OF THE SCIENCES--WERNER, HUTTON, BLACK,
HALL, WILLIAM SMITH 129
XI. SCIENCE AND RELIGION--KANT, LAMBERT, LAPLACE, SIR
WILLIAM HERSCHEL 142
XII. THE REIGN OF LAW--DALTON, JOULE 155
XIII. THE SCIENTIST--SIR HUMPHRY DAVY 170
XIV. SCIENTIFIC PREDICTION--THE DISCOVERY OF NEPTUNE 184
XV. SCIENCE AND TRAVEL--THE VOYAGE OF THE BEAGLE 197
XVI. SCIENCE AND WAR--PASTEUR, LISTER 213
XVII. SCIENCE AND INVENTION--LANGLEY'S AEROPLANE 231
XVIII. SCIENTIFIC HYPOTHESIS--RADIOACTIVE SUBSTANCES 245
XIX. THE SCIENTIFIC IMAGINATION 258
XX. SCIENCE AND DEMOCRATIC CULTURE 270
INDEX 283
ILLUSTRATIONS
EARLIEST PICTURE KNOWN OF A SURGICAL OPERATION.
EGYPT, 2500 B.C. 6
ST. THOMAS AQUINAS OVERCOMING AVERROES 54
DR. GILBERT SHOWING HIS ELECTRICAL EXPERIMENTS
TO QUEEN ELIZABETH AND HER COURT 72
THE TICHONIC QUADRANT 88
WADHAM COLLEGE, OXFORD 104
SIR ISAAC NEWTON 112
JOHN DALTON COLLECTING MARSH GAS 162
THE FIRST SUCCESSFUL HEAVIER-THAN-AIR FLYING MACHINE 236
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF SCIENCE
CHAPTER I
SCIENCE AND PRACTICAL NEEDS--EGYPT AND BABYLONIA
If you consult encyclopedias and special works in reference to the early
history of any one of the sciences,--astronomy, geology, geometry,
physiology, logic, or political science, for example,--you will find
strongly emphasized the part played by the Greeks in the development of
organized knowledge. Great, indeed, as we shall see in the next chapter,
are the contributions to the growth of science of this highly rational
and speculative people. It must be conceded, also, that the influence on
Western science of civilizations earlier than theirs has come to us, to
a considerable extent at least, through the channels of Greek
literature.
Nevertheless, if you seek the very origins of the sciences, you will
inevitably be drawn to the banks of the Nile, and to the valleys of the
Tigris and the Euphrates. Here, in Egypt, in Assyria and Babylonia,
dwelt from very remote times nations whose genius was practical and
religious rather than intellectual and theoretical, and whose mental
life, therefore, was more akin to our own than was the highly evolved
culture of the Greeks. Though more remote in time, the wisdom and
practical knowledge of Thebes and Memphis, Nineveh and Babylon, are more
readily comprehended by our minds than the difficult speculations of
Athenian philosophy.
Much that we have inherited from the earliest civilizations is so
familiar, so homely, that we simply accept it, much as we may light, or
air, or water, without analysis, without inquiry as to its origin, and
without full recognition of how indispensable it is. Why are there seven
days in the week, and not eight Why are there sixty minutes in the
hour, and why are there not sixty hours in the day? These artificial
divisions of time are accepted so unquestioningly that to ask a reason
for them may, to an indolent mind, seem almost absurd. This acceptance
of a week of seven days and of an hour of sixty minutes (almost as if
they were natural divisions of time like day and night | 225.537853 |
2023-11-16 18:20:49.5179580 | 2,123 | 21 | CARSON, THE NESTOR OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, FROM FACTS NARRATED BY
HIMSELF***
E-text prepared by Alicia Williams, William Flis, and the Project
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 16274-h.htm or 16274-h.zip:
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THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF KIT CARSON, THE NESTOR OF THE ROCKY
MOUNTAINS, FROM FACTS NARRATED BY HIMSELF
by
DE WITT C. PETERS, M.D.,
Late Assistant Surgeon U.S.A.
With Original Illustrations, Drawn by Lumley,
Engraved by N. Orr & Co.
New York:
W.R.C. Clark & Co.,
348 Broadway.
W.H. Tinson, Stereotyper and Printer,
Rear of 43 & 45 Centre Street, N.Y.
MDCCCLVIII
"All are but parts of one stupendous whole,
Whose body nature is, and God the soul."
[Illustration: KIT AND HIS FAVORITE HORSE "APACHE."]
TO
COL. CERAN ST. VRAIN,
OF NEW MEXICO.
DEAR SIR,
You were first among the brave mountaineers to discover and direct the
manly energy, extraordinary natural ability, and unyielding courage
which have attached to the subject of this volume; and, as among the
first Americans who put foot on the Rocky Mountains, you are perhaps
best acquainted with the history of the men, who, for fifty years,
have lived there. CHRISTOPHER CARSON, after a long life, now crowned
with successful and honorable achievements, still looks upon you,
sir, as his earliest patron, and places your name on the list of his
warmest friends. Through a life of unusual activity and duration,
which, reflecting honor and renown upon your name, has given you a
distinguished position among your countrymen, you have never been
known to forget a duty to your fellow man.
For these considerations, the dedication of this volume to you cannot
but appear appropriate. That he may continue to merit a place in your
confidence and esteem is the earnest desire of
THE AUTHOR.
* * * * *
FERNANDEZ DE TAOS, NEW MEXICO.
SIR:
We, the undersigned citizens of the Territory of New Mexico, have been
acquainted with Mr. CHRISTOPHER CARSON for a number of years, indeed
almost from the time of his first arrival in the country. We have been
his companions both in the mountains and as a private citizen. We are
also acquainted with the fact that for the past few months, during his
leisure hours, he has been engaged dictating his life. This is, to
our certain knowledge, the only authentic biography of himself and his
travels that has ever been written. We heartily recommend THIS BOOK
to the reading community for perusal, as it presents a life out of the
usual routine of business, and is checkered with adventures which
have tried this bold and daring man. We are cognizant of most of the
details of the book, and vouch for their accuracy.
Very respectfully,
CERAN ST. VRAIN, LIEUT. COL. N.M. VOLUNTEERS.
CHARLES BEAUBIEN, LATE CIRCUIT JUDGE.
THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
The pages here presented to the public form a book of facts. They
unfold for the student, as does no other work yet extant, the great
interior wilderness of the territories belonging to the United States.
The scenic views, though plainly and wrought by the hand of
an unpretending artist, inasmuch as they portray a part of the North
American continent which is unsurpassed by any other country on the
face of the earth, will not fail to interest the American public. In
addition to this, the reader is introduced to an intimate acquaintance
with the Indian races of the countries which He east and west of the
Rocky Mountains. The savage warrior and hunter is presented, stripped
of all the decorations with which writers of fiction have dressed
him. He is seen in his ferocity and gentleness, in his rascality and
nobility, in his boyhood, manhood, and old age, and in his wisdom and
ignorance. The attentive reader will learn of his approximations to
truth, his bundle of superstitions, his acts at home and on the war
path, his success while following the buffalo and engaging the wild
Rocky Mountain bear, that terror of the western wilderness. He will
also behold him carrying devastation to the homes of the New Mexican
settlers, and freely spilling their best blood to satiate a savage
revenge. He will see him attacking and massacring parties of the white
men traveling across the prairies, and trace him in his savage wars
with the early settlers and frontiersmen.
In order to acquire these important _data_ that they might be added
to the pages of American history and form a reliable record, it was
necessary that some brave, bold and determined man should become an
actor on the scenes and among the races described. Such an actor
has been, and yet is, Christopher Carson, the Nestor of the Rocky
Mountains; and, it is the experience, as well as the acts, of his
stirring life, which the following pages present.
In olden times there existed, in the Rocky Mountains, a race
familiarly known by the name of "Trappers and Hunters." They are now
almost extinct. Their history has not yet been written. Pen paintings,
drawn from the imagination, founded upon distant views of their
exploits and adventures, have occasionally served, as do legends,
to "adorn a tale." The volume now offered to the public, gives their
history as related by one whose name as a trapper and hunter of the
"Far West," stands second to none; by a man, who, for fifteen years,
saw not the face of a white woman, or slept under a roof; who, during
those long years, with his rifle alone, killed over two thousand
buffalo, between four and five thousand deer, antelope and elk,
besides wild game, such as bears, wild turkeys, prairie chickens,
etc., etc. in numbers beyond calculation. On account of their
originality, daring and interest, the real facts, concerning this race
of trappers and hunters, will be handed down to posterity as matters
belonging to history.
As is the case with the Indian, the race of the "Simon Pure Trapper"
is nearly run. The advance of civilization, keeping up its untiring
march to the westward, is daily encroaching upon their wild haunts and
bringing the day close at hand when warrior and trapper will depart
forever to their "Happy Hunting Grounds."
With the extinction of the great fur companies, the trappers of "Olden
Time" disbanded and separated.
The greatest number of these men, to be found at the present day,
reside in the Territory of New Mexico; which, in the time of their
prosperity, was the country where they located their head quarters. In
this Territory, Christopher Carson now resides. His name, in the Rocky
Mountains, has been familiarly known for more than a quarter of a
century; and, from its association with the names of great explorers
and military men, is now spread throughout the civilized world. It has
been generally conceded, and the concession has become strengthened
by time, that no small share of the benefits derived from these
explorations and campaigns, as well as the safety of the commands
themselves, was and is due to the sagacity, skill, experience,
advice and labor of Christopher Carson. The exploring parties, and
expeditions here referred to, are those which he accompanied in the
capacity of chief guide and adviser.
His sober habits, strict honor, and great regard for truth, have
endeared him to all who can call him friend; and, among such may be
enumerated names belonging to some of the most distinguished men whose
deeds are recorded on the pages of American history. His past life has
been a mystery which this book will unveil. Instead of Kit Carson as
by imagination--a bold braggart and reckless, improvident hero of the
rifle--he will appear a retired man, and one who is very reserved in
his intercourse with others. This fact, alone, will account for the
difficulty which has hitherto attended presenting the public with an
accurate history of his life.
A few years since, the writer of this work first met Christopher
Carson. It needed neither a second introduction, nor the assistance of
a friendly panegyric, to enable him to discover in Christopher Carson
those traits of manhood, which are esteemed by the great and good to
be distinguishing ornaments of character. This acquaintance ripened
into a friendship of the purest stamp. Since then, the writer has been
the intimate friend and, companion of Christopher Carson, at his home,
in the wild scenes of the chase, on the war trail, and upon the field
of battle. For a long period, in common with hundreds--and, we might
with truth add, thousands, the writer has desired to see Christopher
Carson's wonderful career made public for the world of readers; but,
while this idea | 225.537998 |
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THE SCARLET LETTER
by Nathaniel Hawthorne
EDITOR'S NOTE
Nathaniel Hawthorne was already a man of forty-six, and a tale
writer of some twenty-four years' standing, when "The Scarlet
Letter" appeared. He was born at Salem, Mass., on July 4th, 1804,
son of a sea-captain. He led there a shy and rather sombre life;
of few artistic encouragements, yet not wholly uncongenial, his
moody, intensely meditative temperament being considered. Its
colours and shadows are marvelously reflected in his "Twice-Told
Tales" and other short stories, the product of his first literary
period. Even his college days at Bowdoin did not quite break
through his acquired and inherited reserve; but beneath it all,
his faculty of divining men and women was exercised with almost
uncanny prescience and subtlety. "The Scarlet Letter," which
explains as much of this unique imaginative art, as is to be
gathered from reading his highest single achievement, yet needs
to be ranged with his other writings, early and late, to have its
last effect. In the year that saw it published, he began "The
House of the Seven Gables," a later romance or prose-tragedy of
the Puritan-American community as he had himself known it--
defrauded of art and the joy of life, "starving for symbols" as
Emerson has it. Nathaniel Hawthorne died at Plymouth, New
Hampshire, on May 18th, 1864.
The following is the table of his romances,
stories, and other works:
Fanshawe, published anonymously, 1826; Twice-Told Tales, 1st
Series, 1837; 2nd Series, 1842; Grandfather's Chair, a history
for youth, 1845: Famous Old People (Grandfather's Chair), 1841
Liberty Tree: with the last words of Grandfather's Chair, 1842;
Biographical Stories for Children, 1842; Mosses from an Old
Manse, 1846; The Scarlet Letter, 1850; The House of the Seven
Gables, 1851: True Stories from History and Biography (the whole
History of Grandfather's Chair), 1851 A Wonder Book for Girls and
Boys, 1851; The Snow Image and other Tales, 1851: The Blithedale
Romance, 1852; Life of Franklin Pierce, 1852; Tanglewood Tales
(2nd Series of the Wonder Book), 1853; A Rill from the Town-Pump,
with remarks, by Telba, 1857; The Marble Faun; or, The Romance of
Monte Beni (4 EDITOR'S NOTE) (published in England under the
title of "Transformation"), 1860, Our Old Home, 1863; Dolliver
Romance (1st Part in "Atlantic Monthly"), 1864; in 3 Parts, 1876;
Pansie, a fragment, Hawthorne' last literary effort, 1864;
American Note-Books, 1868; English Note Books, edited by Sophia
Hawthorne, 1870; French and Italian Note Books, 1871; Septimius
Felton; or, the Elixir of Life (from the "Atlantic Monthly"),
1872; Doctor Grimshawe's Secret, with Preface and Notes by
Julian Hawthorne, 1882.
Tales of the White Hills, Legends of New England, Legends of the
Province House, 1877, contain tales which had already been
printed in book form in "Twice-Told Tales" and the "Mosses"
"Sketched and Studies," 1883.
Hawthorne's contributions to magazines were numerous, and most of
his tales appeared first in periodicals, chiefly in "The Token,"
1831-1838, "New England Magazine," 1834,1835; "Knickerbocker,"
1837-1839; "Democratic Review," 1838-1846; "Atlantic Monthly,"
1860-1872 (scenes from the Dolliver Romance, Septimius Felton,
and passages from Hawthorne's Note-Books).
Works: in 24 volumes, 1879; in 12 volumes, with introductory
notes by Lathrop, Riverside Edition, 1883.
Biography, etc.; A. H. Japp (pseud. H. A. Page), Memoir of N.
Hawthorne, 1872; J. T. Field's "Yesterdays with Authors," 1873 G.
P. Lathrop, "A Study of Hawthorne," 1876; Henry James English Men
of Letters, 1879; Julian Hawthorne, "Nathaniel Hawthorne and his
wife," 1885; Moncure D. Conway, Life of Nathaniel Hawthorne,
1891; Analytical Index of Hawthorne's Works, by E. M. O'Connor
1882.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTORY. THE CUSTOM-HOUSE
CHAPTER I. THE PRISON-DOOR
CHAPTER II. THE MARKET-PLACE
CHAPTER III. THE RECOGNITION
CHAPTER IV. THE INTERVIEW
CHAPTER V. HESTER AT HER NEEDLE
CHAPTER VI. PEARL
CHAPTER VII. THE GOVERNOR'S HALL
CHAPTER VIII. THE ELF-CHILD AND THE MINISTER
CHAPTER IX. THE LEECH
CHAPTER X. THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT
CHAPTER XI. THE INTERIOR OF A HEART
CHAPTER XII. THE MINISTER'S VIGIL
CHAPTER XIII. ANOTHER VIEW OF HESTER
CHAPTER XIV. HESTER AND THE PHYSICIAN
CHAPTER XV. HESTER AND PEARL
CHAPTER XVI. A FOREST WALK
CHAPTER XVII. THE PASTOR AND HIS PARISHIONER
CHAPTER XVIII. A FLOOD OF SUNSHINE
CHAPTER XIX. THE CHILD AT THE BROOK-SIDE
CHAPTER XX. THE MINISTER IN A MAZE
CHAPTER XXI. THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY
CHAPTER XXII. THE PROCESSION
CHAPTER XXIII. THE REVELATION OF THE SCARLET LETTER
CHAPTER XXIV. CONCLUSION
THE CUSTOM-HOUSE
INTRODUCTORY TO "THE SCARLET LETTER"
It is a little remarkable, that--though disinclined to talk
overmuch of myself and my affairs at the fireside, and to my
personal friends--an autobiographical impulse should twice in my
life have taken possession of me, in addressing the public. The
first time was three or four years since, when I favoured the
reader--inexcusably, and for no earthly reason that either the
indulgent reader or the intrusive author could imagine--with a
description of my way of life in the deep quietude of an Old
Manse. And now--because, beyond my deserts, I was happy enough
to find a listener or two on the former occasion--I again seize
the public by the button, and talk of my three years' experience
in a Custom-House. The example of the famous "P. P., Clerk of
this Parish," was never more faithfully followed. The truth
seems to be, however, that when he casts his leaves forth upon
the wind, the author addresses, not the many who will fling
aside his volume, or never take it up, but the few who will
understand him better than most of his schoolmates or lifemates.
Some authors, indeed, do far more than this, and indulge
themselves in such confidential depths of revelation as could
fittingly be addressed only and exclusively to the one heart and
mind of perfect sympathy; as if the printed book, thrown at
large on the wide world, were certain to find out the divided
segment of the writer's own nature, and complete his circle of
existence by bringing him into communion with it. It is scarcely
decorous, however, to speak all, even where we speak
impersonally. But, as thoughts are frozen and utterance
benumbed, unless the speaker stand in some true relation with
his audience, it may be pardonable to imagine that a friend, a
kind and apprehensive, though not the closest friend, is
listening to our talk; and then, a native reserve being thawed
by this genial consciousness, we may prate of the circumstances
that lie around us, and even of ourself, but still keep the
inmost Me behind its veil. To this extent, and within these
limits, an author, methinks, may be autobiographical, without
violating either the reader's rights or his own.
It will be seen, likewise, that this Custom-House sketch has a
certain propriety, of a kind always recognised in literature, as
explaining how a large portion of the following pages came into
my possession, and as offering proofs of the authenticity of a
narrative therein contained. This, in fact--a desire to put
myself in my true position as editor, or very little more, of
the most prolix among the tales that make up my volume--this,
and no other, is my true reason for assuming a personal relation
with the public. In accomplishing the main purpose, it has
appeared allowable, by a few extra touches, to give a faint
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by The Internet Archive)
Ingersoll Lectures on Immortality
IMMORTALITY AND THE NEW THEODICY. By George A. Gordon. 1896.
HUMAN IMMORTALITY. Two supposed Objections to the Doctrine. By
William James. 1897.
DIONYSOS AND IMMORTALITY: The Greek Faith in Immortality as
affected by the rise of Individualism. By Benjamin Ide Wheeler.
1898.
THE CONCEPTION OF IMMORTALITY. By Josiah Royce. 1899.
LIFE EVERLASTING. By John Fiske. 1900.
SCIENCE AND IMMORTALITY. By William Osler. 1904.
THE ENDLESS LIFE. By Samuel M. Crothers. 1905.
INDIVIDUALITY AND IMMORTALITY. By Wilhelm Ostwald. 1906.
THE HOPE OF IMMORTALITY. By Charles F. Dole. 1907.
BUDDHISM AND IMMORTALITY. By William S. Bigelow. 1908.
IS IMMORTALITY DESIRABLE? By G. Lowes Dickinson. 1909.
EGYPTIAN CONCEPTIONS OF IMMORTALITY. By George A. Reisner. 1911.
INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY IN THE SONNETS OF SHAKESPEARE. By George
H. Palmer. 1912.
METEMPSYCHOSIS. By George Foot Moore. 1914.
PAGAN IDEAS OF IMMORTALITY DURING THE EARLY ROMAN EMPIRE. By
Clifford Herschel Moore. 1918.
PAGAN IDEAS OF
IMMORTALITY DURING THE
EARLY ROMAN EMPIRE
The Ingersoll Lecture, 1918
Pagan Ideas of
Immortality During the
Early Roman Empire
By
Clifford Herschel Moore, Ph.D., Litt.D.
_Professor of Latin in Harvard University_
[Illustration: colophon]
Cambridge
Harvard University Press
London: Humphrey Milford
Oxford University Press
1918
COPYRIGHT, 1918
HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS
THE INGERSOLL LECTURESHIP
_Extract from the will of Miss Caroline Haskell Ingersoll, who died in
Keene, County of Cheshire, New Hampshire, Jan. 26, 1893_
_First._ In carrying out the wishes of my late beloved father, George
Goldthwait Ingersoll, as declared by him in his last will and testament,
I give and bequeath to Harvard University in Cambridge, Mass., where my
late father was graduated, and which he always held in love and honor,
the sum of Five thousand dollars ($5,000) as a fund for the
establishment of a Lectureship on a plan somewhat similar to that of the
Dudleian lecture, that is--one lecture to be delivered each year, on any
convenient day between the last day of May and the first day of
December, on this subject, “the Immortality of Man,” said lecture not to
form a part of the usual college course, nor to be delivered by any
Professor or Tutor as part of his usual routine of instruction, though
any such Professor or Tutor may be appointed to such service. The choice
of said lecturer is not to be limited to any one religious denomination,
nor to any one profession, but may be that of either clergyman or
layman, the appointment to take place at least six months before the
delivery of said lecture. The above sum to be safely invested and three
fourths of the annual interest thereof to be paid to the lecturer for
his services and the remaining fourth to be expended in the publishment
and gratuitous distribution of the lecture, a copy of which is always to
be furnished by the lecturer for such purpose. The same lecture to be
named and known as “the Ingersoll lecture on the Immortality of Man.”
PAGAN IDEAS OF IMMORTALITY DURING THE EARLY ROMAN EMPIRE
I
The invitation of the committee charged with the administration of the
Ingersoll lectureship and my own inclination have agreed in indicating
that aspect of the general subject of immortality, which I shall try to
present tonight. I shall not venture on this occasion to advance
arguments for or against belief in a life after death; my present task
is a humbler one: I propose to ask you to review with me some of the
more significant ideas concerning an existence beyond the grave, which
were current in the Greco-Roman world in the time of Jesus and during
the earlier Christian centuries, and to consider briefly the relation
of these pagan beliefs to Christian ideas on the same subject. In
dealing with a topic so vast as this in a single hour, we must select
those elements which historically showed themselves to be fundamental
and vital; but even then we cannot examine much detail. It may prove,
however, that a rapid survey of those concepts of the future life, whose
influence lasted long during the Christian centuries, and indeed has
continued to the present day, may not be without profit.
The most important single religious document from the Augustan Age is
the sixth book of Virgil’s Aeneid; for although the Aeneid was written
primarily to glorify Roman imperial aims, the sixth book gives full
expression to many philosophic and popular ideas of the other world and
of the future life, which were current among both Greeks and Romans.[1]
It therefore makes a fitting point of departure for our considerations.
In this book, as you will remember, the poet’s hero, having reached
Italian soil at last, is led down to the lower world by the Cumaean
Sybil. This descent to Hades belongs historically to that long series of
apocalyptic writings which begins with the eleventh book of the Odyssey
and closes with Dante’s Divine Comedy. Warde Fowler deserves credit for
clearly pointing out that this visit of Aeneas to the world below is the
final ordeal for him, a mystic initiation, in which he receives
“enlightenment for the toil, peril, and triumph that await him in the
accomplishment of his divine mission.” When the Trojan hero has learned
from his father’s shade the mysteries of life and death, and has been
taught the magnitude of the work which lies before him, and the great
things that are to be, he casts off the timidity which he has hitherto
shown and, strengthened by his experiences, advances to the perfect
accomplishment of his task.[2]
But we are not concerned so much with Virgil’s purpose in writing this
apocalyptic book, as with its contents and with the evidence it gives as
to the current ideas of the other world and the fate of the human soul.
What then does the poet tell us of these great matters? We can hardly do
better than to follow Aeneas and his guide on their journey. This side
of Acheron they meet the souls of those whose bodies are unburied, and
who therefore must tarry a hundred years--the maximum of human
life--before they may be ferried over the river which bounds Hades. When
Charon has set the earthly visitors across that stream, they find
themselves in a place where are gathered spirits of many kinds, who have
not yet been admitted to Tartarus or Elysium: first the souls of infants
and those who met their end by violence--men condemned to death though
innocent, suicides, those who died for love, and warriors--all of whom
must here wait until the span of life allotted them has been completed.
These spirits passed, the mortal visitors come to the walls of Tartarus,
on whose torments Aeneas is not allowed to look, for
“The feet of innocence may never pass
Into this house of sin.”
But the Sybil, herself taught by Hecate, reveals to him the eternal
punishments there inflicted for monstrous crimes. Then the visitors pass
to Elysium, where dwell the souls of those whose deserts on earth have
won for them a happy lot. Nearby in a green valley, Aeneas finds the
shade of his own father, Anchises, looking eagerly at the souls
which are waiting to be born into the upper world. In answer to
his son’s questions, the heroic shade discloses the doctrine of
rebirths--metempsychosis--with its tenets of penance and of
purification.[3] Finally, to fulfill the poet’s purpose, Anchises’
spirit points out the souls of the heroes who are to come on earth in
due season; the spirits of future Romans pass before Aeneas in long
array; and at the climax he sees the soul of Augustus, that prince who
was destined in the fullness of time to bring back the Golden Age and to
impose peace on the wide world. This prophetic revelation ended, Aeneas
enlightened and strengthened for his task, returns to the upper world.
This book seems at first a strange compound indeed of popular belief,
philosophy, and theology, which is not without its contradictions. On
these, however, we need not pause; but for our present interest we must
ask what are the main ideas on which this apocalypse is based. First of
all, a future life is taken for granted by the poet; otherwise the book
could never have been written. Secondly, we notice that, according to
ancient popular belief, the souls of those who had not received the
proper burial rites, were doomed to wander on this side of Acheron until
a hundred years were completed, and also that souls which were
disembodied by violence or by early death, were destined to live out
their allotted span of earthly existence before they could enter the
inner precincts of Hades. Again the poet represents some few as
suffering eternal torments for their monstrous sins or enjoying immortal
bliss because of their great deserts. And finally, he shows that the
majority of souls must pass through successive lives and deaths, until,
purified from the sin and dross of the body by millennial sojourns in
the world below, and by virtuous lives on earth, they at last find
repose and satisfaction. The popular beliefs which concern details of
| 225.935297 |
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Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
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Gutenberg (This book was produced from scanned images of
public domain material from the Google Print project.)
LUDWIG THE SECOND
KING OF BAVARIA
BY
CLARA TSCHUDI
AUTHOR OF "MARIE ANTOINETTE," "EUGÉNIE, EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH,"
"MARIA SOPHIA, QUEEN OF NAPLES," ETC. ETC.
TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN
BY
ETHEL HARRIET HEARN
"Certains caractères échappent à l'analyse logique."
George Sand.
WITH PORTRAIT
London
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO. LIM.
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
1908
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Descent and Education 1
II. Fundamental Traits of Ludwig's Character 11
III. "Le Roi est mort! Vive le Roi!" 17
IV. A Plan of Marriage 22
V. King Ludwig and Richard Wagner 25
VI. Ludwig's First Visit to Switzerland--Richard Wagner
leaves Munich 40
VII. The Political Situation--The Schleswig-Holstein Question
--The War of 1866 53
VIII. The King makes the Tour of his Kingdom 58
IX. Ludwig's Betrothal 63
X. The King goes to Paris--Disharmonies between the
Engaged Couple--Ludwig meets the Emperor Napoleon and the
Empress Eugénie in Augsburg--The King breaks his Promise
of Marriage 75
XI. After the Parting with Sophie--Episodes from the King's
Excursions in the Highlands 81
XII. The Empress of Russia visits Bavaria--The Duchess Sophie's
Engagement and Marriage--An Unexpected Meeting with the
Duchesse d'Alençon--A Last Attempt to forge the Links of
Hymen around Ludwig 86
XIII. Ludwig and the Artistes of the Stage--Josephine Schefzky 92
XIV. Prince Hohenlohe--Political Frictions 99
XV. A Meeting between Bismarck and Ludwig 108
XVI. Outbreak of the War with France 111
XVII. During the War--The German Empire is Proclaimed 118
XVIII. The Bavarian Troops Return to Munich--King Ludwig and
the Crown Prince of Germany 131
XIX. A Visit from the Emperor Wilhelm--Ludwig Withdraws more
and more from the World 138
XX. Prince Otto's Insanity--The King's Morbid Sensations 145
XXI. The Review of the Troops in 1875--Crown Prince Friedrich
of Prussia 151
XXII. King Ludwig and the Empress Elizabeth 158
XXIII. King Ludwig and Queen Marie 164
XXIV. State and Church--Ignaz von Döllinger--Ludwig's Letters
to his old Tutor 168
XXV. Ludwig II. in Daily Life 175
XXVI. Ludwig and Richard Wagner--The King's Visit to Bayreuth 180
XXVII. King Ludwig and the Artists of the Stage and Canvas 187
XXVIII. Private Performances at the Hof Theater at Munich 193
XXIX. King Ludwig and his Palaces 197
XXX. King Ludwig's Friendships 204
XXXI. The Actor Kainz 209
XXXII. A Journey to Switzerland 214
| 225.9362 |
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#19 in our series by George Meredith
Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your | 226.50037 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected,
all other inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's
spelling has been maintained.
Superscript are marked with { }.]
Large-Paper Edition
LOCKHART'S
LIFE OF SCOTT
COPIOUSLY ANNOTATED AND ABUNDANTLY ILLUSTRATED
IN TEN VOLUMES
VOL. VI
[Illustration: WALTER SCOTT IN 1820
_From the painting by Sir Thomas Lawrence_]
MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE
OF
SIR WALTER SCOTT
BART.
by
JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART
In Ten Volumes
VOLUME VI
[Illustration: Editor's logo.]
Boston and New York
Houghton, Mifflin and Company
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
MCMI
Copyright, 1901
by Houghton, Mifflin and Company
All Rights Reserved
Six Hundred Copies Printed
Number,
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chap. Page
XLIII. Declining Health of Charles, Duke of Buccleuch. --
Letter on the Death of Queen Charlotte. -- Provincial
Antiquities, etc. -- Extensive Sale of Copyrights to Constable
& Co. -- Death of Mr. Charles Carpenter. -- Scott accepts the
Offer of a Baronetcy. -- He declines to renew his Application
for a Seat on the Exchequer Bench. -- Letters to Morritt,
Richardson, Miss Baillie, the Duke of Buccleuch, Lord Montagu,
and Captain Ferguson. -- Rob Roy played at Edinburgh. -- Letter
from Jedediah Cleishbotham to Mr. Charles Mackay. 1818-1819 1
XLIV. Recurrence of Scott's Illness. -- Death of the Duke of
Buccleuch. -- Letters to Captain Ferguson, Lord Montagu, Mr.
Southey, and Mr. Shortreed. -- Scott's Sufferings while
dictating The Bride of Lammermoor. -- Anecdotes by James
Ballantyne, etc. -- Appearance of the Third Series of Tales of
my Landlord. -- Anecdote of the Earl of Buchan. 1819 24
XLV. Gradual Reestablishment of Scott's Health. -- Ivanhoe in
Progress. -- His Son Walter joins the Eighteenth Regiment of
Hussars. -- Scott's Correspondence with his Son. --
Miscellaneous Letters to Mrs. Maclean Clephane, M. W.
Hartstonge, J. G. Lockhart, John Ballantyne, John Richardson,
Miss Edgeworth, Lord Montagu, etc. -- Abbotsford visited by
Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg. -- Death of Mrs. William
Erskine. 1819 69
XLVI. Political Alarms. -- The Radicals. -- Levies of
Volunteers. -- Project of the Buccleuch Legion. -- Death of
Scott's Mother, her Brother Dr. Rutherford, and her Sister
Christian. -- Letters to Lord Mont | 226.604576 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
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from University of Wisconsin)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Haithi Trust Org. images digitized by Google
(original from University of Wisconsin)
IN QUEER STREET
BY
FERGUS HUME
AUTHOR OF
"THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," "THE PINK SHOP,"
"ACROSS THE FOOTLIGHTS," "SEEN IN THE SHADOW,"
ETC., ETC.
LONDON
F. V. WHITE & CO., LTD.
17, BUCKINGHAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1913
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. THE BOARDING-HOUSE
II. OLD SCHOOL-FELLOWS
III. MAN PROPOSES
IV. THE ADVERTISEMENT
V. THE NEXT STEP
VI. SEEKING TROUBLE
VII. AN AMAZING DISCOVERY
VIII. FAMILY HISTORY
IX. GWEN
X. VANE'S AUNT
XI. MACBETH'S BANQUET
XII. CUPID'S GARDEN
XIII. DANGER
XIV. AT BAY
XV. A FRIEND IN NEED
XVI. EXPLANATIONS
XVII. BLACKMAIL
XVIII. HENCH'S DIPLOMACY
XIX. A DENIAL
XX. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND
XXI. THE SUNSHINE OR LIFE
IN QUEER STREET
IN QUEER STREET
CHAPTER I
THE BOARDING-HOUSE
"Here," explained the landlady, "we are not wildly gay, as the serious
aspect of life prevents our indulging in unrestrained mirth. Each one
of us is devoted to an ideal, Mr. Spruce."
"And what is the ideal, Mrs. Tesk?" asked the twinkling little man who
was proposing himself as a boarder.
"The intention of gaining wealth in virtuous ways, by exercising the
various talents with which we have been endowed by an All-seeing
Providence."
"If you eliminate the word 'virtuous,' most people have some such
ideal," was the dry reply of Mr. Spruce. "I want money myself, or I
shouldn't come to live here. A Bethnal Green lodging-house isn't my
idea of luxury."
"Boarding-house, if you please," said Mrs. Tesk, drawing up her thin
figure. "I would point out that my establishment is most superior.
Brought up in scholastic circles, I assisted my father and my husband
for many years in teaching the young idea how to shoot, and----"
"In plain English, you kept a school."
"Crudely put, it is as you say, Mr. Spruce," assented the landlady;
"but habit has accustomed me to express myself in a more elegant way.
My husband and my father having been long numbered with the angelic
host, I was unable to continue successfully as a teacher of youth. A
learned friend suggested to me that an excellent income might be
derived from a high-class boarding-house. Therefore I rented this
mansion for the purpose of entertaining a select number of paying
guests."
"Paying guests! How admirably you express yourself, Mrs. Tesk."
"It has always been my custom to do full justice to our beautiful
language, Mr. Spruce. Even my establishment has a name redolent of
classic times. It is called--and not unfittingly I think--The Home of
the Muses."
"So I observed in your advertisement. Why not call this place
Parnassus? Then one word would serve for five."
"The suggestion is not without merit," said the former
school-mistress. "I perceive, Mr. Spruce, that you have some knowledge
of the classics."
"I was educated at | 226.809249 |
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[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "HERE HE IS! TAK' HIM AND FINISH HIM" Page 44]
The Starling
A Scottish Story
BY
NORMAN MACLEOD
Author of
"Reminiscences of a Highland Parish" "Character Sketches"
"The Old Lieutenant and his Son" &c. &c.
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
LONDON AND GLASGOW
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
50 Old Bailey, London
17 Stanhope Street, Glasgow
BLACKIE & SON (INDIA) LIMITED
Warwick House, Fort Street, Bombay
BLACKIE & SON (CANADA) LIMITED
1118 Bay Street, Toronto
Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
Norman Macleod was born, in 1812, at Campbeltown, in Argyllshire, where
his father was parish minister. Educated in Campbeltown and Campsie for
a time, he entered the University of Glasgow in 1827, and in 1837 became
a licensed minister of the Church of Scotland. From 1838 to 1843 ne was
minister of Loudoun parish in Ayrshire, from 1843 to 1851 of Dalkeith
parish, and from 1851 till his death in 1872 of the Barony Parish,
Glasgow. He was appointed chaplain to Queen Victoria in 1857, and next
year received the degree of D.D. from Glasgow University. He edited
_Good Words_ from its foundation in 1860 till his death, and he also
gained great literary success with the following books: _The Gold
Thread_ (1861), _The Old Lieutenant and his Son_ (1862), _Parish Papers_
(1862), _Wee Davie_ (1864), _Eastward_ (1866), _Reminiscences of a
Highland Parish_ (1867), _The Starling_ (1867), _Peeps at the Far East_
(1871), _The Temptation of Our Lord_ (1872), and _Character Sketches_
(1872).
Contents
CHAP.
I. Antecedents
II. The Elder and his Starling
III. The Starling a Disturber of the Peace
IV. The Rev. Daniel Porteous
V. The Sergeant and his Starling in Trouble
VI. The Starling on his Trial
VII. The Sergeant on his Trial
VIII. The Conference in the Manse
IX. Charlie's Cot once More Occupied
X. The Sergeant Alone with the Starling
XI. The Old Soldier and his Young Pupil on Sunday Evening
XII. Adam Mercer, Sergeant, but not Elder
XIII. Jock Hall, the Ne'er-do-Weel
XIV. Jock Hall's Conspiracy
XV. Jock Hall's Journey
XVI. Fishers and Fishing
XVII. The Keeper's Home
XVIII. The Keeper's Letter
XIX. Extremes Meet
XX. Jock Hall's Return
XXI. The Quack
XXII. Corporal Dick
XXIII. Corporal Dick at the Manse
XXIV. Dr. Scott and his Servant
XXV. Mr. Smellie's Diplomacy
XXVI. The Starling Again in Danger
XXVII. The Sergeant's Sickness and his Sick-Nurse
XXVIII. Mr. Porteous Visits the Sergeant
XXIX. The Minister Pure and Peaceable
XXX. "A Man's a Man for a' That"
List of Illustrations
"Here he is! Tak' him and finish him" _Frontispiece_
"Are you aware, Mr. Mercer, of what has just happened?"
"I'll keep Mary"
"I was but axin' a ceevil question, Mr. Spence"
THE STARLING
CHAPTER I
ANTECEDENTS
"The man was aince a poacher!" So said, or rather breathed with his
hard wheezing breath, Peter Smellie, shopkeeper and elder, into the ears
of Robert Menzies, a brother elder, who was possessed of a more humane
disposition. They were conversing in great confidence about the
important "case" of Sergeant Adam Mercer. What that case was, the
reader will learn by and by. The only reply of Robert Menzies was,
"Is't possible!" accompanied by a start and a steady gaze at his
well-informed brother. "It's a fac' I tell ye," continued Smellie, "but
ye'll keep it to yersel'--keep it to yersel', for it doesna do to injure
a brither wi'oot cause; yet it's richt ye should ken what a bad
beginning our freen' has had. Pit your thumb on't, however, in the
_meantime_--keep it, as the minister says, _in retentis_, which I
suppose means, till needed."
Smellie went on his way to attend to some parochial duty, nodding and
smiling, and again admonishing his brother to "keep it to himsel'." He
seemed unwilling to part with the copyright of such a spicy bit of
gossip. Menzies inwardly repeated, "A poacher! wha would have thocht
it? At the same time, I see----" But I will not record the harmonies,
real or imaginary, which Mr. Menzies so clearly perceived between the
early and latter habits of the Sergeant.
And yet the gossiping Smellie, whose nose had tracked out the history of
many people in the parish of Drumsylie, was in this, as in most cases,
accurately informed. The Sergeant of whom he spoke had been a poacher
some thirty years before, in a district several miles off. The wonder
was how Smellie had discovered the fact, or how, if true, it could
affect the present character or position of one of the best men in the
parish. Yet true it was, and it is as well to confess it, not with the
view of excusing it, but only to account for Mercer's having become a
soldier, and to show how one who became "meek as a sheathed sword" in
his later years, had once been possessed of a very keen and ardent
temperament, whose ruling passion was the love of excitement, in the
shape of battle with game and keepers. I accidentally heard the whole
story, which, on account of other circumstances in the Sergeant's later
history, interested me more than I fear it may my readers.
Mercer did not care for money, nor seek to make a trade of the unlawful
pleasure of shooting without a licence. Nor in the district in which he
lived was the offence then looked upon in a light so very disreputable
as it is now; neither was it pursued by the same disreputable class.
The sport itself was what Mercer loved for its own sake, and it had
become to him quite a passion. For two or three years he had frequently
transgressed, but he was at last caught on the early dawn of a summer's
morning by John Spence, the gamekeeper of Lord Bennock. John had often
received reports from the underkeeper and watchers, of some unknown and
mysterious poacher who had hitherto eluded every attempt to seize him.
Though rather too old for very active service, Spence resolved to
concentrate all his experience--for, like many a thoroughbred keeper, he
had himself been a poacher in his youth--to discover and secure the
transgressor; but how he did so it would take pages to tell. Adam never
suspected John of troubling himself about such details as that of
watching poachers, and John never suspected that Adam was the poacher.
The keeper, we may add, was cousin-german to Mercer's mother. The
capture itself was not difficult; for John, having lain in wait,
suddenly confronted Adam, who, scorning the idea of flying, much more of
struggling with his old cousin, quietly accosted him with, "Weel, John,
ye hae catched me at last."
"Adam Mercer!" exclaimed the keeper, with a look of horror. "It canna
be you! It's no' possible!"
"It's just me, John, and no mistak'," said Adam, quietly throwing
himself down on the heather, and twisting a bit about his finger. "For
better or waur, I'm in yer power; but had I been a ne'er-do-weel, like
Willy Steel, or Tam M'Grath, I'd hae blackened my face, and whammel'd ye
ower and pit yer head in a wallee afore ye could cheep as loud as a
stane-chucker; but when I saw wha ye war, I gied in."
"I wad raither than a five-pun-note I had never seen yer face! Keep us!
what's to be dune! What wull yer mither say? and his Lordship? Na,
what wull onybody say wi' a spark o' decency when they hear----"
"Dinna fash yer thoomb, John; tak' me and send me to the jail."
"The jail! What gude will that do to you or me, laddie? I'm clean
donnered about the business. Let me sit down aside ye; keep laigh, in
case the keepers see ye, and tell me by what misshanter ye ever took to
this wicked business, and under my nose, as if _I_ couldna fin' ye oot!"
"Sport, sport!" was Mercer's reply. "Ye ken, John, I'm a shoemaker, and
it's a dull trade, and squeezing the clams against the wame is ill for
digestion; and when that fails, ane's speerits fail, and the warld gets
black and dowie; and whan things gang wrang wi' me, I canna flee to
drink: but I think o' the moors that I kent sae weel when my faither was
a keeper to Murray o' Cultrain. Ye mind my faither? was he no' a han'
at a gun!"
"He was that--the verra best," said John.
"Aweel," continued Adam, "when doon in the mouth, I ponder ower the braw
days o' health and life I had when carrying his bag, and getting a shot
noos and thans as a reward; and it's a truth I tell ye, that the _whirr
kick-ic-ic_ o' a covey o' groose aye pits my bluid in a tingle. It's a
sort o' madness that I canna accoont for; but I think I'm no responsible
for't. Paitricks are maist as bad, though turnips and stubble are no'
to be compared wi' the heather, nor walkin' amang them like the far-aff
braes, the win'y taps o' the hills, or the lown glens. Mony a time I
hae promised to drap the gun and stick to the last; but when I'm no'
weel, and wauken and see the sun glintin', and think o' the wide bleak
muirs, and the fresh caller air o' the hill, wi' the scent o' the braes
an' the bog myrtle, and thae whirrin' craturs--man, I canna help it! I
spring up and grasp the gun, and I'm aff!"
The reformed poacher and keeper listened with a poorly-concealed smile,
and said, "Nae doot, nae doot, Adam, it's a' natural--I'm no denyin'
that; it's a glorious business; in fac', it's jist pairt o' every man
that has a steady han' and a guid e'e and a feeling heart. Ay, ay.
But, Adam, were ye no' frichtened?"
"For what?"
"For the keepers!"
"The keepers! Eh, John, that's half the sport! The thocht o' dodgin'
keepers, jinkin' them roon' hills, and doon glens, and lyin' amang the
muir-hags, and nickin' a brace or twa, and then fleein' like mad doon ae
brae and up anither; and keekin' here, and creepin' there, and cowerin'
alang a fail <DW18>, and scuddin' thro' the wood--that's mair than half
the life o't, John! I'm no sure if I could shoot the birds if they were
a' in my ain kailyard, and my ain property, and if I paid for them!"
"But war ye no' feared for me that kent ye?" asked John.
"Na!" replied Adam, "I was mair feared for yer auld cousin, my mither,
gif she kent what I was aboot, for she's unco' prood o' you. But I
didna think ye ever luiked efter poachers yersel'? Noo I hae telt ye a'
aboot it."
"I' faith," said John, taking a snuff and handing the box to Adam, "it's
human natur'! But ye ken, human natur's wicked, desperately wicked! and
afore I was a keeper my natur' was fully as wicked as yours,--fully,
Adam, if no waur. But I hae repented--ever sin' I was made keeper; and
I wadna like to hinder your repentance. Na, na. We mauna be ower
prood! Sae I'll---- Wait a bit, man, be canny till I see if ony o' the
lads are in sicht;" and John peeped over a knoll, and cautiously looked
around in every direction until satisfied that he was alone. "--I'll
no' mention this job," he continued, "if ye'll promise me, Adam, never
to try this wark again; for it's no' respectable; and, warst o' a', it's
no' safe, and ye wad get me into a habble as weel as yersel'. Sae
promise me, like a guid cousin, as I may ca' ye,--and bluid is thicker
than water, ye ken,--and then just creep doon the burn, and alang the
plantin', and ower the wa', till ye get intil the peat road, and be aff
like stoor afore the win'; but I canna wi' conscience let ye tak' the
birds wi' ye."
Adam thought a little, and said, "Ye're a gude sowl, John, and I'll no'
betray ye." After a while he added, gravely, "But I maun kill
something. It's no in my heart as wickedness; but my fingers maun draw a
trigger." After a pause, he continued, "Gie's yer hand, John; ye hae
been a frien' to me, and I'll be a man o' honour to you. I'll never
poach mair, but I'll 'list and be a sodger! Till I send hame
money,--and it'ill no' be lang,--be kind tae my mither, and I'll never
forget it."
"A sodger!" exclaimed John.
But Adam, after seizing John by the hand and saying, "Fareweel for a
year and a day," suddenly started off down the glen, leaving two brace
of grouse, with his gun, at John's feet; as much as to say, Tell my Lord
how you caught the wicked poacher, and how he fled the country.
Spence told indeed how he had caught a poacher, who had escaped, but
never gave his name, nor ever hinted that Adam was the man.
It was thus Adam Mercer poached and enlisted.
One evening I was at the house of a magistrate with whom I was
acquainted, when a man named Andrew Dick called to get my friend's
signature to his pension paper, in the absence of the parish minister.
Dick had been through the whole Peninsular campaign, and had retired as
a corporal. I am fond of old soldiers, and never fail when an
opportunity offers to have a talk with them about "the wars". On the
evening in question, my friend Findlay, the magistrate, happened to say
in a bluff kindly way, "Don't spend your pension in drink."
Dick replied, saluting him, "It's very hard, sir, that after fighting
the battles of our country, we should be looked upon as worthless by
gentlemen like you."
"No, no, Dick, I never said you were worthless," was the reply.
"Please your honour," said Dick, "ye did not say it, but I consider any
man who spends his money in drink is worthless; and, what is mair, a
fool; and, worse than all, is no Christian. He has no recovery in him,
no supports to fall back on, but is in full retreat, as we would say,
from common decency."
"But you know," said my friend, looking kindly on Dick, "the bravest
soldiers, and none were braver than those who served in the Peninsula,
often exceeded fearfully--shamefully; and were a disgrace to humanity."
"Well," replied Dick, "it's no easy to make evil good, and I won't try
to do so; but yet ye forget our difficulties and temptations. Consider
only, sir, that there we were, not in bed for months and months;
marching at all hours; ill-fed, ill-clothed, and uncertain of
life--which I assure your honour makes men indifferent to it; and we had
often to get our mess as we best could,--sometimes a tough steak out of
a dead horse or mule, for when the beast was skinned it was difficult to
make oot its kind; and after toiling and moiling, up and down, here and
there and everywhere, summer and winter, when at last we took a town
with blood and wounds, and when a cask of wine or spirits fell in the
way of the troops, I don't believe that you, sir, or the justices of the
peace, or, with reverence be it spoken, the ministers themselves, would
have said 'No', to a drop. You'll excuse me, sir; I'm perhaps too free
with you."
"I didn't mean to lecture you, or to blame you, Dick, for I know the
army is not the place for Christians."
"Begging your honour's pardon, sir," said Dick, "the best Christians I
ever knowed were in the army--men who would do their dooty to their
king, their country, and their God."
"You have known such?" I asked, breaking into the conversation, to turn
it aside from what threatened to be a dispute.
"I have, sir! There's ane Adam Mercer, in this very parish, an elder of
the Church--I'm a Dissenter mysel', on principle, for I consider----"
"Go on, Dick, about Mercer; never mind your Church principles."
"Well, sir, as I was saying--though, mind you, I'm not ashamed of being
a Dissenter, and, I houp, a Christian too--Adam was our sergeant; and a
worthier man never shouldered a bayonet. He was nae great speaker, and
was quiet as his gun when piled; but when he shot, he shot! that did he,
short and pithy, a crack, and right into the argument. He was weel
respeckit, for he was just and mercifu'--never bothered the men, and
never picked oot fauts, but covered them; never preached, but could gie
an advice in two or three words that gripped firm aboot the heart, and
took the breath frae ye. He was extraordinar' brave! If there was any
work to do by ordinar', up to leading a forlorn hope, Adam was sure to
be on't; and them that kent him even better than I did then, said that
he never got courage frae brandy, but, as they assured me, though ye'll
maybe no' believe it, his preparation was a prayer! I canna tell hoo
they fan' this oot, for Adam was unco quiet; but they say a drummer
catched him on his knees afore he mounted the ladder wi' Cansh at the
siege o' Badajoz, and that Adam telt him no' to say a word aboot it, but
yet to tak' his advice and aye to seek God's help mair than man's."
This narrative interested me much, so that I remembered its facts, and
connected them with what I afterwards heard about Adam Mercer many years
ago, when on a visit to Drumsylie.
CHAPTER II
THE ELDER AND HIS STARLING
When Adam Mercer returned from the wars, more than half a century ago,
he settled in the village of Drumsylie, situated in a county bordering
on the Highlands, and about twenty miles from the scene of his poaching
habits, of which he had long ago repented. His hot young blood had been
cooled down by hard service, and his vehement temperament subdued by
military discipline; but there remained an admirable mixture in him of
deepest feeling, regulated by habitual self-restraint, and expressed in
a manner outwardly calm but not cold, undemonstrative but not unkind.
His whole bearing was that of a man accustomed at once to command and to
obey. Corporal Dick had not formed a wrong estimate of his
Christianity. The lessons taught by his mother, whom he fondly loved,
and whom he had in her widowhood supported to the utmost of his means
from pay and prize-money, and her example of a simple, cheerful, and
true life, had sunk deeper than he knew into his heart, and, taking
root, had sprung up amidst the stormy scenes of war, bringing forth the
fruits of stern self-denial and moral courage tempered by strong social
affections.
Adam had resumed his old trade of shoemaker. He occupied a small
cottage, which, with the aid of a poor old woman in the neighbourhood,
who for an hour morning and evening did the work of a servant, he kept
with singular neatness. His little parlour was ornamented with several
memorials of the war--a sword or two picked up on memorable
battle-fields; a French cuirass from Waterloo, with a gaudy print of
Wellington, and one also of the meeting with Bluecher at La Belle
Alliance.
The Sergeant attended the parish church as regularly as he used to do
parade. Anyone could have set his watch by the regularity of his
movements on Sunday mornings. At the same minute on each succeeding day
of holy rest and worship, the tall, erect figure, with well-braced
shoulders, might be seen stepping out of the cottage door--where he
stood erect for a moment to survey the weather--dressed in the same suit
of black trousers, brown surtout, buff waistcoat, black stock, white
cotton gloves, with a yellow cane under his arm--everything so neat and
clean, from the polished boots to the polished hat, from the
well-brushed grey whiskers to the well-arranged locks that met in a peak
over his high forehead and soldier-like face. And once within the
church there was no more sedate or attentive listener.
There were few week-days and no Sunday evenings on which the Sergeant
did not pay a visit to some neighbour confined to bed from sickness, or
suffering from distress of some kind. He manifested rare tact--made up
of common sense and genuine benevolence--on such occasions. His strong
sympathies put him instantly _en rapport_ with those whom he visited,
enabling him at once to meet them on some common ground. Yet in
whatever way the Sergeant began his intercourse, whether by listening
patiently--and what a comfort such listening silence is!--to the history
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[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE LUCY BOOKS.
BY THE
Author of the Rollo Books.
_New York_,
CLARK AUSTIN & CO.
205 BROADWAY.
COUSIN LUCY’S CONVERSATIONS.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF THE ROLLO BOOKS.
A NEW EDITION,
REVISED BY THE AUTHOR.
NEW YORK:
CLARK, AUSTIN & SMITH,
3 PARK ROW AND 3 ANN-STREET,
1854.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1841,
BY T. H. CARTER,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
NOTICE.
The simple delineations of the ordinary incidents and feelings which
characterize childhood, that are contained in the Rollo Books, having
been found to interest, and, as the author hopes, in some degree to
benefit the young readers for whom they were designed,--the plan is
herein extended to children of the other sex. The two first volumes
of the series are LUCY’S CONVERSATIONS and LUCY’S
STORIES. Lucy was Rollo’s cousin; and the author hopes that the
history of her life and adventures may be entertaining and useful to
the sisters of the boys who have honored the Rollo Books with their
approval.
CONTENTS.
Page.
CONVERSATION I.
THE TREASURY, 9
CONVERSATION II.
DEFINITIONS, 21
CONVERSATION III.
THE GLEN, 34
CONVERSATION IV.
A PRISONER, 43
CONVERSATION V.
TARGET PAINTING, 51
CONVERSATION VI.
MIDNIGHT, 60
CONVERSATION VII.
JOANNA, 75
CONVERSATION VIII.
BUILDING, 88
CONVERSATION IX.
EQUIVOCATION, 103
CONVERSATION X.
JOHNNY, 118
CONVERSATION XI.
GETTING LOST, 132
CONVERSATION XII.
LUCY’S SCHOLAR, 146
CONVERSATION XIII.
SKETCHING, 159
CONVERSATION XIV.
DANGER, 170
LUCY’S CONVERSATIONS.
CONVERSATION I.
THE TREASURY.
One day in summer, when Lucy was a very little girl, she was sitting in
her rocking-chair, playing keep school. She had placed several crickets
and small chairs in a row for the children’s seats, and had been
talking, in dialogue, for some time, pretending to hold conversations
with her pupils. She heard one read and spell, and gave another
directions about her writing; and she had quite a long talk with a
third about the reason why she did not come to school earlier. At last
Lucy, seeing the kitten come into the room, and thinking that she
should like to go and play with her, told the children that she thought
it was time for school to be done.
Royal, Lucy’s brother, had been sitting upon the steps at the front
door, while Lucy was playing school; and just as she was thinking that
it was time to dismiss the children, he happened to get up and come
into the room. Royal was about eleven years old. When he found that
Lucy was playing school, he stopped at the door a moment to listen.
“Now, children,” said Lucy, “it is time for the school to be dismissed;
for I want to play with the kitten.”
Here Royal laughed aloud.
Lucy looked around, a little disturbed at Royal’s interruption.
Besides, she did not like to be laughed at. She, however, said nothing
in reply, but still continued to give her attention to her school.
Royal walked in, and stood somewhat nearer.
“We will sing a hymn,” said Lucy, gravely.
Here Royal laughed again.
“Royal, you must not laugh,” said Lucy. “They always sing a hymn at the
end of a school.” Then, making believe that she was speaking to her
scholars, she said, “You may all take out your hymn-books, children.”
Lucy had a little hymn-book in her hand, and she began turning over the
leaves, pretending to find a place.
“You may sing,” she said, at last, “the thirty-third hymn, long part,
second metre.”
At this sad mismating of the words in Lucy’s announcement of the hymn,
Royal found that he could contain himself no longer. He burst into loud
and incontrollable fits of laughter, staggering about the room, and
saying to himself, as he could catch a little breath, “_Long part!--O
dear me!--second metre!--O dear!_”
“Royal,” said Lucy, with all the sternness she could command, “you
_shall not_ laugh.”
Royal made no reply, but tumbled over upon the sofa, holding his sides,
and every minute repeating, at the intervals of the paroxysm, “_Long
part--second metre!_--O dear me!”
“Royal,” said Lucy again, stamping with her little foot upon the
carpet, “I tell you, you shall not laugh.”
Then suddenly she seized a little twig which she had by her side, and
which she had provided as a rod to punish her imaginary scholars with;
and, starting up, she ran towards Royal, saying, “I’ll soon make you
sober with my rod.”
Royal immediately jumped up from the sofa, and ran off,--Lucy in hot
pursuit. Royal turned into the back entry, and passed out through an
open door behind, which led into a little green yard back of the
house. There was a young lady, about seventeen years old, coming out of
the garden into the little yard, with a watering-pot in her hand, just
as Royal and Lucy came out of the house.
She stopped Lucy, and asked her what was the matter.
“Why, Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “Royal keeps laughing at me.”
Miss Anne looked around to see Royal. He had gone and seated himself
upon a bench under an apple-tree, and seemed entirely out of breath and
exhausted; though his face was still full of half-suppressed glee.
“What is the matter, Royal?” said Miss Anne.
“Why, he is laughing at my school,” said Lucy.
“No, I am not laughing at her school,” said Royal; “but she was going
to give out a hymn, and she said----”
Royal could not get any further. The fit of laughter came over him
again, and he lay down upon the bench, unable to give any further
account of it, except to get out the words, “_Long part!_ O dear me!
What shall I do?”
“Royal!” exclaimed Lucy.
“Never mind him,” said Miss Anne; “let him laugh if he will, and you,
come with me.”
“Why, where are you going?”
“Into my room. Come, go in with me, and I will talk with you.”
So Miss Anne took Lucy along with her into a little back bedroom. There
was a window at one side, and a table, with books, and an inkstand, and
a work-basket upon it. Miss Anne sat down at this window, and took her
work; and Lucy came and leaned against her, and said,
“Come, Miss Anne, you said you would talk with me.”
“Well,” said Miss Anne, “there is one thing which I do not like.”
“What is it?” said Lucy.
“Why, you do not keep your treasury in order.”
“Well, that,” said Lucy, “is because I have got so many things.”
“Then I would not have so many things;--at least I would not keep them
all in my treasury.”
“Well, Miss Anne, if you would only keep some of them for me,--then I
could keep the rest in order.”
“What sort of things should you wish me to keep?”
“Why, my best things,--my tea-set, I am sure, so that I shall not
lose any more of them; I have lost some of them now--one cup and two
saucers; and the handle of the pitcher is broken. Royal broke it. He
said he would pay me, but he never has.”
“How was he going to pay you?”
“Why, he said he would make a new nose for old Margaret. Her nose is
all worn off.”
“A new nose! How could he make a new nose?” asked Miss Anne.
“O, of putty. He said he could make it of putty, and stick it on.”
“Putty!” exclaimed Miss Anne. “What a boy!”
Old Margaret was an old doll that Lucy had. She was not big enough to
take very good care of a doll, and old Margaret had been tumbled about
the floors and carpets until she was pretty well worn out. Still,
however, Lucy always kept her, with her other playthings, in her
_treasury_.
The place which Lucy called her treasury was a part of a closet or
wardrobe, in a back entry, very near Miss Anne’s room. This closet
extended down to the floor, and upwards nearly to the wall. There were
two doors above, and two below. The lower part had been assigned to
Lucy, to keep her playthings and her various treasures in; and it was
called her _treasury_.
Her treasury was not kept in very good order. The upper shelf contained
books, and the two lower, playthings. But all three of the shelves were
in a state of sad disorder. And this was the reason why Miss Anne asked
her about it.
“Yes, Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “that is the very difficulty, I know. I
have got too many things in my treasury; and if you will keep my best
things for me, then I shall have room for the rest. I’ll run and get my
tea things.”
“But stop,” said Miss Anne. “It seems to me that you had better keep
your best things yourself, and put the others away somewhere.”
“But where shall I put them?” asked Lucy.
“Why, you might carry them up garret, and put them in a box. Take out
all the broken playthings, and the old papers, and the things of no
value, and put them in a box, and then we will get Royal to nail a
cover on it.”
“Well,--if I only had a box,” said Lucy.
“And then,” continued Miss Anne, “after a good while, when you have
forgotten all about the box, and have got tired of your playthings in
the treasury, I can say, ‘O Lucy, don’t you remember you have got a box
full of playthings up in the garret?’ And then you can go up there,
and Royal will draw out the nails, and take off the cover, and you can
look them all over, and they will be new again.”
“O aunt Anne, will they be really _new_ again?” said Lucy; “would old
Margaret be new again if I should nail her up in a box?”
Lucy thought that _new_ meant nice, and whole, and clean, like things
when they are first bought at the toy-shop or bookstore.
Miss Anne laughed at this mistake; for she meant that they would be
_new_ to her; that is, that she would have forgotten pretty much how
they looked, and that she would take a new and fresh interest in
looking at them.
Lucy looked a little disappointed when Anne explained that this was her
meaning; but she said that she would carry up some of the things to the
garret, if she only had a box to put them in.
Miss Anne said that she presumed that she could find some box or old
trunk up there; and she gave Lucy a basket to put the things into, that
were to be carried up.
So Lucy took the basket, and carried it into the entry; and she opened
the doors of her treasury, and placed the basket down upon the floor
before it.
Then she kneeled down herself upon the carpet, and began to take a
survey of the scene of confusion before her.
She took out several blocks, which were lying upon the lower shelf,
and also some large sheets of paper with great letters printed upon
them. Her father had given them to her to cut the letters out, and
paste them into little books. Next came a saucer, with patches of red,
blue, green, and yellow, all over it, made with water colors, from Miss
Anne’s paint-box. She put these things into the basket, and then sat
still for some minutes, not knowing what to take next. Not being able
to decide herself, she went back to ask Miss Anne.
“What things do you think I had better carry away, Miss Anne?” said
she. “I can’t tell very well.”
“I don’t know what things you have got there, exactly,” said Miss Anne;
“but I can tell you what _kind_ of things I should take away.”
“Well, what kind?” said Lucy.
“Why, I should take the bulky things.”
“Bulky things!” said Lucy; “what are bulky things?”
“Why, _big_ things--those that take up a great deal of room.”
“Well, what other kinds of things, Miss Anne?”
“The useless things.”
“Useless?” repeated Lucy.
“Yes, those that you do not use much.”
“Well, what others?”
“All the old, broken things.”
“Well, and what else?”
“Why, I think,” replied Miss Anne, “that if you take away all those,
you will then probably have room enough for the rest. At any rate, go
and get a basket full of such as I have told you, and we will see how
much room it makes.”
So Lucy went back, and began to take out some of the broken, and
useless, and large things, and at length filled her basket full. Then
she carried them in to show to Miss Anne. Miss Anne looked them over,
and took out some old papers which were of no value whatever, and then
told Lucy, that, if she would carry them up stairs, and put them down
upon the garret floor, she would herself come up by and by, and find a
box to put them in. Lucy did so, and then came down, intending to get
another basket full.
As she was descending the stairs, coming down carefully from step to
step, with one hand upon the banisters, and the other holding her
basket, singing a little song,--her mother, who was at work in the
parlor, heard her, and came out into the entry.
“Ah, my little Miss Lucy,” said she, “I’ve found you, have I? Just come
into the parlor a minute; I want to show you something.”
Lucy’s mother smiled when she said this; and Lucy could not imagine
what it was that she wanted to show her.
As soon, however, as she got into the room, her mother stopped by the
door, and pointed to the little chairs and crickets which Lucy had left
out upon the floor of the room, when she had dismissed her school. The
rule was, that she must always put away all the chairs and furniture
of every kind which she used in her play; and, when she forgot or
neglected this, her punishment was, to be imprisoned for ten minutes
upon a little cricket in the corner, with nothing to amuse herself with
but a book. And a book was not much amusement for her; for she could
not read; she only knew a few of her letters.
As soon, therefore, as she saw her mother pointing at the crickets and
chairs, she began at once to excuse herself by saying,
“Well, mother, that is because I was doing something for Miss
Anne.--No, it is because Royal made me go away from my school, before
it was done.”
“Royal made you go away! how?” asked her mother.
“Why, he laughed at me, and so I ran after him; and then Miss Anne took
me into her room and I forgot all about my chairs and crickets.”
“Well, I am sorry for you; but you must put them away, and then go to
prison.”
So Lucy put away her crickets and chairs, and then went and took her
seat in the corner where she could see the clock, and began to look
over her book to find such letters as she knew, until the minute-hand
had passed over two of the five-minute spaces upon the face of the
clock. Then she got up and went out; and, hearing Royal’s voice in the
yard, she went out to see what he was doing, and forgot all about the
work she had undertaken at her treasury. Miss Anne sat in her room two
hours, wondering what had become of Lucy; and finally, when she came
out of her room to see about getting tea, she shut the treasury doors,
and, seeing the basket upon the stairs, where Lucy had left it, she
took it and put it away in its place.
CONVERSATION II.
DEFINITIONS.
A few days after this, Lucy came into Miss Anne’s room, bringing a
little gray kitten in her arms. She asked Miss Anne if she would not
make her a rolling mouse, for her kitten to play with.
Miss Anne had a way of unwinding a ball of yarn a little, and then
fastening it with a pin, so that it would not unwind any farther. Then
Lucy could take hold of the end of the yarn, and roll the ball about
upon the floor, and let the kitten run after it. She called it her
rolling mouse.
Miss Anne made her a mouse, and Lucy played with it for some time. At
last the kitten scampered away, and Lucy could not find her. Then Anne
proposed to Lucy that she should finish the work of re-arranging her
treasury.
“Let me see,” said Miss Anne, “if you remember what I told you the
other day. What were the kinds of things that I advised you to carry
away?”
“Why, there were the _sulky_ things.”
“The what!” said Miss Anne.
“No, the big things,--the big things,” said Lucy.
“The bulky things,” said Miss Anne, “not the _sulky_ things!”
“Well, it sounded like _sulky_,” said Lucy; “but I thought it was not
exactly that.”
“No, not exactly,--but it was not a very great mistake. I said
_useless_ things, and _bulky_ things, and you got the sounds
confounded.”
“Con-- what?” said Lucy.
“Confounded,--that is, mixed together. You got the _s_ sound of
_useless_, instead of the _b_ sound of _bulky_; but _bulky_ and _sulky_
mean very different things.”
“What does _sulky_ mean? I know that _bulky_ means _big_.”
“Sulkiness is a kind of ill-humor.”
“What kind?”
“Why, it is the _silent_ kind. If a little girl, who is out of humor,
complains and cries, we say she is fretful or cross; but if she goes
away pouting and still, but yet plainly out of humor, they sometimes
say she is _sulky_. A good many of your playthings are bulky; but I
don’t think any of them are sulky, unless it be old Margaret. Does she
ever get out of humor?”
“Sometimes,” said Lucy, “and then I shut her up in a corner. Would you
carry old Margaret up garret?”
“Why, she takes up a good deal of room, does not she?” said Miss Anne.
“Yes,” said Lucy, “ever so much room. I cannot make her sit up, and she
lies down all over my cups and saucers.”
“Then I certainly would carry her up garret.”
“And would you carry up her bonnet and shawl too?”
“Yes, all that belongs to her.”
“Then,” said Lucy, “whenever I want to play with her, I shall have to
go away up garret, to get all her things.”
“Very well; you can do just as you think best.”
“Well, would you?” asked Lucy.
“I should, myself, if I were in your case; and only keep such things in
my treasury as are neat, and whole, and in good order.”
“But I play with old Margaret a great deal,--almost every day,” said
Lucy.
“Perhaps, then, you had better not carry her away. Do just which you
think you shall like best.”
Lucy began to walk towards the door. She moved quite slowly, because
she was uncertain whether to carry her old doll up stairs or not.
Presently she turned around again, and said,
“Well, Miss Anne, which would you do?”
“I have told you that _I_ should carry her up stairs; but I’ll tell you
what you can do. You can play that she has gone away on a visit; and so
let her stay up garret a few days, and then, if you find you cannot do
without her, you can make believe that you must send for her to come
home.”
“So I can,” said Lucy; “that will be a good plan.”
Lucy went immediately to the treasury, and took old Margaret out, and
everything that belonged to her. This almost made a basket full, and
she carried it off up stairs. Then she came back, and got another
basket full, and another, until at last she had removed nearly half of
the things; and then she thought that there would be plenty of room to
keep the rest in order. And every basket full which she had carried
up, she had always brought first to Miss Anne, to let her look over
the things, and see whether they had better all go. Sometimes Lucy had
got something in her basket which Miss Anne thought had better remain,
and be kept in the treasury; and some of the things Miss Anne said
were good for nothing at all, and had better be burnt, or thrown away,
such as old papers, and some shapeless blocks, and broken bits of china
ware. At last the work was all done, the basket put away, and Lucy came
and sat down by Miss Anne.
“Well, Lucy,” said Miss Anne, “you have been quite industrious and
persevering.”
Lucy did not know exactly what Miss Anne meant by these words; but she
knew by her countenance and her tone of voice, that it was something in
her praise.
“But perhaps you do not know what I mean, exactly,” she added.
“No, not exactly,” said Lucy.
“Why, a girl is industrious when she keeps steadily at work all the
time, until her work is done. If you had stopped when you had got your
basket half full, and had gone to playing with the things, you would
not have been industrious.”
“I did, a little,--with my guinea peas,” said Lucy.
“It is best,” said Miss Anne, “when you have anything like that to do,
to keep industriously at work until it is finished.”
“But I only wanted to look at my guinea peas a little.”
“O, I don’t think that was very wrong,” said Miss Anne. “Only it would
have been a little better if you had put them back upon the shelf, and
said, ‘Now, as soon as I have finished my work, then I’ll take out my
guinea peas and look at them.’ You would have enjoyed looking at them
more when your work was done.”
“You said that I was something else besides industrious.”
“Yes, persevering,” said Miss Anne.
“What is that?”
“Why, that is keeping on steadily at your work, and not giving it up
until it is entirely finished.”
“Why, Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “I thought that was _industrious_.”
Here Miss Anne began to laugh, and Lucy said,
“Now, what are you laughing at, Miss Anne?” She thought that she was
laughing at her.
“O, I am not laughing at you, but at my own definitions.”
“Definitions! What are definitions, Miss Anne?” said Lucy.
“Why, explanations of the meanings of words. You asked me what was the
meaning of _industrious_ and _persevering_; and I tried to explain them
to you; that is, to tell you the definition of them; but I gave pretty
much the same definition for both; when, in fact, they mean quite
different things.”
“Then why did not you give me different definitions, Miss Anne?” said
Lucy.
“It is very hard to give good definitions,” said she.
“I should not think it would be hard. I should think, if you knew what
the words meant, you could just tell me.”
“I can tell you in another way,” said Miss. Anne. “Suppose a boy should
be sent into the pasture to find the cow, and should look about a
little while, and then come home and say that he could not find her,
when he had only looked over a very small part of the pasture. He would
not be _persevering_. Perhaps there was a brook, and some woods that he
ought to go through and look beyond; but he gave up, we will suppose,
and thought he would not go over the brook, but would rather come home
and say that he could not find the cow. Now, a boy, in such a case,
would not be _persevering_.”
“_I_ should have liked to go over the brook,” said Lucy.
“Yes,” said Miss Anne, “no doubt; but we may suppose that he had been
over it so often, that he did not care about going again,--and so he
turned back and came home, without having finished his work.”
“His work?” said Lucy.
“Yes,--his duty, of looking for the cow until he found her. He was
sent to find the cow, but he did not do it. He became discouraged, and
gave up too easily. He did not _persevere_. Perhaps he kept looking
about all the time, while he was in the pasture; and went into all
the little groves and valleys where the cow might be hid: and so he
was _industrious_ while he was looking for the cow, but he did not
_persevere_.
“And so you see, Lucy,” continued Miss Anne, “a person might persevere
without being industrious. For once there was a girl named Julia. She
had a flower-garden. She went out one morning to weed it. She pulled
up some of the weeds, and then she went off to see a butterfly; and
after a time she came back, and worked a little longer. Then some
children came to see her; and she sat down upon a seat, and talked with
them some time, and left her work. In this way, she kept continually
stopping to play. She was not industrious.”
“And did she _persevere_?” asked Lucy.
“Yes,” said Miss Anne. “She persevered. For when the other children
wanted her to go away with them and play, she would not. She said she
did not mean to go out of the garden until she had finished weeding
her flowers. So after the children had gone away, she went back to
her work, and after a time she got it done. She was _persevering_;
that is, she would not give up what she had undertaken until it was
finished;--but she was not _industrious_; that is, she did not work all
the time steadily, while she was engaged in doing it. It would have
been better for her to have been industrious and persevering too, for
then she would have finished her work sooner.”
As Miss Anne said these words, she heard a voice out in the yard
calling to her,
“Miss Anne!”
Miss Anne looked out at the window to see who it was. It was Royal.
“Is Lucy in there with you?” asked Royal.
Miss Anne said that she was; and at the same time, Lucy, who heard
Royal’s voice, ran to another window, and climbed up into a chair, so
that she could look out.
“Lucy,” said Royal, “come out here.”
“O no,” said Lucy, “I can’t come now. Miss Anne is telling me stories.”
Royal was seated on a large, flat stone, which had been placed in a
corner of the yard, under some trees, for a seat; he was cutting a
stick with his knife. His cap was lying upon the stone, by his side.
When Lucy said that she could not come out, he put his hand down upon
his cap, and said,
“Come out and see what I’ve got under my cap.”
“What is it?” said Lucy.
“I can’t tell you; it is a secret. If you will come out, I will let you
see it.”
“Do tell me what it is.”
“No,” said Royal.
“Tell me something about it,” said Lucy, “at any rate.”
“Well,” said Royal, “I will tell you one thing. It is not a bird.”
Lucy concluded that it must be some curious animal or other, if it was
not a bird; and so she told Miss Anne that she believed she would go
out and see, and then she would come in again directly, and hear the
rest that she had to say. So she went out to see what Royal had got
under his cap.
[Illustration: “So she went out to see what Royal had got under his
cap.” | 226.903711 |
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Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive.)
THE VICE BONDAGE OF A GREAT CITY
OR
The Wickedest City in the World
--By--
ROBERT O. HARLAND.
The Reign of Vice, Graft and Political Corruption.
Expose of the monstrous Vice Trust. Its personnel.
Graft by the Vice Trust from the Army of Sin for
protection. A score of forms of vice graft.
Horrifying revelations of the life of the Scarlet
Woman. New lights on White Slavery. Protected
Gambling and the blind police. The inside story of
an enslaved police department. A warning to the
parents. How to save YOUR GIRL or BOY.
ALSO remedies to cure the Municipal Evil that in one
city alone fills the pockets of not more than ten
Vice Lords with $15,000,000, annually, made from the
sins of 50,000 unfortunate men and women; an evil
that is blasting our nation's decency and prosperity
and is eating into the very vitals of our Republic.
Save the | 227.00493 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Jonathan Ingram and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Library of Early Journals.)
[Transcriber's note: Characters with macrons have been marked in
brackets with an equal sign, as [=e] for a letter e with a macron on
top. Underscores have been used to indicate _italic_ fonts; equal signs
indicate =bold= fonts. Original spelling variations have not been
standardized. A list of volumes and pages in "Notes and Queries" has
been added at the end.]
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION
FOR
LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES, GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
VOL. IV.--NO. 112--SATURDAY, DECEMBER 20. 1851.
Price Threepence. Stamped Edition 4_d._
CONTENTS.
Page
NOTES:--
Wady Mokatteb identified with Kibroth Hattavah, by
the Rev. Moses Margoliouth 481
On a Passage in Goldsmith, by Henry H. Breen 482
Minor Notes:--Biographical Dictionary--The Word
Premises--Play of George Barnwell--Traditions from
Remote Periods through few Links 483
QUERIES:--
Deodands and their Application, by Jonathan Peel 484
Minor Queries:--Hell paved with the Skulls of
Priests--Charib--Thumb Bible--Tripos--Louis Philippe
and his Bag of Nails--Brass Statues at Windsor--Edmund
Bohun--Bishop Trelawney 484
MINOR QUERIES ANSWERED:--Companion Ladder--Macaulay's
Ballad of the Battle of Naseby 485
REPLIES:--
The Crucifix as used by the Early Christians, by
J. Emerson Tennent 485
The Word "[Greek: Adelphos]." by T. R. Brown 486
The Roman Index Expurgatorius of 1607 487
Replies to Minor Queries:--Hobbes's "Leviathan"--Age
of Trees--Treatise against Equivocation--Lycian
Inscriptions--Alterius Orbis Papa--Carmagnoles--General
James Wolfe--Johannes Trithemius--Sir William
Herschel--Dr. Wm. Wall--Parish Registers--Compositions
during the Protectorate--General Moyle--Descendants
of John of Gaunt--Church of St. Bene't Fink--Coins
of Vabalathus--Engraved Portrait--"Cleanliness is next
to godliness"--Cozens the Painter--Whig and Tory--Prince
Rupert's Drops--Deep Well near Bansted Downs--Mrs. Mary
Anne Clarke--Upton Court 487
MISCELLANEOUS:--
Notes on Books, Sales, Catalogues, &c. 493
Books and Odd Volumes wanted 494
Notices to Correspondents 494
Advertisements 494
Notes.
WADY MOKATTEB IDENTIFIED WITH KIBROTH HATTAVAH.
The difficulty of deciding the antiquity of the famous inscriptions in
the deserts of Arabia, would be considerably diminished if we could
ascertain the earliest mention of the valley now known as Wady Mokatteb.
What I am about to submit to the readers of the "NOTES AND QUERIES," is
not a presumptuous or rash suggestion, but an idea diffidently
entertained, | 227.006051 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE FLAGS OF OUR FIGHTING ARMY
[Illustration:
=1.= Second Troop of Horse Guards, 1687.
]
[Illustration:
=2.= 5th Dragoon Guards, 1687.
]
[Illustration]
[Illustration:
=3.= and =4.= 2nd Dragoon Guards, 1742.
]
[Illustration:
=5.= General Grove’s Regiment (10th Foot), 1726.
]
[Illustration:
=6.= 27th Inniskilling Regiment, 1747.
]
[Illustration:
=7.= 103rd Regiment, 1780.
]
[Illustration:
=8.= 14th Regiment (Second Battalion), 1812.
]
PLATE 1. EARLY REGIMENTAL COLOURS AND STANDARDS
THE FLAGS
OF OUR FIGHTING ARMY
INCLUDING STANDARDS, GUIDONS, COLOURS AND DRUM BANNERS
BY STANLEY C. JOHNSON,
M.A., D.Sc., F.R.E.S.
Author of “The Medals of Our Fighting Men,” “Peeps at Postage Stamps,”
etc.
WITH EIGHT FULL-PAGE
PLATES IN COLOUR
A. & C. BLACK, LTD.
4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W. 1
TO MY BROTHER
IN THE
ROYAL GARRISON ARTILLERY.
A UNIT OF THE ARMY IN
WHICH THE GUNS SERVE THE
PURPOSE OF REGIMENTAL
STANDARDS.
Published, 1918.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE
Very little has been written in the past dealing with the subject of the
standards, guidons, colours, etc., of the British Army. Scattered
amongst Regimental histories, biographies of illustrious soldiers, and
military periodicals, a fair amount of information may be discovered,
but it is, of necessity, disjointed and difficult of viewing in proper
perspective. Many years ago, a capital book was written by the late Mr.
S. M. Milne, entitled “Standards and Colours of the British Army.”
Unfortunately, this work was published privately and, accordingly, did
not receive the full measure of appreciation which it merited.
Students of Army Flags should consult this book whenever possible; also
“Ranks and Badges of the Army and Navy,” by Mr. O. L. Perry; and the
articles which appeared in _The Regiment_ during the latter weeks of
1916. Messrs. Gale & Polden’s folders dealing with Army Flags are also
instructive.
The author wishes to acknowledge his indebtedness to Mr. Milne, Mr. O.
L. Perry, and the Editor of _The Regiment_. He is also very grateful for
the assistance extended to him by Lieutenant J. Harold Watkins and
Lieutenant C. H. Hastings, Officers in charge of the Canadian War
Records.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.— INTRODUCTION 1
II.— A HISTORY OF MILITARY COLOURS 6
III.— STANDARDS, GUIDONS AND DRUM BANNERS OF THE HOUSEHOLD 36
CAVALRY, DRAGOON GUARDS AND CAVALRY OF THE LINE
IV.— YEOMANRY GUIDONS AND DRUM BANNERS 47
V.— THE COLOURS OF THE FOOT GUARDS 54
VI.— THE COLOURS OF THE INFANTRY 64
VII.— COLOURS OF OUR OVERSEAS DOMINIONS 115
VIII.— MISCELLANEOUS COLOURS 121
IX.— BATTLE HONOURS 124
Appendix.— REGIMENTAL COLOURS OF CANADIAN INFANTRY BATTALIONS 139
INDEX 147
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
IN COLOUR
1.—EARLY REGIMENTAL COLOURS AND STANDARDS _Frontispiece._
FACING PAGE
2.—CAVALRY STANDARDS, GUIDONS AND DRUM BANNERS 36
3.—COLOURS OF THE FOOT GUARDS 54
4.—SAVING THE COLOURS OF THE BUFFS AT ALBUHERA 68
5.—COLOURS OF THE INFANTRY OF THE LINE (REGULAR 80
BATTALIONS)
6.—REGIMENTAL COLOURS OF THE TERRITORIAL FORCE 98
7.—COLOUR PARTY OF THE 15TH SIKHS 116
8.—MISCELLANEOUS GUIDONS AND COLOURS 122
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE FLAGS OF OUR
FIGHTING ARMY.
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
Ever since the time when the Romans went into battle, inspired by the
vexillum or labarum, military flags or colours have commanded a respect
bordering almost on the sacred. Our own history is crowded with
incidents which go to prove this contention. Who is there, for instance,
who has not heard of the gallant deeds of Melvill and Coghill, two
heroes who lost their lives in an endeavour to preserve the Queen’s
colour after the disastrous Zulu encounter at Isandlwana? Or let us take
the case of Lieutenant Anstruther, a youngster of eighteen, in the Welsh
Fusiliers. In defending the colour he carried up the treacherous heights
of the Alma, a shot laid him low, and eager hands snatched up the emblem
without a moment’s hesitation lest it should fall into the possession of
the enemy. No one thought of the danger which might overtake them whilst
guarding the cherished but conspicuous banner; all were resolved to
perish rather than it should be wrested from their grasp. And, let it be
said, five men won the Victoria Cross that day at the Alma for their
gallant defence of the colours. At the battle of Albuhera, in 1811, a
colour of the 3rd Buffs was carried by Ensign Thomas. The French
attacked in great force, and, surrounding Thomas, called upon him to
give up the silken banner. Thomas’s answer was discourteous, but to the
point; a moment later he lay dead, and the French bore away the flag
with triumph. To the credit of the Buffs, we must add that the emblem
was back in their possession before nightfall. These are just a few
cases in which men have been ready, and even eager, to make the great
sacrifice rather than lose their colours. They could be readily
multiplied a hundredfold.
Fortunately, we have now reached an age when valuable lives can be no
longer spent in defending military flags against the onslaughts of enemy
rivals, for, to-day, there is a rule in our army regulations which
forbids the taking of colours into the field of action. Before setting
out to meet the foe, they are placed in safe keeping, and the rites
which attend this ceremony partake of the utmost solemnity.
If military flags, which comprise the standards, guidons and drum
banners of the cavalry, and also the colours of the infantry, have been
reverenced in war, they are equally respected in peace time. They may
never be sent from place to place without a properly constituted escort,
which “will pay them the customary honours,” and an army regulation says
that “standards, guidons, and colours when uncased are, at all times, to
be saluted with the highest honours, viz., arms presented, trumpets or
bugles sounding the salute, drums beating a ruffle.” When new colours
are taken into service their reception is impressively conducted, and
the old ones are trooped before being cased and taken to the rear.
* * * * *
The following miscellaneous instructions are given in the King’s
Regulations with respect to military flags in general:—
“Standards and guidons of cavalry will be carried by squadron
serjeant-majors. Colours of infantry will be carried by two senior
second-lieutenants, but on the line of march all subaltern officers
will carry them in turn.
“Standards, guidons and colours are not to be altered without the
King’s special permission signified through the Army Council.
“The consecration of colours will be performed by chaplains to the
forces, acting chaplains, or officiating clergymen in accordance
with an authorised Form of Prayer.
“The standard of cavalry, or the King’s colour of battalions of
infantry, is not to be carried by any guard or trooped, except in
the case of a guard mounted over the King, the Queen, and Queen
Mother, or any member of the Royal Family, or over a Viceroy, and is
only to be used at guard mounting, or other ceremonials, when a
member of the Royal Family or a Viceroy is present, and on occasions
when the National Anthem is appointed to be played; at all other
times it is to remain with the regiment. The King’s colour will be
lowered to the King, the Queen, the Queen Mother, and members of the
Royal Family, the Crown, and Viceroys only.”
Special regulations apply to the Brigade of Guards, as follows:—
“The colours of the brigade will be lowered to His Majesty the King,
Her Majesty the Queen, the Queen Mother, members of the Royal
Family, the Crown, Foreign Crowned Heads, Presidents of Republican
States, and members of Foreign Royal Families.
“The King’s colour is never to be carried by any guard except that
which mounts upon the person of His Majesty the King, or Her Majesty
the Queen, or the Queen Mother.
“The regimental colours will only be lowered to a field marshal, who
is not a member of the Royal Family, when he is colonel of the
regiment to which the colour belongs.
“A battalion with uncased colours meeting the King’s Life Guards or
King’s Guard, will pass on with sloped arms, paying the compliment
‘eyes right’ or ‘eyes left’ as required.
“A battalion with cased colours or without colours, or a detachment,
guard, or relief, meeting the King’s Life Guard or the King’s Guard
with uncased standard or colour, will be ordered to halt, turn in
the required direction, and present arms; but will pass on with
sloped arms, paying the compliment of ‘eyes right’ or ‘eyes left’ as
required, if the standard or colour of the King’s Life Guard or
King’s Guard is cased.”
Two regulations which affect the whole of the Army may well be given in
conclusion:—
“Officers or soldiers passing troops with uncased colours will
salute the colours and the C.O. (if senior).
“Officers, soldiers, and colours, passing a military funeral, will
salute the body.”
CHAPTER II
A HISTORY OF MILITARY COLOURS
In the period 1633-1680, the first five infantry regiments, as we know
them to-day, were established, and this may be taken as a convenient
point from which to begin a study of the standards and colours of our
Army. Before this time the military forces of England and Scotland went
into battle with a full array of waving emblems, decorated with rampant
lions, powdered leopards, spread eagles, and other gaudily-painted
devices, but these were usually the symbols of the knights and patrons
who raised the forces. Such flags possessed much heraldic or
archæological interest, but few claims on the student of military lore,
and may be thus set aside with the reminder that, if knowledge of them
is required, it may be gained from such sources as the roll of
Karlaverok.
The first real military flags of which we have definite records were
those used in the Civil Wars. The cavalry possessed standards revealing
all manner of decorative symbols with mottoes telling of their leader’s
faith in God, their hatred for the enemy, and the trust which they
placed in Providence. The infantry forces bore colours devised with more
regularity of purpose. Each colonel flew a plain white, red or other
coloured flag; lieutenant-colonels were known by a flag bearing a small
St. George’s Cross in the upper left-hand canton; whilst other officers
possessed flags similar to those of the lieutenant-colonels but bearing
one, two, three, or more additional devices, according to rank, such
devices being lozenges, pile-wavys (i.e., tongues of flame), talbots,
etc., usually placed close up to the head of the staff.
At this period Scottish forces favoured flags bearing a large St.
Andrew’s Cross, in the upper triangle of which a Roman numeral was
placed to denote the owner’s rank.
In 1661, under the date of February 13th, what was probably the first
royal warrant to control regimental colours, was issued by the Earl of
Sandwich, Master of the Great Wardrobe. It ran:
“Our Will and pleasure is, and we do hereby require you forthwith to
cause to be made and provided, twelve colours or ensigns for our
=Regiment of Foot Guards=, of white and red taffeta, of the usual
largeness, with stands, heads, and tassels, each of which to have
such distinctions of some of our Royal Badges, painted in oil, as
our trusty and well-beloved servant, Sir Edward Walker, Knight,
Garter Principal King-at-Arms, shall direct.”
This warrant is of much interest; it tells us that the early standards
were painted and not embroidered; that they were made of white or red
material—white was a sign of superiority, whilst red pointed to
extravagance, as it was more costly than blue, yellow, etc.; and it told
us that the Guards were to display the Royal badges, which they do to
this day. (All these badges are dealt with in a separate chapter.)
In later years, the small St. George’s Cross which, as we said above,
figured in the upper corner of the flag, gained more prominence and
filled the whole of the fabric. This may be considered the second period
in the history of regimental colours. The reader will readily see that
this change in English flags was brought about by contact with the
Scottish regiments which had flown for many years previously their
colours bearing large crosses of St. Andrew.
An interesting flag of this period is that of the =Coldstream Regiment=
(date about 1680). A drawing of it may be seen in the Royal Library at
Windsor Castle. The groundwork of blue taffeta is quite plain for the
colonel. The lieutenant-colonel’s banner is blue, with a large St.
George’s Cross, edged with white; whilst the major flew a similar
banner, to which was added a white pile-wavy issuing from the top
left-hand corner. The captains’ banners are like that of the major, but
bear a distinguishing Roman numeral to show seniority of rank.
* * * * *
In piecing together the history of the early Army flags, a certain
Nathan Brooks has given us much valuable assistance. He went to Putney
Heath on October 1st, 1684, to see the King review the troops, and was
wise enough to write down a description of the colours which figured in
the function. Probably no better account of the flags of this period is
still available. Here it is:—[1]
“=The King’s Own Troop of Horse Guards and Troop of Grenadiers.=—The
standard, crimson with the royal cypher and crown; the guidon,
differenced only from the standard by being rounded and slit at the
ends.
“=The Queen’s Troop of His Majesty’s Horse Guards and Troop of
Grenadiers.=—The standard and guidon as the King’s.
“=The Duke’s Troop of His Majesty’s Horse Guards and Troop of
Grenadiers.=—The standard and guidon of yellow damask, with His
Royal Highness’s cypher and coronet.
“=The Regiment of the Horse Guards= (now the Royal Horse Guards, the
Blues), eight troops.—The standard of the King’s troop, crimson,
with the imperial crown, embroidered; the colonel’s colour flies the
royal cypher on crimson; the major’s, gold streams on crimson; the
first troop, the rose crowned; the second, a thistle crowned; the
third, the flower de luce, crowned; the fourth, the harp and crown;
the fifth, the royal oak; all embroidered upon the crimson colours.
“=The King’s Own Royal Regiment of Dragoons=, commanded by John,
Lord Churchill.—The colours to each troop thus distinguished: the
colonel’s, the royal cypher and crown embroidered upon crimson; the
lieutenant-colonel’s, the rays of the sun, proper, crowned, issuing
out of a cloud, proper, and is a badge of the Black Prince’s. The
first troop has, for colours, the top of a beacon, crowned or, with
flames of fire proper, and is a badge of Henry V. The second troop,
two ostrich’s feathers crowned argent, a badge of Henry VI. The
third, a rose and pomegranate impaled, leaves and stalk vert, a
badge of Henry VIII. Fourth troop, a phœnix in flames, proper, a
badge of Queen Elizabeth; each embroidered upon crimson.
“=First Regiment of Foot Guards= (of twenty-four companies).—The
King’s company, standard all crimson, cypher and crown embroidered
in gold; the colonel’s white with the red cross (St. George’s), the
crown or: the lieutenant-colonel’s, | 227.007204 |
2023-11-16 18:20:51.0679460 | 4,684 | 6 |
Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.
CREATURES THAT ONCE WERE MEN
By
MAXIM GORKY
INTRODUCTORY.
By G. K. CHESTERTON.
It is certainly a curious fact that so many of the voices of what is
called our modern religion have come from countries which are not only
simple, but may even be called barbaric. A nation like Norway has a
great realistic drama without having ever had either a great classical
drama or a great romantic drama. A nation like Russia makes us feel
its modern fiction when we have never felt its ancient fiction. It has
produced its Gissing without producing its Scott. Everything that is
most sad and scientific, everything that is most grim and analytical,
everything that can truly be called most modern, everything that can
without unreasonableness be called most morbid, comes from these fresh
and untried and unexhausted nationalities. Out of these infant peoples
come the oldest voices of the earth. This contradiction, like many
other contradictions, is one which ought first of all to be registered
as a mere fact; long before we attempt to explain why things contradict
themselves, we ought, if we are honest men and good critics, to
register the preliminary truth that things do contradict themselves.
In this case, as I say, there are many possible and suggestive
explanations. It may be, to take an example, that our modern Europe is
so exhausted that even the vigorous expression of that exhaustion is
difficult for every one except the most robust. It may be that all the
nations are tired; and it may be that only the boldest and breeziest
are not too tired to say that they are tired. It may be that a man
like Ibsen in Norway or a man like Gorky in Russia are the only people
left who have so much faith that they can really believe in scepticism.
It may be that they are the only people left who have so much animal
spirits that they can really feast high and drink deep at the ancient
banquet of pessimism. This is one of the possible hypotheses or
explanations in the matter: that all Europe feels these things and that
they only have strength to believe them also. Many other explanations
might, however, also be offered. It might be suggested that
half-barbaric countries like Russia or Norway, which have always lain,
to say the least of it, on the extreme edge of the circle of our
European civilisation, have a certain primal melancholy which belongs
to them through all the ages. It is highly probable that this sadness,
which to us is modern, is to them eternal. It is highly probable that
what we have solemnly and suddenly discovered in scientific text-books
and philosophical magazines they absorbed and experienced thousands of
years ago, when they offered human sacrifice in black and cruel forests
and cried to their gods in the dark. Their agnosticism is perhaps
merely paganism; their paganism, as in old times, is merely
devilworship. Certainly, Schopenhauer could hardly have written his
hideous essay on women except in a country which had once been full of
slavery and the service of fiends. It may be that these moderns are
tricking us altogether, and are hiding in their current scientific
jargon things that they knew before science or civilisation were. They
say that they are determinists; but the truth is, probably, that they
are still worshipping the Norns. They say that they describe scenes
which are sickening and dehumanising in the name of art or in the name
of truth; but it may be that they do it in the name of some deity
indescribable, whom they propitiated with blood and terror before the
beginning of history.
This hypothesis, like the hypothesis mentioned before it, is highly
disputable, and is at best a suggestion. But there is one broad truth
in the matter which may in any case be considered as established. A
country like Russia has far more inherent capacity for producing
revolution in revolutionists than any country of the type of England or
America. Communities highly civilised and largely urban tend to a
thing which is now called evolution, the most cautious and the most
conservative of all social influences. The loyal Russian obeys the
Czar because he remembers the Czar and the Czar's importance. The
disloyal Russian frets against the Czar because he also remembers the
Czar, and makes a note of the necessity of knifing him. But the loyal
Englishman obeys the upper classes because he has forgotten that they
are there. Their operation has become to him like daylight, or
gravitation, or any of the forces of nature. And there are no disloyal
Englishmen; there are no English revolutionists, because the oligarchic
management of England is so complete as to be invisible. The thing
which can once get itself forgotten can make itself omnipotent.
Gorky is pre-eminently Russian, in that he is a revolutionist; not
because most Russians are revolutionists (for I imagine that they are
not), but because most Russians--indeed, nearly all Russians--are in
that attitude of mind which makes revolution possible and which makes
religion possible, an attitude of primary and dogmatic assertion. To
be a revolutionist it is first necessary to be a revelationist. It is
necessary to believe in the sufficiency of some theory of the universe
or the State. But in countries that have come under the influence of
what is called the evolutionary idea, there has been no dramatic
righting of wrongs, and (unless the evolutionary idea loses its hold)
there never will be. These countries have no revolution, they have to
put up with an inferior and largely fictitious thing which they call
progress.
The interest of the Gorky tale, like the interest of so many other
Russian masterpieces, consists in this sharp contact between a
simplicity, which we in the West feel to be very old, and a
rebelliousness which we in the West feel to be very new. We cannot in
our graduated and polite civilisation quite make head or tail of the
Russian anarch; we can only feel in a vague way that his tale is the
tale of the Missing Link, and that his head is the head of the
superman. We hear his lonely cry of anger. But we cannot be quite
certain whether his protest is the protest of the first anarchist
against government, or whether it is the protest of the last savage
against civilisation. The cruelty of ages and of political cynicism or
necessity has done much to burden the race of which Gorky writes; but
time has left them one thing which it has not left to the people in
Poplar or West Ham. It has left them, apparently, the clear and
childlike power of seeing the cruelty which encompasses them. Gorky is
a tramp, a man of the people, and also a critic and a bitter one. In
the West poor men, when they become articulate in literature, are
always sentimentalists and nearly always optimists.
It is no exaggeration to say that these people of whom Gorky writes in
such a story as this of "Creatures that once were Men" are to the
Western mind children. They have, indeed, been tortured and broken by
experience and sin. But this has only sufficed to make them sad
children or naughty children or bewildered children. They have
absolutely no trace of that quality upon which secure government rests
so largely in Western Europe, the quality of being soothed by long
words as if by an incantation. They do not call hunger "economic
pressure"; they call it hunger. They do not call rich men "examples of
capitalistic concentration," they call them rich men. And this note of
plainness and of something nobly prosaic is as characteristic of Gorky,
the most recent and in some ways the most modern and sophisticated of
Russian authors, as it is of Tolstoy or any of the Tolstoyan type of
mind. The very title of this story strikes the note of this sudden and
simple vision. The philanthropist writing long letters to the Daily
Telegraph says, of men living in a slum, that "their degeneration is of
such a kind as almost to pass the limits of the semblance of humanity,"
and we read the whole thing with a tepid assent as we should read
phrases about the virtues of Queen Victoria or the dignity of the House
of Commons. The Russian novelist, when he describes a dosshouse, says,
"Creatures that once were Men." And we are arrested, and regard the
facts as a kind of terrible fairy tale. This story is a test case of
the Russian manner, for it is in itself a study of decay, a study of
failure, and a study of old age. And yet the author is forced to write
even of staleness freshly; and though he is treating of the world as
seen by eyes darkened or blood-shot with evil experience, his own eyes
look out upon the scene with a clarity that is almost babyish. Through
all runs that curious Russian sense that every man is only a man,
which, if the Russians ever are a democracy, will make them the most
democratic democracy that the world has ever seen. Take this passage,
for instance, from the austere conclusion of "Creatures that once were
Men."
Petunikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror and went back into the
dosshouse, but suddenly he stopped and trembled. At the door facing
him stood an old man with a stick in his hand and a large bag on his
back, a horrible odd man in rags and tatters, which covered his bony
figure. He bent under the weight of his burden, and lowered his head
on his breast, as if he wished to attack the merchant.
"What are you? Who are you?" shouted Petunikoff.
"A man..." he answered, in a hoarse voice. This hoarseness pleased
and tranquillised Petunikoff, he even smiled.
"A man! And are there really men like you?" Stepping aside he let the
old man pass. He went, saying slowly:
"Men are of various kinds... as God wills... There are worse than me
... still worse... Yes..."
Here, in the very act of describing a kind of a fall from humanity,
Gorky expresses a sense of the strangeness and essential value of the
human being which is far too commonly absent altogether from such
complex civilisations as our own. To no Western, I am afraid, would it
occur when asked what he was to say, "A man." He would be a plasterer
who had walked from Reading, or an iron-puddler who had been thrown out
of work in Lancashire, or a University man who would be really most
grateful for the loan of five shillings, or the son of a
lieutenant-general living in Brighton, who would not have made such an
application if he had not known that he was talking to another
gentleman. With us it is not a question of men being of various kinds;
with us the kinds are almost different animals. But in spite of all
Gorky's superficial scepticism and brutality, it is to him the fall
from humanity, or the apparent fall from humanity, which is not merely
great and lamentable, but essential and even mystical. The line
between man and the beasts is one of the transcendental essentials of
every religion; and it is, like most of the transcendental things of
religion, identical with the main sentiments of the man of common
sense. We feel this gulf when theologies say that it cannot be
crossed. But we feel it quite as much (and that with a primal shudder)
when philosophers or fanciful writers suggest that it might be crossed.
And if any man wishes to discover whether or no he has really learnt to
regard the line between man and brute as merely relative and
evolutionary, let him say again to himself those frightful words,
"Creatures that once were Men."
G. K. CHESTERTON.
Creatures that once were Men.
PART I.
In front of you is the main street, with two rows of miserable looking
huts with shuttered windows and old walls pressing on each other and
leaning forward. The roofs of these time-worn habitations are full of
holes, and have been patched here and there with laths; from underneath
them project mildewed beams, which are shaded by the dusty-leaved
elder-trees and crooked white willows--pitiable flora of those suburbs
inhabited by the poor.
The dull green time-stained panes of the windows look upon each other
with the cowardly glances of cheats. Through the street and towards the
adjacent mountain, runs the sinuous path, winding through the deep
ditches filled with rain-water. Here and there are piled heaps of dust
and other rubbish--either refuse or else put there purposely to keep
the rain-water from flooding the houses. On the top of the mountain,
among green gardens with dense foliage, beautiful stone houses lie
hidden; the belfries of the churches rise proudly towards the sky, and
their gilded crosses shine beneath the rays of the sun. During the
rainy weather the neighbouring town pours its water into this main
road, which, at other times, is full of its dust, and all these
miserable houses seem, as it were, thrown by some powerful hand into
that heap of dust, rubbish, and rain-water. They cling to the ground
beneath the high mountain, exposed to the sun, surrounded by decaying
refuse, and their sodden appearance impresses one with the same feeling
as would the half-rotten trunk of an old tree.
At the end of the main street, as if thrown out of the town, stood a
two-storied house, which had been rented from Petunikoff, a merchant
and resident of the town. It was in comparatively good order, being
further from the mountain, while near it were the open fields, and
about half-a-mile away the river ran its winding course.
This large old house had the most dismal aspect amidst its
surroundings. The walls bent outwards and there was hardly a pane of
glass in any of the windows, except some of the fragments which looked
like the water of the marshes--dull green. The spaces of wall between
the windows were covered with spots, as if time were trying to write
there in hieroglyphics the history of the old house, and the tottering
roof added still more to its pitiable condition. It seemed as if the
whole building bent towards the ground, to await the last stroke of
that fate which should transform it into a chaos of rotting remains,
and finally into dust.
The gates were open, one half of them displaced and lying on the ground
at the entrance, while between its bars had grown the grass, which also
covered the large and empty court-yard. In the depths of this yard
stood a low, iron-roofed, smoke-begrimed building. The house itself
was of course unoccupied, but this shed, formerly a blacksmith's forge,
was now turned into a "dosshouse," kept by a retired Captain named
Aristid Fomich Kuvalda.
In the interior of the dosshouse was a long, wide and grimy board,
measuring some 28 by 70 feet. The room was lighted on one side by four
small square windows, and on the other by a wide door. The unpainted
brick walls were black with smoke, and the ceiling, which was built of
timber, was almost black. In the middle stood a large stove, the
furnace of which served as its foundation, and around this stove and
along the walls were also long, wide boards, which served as beds for
the lodgers. The walls smelt of smoke, the earthen floor of dampness,
and the long wide board of rotting rags.
The place of the proprietor was on the top of the stove, while the
boards surrounding it were intended for those who were on good terms
with the owner and who were honoured by his friendship. During the day
the captain passed most of his time sitting on a kind of bench, made by
himself by placing bricks against the wall of the courtyard, or else in
the eating house of Egor Vavilovitch, which was opposite the house,
where he took all his meals and where he also drank vodki.
Before renting this house, Aristid Kuvalda had kept a registry office
for servants in the town. If we look further back into his former
life, we shall find that he once owned printing works, and previous to
this, in his own words, he "just lived! And lived well too, Devil take
it, and like one who knew how!"
He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of fifty, with a rawlooking face,
swollen with drunkenness, and with a dirty yellowish beard. His eyes
were large and grey, with an insolent expression of happiness. He
spoke in a bass voice and with a sort of grumbling sound in his throat,
and he almost always held between his teeth a German china pipe with a
long bowl. When he was angry the nostrils of his big crooked red nose
swelled, and his lips trembled, exposing to view two rows of large and
wolf-like yellow teeth. He had long arms, was lame, and always dressed
in an old officer's uniform, with a dirty, greasy cap with a red band,
a hat without a brim, and ragged felt boots which reached almost to his
knees. In the morning, as a rule, he had a heavy drunken headache, and
in the evening he caroused. However much he drank, he was never drunk,
and so was always merry.
In the evenings he received lodgers, sitting on his brickmade bench
with his pipe in his mouth.
"Whom have we here?" he would ask the ragged and tattered object
approaching him, who had probably been chucked out of the town for
drunkenness, or perhaps for some other reason not quite so simple. And
after the man had answered him, he would say, "Let me see legal papers
in confirmation of your lies." And if there were such papers they were
shown. The Captain would then put them in his bosom, seldom taking any
interest in them, and would say:
"Everything is in order. Two kopecks for the night, ten kopecks for
the week, and thirty kopecks for the month. Go and get a place for
yourself, and see that it is not other people's, or else they will blow
you up. The people that live here are particular."
"Don't you sell tea, bread, or anything to eat?"
"I trade only in walls and roofs, for which I pay to the swindling
proprietor of this hole--Judas Petunikoff, merchant of the second
guild--five roubles a month," explained Kuvalda in a business-like
tone. "Only those come to me who are not accustomed to comfort and
luxuries.... but if you are accustomed to eat every day, then there is
the eating-house opposite. But it would be better for you if you left
off that habit. You see you are not a gentleman. What do you eat?
You eat yourself!"
For such speeches, delivered in a strictly business-like manner, and
always with smiling eyes, and also for the attention he paid to his
lodgers the Captain was very popular among the poor of the town. It
very often happened that a former client of his would appear, not in
rags, but in something more respectable and with a slightly happier
face.
"Good-day, your honour, and how do you do?"
"Alive, in good health! Go on."
"Don't you know me?"
"I did not know you."
"Do you remember that I lived with you last winter for nearly a month
.... when the fight with the police took place, and three were taken
away?"
"My brother, that is so. The police do come even under my hospitable
roof!"
"My God! You gave a piece of your mind to the police inspector of this
district!"
"Wouldn't you accept some small hospitality from me? When I lived with
you, you were..."
"Gratitude must be encouraged because it is seldom met with. You seem
to be a good man, and, though I don't remember you, still I will go
with you into the public-house and drink to your success and future
prospects with the greatest pleasure."
"You seem always the same... Are you always joking?"
"What else can one do, living among you unfortunate men?"
They went. Sometimes the Captain's former customer, uplifted and
unsettled by the entertainment, returned to the dosshouse, and on the
following morning they would again begin treating each other till the
Captain's companion would wake up to realise that he had spent all his
money in drink.
"Your honour, do you see that I have again fallen into your hands?
What shall we do now?"
"The | 227.087986 |
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Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible. The Cornish dialect written by Captain Carter includes
inconsistencies in spelling and capitalisation. Some changes have
been made | 227.099837 |
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GRAY'S LESSONS IN BOTANY
REVISED EDITION
THE
ELEMENTS OF BOTANY
FOR BEGINNERS AND FOR SCHOOLS
By ASA GRAY
IVISON, BLAKEMAN, AND COMPANY
NEW YORK AND CHICAGO
_Copyright_,
By Asa Gray.
1887.
PREFACE.
This volume takes the place of the author's Lessons in Botany and
Vegetable Physiology, published over a quarter of a century ago. It is
constructed on the same lines, and is a kind of new and much revised
edition of that successful work. While in some respects more extended,
it is also more concise and terse than its predecessor. This should the
better fit it for its purpose now that competent teachers are common.
They may in many cases develop paragraphs into lectures, and fully
illustrate points which are barely, but it is hoped clearly, stated.
Indeed, even for those without a teacher, it may be that a condensed is
better than a diffuse exposition.
The book is adapted to the higher schools, "How Plants Grow and Behave"
being the "Botany for Young People and Common Schools." It is intended
to ground beginners in Structural Botany and the principles of vegetable
life, mainly as concerns Flowering or Phanerogamous plants, with which
botanical instruction should always begin; also to be a companion and
interpreter to the Manuals and Floras by which the student threads his
flowery way to a clear knowledge of the surrounding vegetable creation.
Such a book, like a grammar, must needs abound in technical words, which
thus arrayed may seem formidable; nevertheless, if rightly apprehended,
this treatise should teach that the study of botany is not the learning
of names and terms, but the acquisition of knowledge and ideas. No
effort should be made to commit technical terms to memory. Any term used
in describing a plant or explaining its structure can be looked up when
it is wanted, and that should suffice. On the other hand, plans of
structure, types, adaptations, and modifications, once understood, are
not readily forgotten; and they give meaning and interest to the
technical terms used in explaining them.
In these "Elements" naturally no mention has been made of certain terms
and names which recent cryptogamically-minded botanists, with lack of
proportion and just perspective, are endeavoring to introduce into
phanerogamous botany, and which are not needed nor appropriate, even in
more advanced works, for the adequate recognition of the ascertained
analogies and homologies.
As this volume will be the grammar and dictionary to more than one or
two Manuals, Floras, etc., the particular directions for procedure which
were given in the "First Lessons" are now relegated to those works
themselves, which in their new editions will provide the requisite
explanations. On the other hand, in view of such extended use, the
Glossary at the end of this book has been considerably enlarged. It will
be found to include not merely the common terms of botanical description
but also many which are unusual or obsolete; yet any of them may now and
then be encountered. Moreover, no small number of the Latin and Greek
words which form the whole or part of the commoner specific names are
added to this Glossary, some in an Anglicized, others in their Latin
form. This may be helpful to students with small Latin and less Greek,
in catching the meaning of a botanical name or term.
The illustrations in this volume are largely increased in number. They
are mostly from the hand of Isaac Sprague.
It happens that the title chosen for this book is that of the author's
earliest publication, in the year 1836, of which copies are rarely seen;
so that no inconvenience is likely to arise from the present use of the
name.
ASA GRAY.
Cambridge, Massachusetts,
_March, 1887_.
CONTENTS.
Page
SECTION I. INTRODUCTORY 9
SECTION II. FLAX AS A PATTERN PLANT 11
Growth from the Seed, Organs of Vegetation 11
Blossoming, Flower, &c. 14
SECTION III. MORPHOLOGY OF SEEDLINGS 15
Germinating Maples 15
Cotyledons thickened, hypogaeous in germination 18
Store of Food external to the Embryo 20
Cotyledons as to number 22
Dicotyledonous and Polycotyledonous 23
Monocotyledonous 24
Simple-stemmed Plants 26
SECTION IV. GROWTH FROM BUDS; BRANCHING 27
Buds, situation and kinds 27
Vigorous vegetation from strong Buds 28
Arrangement of Branches 29
Non-developed, Latent, and Accessory Buds 30
Enumeration of kinds of Buds 31
Definite and Indefinite growth; Deliquescent and Excurrent 31
SECTION V. ROOTS 33
Primary and Secondary. Contrast between Stem and Root 34
Fibrous and Fleshy Roots; names of kinds 34
Anomalous Roots. Epiphytic and Parasitic Plants 36
Duration: Annuals, Biennials, Perennials 37
SECTION VI. STEMS 38
Those above Ground: kinds and modifications 39
Subterranean Stems and Branches 42
Rootstock 42
Tuber 44
Corm 45
Bulb and Bulblets 46
Consolidated Vegetation 47
SECTION VII. LEAVES 49
Sec. 1. LEAVES AS FOLIAGE 49
Parts and Venation 50
Forms as to general outline 52
As to apex and particular outline 53
As to lobing or division 56
Compound, Perfoliate, and Equitant Leaves 57
With no distinction of Petiole and Blade, Phyllodia, &c. 61
Sec. 2. LEAVES OF SPECIAL CONFORMATION AND USE 62
Leaves for storage 62
Leaves as bud-scales 63
Spines 64
and for Climbing 64
Pitchers 64
and Fly-traps 65
Sec. 3. STIPULES 66
Sec. 4. THE ARRANGEMENT OF LEAVES 67
Phyllotaxy 67
Of Alternate Leaves 69
Of Opposite and Whorled Leaves 71
Vernation or Praefoliation 71
SECTION VIII. FLOWERS 72
Sec. 1. POSITION AND ARRANGEMENT, INFLORESCENCE 73
Raceme 73
Corymb, Umbel, Spike, Head 74
Spadix, Catkin, or Ament 75
Panicle: Determinate Inflorescence 76
Cyme, Fascicle, Glomerule, Scorpioid or Helicoid Cymes 77
Mixed Inflorescence 78
Sec. 2. PARTS OR ORGANS OF THE FLOWER 79
Floral Envelopes: Perianth, Calyx, Corolla 79
Essential Organs: Stamen, Pistil 80
Torus or Receptacle 81
Sec. 3. PLAN OF THE FLOWER 81
When perfect, complete, regular, or symmetrical 81
Numerical Plan and Alternation of Organs 82
Flowers are altered branches 83
Sec. 4. MODIFICATIONS OF THE TYPE 85
Unisexual or diclinous 85
Incomplete, Irregular, and Unsymmetrical 86
Flowers with Multiplication of Parts 88
Flowers with Union of Parts: Coalescence 88
Regular Forms 89
Irregular Forms 90
Papilionaceous 91
Labiate 92
and Ligulate Corollas 93
Adnation or Consolidation 94
Position of Flower or of its Parts 96
Sec. 5. ARRANGEMENT OF PARTS IN THE BUD 97
AEstivation or Praefloration, its kinds 97
SECTION IX. STAMENS IN PARTICULAR 98
Androecium 98
Insertion, Relation, &c. 99
Anther and Filament. Pollen 101
SECTION X. PISTILS IN PARTICULAR 105
Sec. 1. ANGIOSPERMOUS OR ORDINARY GYNOECIUM 105
Parts of a complete Pistil 105
Carpels, Simple Pistil 106
Compound Pistil with Cells and Axile Placentae 107
One-celled with Free Central Placenta 108
One-celled with Parietal Placentae 108
Sec. 2. GYMNOSPERMOUS GYNOECIUM 109
SECTION XI. OVULES 110
Their Parts, Insertion, and Kinds 111
SECTION XII. MODIFICATIONS OF THE RECEPTACLE 112
Torus, Stipe, Carpophore, Disk 113
SECTION XIII. FERTILIZATION 114
Sec. 1. ADAPTATIONS FOR POLLINATION OF THE STIGMA 114
Close and Cross Fertilization, Anemophilous and Entomophilous 115
Dichogamy and Heterogony 116
Sec. 2. ACTION OF THE POLLEN AND FORMATION OF THE EMBRYO 117
SECTION XIV. THE FRUIT 117
Nature and kinds 118
Berry, Pepo, Pome 119
Drupe and Akene 120
Cremocarp, Caryopsis, Nut 121
Follicle, Legume, Capsule 122
Capsular Dehiscence, Silique and Silicle 123
Pyxis, Strobile or Cone 124
SECTION XV. THE SEED 125
Seed-coats and their appendages 125
The Kernel or Nucleus, Embryo and its parts, Albumen 127
SECTION XVI. VEGETABLE LIFE AND WORK 128
Sec. 1. ANATOMICAL STRUCTURE AND GROWTH 129
Nature of Growth, Protoplasm 129
Cells and Cell-walls. Cellular Structure or Tissue 130
Strengthening Cells. Wood, Wood-cells, Vessels or Ducts 132
Sec. 2. CELL-CONTENTS 136
Sap, Chlorophyll, Starch 136
Crystals, Rhaphides 137
Sec. 3. ANATOMY OF ROOTS AND STEMS 138
Endogenous and Exogenous Stems 139
Particular structure of the latter 140
Wood, Sapwood and Heart-wood. The living parts of a Tree 141
Sec. 4. ANATOMY OF LEAVES 142
Epidermis, Stomata or Breathing pores 143
Sec. 5. PLANT FOOD AND ASSIMILATION 144
Sec. 6. PLANT WORK AND MOVEMENT 149
Movements in Cells or Cyclosis 149
Transference from Cell to Cell 150
Movements of Organs, Twining Stems, Leaf-movements 150
Movements of Tendrils, Sensitiveness 152
Movements in Flowers 153
Movements for capture of Insects 154
Work costs, using up Material and Energy 155
SECTION XVII. CRYPTOGAMOUS OR FLOWERLESS PLANTS 156
Vascular Cryptogams, Pteridophytes 156
Horsetails (Equisetaceae), Ferns 157
Club-Mosses (Lycopodium), &c. 161
Quillworts (Isoetes), Pillworts (Marsilia) 161
Azolla. Cellular Cryptogams 162
Bryophytes. Mosses (Musci) 163
Liverworts (Hepaticae) 164
Thallophytes 165
Characeae 167
Algae, Seaweeds, &c. 168
Lichenes or Lichens 171
Fungi 172
SECTION XVIII. CLASSIFICATION AND NOMENCLATURE 175
Sec. 1. KINDS AND RELATIONSHIP 175
Species, Varieties, Individuals 176
Genera, Orders, Classes, &c. 177
Sec. 2. NAMES, TERMS AND CHARACTERS 178
Nomenclature of Genera, Species, and Varieties 179
Nomenclature of Orders, Classes, &c. Terminology 180
Sec. 3. SYSTEM 181
Artificial and Natural 182
Synopsis of Series, Classes, &c. 183
SECTION XIX. BOTANICAL WORK 184
Sec. 1. COLLECTION OR HERBORIZATION 184
Sec. 2. HERBARIUM 186
Sec. 3. INVESTIGATION AND DETERMINATION OF PLANTS 187
Sec. 4. SIGNS AND ABBREVIATIONS 188
ABBREVIATIONS OF THE NAMES OF BOTANISTS 190
GLOSSARY COMBINED WITH INDEX 193
ELEMENTS OF BOTANY.
Section I. INTRODUCTORY.
1. BOTANY is the name of the science of the vegetable kingdom in
general; that is, of plants.
2. Plants may be studied as to their kinds and relationships. This study
is SYSTEMATIC BOTANY. An enumeration of the kinds of vegetables, as far
as known, classified according to their various degrees of resemblance
or difference, constitutes a general _System of plants_. A similar
account of the vegetables of any particular country or district is
called a _Flora_.
3. Plants may be studied as to their structure and parts. This is
STRUCTURAL BOTANY, or ORGANOGRAPHY. The study of the organs or parts of
plants in regard to the different forms and different uses which the
same kind of organ may assume,--the comparison, for instance, of a
flower-leaf or a bud-scale with a common leaf,--is VEGETABLE MORPHOLOGY,
or MORPHOLOGICAL BOTANY. The study of the minute structure of the parts,
to learn by the microscope what they themselves are formed of, is
VEGETABLE ANATOMY, or HISTOLOGY; in other words, it is Microscopical
Structural Botany. The study of the actions of plants or of their parts,
of the ways in which a plant lives, grows, and acts, is the province of
PHYSIOLOGICAL BOTANY, or VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY.
4. This book is to teach the outlines of Structural Botany and of the
simpler parts of the physiology of plants, that it may be known how
plants are constructed and adapted to their surroundings, and how they
live, move, propagate, and have their being in an existence no less
real, although more simple, than that of the animal creation which they
support. Particularly, this book is to teach the principles of the
structure and relationships of plants, the nature and names of their
parts and their modifications, and so to prepare for the study of
Systematic Botany; in which the learner may ascertain the name and the
place in the system of any or all of the ordinary plants within reach,
whether wild or cultivated. And in ascertaining the name of any plant,
the student, if rightly taught, will come to know all about its general
or particular structure, rank, and relationship to other plants.
5. The vegetable kingdom is so vast and various, and the difference is
so wide between ordinary trees, shrubs, and herbs on the one hand, and
mosses, moulds, and such like on the other, that it is hardly possible
to frame an intelligible account of plants as a whole without
contradictions or misstatements, or endless and troublesome
qualifications. If we say that plants come from seeds, bear flowers, and
have roots, stems, and leaves, this is not true of the lower orders. It
is best for the beginner, therefore, to treat of the higher orders of
plants by themselves, without particular reference to the lower.
6. Let it be understood, accordingly, that there is a higher and a lower
series of plants; namely:--
PHANEROGAMOUS PLANTS, which come from seed and bear _flowers_,
essentially stamens and pistils, through the co-operation of which seed
is produced. For shortness, these are commonly called PHANEROGAMS, or
_Phaenogams_, or by the equivalent English name of FLOWERING PLANTS.[1]
CRYPTOGAMOUS PLANTS, or CRYPTOGAMS, come from minute bodies, which
answer to seeds, but are of much simpler structure, and such plants have
not stamens and pistils. Therefore they are called in English FLOWERLESS
PLANTS. Such are Ferns, Mosses, Algae or Seaweeds, Fungi, etc. These
sorts have each to be studied separately, for each class or order has a
plan of its own.
7. But Phanerogamous, or Flowering, Plants are all constructed on one
plan, or _type_. That is, taking almost any ordinary herb, shrub, or
tree for a pattern, it will exemplify the whole series: the parts of one
plant answer to the parts of any other, with only certain differences in
particulars. And the occupation and the delight of the scientific
botanist is in tracing out this common plan, in detecting the likenesses
under all the diversities, and in noting the meaning of these manifold
diversities. So the attentive study of any one plant, from its growth
out of the seed to the flowering and fruiting state and the production
of seed like to that from which the plant grew, would not only give a
correct general idea of the structure, growth, and characteristics of
Flowering Plants in general, but also serve as a pattern or standard of
comparison. Some plants will serve this purpose of a pattern much better
than others. A proper pattern will be one that is perfect in the sense
of having all the principal parts of a phanerogamous plant, and simple
and regular in having these parts free from complications or disguises.
The common Flax-plant may very well serve this purpose. Being an annual,
it has the advantage of being easily raised and carried in a short time
through its circle of existence, from seedling to fruit and seed.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The name is sometimes _Phanerogamous_, sometimes _Phaenogamous_
(_Phanerogams_, or _Phaenogams_), terms of the same meaning
etymologically; the former of preferable form, but the latter shorter.
The meaning of such terms is explained in the Glossary.
Section II. FLAX AS A PATTERN PLANT.
8. =Growth from the Seed.= Phanerogamous plants grow from seed, and
their flowers are destined to the production of seeds. A seed has a
rudimentary plant ready formed in it,--sometimes with the two most
essential parts, i. e. stem and leaf, plainly discernible; sometimes
with no obvious distinction of organs until germination begins. This
incipient plant is called an EMBRYO.
9. In this section the Flax-plant is taken as a specimen, or type, and
the development and history of common plants in general is illustrated
by it. In flax-seed the embryo nearly fills the coats, but not quite.
There is a small deposit of nourishment between the seed-coat and the
embryo: this may for the present be left out of the account. This embryo
consists of a pair of leaves, pressed together face to face, and
attached to an extremely short stem. (Fig. 2-4.) In this rudimentary
condition the real nature of the parts is not at once apparent; but when
the seed grows they promptly reveal their character,--as the
accompanying figures (Fig. 5-7) show.
[Illustration: Fig. 1. Pod of Flax. 2. Section lengthwise, showing two
of the seeds; one whole, the other cut half away, bringing contained
embryo into view. 3. Similar section of a flax-seed more magnified and
divided flatwise; turned round, so that the stem-end (caulicle) of the
embryo is below: the whole broad upper part is the inner face of one of
the cotyledons; the minute nick at its base is the plumule. 4. Similar
section through a seed turned edgewise, showing the thickness of the
cotyledons, and the minute plumule between them, i. e. the minute bud on
the upper end of the caulicle.]
10. Before the nature of these parts in the seed was altogether
understood, technical names were given to them, which are still in use.
These initial leaves were named COTYLEDONS. The initial stem on which
they stand was called the RADICLE. That was because it gives rise to the
first root; but, as it is really the beginning of the stem, and because
it is the stem that produces the root and not the root that produces the
stem, it is better to name it the CAULICLE. Recently it has been named
_Hypocotyle_; which signifies something below the cotyledons, without
pronouncing what its nature is.
[Illustration: Fig. 5. Early Flax seedling; stem (caulicle), root at
lower end, expanded seed-leaves (cotyledons) at the other: minute bud
(plumule) between these. 6. Same later; the bud developed into second
pair of leaves, with hardly any stem-part below them; then into a third
pair of leaves, raised on a short joint of stem; and a fifth leaf also
showing. 7. Same still older, with more leaves developed, but these
singly (one after another), and with joints of stem between them.]
11. On committing these seeds to moist and warm soil they soon sprout,
i. e. _germinate_. The very short stem-part of the embryo is the first
to grow. It lengthens, protrudes its root-end; this turns downward, if
not already pointing in that direction, and while it is lengthening a
root forms at its point and grows downward into the ground. This root
continues to grow on from its lower end, and thus insinuates itself and
penetrates into the soil. The stem meanwhile is adding to its length
throughout; it erects itself, and, seeking the light, brings the seed up
out of the ground. The materials for this growth have been supplied by
the cotyledons or seed-leaves, still in the seed: it was the store of
nourishing material they held which gave them their thickish shape, so
unlike that of ordinary leaves. Now, relieved of a part of this store of
food, which has formed the growth by which they have been raised into
the air and light, they appropriate the remainder to their own growth.
In enlarging they open and throw off the seed-husk; they expand, diverge
into a horizontal position, turn green, and thus become a pair of
evident leaves, the first foliage of a tiny plant. This seedling,
although diminutive and most simple, possesses and puts into use, all
the ORGANS of VEGETATION, namely, root, stem, and leaves, each in its
proper element,--the root in the soil, the stem rising out of it, the
leaves in the light and open air. It now draws in moisture and some
food-materials from the soil by its root, conveys this through the stem
into the leaves, where these materials, along with other crude food
which these imbibe from the air, are assimilated into vegetable matter,
i. e. into the material for further growth.
12. =Further Growth= soon proceeds to the formation of new
parts,--downward in the production of more root, or of branches of the
main root, upward in the development of more stem and leaves. That from
which a stem with its leaves is continued, or a new stem (i. e. branch)
originated, is a BUD. The most conspicuous and familiar buds are those
of most shrubs and trees, bearing buds formed in summer or autumn, to
grow the following spring. But every such point for new growth may
equally bear the name. When there is such a bud between the cotyledons
in the seed or seedling it is called the PLUMULE. This is conspicuous
enough in a bean (Fig. 29.), where the young leaf of the new growth
looks like a little plume, whence the name, _plumule_. In flax-seed this
is very minute indeed, but is discernible with a magnifier, and in the
seedling it shows itself distinctly (Fig. 5, 6, 7).
13. As it grows it shapes itself into a second pair of leaves, which of
course rests on a second joint of stem, although in this instance that
remains too short to be well seen. Upon its summit appears the third
pair of leaves, soon to be raised upon its proper joint of stem; the
next leaf is single, and is carried up still further upon its supporting
joint of stem; and so on. The root, meanwhile, continues to grow
underground, not joint after joint, but continuously, from its lower
end; and commonly it before long multiplies itself by branches, which
lengthen by the same continuous growth. But stems are built up by a
succession of leaf-bearing growths, such as are strongly marked in a
reed or corn-stalk, and less so in such an herb as Flax. The word
"joint" is ambiguous: it may mean either the portion between successive
leaves, or their junction, where the leaves are attached. For precision,
therefore, the place where the leaf or leaves are borne is called a
NODE, and the naked interval between two nodes, an INTERNODE.
[Illustration: Fig. 8. Upper part of Flax-plant in blossom.]
14. In this way a simple stem with its garniture of leaves is developed
from the seed. But besides this direct continuation, buds may form and
develop into lateral stems, that is, _into branches_, from any node. The
proper origin of branches is from the AXIL of a leaf, i. e. the angle
between leaf and stem on the upper side; and branches may again branch,
so building up the herb, shrub, or tree. But sooner or later, and
without long delay in an annual like Flax, instead of this continuance
of mere vegetation, reproduction is prepared for by
15. =Blossoming.= In Flax the flowers make their appearance at the end
of the stem and branches. The growth, which otherwise might continue
them farther or indefinitely, now takes the form of blossom, and is
subservient to the production of seed.
[Illustration: Fig. 9. Flax-flowers about natural size. 10. Section of a
flower moderately enlarged, showing a part of the petals and stamens,
all five styles, and a section of ovary with two ovules or rudimentary
seeds.]
16. =The Flower= of Flax consists, first, of five small green leaves,
crowded into a circle: this is the CALYX, or flower-cup. When its
separate leaves are referred to they are called SEPALS, a name which
distinguishes them from foliage-leaves on the one hand, and from petals
on the other. Then come five delicate and _colored_ leaves (in the Flax,
blue), which form the COROLLA, and its leaves are PETALS; then a circle
of organs, in which all likeness to leaves is lost, consisting of
slender stalks with a knob at summit, the STAMENS; and lastly, in the
centre, the rounded body, which becomes a pod, surmounted by five
slender or stalk-like bodies. This, all together, is the PISTIL. The
lower part of it, which is to contain the seeds, is the OVARY; the
slender organs surmounting this are STYLES; the knob borne on the apex
of each style is a STIGMA. Going back to the stamens, these are of two
parts, viz. the stalk, called FILAMENT, and the body it bears, the
ANTHER. Anthers are filled with POLLEN, a powdery substance made up of
minute grains.
17. The pollen shed from the anthers when they open falls upon or is
conveyed to the stigmas; then the pollen-grains set up a kind of growth
(to be discerned only by aid of a good microscope), which penetrates the
style: this growth takes the form of a thread more delicate than the
finest spider's web, and reaches the bodies which are to become seeds
(OVULES they are called until this change occurs); these, touched by
this influence, are incited to a new growth within, which becomes an
embryo. So, as the ovary ripens into the seed-pod or capsule (Fig. 1,
etc.) containing seeds, each seed enclosing a rudimentary new plantlet,
the round of this vegetable existence is completed.
Section III. MORPHOLOGY OF SEEDLINGS.
18. Having obtained a general idea of the growth and parts of a
phanerogamous plant from the common Flax of the field, the seeds and
seedlings of other familiar plants may be taken up, and their variations
from the assumed pattern examined.
19. =Germinating Maples= are excellent to begin with, the parts being so
much larger than in Flax that a common magnifying glass, although
convenient, is hardly necessary. The only disadvantage is that fresh
seeds are not readily to be had at all seasons.
[Illustration: Fig. 11. Embryo of Sugar Maple, cut through lengthwise
and taken out of the seed. 12, 13. Whole embryo of same just beginning
to grow; _a_, the stemlet or caulicle, which in 13 has considerably
lengthened.]
20. The seeds of Sugar Maple ripen at the end of summer, and germinate
in early spring. The embryo fills the whole | 227.105281 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
— | 227.202835 |
2023-11-16 18:20:51.1893010 | 6,608 | 11 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry Lamé and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes
Text printed in small capitals in the original work has been
transcribed =between equal signs=, text printed in italics has been
transcribed _between underscores_. Superscript text is represented as
^{text}.
More Transcriber’s Notes may be found at the end of this text.
[Illustration]
SURVEY
OF
THE HIGH ROADS
OF
England and Wales.
PART THE FIRST.
COMPRISING THE COUNTIES OF
KENT, SURREY, SUSSEX, HANTS, WILTS, DORSET, SOMERSET,
DEVON, AND CORNWALL;
WITH
PART OF BUCKINGHAM AND MIDDLESEX.
_PLANNED ON A SCALE OF ONE INCH TO A MILE._
EXHIBITING AT ONE VIEW
THE SEATS OF THE NOBILITY AND GENTRY,
WHETHER SITUATED ON, OR CONTIGUOUS TO, THE ROAD.
The various Branches of Roads and Towns to which they lead.
TOGETHER WITH
THE ACTUAL DISTANCE OF THE SAME FROM THE MAIN ROAD, RIVERS, NAVIGABLE
CANALS, RAILWAYS, TURNPIKE GATES, &c. &c.
ACCOMPANIED BY
INDEXES,
_TOPOGRAPHIC AND DESCRIPTIVE_.
THE WHOLE
ENRICHED WITH A VARIETY OF VALUABLE AND ORIGINAL INFORMATION.
ARRANGED BY, AND UNDER THE DIRECTION OF,
EDWARD MOGG.
_LONDON:_
PUBLISHED BY EDWARD MOGG, No. 51, CHARING CROSS.
1817.
TO
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS
THE PRINCE REGENT.
=Sir=,
Your Royal Highness having graciously condescended to extend your august
patronage and protection to this work, I cannot present it to the
public, without testifying how deeply sensible I am of this most
gracious mark of your Royal Highness’s approbation.
I am perfectly aware that no merit of the performance can give it
pretensions to so exalted a patronage; yet to whom can this publication
with so much propriety be addressed, as to that illustrious and
magnanimous Prince, who, by his wisdom and councils, during the most
arduous contest in which any nation was ever engaged, preserved us in
the quiet enjoyment of that land, and, under whose auspicious guidance
and government, has been raised to the highest pinnacle of glory that
country, the topography and picturesque beauties of which it is the
principal design of the following pages to illustrate.
That your Royal Highness may long live to be the ornament of society,
the delight and boast of a grateful and admiring nation, is the ardent
wish of,
Sir,
Your Royal Highness’s
most grateful,
most dutiful,
and most devoted servant,
EDWARD MOGG.
ADVERTISEMENT.
In presenting to the Public the first part of this comprehensive work,
embracing the southern division of the Kingdom, the Proprietor indulges
a hope, that while conveying information, he will be found in some
degree to have contributed to the amusement of the traveller.
The gratification derived from an excursion of pleasure does not always
terminate with its performance, but is often produced by reflections
which naturally arise on a subsequent review of past occurrences or
remarkable objects; and which the peculiar construction of this work is
eminently calculated to assist.
In contemplating a new Road, we feel enlivened by anticipation; in the
recollection of an old one, we are led to reflections that equally
interest; and a recurrence to these pages will immediately present to
the reader’s imagination the identical spot, or well known inn, which
from a variety of incidents that occur in the prosecution of a journey,
whether the remembrance be attended with pleasure or accompanied by a
feeling of regret, never fail to leave an indelible impression on the
mind.
It has been justly remarked by an eminent Geographer[1], that the Rivers
of England have never yet been delineated; the same observation may be
applied with equal truth, though still greater regret, with respect to
its Roads, which (on a large scale) yet remain to be illustrated; how
far the present work is likely to succeed in supplying the latter
deficiency, it will remain for the public to decide. It is an object the
Proprietor has long had in contemplation, and has thence been brought to
greater perfection from an attentive observation of circumstances
peculiarly connected with the subject, both in regard to the alteration
of old, and the formation of new Roads, which, by avoiding hills and
shortening distance, will be found to afford such facilities to
travelling as are alone to be experienced on this island: accurately to
delineate improvements so extensive, and which will in vain be sought in
any other publication, are the pages of this work devoted.
[1] Pinkerton.
To comment on the superiority of the method of delineation here adopted
were superfluous at the present time, when the Proprietor’s pretensions
may be decided by comparison with the performances of predecessors in a
similar course, and when indeed he feels confident of having thus far
accomplished an undertaking, which, whether as referring to originality
or execution, is considerably more entitled to attention than any known
production of its kind; combining means so ample and illustrative, the
Traveller is in possession of information nearly equal to a bird’s-eye
view of the country. The Seats of the Nobility and Gentry are faithfully
described, the names of their several Proprietors have been carefully
attended to, and the arrangement of the whole so constructed as to
render the work at once clear and comprehensive. Simplicity, joined to a
strict accuracy, has been his chief aim, and he is unconscious of having
omitted any thing which could have contributed to render the whole
complete.
TABLE OF ROUTES.
To simplify as much as possible, and to facilitate the understanding of
this work, the following =Table of Routes= is given; describing the page
at which the commencement of each Road will be found, and which, where
the same is not continued in a regular succession, will conduct, by
reference to the pages, the eye of the reader with the most perfect ease
to every place of consequence contained in the work.
LONDON to DOVER,--_pages_ 1 _to_ 10.
LONDON to MARGATE,--_pages_ 1 _to_ 8, _to_ =Canterbury=; thence to
Margate, _pages_ 11 _and_ 12.
LONDON to RAMSGATE,--_pages_ 1 _to_ 8, _to_ =Canterbury=; thence to
=Monkton=, where the Road turns off, _pages_ 11 _and_ 12; thence to
=Ramsgate=, _page_ 13.
LONDON to HASTINGS,--_pages_ 15 _to_ 22.
LONDON to CANTERBURY,--_pages_ 1 _to_ 8.
LONDON to TUNBRIDGE WELLS,--_pages_ 15 _to_ 18, _to_ =Tunbridge=;
thence to =Tunbridge Wells=, _page_ 14.
LONDON to PORTSMOUTH,--_pages_ 23 _to_ 32.
LONDON to CHICHESTER, by =Midhurst=,--_pages_ 23 _to_ 27, _to_
=Milford=; thence to =Chichester=, _pages_ 33 _to_ 36.
LONDON to CHICHESTER, by =Petworth=,--_pages_ 23 _to_ 27, _to_
=Milford=; thence to =Chichester=, _pages_ 37 _to_ 40.
LONDON to BOGNOR, by =Chichester=, (_to_ =Chichester= _as
above_)--thence to =Bognor=, _page_ 41.
LONDON to BOGNOR, by =Eartham=,--_to_ =Milford=, _pages_ 23 _to_ 27;
thence to =Benges Wood=, where the Road divides, _pages_ 37 _to_ 40;
thence to =Bognor=, by =Eartham=, _page_ 42.
LONDON to ARUNDEL,--_pages_ 23 _to_ 27, _to_ =Milford=; thence to
=Petworth=, _pages_ 37 _to_ 38; thence to =Arundel=, _pages_ 43 _and_
44.
LONDON to BRIGHTON, through =Sutton= and =Ryegate=,--_pages_ 45 _to_
51.
LONDON to BRIGHTON, through =Croydon=,--_pages_ 52 _to_ 54, to
=Ryegate=; thence to =Brighton=, _pages_ 47 _to_ 51.
LONDON to BRIGHTON, by =Lewes=,--to _Purley House_, _pages_ 52 _and_
53; thence to =Brighton=, _pages_ 55 _to_ 60.
LONDON to WORTHING,--_to_ =Tooting=, _page_ 45; thence to =Worthing=,
_pages_ 61 _to_ 67.
LONDON to SOUTHAMPTON, by =Basingstoke=,--_pages_ 69 _to_ 79.
LONDON to SOUTHAMPTON, through =Farnham=,--to the _Golden Farmer_,
_pages_ 69 _to_ 72; thence to =Winchester=, _pages_ 80 _to_ 84; thence
to =Southampton=, _pages_ 78 _and_ 79.
LONDON to POOLE, through =Romsey=,--_pages_ 69 _to_ 77, to
=Winchester=; thence to =Poole=, _pages_ 85 _to_ 90.
LONDON to POOLE, by =Southampton=, (_to_ =Southampton= _as
above_)--thence to the 82nd _Milestone_, _page_ 91; thence to =Poole=,
_page_ 87 _to_ 90.
LONDON to LYMINGTON, (_to_ =Southampton= _as above_)--thence to
=Totton=, _page_ 91; thence to =Lymington=, _pages_ 92 _and_ 93.
LONDON to CHRISTCHURCH,--_to_ =Winchester=, _pages_ 69 _to_ 77; thence
to =Ringwood=, _pages_ 85 _to_ 88; thence to =Christchurch=, _page_
94.
LONDON to GOSPORT,--_pages_ 69 _to_ 72, to the _Golden Farmer_; thence
to =Alton=, _pages_ 80 _to_ 82; thence to =Gosport=, _pages_ 95 _to_
98.
LONDON to EXETER, through =Andover=, =Salisbury=, =Blandford=, and
=Dorchester=,--_to_ =Basingstoke=, _pages_ 69 _to_ 75; thence to
=Exeter=, _pages_ 99 _to_ 116.
LONDON to PLYMOUTH and FALMOUTH, (_to_ =Exeter= _as above_)--thence to
=Plymouth=, _pages_ 117 _to_ 122; thence to =Falmouth=, _pages_ 123
_to_ 130.
LONDON to EXETER, through =Stockbridge=, =Salisbury=, and
=Shaftesbury=,--_to_ =Basingstoke=, _pages_ 69 _to_ 75; thence to
=Axminster=, _pages_ 131 _to_ 144; thence to =Exeter=, _pages_ 113
_to_ 116.
LONDON to FALMOUTH, through =Launceston=, (_to_ =Exeter= _as
above_)--thence to =Truro=, _pages_ 147 _to_ 158; thence to
=Falmouth=, _pages_ 129 _and_ 130.
LONDON to EXETER, through =Andover=, commonly called the New
Road,--_to_ =Basingstoke=, _pages_ 69 _to_ 75; thence to =Andover=,
_pages_ 99 _to_ 101; thence to =Honiton=, _pages_ 159 _to_ 170; thence
to =Exeter=, _pages_ 114 _to_ 116.
LONDON to WEYMOUTH,--_to_ =Basingstoke=, _pages_ 69 _to_ 75; thence to
=Dorchester=, _pages_ 99 _to_ 109; thence to =Weymouth=, _page_ 171.
LONDON to BRUTON,--_to_ =Basingstoke=, _pages_ 69 _to_ 75; thence to
=Andover=, _pages_ 99 _to_ 101; thence to the 98th _Milestone_ on the
Exeter Road, _pages_ 159 _to_ 163; thence to =Bruton=, _pages_ 172
_and_ 173.
LONDON to BATH and EXETER, by =Calne= and =Chippenham=,--_to_
=Hounslow=, _pages_ 69 _and_ 70; thence to =Bath= and =Exeter=,
_pages_ 174 _to_ 197.
LONDON to BATH and BRISTOL, by =Devizes=,--_to_ =Hounslow=, _pages_ 69
_and_ 70; thence to _Beckhampton Inn_, _pages_ 174 _to_ 184; thence to
=Bath= and =Bristol=, _pages_ 198 _to_ 203.
BATH to BRIGHTON, through =Warminster=, =Salisbury=, and
=Romsey=,--_pages_ 204 _to_ 219.
BATH to BRIGHTON, through =Salisbury= and =Southampton=,--_pages_ 204
_to_ 211, to =Romsey=; thence through =Southampton= to =Cosham=,
_pages_ 220 _to_ 223; thence to =Brighton=, _pages_ 214 _to_ 219.
* * * * *
_For the finding of any Place not contained in this Table see =General
Index= at the end._
[Illustration: 1 2
_Published by E. Mogg June 1^{st}. 1814._
_=London to Dover=_
measured from London Bridge.]
[Illustration: 3 4
_Published by E. Mogg June 1^{st}. 1814._
_=London to Dover=_
measured from London Bridge]
[Illustration: 5 6
_Published by E. Mogg June 1^{st} 1814._
_=London to Dover=_
measured from London Bridge]
[Illustration: 7 8
_Published by E. Mogg June 1^{st} 1814._
_=London to Dover=_
measured from London Bridge]
[Illustration: 9 10
_=London to Dover=_
measured from London Bridge]
[Illustration: 11 12
{N.B. _For the continuation of the Road from_ Canterbury _to_ London
_see Page 8_.}
_=London to Margate=_
measured from London Bridge]
[Illustration: 13 14
{N.B. _For the continuation of this Road to_ London _see Page 12_.}
London to Ramsgate
London to Tunbridge Wells
measured from London Bridge]
[Illustration: 15 16
_=London to Hastings=_
measured from London Bridge]
[Illustration: 17 18
_=London to Hastings=_
measured from London Bridge]
[Illustration: 19 20
_=London to Hastings=_
measured from London Bridge]
[Illustration: 21 22
_=London to Hastings=_
measured from London Bridge]
[Illustration: 23 24
_=London to Portsmouth=_]
[Illustration: 25 26
_=London to Portsmouth=_]
[Illustration: 27 28
_=London to Portsmouth=_]
[Illustration: 29 30
_=London to Portsmouth=_]
[Illustration: 31 32
_=London to Portsmouth=_]
[Illustration: 33 34
{_For the continuation of this Road to_ London _see Page 27_.}
London to Chichester by Midhurst.]
[Illustration: 35 36
London to Chichester by Midhurst.]
[Illustration: 37 38
{_For the continuation of this Road to_ London _see Page 27_.}
London to Chichester by Petworth.]
[Illustration: 39 40
London to Chichester by Petworth.]
[Illustration: 41 42
{_For the continuation of this Road to_ London _see Page 40_.}
London to Bognor by Chichester and by Eartham.]
[Illustration: 43 44
{_For the continuation of this Road to_ London _see Page 38_.}
_=London to Arundel=_]
[Illustration: 45 46
_=London to Brighton=_
measured from Westminster Bridge]
[Illustration: 47 48
_=London to Brighton=_
measured from Westminster Bridge]
[Illustration: 49 50
_=London to Brighton=_
measured from Westminster Bridge]
[Illustration: 51 52
_=London to Brighton=_
measured from Westminster Bridge
measur’d from the Standard in Cornhill]
[Illustration: 53 54
_=London to Brighton=_
measured from the Standard in Cornhill]
[Illustration: 55 56
_For the continuation of this Road to_ London _see Pa. 53_.
_=London to Brighton=_
measured from the Standard in Cornhill.]
[Illustration: 57 58
_=London to Brighton=_
measured from the Standard in Cornhill.]
[Illustration: 59 60
_=London to Brighton=_
measured from the Standard in Cornhill.]
[Illustration: 61 62
_For the continuation of this Road to_ London, _see Pa. 45_.
_=London to Worthing=_
measured from Westminster Bridge]
[Illustration: 63 64
_=London to Worthing=_
measured from Westminster Bridge]
[Illustration: 65 66
_=London to Worthing=_
measured from Westminster Bridge.]
[Illustration: 67 68
_=London to Worthing=_
measured from Westminster Bridge.]
[Illustration: 69 70
_=London to Southampton=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 71 72
_=London to Southampton=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 73 74
_=London to Southampton=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 75 76
_=London to Southampton=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 77 78
_=London to Southampton=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 79 80
{_For the continuation of this Road to London, see page 72_.}
_=London to Southampton=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 81 82
_=London to Southampton=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 83 84
_=London to Southampton=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 85 86
{_For the continuation of this Road to_ London, _see pa. 77. or 84._}
_=London to Poole=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 87 88
_=London to Poole=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 89 90
_=London to Poole=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 91 92
{_For the continuation of this Road to_ London, _see Pa. 79_.}
{_For the continuation of this Road to_ London, _see Pa. 91_.}
London to Poole, _contin^{d}._ Pa. 87.
London to Lymington.
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 93 94
London to Lymington.
{_For the continuation of this Road to_ London, _see Pa. 88_.}
Ringwood to Christchurch.
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 95 96
_For the continuation of this Road to_ London, _see pa. 82_.
_=London to Gosport=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 97 98
_=London to Gosport=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 99 100
_For the continuation of this Road to_ London, _see pa. 75_.
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 101 102
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 103 104
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 105 106
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 107 108
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 109 110
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 111 112
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 113 114
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 115 116
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 117 118
_=London to Plymouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 119 120
_=London to Plymouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 121 122
_=London to Plymouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 123 124
_=London to Falmouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 125 126
_=London to Falmouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 127 128
_=London to Falmouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 129 130
_=London to Falmouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 131 132
_For the continuation of this Road to_ London _see pa. 75_.
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 133 134
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 135 136
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 137 138
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 139 140
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 141 142
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 143 144
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 145 146
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 147 148
_For the continuation of this Road to_ London _see Pa. 116_.
_=London to Falmouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 149 150
_=London to Falmouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 151 152
_=London to Falmouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 153 154
_=London to Falmouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner.]
[Illustration: 155 156
_=London to Falmouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 157 158
_=London to Falmouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 159 160
_For the continuation of this Road to_ London _see Pa. 101_.
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde park Corner]
[Illustration: 161 162
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 163
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 164 165
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 166 167
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 168 169
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 170 171
_=London to Exeter=_
_=London to Weymouth=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 172 173
_For the continuation of this Road to_ London _see Pa. 163_.
_=London to Bruton=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 174 175
_For the continuation of this Road to_ London _see Pa. 70_.
_=London to Bath=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 176 177
_=London to Bath=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 178 179
_=London to Bath=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 180 181
_=London to Bath=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 182 183
_=London to Bath=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 184 185
_=London to Bath=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 186 187
_=London to Bath and Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 188 189
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 190 191
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 192 193
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 194 195
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 196 197
_=London to Exeter=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 198 199
_For the continuation of this Road to_ London _see Pa. 184_.
_=London to Bath=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 200 201
_=London to Bath=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 202 203
_=London to Bristol=_
measured from Hyde Park Corner]
[Illustration: 204 205
_=Bath to Brighton=_
measured from the Market House, Bath.]
[Illustration: 206 207
_=Bath to Brighton=_
measured from the Market House, Bath.]
[Illustration: 208 209
_=Bath to Brighton=_
measured from the Market House, Bath.]
[Illustration: 210 211
_=Bath to Brighton=_
measured from the Market House, Bath.]
[Illustration: 212 213
_=Bath to Brighton=_
measured from the Market House, Bath.]
[Illustration: 214 215
_=Bath to Brighton=_
measured from the Market House, Bath.]
[Illustration: 216 217
_=Bath to Brighton=_
measured from the Market House, Bath.]
[Illustration: 218 219
_=Bath to Brighton=_
measured from the Market House, Bath.]
[Illustration: 220 221
_For the continuation of this Road to_ Bath _see Pa. 211_.
_=Bath to Brighton=_
measured from the Market House Bath]
[Illustration: 222 223
_=Bath to | 227.209341 |
2023-11-16 18:20:51.2803690 | 46 | 21 |
Produced by Christine Aldridge and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcribers Notes:
1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.
2 | 227.300409 |
2023-11-16 18:20:51.3868350 | 97 | 10 |
Produced by Mary Glenn Krause, MFR, University of North
Carolina at Chapel Hill,Graeme Mackreth and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
GEORGE MACDONALD'S WRITINGS.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS ON WOOD AND STEEL.
"_A mine of original and quaint similitudes. | 227.406875 |
2023-11-16 18:20:51.5775190 | 46 | 13 |
Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Italic text is den | 227.597559 |
2023-11-16 18:20:51.5784050 | 5,461 | 13 |
Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian
Libraries)
TRIAL OF
DUNCAN TERIG ALIAS CLERK,
AND
ALEXANDER BANE MACDONALD,
FOR THE MURDER OF
ARTHUR DAVIS,
SERGEANT IN GENERAL GUISE'S REGIMENT OF FOOT.
JUNE,
A.D. M.DCC.LIV.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY.
1831.
TO
THE MEMBERS OF THE BANNATYNE CLUB,
THIS COPY OF A TRIAL,
INVOLVING A CURIOUS POINT OF EVIDENCE,
IS PRESENTED
BY
WALTER SCOTT.
FEBRUARY, M.DCCC.XXXI.
Transcriber's Note: Letters that are printed as superscript are
indicated by being preceeded by a caret (^).
THE BANNATYNE CLUB.
M.DCCC.XXXI.
SIR WALTER SCOTT, BAR^T.
[PRESIDENT.]
THE EARL OF ABERDEEN, K.T.
RIGHT HON. WILLIAM ADAM,
LORD CHIEF COMMISSIONER OF THE JURY COURT.
JAMES BALLANTYNE, ESQ.
SIR WILLIAM MACLEOD BANNATYNE. 5
LORD BELHAVEN AND STENTON.
GEORGE JOSEPH BELL, ESQ.
ROBERT BELL, ESQ.
WILLIAM BELL, ESQ.
JOHN BORTHWICK, ESQ. 10
WILLIAM BLAIR, ESQ.
THE REV. PHILIP BLISS, D.C.L.
GEORGE BRODIE, ESQ.
CHARLES DASHWOOD BRUCE, ESQ.
THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH AND QUEENSBERRY. 15
JOHN CALEY, ESQ.
JAMES CAMPBELL, ESQ.
HON. JOHN CLERK, LORD ELDIN.
WILLIAM CLERK, ESQ.
HENRY COCKBURN, ESQ. 20
DAVID CONSTABLE, ESQ.
ANDREW COVENTRY, ESQ.
JAMES T. GIBSON CRAIG, ESQ.
WILLIAM GIBSON CRAIG, ESQ.
HON. GEORGE CRANSTOUN, LORD COREHOUSE. 25
THE EARL OF DALHOUSIE.
JAMES DENNISTOUN, ESQ.
ROBERT DUNDAS, ESQ.
RIGHT HON. W. DUNDAS, LORD CLERK REGISTER.
CHARLES FERGUSSON, ESQ. 30
ROBERT FERGUSON, ESQ.
LIEUT.-GENERAL SIR RONALD C. FERGUSON.
THE COUNT DE FLAHAULT.
HON. JOHN FULLERTON, LORD FULLERTON.
LORD GLENORCHY. 35
THE DUKE OF GORDON.
WILLIAM GOTT, ESQ.
SIR JAMES R. G. GRAHAM, BAR^T.
ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ.
LORD GRAY. 40
RIGHT HON. THOMAS GRENVILLE.
THE EARL OF HADDINGTON.
THE DUKE OF HAMILTON AND BRANDON.
E. W. A. DRUMMOND HAY, ESQ.
JAMES M. HOG, ESQ. 45
JOHN HOPE, ESQ.
COSMO INNES, ESQ.
DAVID IRVING, LL.D.
JAMES IVORY, ESQ.
THE REV. JOHN JAMIESON, D.D. 50
ROBERT JAMESON, ESQ.
SIR HENRY JARDINE.
FRANCIS JEFFREY, ESQ. LORD ADVOCATE.
JAMES KEAY, ESQ.
THOMAS FRANCIS KENNEDY, ESQ. 55
JOHN G. KINNEAR, ESQ. [TREASURER.]
THE EARL OF KINNOULL.
DAVID LAING, ESQ. [SECRETARY.]
THE EARL OF LAUDERDALE, K.T.
THE REV. JOHN LEE, D.D. 60
THE MARQUIS OF LOTHIAN.
HON. J. H. MACKENZIE, LORD MACKENZIE.
JAMES MACKENZIE, ESQ.
JAMES MAIDMENT, ESQ.
THOMAS MAITLAND, ESQ. 65
THE HON. WILLIAM MAULE.
GILBERT LAING MEASON, ESQ.
VISCOUNT MELVILLE, K.T.
WILLIAM HENRY MILLER, ESQ.
THE EARL OF MINTO. 70
HON. SIR J. W. MONCREIFF, LORD MONCREIFF.
JOHN ARCHIBALD MURRAY, ESQ.
WILLIAM MURRAY, ESQ.
JAMES NAIRNE, ESQ.
MACVEY NAPIER, ESQ. 75
FRANCIS PALGRAVE, ESQ.
HENRY PETRIE, ESQ.
ROBERT PITCAIRN, ESQ.
ALEXANDER PRINGLE, ESQ.
JOHN RICHARDSON, ESQ. 80
THE EARL OF ROSSLYN.
ANDREW RUTHERFURD, ESQ.
THE EARL OF SELKIRK.
RIGHT HON. SIR SAMUEL SHEPHERD.
ANDREW SKENE, ESQ. 85
JAMES SKENE, ESQ.
GEORGE SMYTHE, ESQ.
EARL SPENCER, K.G.
JOHN SPOTTISWOODE, ESQ.
THE MARQUIS OF STAFFORD, K.G. 90
MAJOR-GENERAL STRATON.
SIR JOHN ARCHIBALD STEWART, BAR^T.
THE HON. CHARLES FRANCIS STUART.
ALEXANDER THOMSON, ESQ.
THOMAS THOMSON, ESQ. [VICE-PRESIDENT.] 95
W. C. TREVELYAN, ESQ.
PATRICK FRASER TYTLER, ESQ.
ADAM URQUHART, ESQ.
RIGHT HON. SIR GEORGE WARRENDER BAR^T.
THE VENERABLE ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM. 100
TO THE
RIGHT HONOURABLE
SIR SAMUEL SHEPHERD,
THIS CURIOUS TRACT,
RESPECTING PERHAPS THE ONLY SUBJECT OF LEGAL ENQUIRY
WHICH HAS ESCAPED BEING INVESTIGATED BY HIS SKILL,
AND ILLUSTRATED BY HIS GENIUS,
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED,
BY HIS AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, AND MUCH
OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT,
WALTER SCOTT.
15TH FEB., 1831.
INTRODUCTION.
Although the giving information concerning the unfair manner in which
they were dismissed from life, is popularly alleged to have been a
frequent reason why departed spirits revisit the nether world, it is
yet only in a play of the witty comedian, Foote, that the reader will
find their appearance become the subject of formal and very ingenious
pleadings. In his farce called the Orators, the celebrated Cocklane
Ghost is indicted by the name of Fanny the Phantom, for that, contrary
to the King's peace, it did annoy, assault, and terrify divers persons
residing in Cocklane and elsewhere, in the county of Middlesex. The
senior counsel objects to his client pleading to the indictment, unless
she is tried by her equals in rank, and therefore he moves the
indictment be quashed, unless a jury of ghosts be first had and
obtained. To this it is replied, that although Fanny the Phantom had
originally a right to a jury of ghosts, yet in taking upon her to
knock, to flutter, and to scratch, she did, by condescending to
operations proper to humanity, wave her privileges as a ghost, and must
consent to be tried in the ordinary manner. It occurs to the Justice
who tries the case, that there will be difficulty in impanelling a jury
of ghosts, and he doubts how twelve spirits who have no body at all,
can be said to take a corporal oath, as required by law, unless,
indeed, as in the case of the Peerage, the prisoner may be tried upon
her honour. At length the counsel for the prosecution furnishes the
list of ghosts for the selection of the jury, being the most celebrated
apparitions of modern times, namely, Sir George Villiers, the evil
genius of Brutus, the Ghost of Banquo, and the phantom of Mrs Veal. The
counsel for the prosecution objects to a woman, and the court
dissolves, under the facetious order, that if the Phantom should plead
pregnancy, Mrs Veal will be admitted upon the jury of matrons.
This admirable foolery is carried by the English Aristophanes nearly as
far as it will go; yet it is very contrary to the belief of those, who
conceive that injured spirits are often the means of procuring redress
for wrongs committed upon their mortal frames, to find how seldom in
any country an allusion hath been made to such evidence in a court of
justice, although, according to their belief, such instances must have
frequently occurred. One or two cases of such apparition-evidence our
researches have detected.
It is a popular story, that an evidence for the Crown began to tell the
substance of an alleged conversation with the ghost of a murdered man,
in which he laid his death to the accused person at the bar. "Stop,"
said the judge, with becoming gravity, "this will not do; the evidence
of the ghost is excellent, none can speak with a clearer cause of
knowledge to any thing which befell him during life. But he must be
sworn in usual form. Call the ghost in open court, and if he appears,
the jury and I will give all weight to his evidence; but in case he
does not come forward, he cannot be heard, as now proposed, through the
medium of a third party." It will readily be conceived that the ghost
failed to appear, and the accusation was dismissed.
In the French _Causes Celebres et Interessantes_, is one entitled, _Le
Spectre, ou l'Illusion Reprouve_, reported by Guyot de Pittaval [vol.
xii. edition La Haye, 1749], in which a countryman prosecutes a
tradesman named Auguier for about twenty thousand francs, said to have
been lent to the tradesman. It was pretended, that the loan was to
account of the proceeds of a treasure which Mirabel, the peasant, had
discovered by means of a ghost or spirit, and had transferred to the
said Auguier, that he might convert it into cash for him. The case had
some resemblance to that of Fanny the Phantom. The defendant urged the
impossibility of the original discovery of the treasure by the spirit
to the prosecutor; but the defence was repelled by the influence of the
principal judge, and on a charge so ridiculous, Auguier narrowly
escaped the torture. At length, though with hesitation, the prosecutor
was nonsuited, upon the ground, that if his own story was true, the
treasure, by the ancient laws of France, belonged to the Crown. So that
the ghost-seer, though he had nearly occasioned the defendant to be put
to the question, profited in the end nothing by his motion.
This is something like a decision of the great Frederick of Prussia.
One of his soldiers, a Catholic, pretended peculiar sanctity, and an
especial devotion to a particular image of the Virgin Mary, which,
richly decorated with ornaments by the zeal of her worshippers, was
placed in a chapel in one of the churches of the city where her votary
was quartered. The soldier acquired such familiarity with the object of
his devotion, and was so much confided in by the priests, that he
watched for and found an opportunity of possessing himself of a
valuable diamond necklace belonging to the Madonna. Although the
defendant was taken in the manner, he had the impudence, knowing the
case was to be heard by the King, to say that the Madonna herself had
voluntarily presented him with her necklace, observing that, as her
good and faithful votary, he had better apply it to his necessities,
than that it should remain useless in her custody.
The King, happy of the opportunity of tormenting the priests, demanded
of them, whether there was a possibility that the soldier's defence
might be true. Their faith obliged them to grant that the story was
possible, while they exhausted themselves on the improbabilities which
attended it. "Nevertheless," said the King, "since it is possible, we
must, in absence of proof, receive it as true, in the first instance.
All I can do to check an imprudent generosity of the saints in future,
is to publish an edict, or public order, that all soldiers in my
service, who shall accept any gift from the Virgin, or any saint
whatever, shall, _eo ipso_, incur the penalty of death."
Amongst English trials, there is only mention of a ghost in a very
incidental manner, in that of John Cole, fourth year of William and
Mary, State Trials, vol. xii. The case is a species of supplement to
that of the well-known trial of Henry Harrison, which precedes it in
the same collection, of which the following is the summary.
A respectable doctor of medicine, Clenche, had the misfortune to offend
a haughty, violent, and imperious woman of indifferent character, named
Vanwinckle, to whom he had lent money, and who he wished to repay it. A
hackney-coach, with two men in it, took up the physician by night, as
they pretended, to carry him to visit a patient. But on the road they
strangled him with a handkerchief, having a coal, or some such hard
substance, placed against their victim's windpipe, and escaped from the
coach. One Henry Harrison, a man of loose life, connected with this Mrs
Vanwinckle, the borrower of the money, was tried, convicted, and
executed, on pretty clear evidence, yet he died denying the crime
charged. The case being of a shocking nature, of course interested the
feelings of the common people, and another person was accused as an
accessory, the principal evidence against whom was founded on this
story.
A woman, called Millward, pretended that she had seen the ghost of her
deceased husband, who told her that one John Cole had assisted him, the
ghost, in the murder of Dr Clenche. Cole was brought to trial
accordingly; but the charge was totally despised, both by judge and
jury, and produced no effect whatever in obtaining conviction.
Such being the general case with respect to apparitions, really alluded
to or quoted in formal evidence in courts of justice, an evidence of
that kind gravely given and received in the High Court of Justiciary in
Scotland, has some title to be considered as a curiosity.
The Editor's connexion with it is of an old standing, since, shortly
after he was called to the bar in 1792, it was pointed out to him by
Robert M'Intosh, Esq., one of the counsel in the case, then and long
after remarkable for the interest which he took, and the management
which he possessed, in the prolix and complicated affairs of the York
Building Company.
The cause of the trial, bloody and sad enough in its own nature, was
one of the acts of violence which were the natural consequences of the
Civil War in 1745.
It was about three years after the battle of Culloden that this poor
man, Sergeant Davis, was quartered, with a small military party, in an
uncommonly wild part of the Highlands, near the country of the
Farquharsons, as it is called, and adjacent to that which is now the
property of the Earl of Fife. A more waste tract of mountain and bog,
rocks and ravines, extending from Dubrach to Glenshee, without
habitations of any kind until you reach Glenclunie, is scarce to be met
with in Scotland. A more fit locality, therefore, for a deed of murder,
could hardly be pointed out, nor one which could tend more to agitate
superstitious feelings. The hill of Christie, on which the murder was
actually committed, is a local name, which is probably known in the
country, though the Editor has been unable to discover it more
specially, but it certainly forms part of the ridge to which the
general description applies. Davis was attached to the country where he
had his residence, by the great plenty of sport which it afforded, and,
when dispatched upon duty across these mountains, he usually went at
some distance from his men, and followed his game without regarding the
hints thrown out about danger from the country people. To this he was
exposed, not only from his being intrusted with the odious office of
depriving the people of their arms and national dress, but still more
from his usually carrying about with him a stock of money and
valuables, considerable for the time and period, and enough of itself
to be a temptation to his murder.
On the 28th day of September, the Sergeant set forth, along with a
party, which was to communicate with a separate party of English
soldiers at Glenshee; but when Davis's men came to the place of
rendezvous, their commander was not with them, and the privates could
only say that they had heard the report of his gun after he had parted
from them on his solitary sport. In short, Sergeant Arthur Davis was
seen no more in this life, and his remains were long sought for in
vain. At length a native of the country, named M'Pherson, made it known
to more than one person that the spirit of the unfortunate huntsman had
appeared to him, and told him he had been murdered by two Highlanders,
natives of the country, named Duncan Terig alias Clerk, and Alexander
Bane Macdonald. Proofs accumulated, and a person was even found to bear
witness, that lying in concealment upon the hill of Christie, the spot
where poor Davis was killed, he and another man, now dead, saw the
crime committed with their own eyes. A girl whom Clerk afterwards
married, was, nearly at the same time, seen in possession of two
valuable rings which the Sergeant used to have about his person.
Lastly, the counsel and agent of the prisoners were convinced of their
guilt. Yet, notwithstanding all these suspicious circumstances, the
panels were ultimately acquitted by the jury.
This was chiefly owing to the ridicule thrown upon the story by the
incident of the ghost, which was enhanced seemingly, if not in reality,
by the ghost-seer stating the spirit to have spoken as good Gaelic as
he had ever heard in Lochaber.--"Pretty well," answered Mr M'Intosh,
"for the ghost of an English sergeant!" This was indeed no sound jest,
for there was nothing more ridiculous, in a ghost speaking a language
which he did not understand when in the body, than there was in his
appearing at all. But still the counsel had a right to seize upon
whatever could benefit his clients, and there is no doubt that this
observation rendered the evidence of the spectre yet more ridiculous.
In short, it is probable that the ghost of Sergeant Davis, had he
actually been to devise how to prevent these two men from being
executed for his own murder, could hardly have contrived a better mode
than by the apparition in the manner which was sworn to.
The most rational supposition seems to be, that the crime had come to
M'Pherson, the ghost-seer's knowledge, by ordinary means, of which
there is some evidence, but desiring to have a reason for communicating
it, which could not be objected to by the people of the country, he had
invented this machinery of the ghost, whose commands, according to
Highland belief, were not to be disobeyed. If such were his motives,
his legend, though it seemed to set his own tongue at liberty upon the
subject, yet it impressed on his evidence the fate of Cassandra's
prophecies, that, however true, it should not have the fortune to be
believed.
ABBOTSFORD, 18th March, 1830.
TRIAL OF
DUNCAN TERIG ALIAS CLERK, AND ALEXANDER BAIN MACDONALD,
FOR THE MURDER OF
ARTHUR DAVIES, SERJEANT
IN GENERAL GUISE'S REGIMENT OF FOOT.
JUNE, A.D. MDCC.LIV.
TRIAL OF
DUNCAN TERIG ALIAS CLERK,
AND ALEXANDER BAIN MACDONALD.
_CURIA JUSTICIARIA S. D. N. Regis tenta in Nova Sessionis Domo
Burgi de Edinburgh, Decimo die Mensis Junij 1754, per honorabiles
viros Carolum Areskine de Alva, Justiciarij Clericum, Magistros
Alexandrum Fraser de Strichen, Patricium Grant de Elchies, et
Hugonem Dalrymple de Drummore, et Dominum Jacobum Ferguson de
Killkerran, Commissionarios Justiciarij dicti S. D. N. Regis._
_Curia legittime affirmata_,
INTRAN.
DUNCAN TERIG _alias_ CLERK, and ALEXANDER BAIN MACDONALD, both now
prisoners in the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, Pannels,
Indicted and accused at the instance of William Grant of Prestongrange,
Esq., His Majesties Advocate, for His Majesties interest, for the crime
of murder committed by them in manner at length mentioned in the
indictment raised against them thereanent, which indictment maketh
mention, THAT WHEREAS, by the laws of God, and of this and all other
well governed realms, Murder or Homicide is a most atrocious crime, and
severely punishable, especially committed with an intent to rob the
person murdered, and that by persons of bad fame and character, who are
habite and repute thieves, YET TRUE IT IS, and of verity, that they,
and each of them, or one or other of them, are guilty, actors, or art
and part, of the foresaid crime, aggravated as aforesaid, in so far as
the deceast Arthur Davies, serjeant in the regiment of foot commanded
by General Guise, being in the year one thousand seven hundred and
forty-nine, quartered or lodged alongst with a party of men or soldiers
belonging to the said regiment in Dubrach, or Glendee, in Braemar, in
the parish of ---- and sheriffdom of Aberdeen, he, the said Arthur
Davies, did, upon the twenty-eighth day September, one thousand seven
hundred and forty-nine, or upon one or other of the days of that month,
or of the month of August immediately preceding, or October immediately
following, go from thence to a hill in Braemar, commonly called
Christie, at the head of Glenconie, in the parish of ---- and
sheriffdom aforesaid. As also that same day, both of them, the said
Duncan Terig alias Clerk, and Alexander Bain Macdonald, went from the
house of John Grant, in Altalaat, armed with guns and muskets,
pretending when they went from thence that they were going to shoot or
hunt deer upon the said hill, to which place both of them having
accordingly gone, and there meeting with the said Arthur Davies, each,
or one or other of them, did, on the said twenty-eighth of September,
1749, or upon one or other of the days of that month, or of the months
aforesaid, cruelly and barbarously fire a loaded gun or guns at him,
which were in their hands, whereby he was mortally wounded, and of
which wounds he died on the said hill, immediately or soon thereafter,
where his dead body remained concealed for sometime, and was afterwards
found, together with a hat, having a silver button on it, with the
letters A. R. D. marked on it. LIKEAS, soon after the said Arthur
Davies was murdered, each of the said two panels, being persons of bad
fame and character, and who were habite and repute thieves, were, by
the general voice of the country | 227.598445 |
2023-11-16 18:20:51.5784170 | 4,991 | 9 |
Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Buffalo Bill's Spy Trailer
OR,
THE STRANGER IN CAMP
By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham
Author of the celebrated "Buffalo Bill" stories published in the BORDER
STORIES. For other titles see catalogue.
[Illustration]
STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York
Copyright, 1908
By STREET & SMITH
Buffalo Bill's Spy Trailer
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
IN APPRECIATION OF WILLIAM F. CODY
(BUFFALO BILL).
It is now some generations since Josh Billings, Ned Buntline, and
Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, intimate friends of Colonel William F. Cody,
used to forgather in the office of Francis S. Smith, then proprietor of
the _New York Weekly_. It was a dingy little office on Rose Street, New
York, but the breath of the great outdoors stirred there when these
old-timers got together. As a result of these conversations, Colonel
Ingraham and Ned Buntline began to write of the adventures of Buffalo
Bill for Street & Smith.
Colonel Cody was born in Scott County, Iowa, February 26, 1846. Before
he had reached his teens, his father, Isaac Cody, with his mother and
two sisters, migrated to Kansas, which at that time was little more than
a wilderness.
When the elder Cody was killed shortly afterward in the Kansas "Border
War," young Bill assumed the difficult role of family breadwinner.
During 1860, and until the outbreak of the Civil War, Cody lived the
arduous life of a pony-express rider. Cody volunteered his services as
government scout and guide and served throughout the Civil War with
Generals McNeil and A. J. Smith. He was a distinguished member of the
Seventh Kansas Cavalry.
During the Civil War, while riding through the streets of St. Louis,
Cody rescued a frightened schoolgirl from a band of annoyers. In true
romantic style, Cody and Louisa Federci, the girl, were married March 6,
1866.
In 1867 Cody was employed to furnish a specified amount of buffalo meat
to the construction men at work on the Kansas Pacific Railroad. It was
in this period that he received the sobriquet "Buffalo Bill."
In 1868 and for four years thereafter Colonel Cody served as scout and
guide in campaigns against the Sioux and Cheyenne Indians. It was
General Sheridan who conferred on Cody the honor of chief of scouts of
the command.
After completing a period of service in the Nebraska legislature, Cody
joined the Fifth Cavalry in 1876, and was again appointed chief of
scouts.
Colonel Cody's fame had reached the East long before, and a great many
New Yorkers went out to see him and join in his buffalo hunts, including
such men as August Belmont, James Gordon Bennett, Anson Stager, and
J. G. Heckscher. In entertaining these visitors at Fort McPherson, Cody
was accustomed to arrange wild-West exhibitions. In return his friends
invited him to visit New York. It was upon seeing his first play in the
metropolis that Cody conceived the idea of going into the show business.
Assisted by Ned Buntline, novelist, and Colonel Ingraham, he started his
"Wild West" show, which later developed and expanded into "A Congress of
the Rough-riders of the World," first presented at Omaha, Nebraska. In
time it became a familiar yearly entertainment in the great cities of
this country and Europe. Many famous personages attended the
performances, and became his warm friends, including Mr. Gladstone, the
Marquis of Lorne, King Edward, Queen Victoria, and the Prince of Wales,
now King of England.
At the outbreak of the Sioux, in 1890 and 1891, Colonel Cody served at
the head of the Nebraska National Guard. In 1895 Cody took up the
development of Wyoming Valley by introducing irrigation. Not long
afterward he became judge advocate general of the Wyoming National
Guard.
Colonel Cody (Buffalo Bill) died in Denver, Colorado, on January 10,
1917. His legacy to a grateful world was a large share in the
development of the West, and a multitude of achievements in
horsemanship, marksmanship, and endurance that will live for ages. His
life will continue to be a leading example of the manliness, courage,
and devotion to duty that belonged to a picturesque phase of American
life now passed, like the great patriot whose career it typified, into
the Great Beyond.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
I. THE HERMIT OF THE GRAND CANYON 5
II. THE MINER'S SECRET 14
III. THE GRAVE AT THE DESERTED CAMP 20
IV. A VOW OF VENGEANCE 28
V. MASKED AND MERCILESS 33
VI. THE DUMB MESSENGER 41
VII. DEATH AND MADNESS 50
VIII. A STRANGE BURIAL 62
IX. THE COURIER 67
X. DOCTOR DICK'S DRIVE 76
XI. RUNNING THE GANTLET 84
XII. A MAN'S NERVE 92
XIII. A VOLUNTEER 97
XIV. THE WAY IT WAS DONE 105
XV. A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE 114
XVI. TAKING CHANCES 122
XVII. A SECRET KEPT 130
XVIII. A MYSTERIOUS SOUND 138
XIX. A FAIR PASSENGER 143
XX. MASKED FOES 151
XXI. THE SACRIFICE 159
XXII. THE RANSOM 168
XXIII. THE OUTLAWS' CAPTIVE 181
XXIV. THE TWO FUGITIVES 186
XXV. THE OUTLAW LOVER 195
XXVI. THE SECRET OUT 200
XXVII. THE DEPARTURE 210
XXVIII. THE LONE TRAIL 219
XXIX. TO WELCOME THE FAIR GUEST 223
XXX. AT THE RENDEZVOUS 231
XXXI. DOCTOR DICK TELLS THE NEWS 239
XXXII. THE MINERS' WELCOME 248
XXXIII. THE COUNCIL 252
XXXIV. A METAMORPHOSIS 259
XXXV. THE DRIVER'S LETTER 268
XXXVI. THE SCOUT ON THE WATCH 272
XXXVII. THE MINER'S MISSION 280
XXXVIII. A LEAF FROM THE PAST 288
XXXIX. THE OUTLAW'S CONFESSION 298
XL. TEARING OFF THE MASK 303
BUFFALO BILL'S SPY TRAILER.
CHAPTER I.
THE HERMIT OF THE GRAND CANYON.
A horseman drew rein one morning, upon the brink of the Grand Canyon of
the Colorado, a mighty abyss, too vast for the eye to take in its grand
immensity; a mighty mountain rent asunder and forming a chasm which is a
valley of grandeur and beauty, through which flows the Colorado Grande.
Ranges of mountains tower to cloudland on all sides with cliffs of
scarlet, blue, violet, yes, all hues of the rainbow; crystal streams
flowing merrily along; verdant meadows, vales and hills, with massive
forests everywhere--such was the sight that met the admiring gaze of the
horseman as he sat there in his saddle, his horse looking down into the
canyon.
It was a spot avoided by Indians as the abiding-place of evil spirits; a
scene shunned by white men, a mighty retreat where a fugitive, it would
seem, would be forever safe, no matter what the crime that had driven
him to seek a refuge there.
Adown from where the horseman had halted, was the bare trace of a trail,
winding around the edge of an overhanging rock by a shelf that was not a
yard in width and which only a man could tread whose head was cool and
heart fearless.
Wrapt in admiration of the scene, the mist-clouds floating lazily upward
from the canyon, the silver ribbon far away that revealed the winding
river, and the songs of birds coming from a hundred leafy retreats on
the hillsides, the horseman gave a deep sigh, as though memories most
sad were awakened in his breast by the scene, and then dismounting began
to unwrap a lariat from his saddle-horn.
He was dressed as a miner, wore a slouch-hat, was of commanding
presence, and his darkly bronzed face, heavily bearded, was full of
determination, intelligence, and expression.
Two led horses, carrying heavy packs, were behind the animal he rode,
and attaching the lariats to their bits he took one end and led the way
down the most perilous and picturesque trail along the shelf running
around the jutting point of rocks.
When he drew near the narrowest point, he took off the saddle and packs,
and one at a time led the horses downward and around the hazardous
rocks.
A false step, a movement of fright in one of the animals, would send him
downward to the depths more than a mile below.
But the trembling animals seemed to have perfect confidence in their
master, and after a long while he got them by the point of greatest
peril.
Going back and forward he carried the packs and saddles, and replacing
them upon the animals began once more the descent of the only trail
leading down into the Grand Canyon, from that side.
The way was rugged, most dangerous in places, and several times his
horses barely escaped a fall over the precipice, the coolness and strong
arm of the man alone saving them from death, and his stores from
destruction.
It was nearly sunset when he at last reached the bottom of the
stupendous rift, and only the tops of the cliffs were tinged with the
golden light, the valley being in densest shadow.
Going on along the canyon at a brisk pace, as though anxious to reach
some camping-place before nightfall, after a ride of several miles he
came in sight of a wooded canyon, entering the one he was then in, and
with heights towering toward heaven so far that all below seemed as
black as night.
But a stream wound out of the canyon, to mingle its clear waters with the
grand Colorado River a mile away, and massive trees grew near at hand,
sheltering a cabin that stood upon the sloping hill at the base of a
cliff that arose thousands of feet above it.
When within a few hundred yards of the lone cabin, suddenly there was a
crashing, grinding sound, a terrific roar, a rumbling, and the earth
seemed shaken violently as the whole face of the mighty cliff came
crushing down into the valley, sending up showers of splintered rocks
and clouds of dust that were blinding and appalling!
Back from the scene of danger fled the frightened horses, the rider
showing no desire to check their flight until a spot of safety was
reached.
Then, half a mile from the fallen cliff, he paused, his face white, his
whole form quivering, while his horses stood trembling with terror.
"My God! the cliff has fallen upon my home, and my unfortunate comrade
lies buried beneath a mountain of rocks. We mined too far beneath the
cliff, thus causing a cave-in.
"A few minutes more and I would also have shared poor Langley's fate;
but a strange destiny it is that protects me from death--a strange one
indeed! He is gone, and I alone am now the Hermit of the Grand Canyon, a
Croesus in wealth of gold, yet a fugitive from my fellow men. What a
fate is mine, and how will it all end, I wonder?"
Thus musing the hermit-miner sat upon his own horse listening to the
echoes rumbling through the Grand Canyon, growing fainter and fainter,
like a retreating army fighting off its pursuing foes.
An hour passed before the unnerved man felt able to seek a camp for the
night, so great had been the shock of the falling cliff, and the fate he
had felt had overtaken his comrade.
At last he rode on up the canyon once more, determined to seek a spot he
knew well where he could camp, a couple of miles above his destroyed
home.
He passed the pile of rocks, heaped far up the cliff from which they had
fallen, looking upon them as the sepulcher of his companion.
"Poor Lucas Langley! He, too, had his sorrows, and his secrets, which
drove him, like me, to seek a retreat far from mankind, and become a
hunted man. Alas! what has the future in store for me?"
With a sigh he rode on up the valley, his way now guided by the
moonlight alone, and at last turned into another canyon, for the Grand
Canyon has hundreds of others branching off from it, some of them
penetrating for miles back into the mountains.
He had gone up this canyon for a few hundred yards, and was just about to
halt, and go into camp upon the banks of a small stream, when his eyes
caught sight of a light ahead.
"Ah! what does that mean?" he ejaculated in surprise.
Hardly had he spoken when from up the canyon came the deep voice of a dog
barking, his scent telling him of a human presence near.
"Ah! Savage is not dead then, and, after all, Lucas Langley may have
escaped."
The horseman rode quickly on toward the light. The barking of the dog
continued, but it was not a note of warning but of welcome, and as the
horseman drew rein by a camp-fire a huge brute sprang up and greeted him
with every manifestation of delight, while a man came forward from the
shadows of the trees and cried:
"Thank Heaven you are back again, Pard Seldon, for I had begun to fear
for your safety."
"And I was sure that I would never meet you again in life, Lucas, for I
believed you at the bottom of that mountain of rocks that fell from the
cliff and crushed out our little home," and the hands of the two men met
in a warm grasp.
"It would have been so but for a warning I had, when working in the
mine. I saw that the cliff was splitting and settling, and running out I
discovered that it must fall, and before very long.
"I at once got the two mules out of the canyon above, packed all our
traps upon them, and hastened away to a spot of safety. Then I returned
and got all else I could find, gathered up our gold, and came here and
made our camp.
"To-night the cliff fell, but not expecting you to arrive by night, I
was to be on the watch for you in the morning; but thank Heaven you are
safe and home again."
"And I am happy to find you safe, Lucas. I was within an eighth of a
mile of the cliff when it fell, and I shall never forget the sight, the
sound, the appalling dread for a few moments, as I fled to a spot of
safety, my horses bearing me along like the wind in their mad terror."
"It was appalling, and I have not dared leave my camp since, far as I am
from it, for it resounded through the canyons like a mighty battle with
heavy guns. But come, comrade, and we will have supper and talk over all
that has happened."
The horses were staked out up the canyon, where grass and water were
plentiful, and then the two men sat down to supper, though neither
seemed to have much of an appetite after what had occurred.
But Savage, the huge, vicious-looking dog, felt no bad results from his
fright of a few hours before, and ate heartily.
When their pipes were lighted the man who had lately arrived said:
"Well, Lucas, I brought back provisions and other things to last us a
year, and I care not to go again from this canyon until I carry a fortune
in gold with me."
"Yes, here we are safe, and I feel that something has happened to cause
you to say what you do, pard."
"And I will tell you what it is," impressively returned the one who had
spoken of himself as the Hermit of the Grand Canyon.
"Yes," he added slowly. "I will tell you a secret, comrade."
CHAPTER II.
THE MINER'S SECRET.
"Pard, after what has happened, the falling of the cliff, and our narrow
escape from death, I feel little like sleep, tired as I am, so, as I
said, I will tell you a secret," continued Andrew Seldon, speaking in a
way that showed his thoughts were roaming in the past.
"You will have a good listener, pard," was the answer.
"Yes, I feel that I will, and you having told me that you were a
fugitive from the law, that your life had its curse upon it, I will tell
you of mine, at least enough of it to prove to you that I also dare not
show my face among my fellow men.
"You know me as Andrew Seldon, and I have with me proof that I could
show to convince one that such is my name; but, in reality, Andrew
Seldon is dead, and I am simply playing his part in life, for I am not
unlike him in appearance, and, as I said, I have the proofs that enable
me to impersonate him.
"My real name is Wallace Weston, whom circumstances beyond my control
made a murderer and fugitive, and here I am. I entered the army as a
private cavalry soldier, and worked my way up to sergeant, with the hope
of getting a commission some day.
"But one day another regiment came to the frontier post where I was
stationed, and a member of it was the man to whom I owed all my sorrow
and misfortune in life. Well, the recognition was mutual, a quarrel
followed, and he--his name was Manton Mayhew--fell by my hand, and he,
too, was a sergeant.
"I said nothing in my defense, for I would not reopen the story of the
past for curious eyes to gaze upon, and accepted my fate, my sentence
being to be shot to death. On one occasion, in an Indian fight, I had
saved the life of the scout Buffalo Bill----"
"Ah, yes, I know of him," said the listener earnestly.
"He, in return, rode through the Indian country, to the quarters of the
district commander, to try and get a reprieve, hoping to glean new
evidence to clear me. He was refused, and returned just as I was led
down on the banks of the river for execution.
"I heard the result and determined in a second to escape, or be killed
in the attempt. Buffalo Bill's horse stood near, and with a bound I was
upon his back, rushed him into the stream, swam across and escaped.
"I was fired upon by the scout, under an order to do so, but his bullets
were not aimed to kill me. Night was near at hand, and pursuit was
begun, but I had a good start, reached the desert and entered it.
"The next day, for the scout's horse was worn down, my pursuers would
have overtaken me had I not suddenly come upon a stray horse in a clump
of timber, an oasis in the desert.
"I mounted him and pushed straight on into the desert, and the next day
came upon a solitary rock, by which lay the dead body of a man upon
which the coyotes had just begun to feed. He had starved to death in the
desert, and the horse I had found was his.
"At once an idea seized me to let my pursuer believe that _I_ was that
dead man; so I dressed him in my uniform, killed the horse near him,
left the scout's saddle and bridle there, and started off on foot over
the desert, attired as the man whom I had found there.
"With him I had found letters, papers, and a map and diary, and these
gave me his name, and more, for I found that the map would lead me to a
gold-mine, the one in this canyon in which we have worked so well to our
great profit.
"I wandered back, off the desert, and you know the rest: how I came to
the camp where you lay wounded and threatened with death by your
comrade, Black-heart Bill, who knew that you had a mine which he was
determined to have.
"In Black-heart Bill I recognized a brother of Sergeant Manton Mayhew,
another man whom I sought revenge upon. Hugh Mayhew had also wronged me
as his brothers had, for there were three of them, strange to
say--triplets--Manton, Hugh, and Richard Mayhew, and to them I owed it
that I became a fugitive from home.
"You remember my duel with Hugh Mayhew, and that he fell by my hand?
Well, there is one more yet, and some day we may meet, and then it must
be his life or mine.
"Taking the name of Andrew Seldon, and leaving all to believe that I,
Wallace Weston, died in the desert, I came here, with you as my
companion. We are growing rich, and though the Cliff Mine has fallen in,
there are others that will pan out even better.
"But, pard, when I went to the post this time for provisions, I came
upon Buffalo Bill escorting a deserter to Fort Faraway, and a band of
desperadoes from the mines of Last Chance had ambushed him to rescue the
prisoner.
"I went to the rescue of the scout, saved him and his prisoner, and went
on my way to the post; but yet I half-believe, in spite of believing me
dead, and my changed appearance with my long hair and beard, that
Buffalo Bill half-recognized me.
"I must take no more chances, so shall remain close in this canyon until
ready to leave it and go far away with my fortune, to enjoy it
elsewhere.
"Again, pard: I had written to the home of Andrew Seldon, whom I am now
impersonating, and I find that he | 227.598457 |
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[Illustration: Cover]
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TRUE STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR
TRUE STORIES
OF THE
GREAT WAR
TALES OF ADVENTURE--HEROIC DEEDS--EXPLOITS
TOLD BY THE SOLDIERS, OFFICERS, NURSES,
DIPLOMATS, EYE WITNESSES
_Collected in Six Volumes
From Official and Authoritative Sources_
(_See Introductory to Volume I_)
VOLUME I
Editor-in-Chief
FRANCIS TREVELYAN MILLER (Litt. D., LL.D.)
Editor of The Search-Light Library
1917
REVIEW OF REVIEWS COMPANY
NEW YORK
Copyright, 1917, by
REVIEW OF REVIEWS COMPANY
TRUE STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR
INTRODUCTORY
Thirty million soldiers, each living a great human story--this is the
real drama of the Great War as it is being written into the hearts and
memories of the men at the front. If these soldiers could be gathered
around one camp-fire, and each soldier could relate the most thrilling
moment of his experience--what stories we would hear! "Don Quixote,"
the "Arabian Nights," Dante's "Inferno," Milton's "Paradise Lost, and
Regained"--all the legends and tales of the world's literature out-told
by the soldiers themselves.
It is from the lips of these soldiers, and those who have passed
through the tragedy of the war--the women and children whose eyes have
beheld the inferno and whose souls have been uplifted by suffering
and self-sacrifice--the generations will hear the epic of the days
when millions of men gave their lives to "make the world safe for
Democracy." The magnitude of this gigantic struggle against autocracy
is such that human imagination cannot visualize it--it requires one to
stand face to face with death itself.
A member of the British War Staff estimates that more than a million
letters a day are passing from the trenches and bases of the various
armies "to the folk back home." Another observer at the General
Headquarters of one of the armies estimates that more than a million
and a half diaries are being kept by the soldiers. It is in these
words, inscribed by bleeding bodies and suffering hearts, that
posterity is to hear _True Stories of the Great War_.
It is the purpose of these volumes, therefore, to begin the
preservation of these soldiers' stories. This is the first collection
that has been made; it is in itself an historic event. The manner in
which this service has been performed may be of interest to the reader.
It was my privilege to appoint a committee, or board of editors, to
collect stories from soldiers in the various armies--personal letters,
records of personal experiences, reminiscences, and all other available
material. An exhaustive investigation has been made into the files of
European and American periodicals to find the various narratives that
have "crept into print."
More than eight thousand stories were considered. The vast amount of
human material would require innumerable volumes to preserve it. It
was the judgment of the committee that this documentary evidence could
be brought into practical limitations by selecting a sufficient number
of narratives to cover every human phase of the Great War and preserve
them in six volumes.
This first collection of "True Stories" forms what might be termed a
"story-history" of the Great War, although all chronological plan is
purposely avoided in order to preserve the story-teller's "reality"
rather than the historian's record.
These volumes are in the nature of a "Round Table" in which soldiers,
refugees, nurses, eye-witnesses--all gather about the pages and relate
the most thrilling episodes of their war experiences. We hear the tales
of the soldiers who invaded Belgium, through the campaigns and battles
on all the fronts, to the landing of the American troops in France.
Diplomats tell of the scenes at the outbreak of the war; despatch
bearers relate their missions of danger from Paris to Berlin, London,
Vienna, Petrograd; refugees describe the flight of the Belgians, the
exodus of the Serbians, the invasion of Poland. Emissaries at General
Headquarters tell of their dinners with the Kaiser and the Crown
Prince, with Hindenburg and Zimmerman, and describe the scenes inside
the German empire. Soldiers from the Marne, the Aisne, Verdun--relate
their experiences. We listen to passengers tossed into the sea from
the _Lusitania_; revolutionists who overthrew the Czar in Russia;
exiles returning from Siberia. We hear the tales of the fighters from
South Africa, Egypt, Turkey; stories from the Far East along the seas
of China. The lieutenant of the _Emden_ relates his adventures. There
are stories told by Kitchener's "mob"; the "fighting Irish," Scottish
Highlanders, the Canadians, the Australians, the Hindus. The French
hussars and poilus tell of their experiences; the Italians in the Alps,
the Austrians in the Carpathians--the stories cover the whole world and
every race and nation.
These personal narratives reveal the psychology of war in all its
horrible reality--modern warfare on its gigantic scale--the genius
of invention and organization applied to destruction. They reveal,
moreover, the psychology of human nature and human emotions in all
their moods and passions. The first impression is of the physical
horror of the war, but this is soon overcome by the higher spirituality
that impels men to sacrifice their lives for civilization and humanity.
The stories sink at times into grossest brutality only to rise to the
heights of nobility on the part of the sufferers. Officers tell of
the charges of their battalions; the men in the trenches tell of the
"nights of terror"; spies tell of their secret missions; nurses deliver
the death-messages of the dying; priests tell how they carry the Cross
of Christ to the bloody fields; the prisoners tell the "inside story of
the prisons"; aviators relate their death-duels in the air; submarine
officers tell how they torpedo and capture the enemies' ships. There is
testimony from the lips of women who were ravaged; children who were
brutally mutilated; witnesses who saw soldiers crucified; soldiers
lashed to their guns; babies torn from their mothers' arms; homes in
flames and ruins, cathedrals desecrated.
And yet there is an undercurrent of humanity in these human documents.
In their physical aspect they are almost beyond human belief--but there
is a certain spiritual force running through them. There is a nobility
in them that rises above all the physical anguish.
These stories (and this war) reveal the souls of men as has nothing
before in modern times. The war has taught men "how to die." These
men have lost all fear of death. They have traveled the road of the
crucifixion and stood before Calvary; they have caught a glimpse of
something finer, nobler, truer than their own individual existence.
Through suffering and self-sacrifice they have risen to the noblest
heights. They have found something that we who have not faced death in
the trenches may never find--they have felt an exaltation in mind and
body that we may never know. There is the fire of the Old Crusaders
about them; they have caught the realization of the glory of humanity
as they march into the face of death. It is interesting to observe
that wherever the story-teller is fighting for a principle, he sees no
horror in war or death. It is only where he thinks of his individual
suffering, where his thoughts are of his own physical self, that he
complains.
And there is even humor in these stories; we see men laughing at
death; we see the wounded smiling and telling humorous tales of their
suffering; there is irony, cajolery, good-natured satire, and loud
outbursts of laughter. And there is tenderness in them--kindness,
gentleness, devotion, affection, and love. We find in them every
human passion--and every divine emotion. They form a new insight into
character and manhood--they inspire us with a new and deeper faith in
humanity.
The committee in making these selections found that many of the human
documents of the Great War are being preserved by the British, French,
and German publishing houses, but it is the American publishers who are
performing the greatest service in the preservation of war literature.
We have given consideration wherever possible to the notable work that
is being done by our American colleagues. While we have selected from
all sources what we consider to be _the best stories of the | 227.603498 |
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THE ALCESTIS
OF
EURIPIDES
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE
WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY
GILBERT MURRAY, LL D, D LITT, FBA
REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD
1915
INTRODUCTION
The _Alcestis_ would hardly confirm its author's right to be
acclaimed "the most tragic of the poets." It is doubtful whether one can
call it a tragedy at all. Yet it remains one of the most characteristic
and delightful of Euripidean dramas, as well as, by modern standards, the
most easily actable. And I notice that many judges who display nothing but
a fierce satisfaction in sending other plays of that author to the block
or the treadmill, show a certain human weakness in sentencing the gentle
daughter of Pelias.
The play has been interpreted in many different ways. There is the old
unsophisticated view, well set forth in Paley's preface of 1872. He
regards the _Alcestis_ simply as a triumph of pathos, especially of
"that peculiar sort of pathos which comes most home to us, with our views
and partialities for domestic life.... As for the characters, that of
Alcestis must be acknowledged to be pre-eminently beautiful. One could
almost imagine that Euripides had not yet conceived that bad opinion of
the sex which so many of the subsequent dramas exhibit.... But the rest
are hardly well-drawn, or, at least, pleasingly portrayed." "The poet
might perhaps, had he pleased, have exhibited Admetus in a more amiable
point of view."
This criticism is not very trenchant, but its weakness is due, I think,
more to timidity of statement than to lack of perception. Paley does see
that a character may be "well-drawn" without necessarily being "pleasing";
and even that he may be eminently pleasing as a part of the play while
very displeasing in himself. He sees that Euripides may have had his own
reasons for not making Admetus an ideal husband. It seems odd that such
points should need mentioning; but Greek drama has always suffered from a
school of critics who approach a play with a greater equipment of
aesthetic theory than of dramatic perception. This is the characteristic
defect of classicism. One mark of the school is to demand from dramatists
heroes and heroines which shall satisfy its own ideals; and, though there
was in the New Comedy a mask known to Pollux as "The Entirely-good Young
Man" ([Greek: panchraestos neaniskos]), such a character is fortunately
unknown to classical Greek drama.
The influence of this "classicist" tradition has led to a timid and
unsatisfying treatment of the _Alcestis_, in which many of the most
striking and unconventional features of the whole composition were either
ignored or smoothed away. As a natural result, various lively-minded
readers proceeded to overemphasize these particular features, and were
carried into eccentricity or paradox. Alfred Schoene, for instance, fixing
his attention on just those points which the conventional critic passed
over, decides simply that the _Alcestis_ is a parody, and finds it
very funny. (_Die Alkestis von Euripides_, Kiel, 1895.)
I will not dwell on other criticisms of this type. There are those who
have taken the play for a criticism of contemporary politics or the
current law of inheritance. Above all there is the late Dr. Verrall's
famous essay in _Euripides the Rationalist_, explaining it as a
psychological criticism of a supposed Delphic miracle, and arguing that
Alcestis in the play does not rise from the dead at all. She had never
really died; she only had a sort of nervous catalepsy induced by all the
"suggestion" of death by which she was surrounded. Now Dr. Verrall's work,
as always, stands apart. Even if wrong, it has its own excellence, its
special insight and its extraordinary awakening power. But in general the
effect of reading many criticisms on the _Alcestis_ is to make a
scholar realize that, for all the seeming simplicity of the play,
competent Grecians have been strangely bewildered by it, and that after
all there is no great reason to suppose that he himself is more sensible
than his neighbours.
This is depressing. None the less I cannot really believe that, if we make
patient use of our available knowledge, the _Alcestis_ presents any
startling enigma. In the first place, it has long been known from the
remnants of the ancient Didascalia, or official notice of production, that
the _Alcestis_ was produced as the fourth play of a series; that is,
it took the place of a Satyr-play. It is what we may call Pro-satyric.
(See the present writer's introduction to the _Rhesus_.) And we
should note for what it is worth the observation in the ancient Greek
argument: "The play is somewhat satyr-like ([Greek: saturiphkoteron]). It
ends in rejoicing and gladness against the tragic convention."
Now we are of late years beginning to understand much better what a
Satyr-play was. Satyrs have, of course, nothing to do with satire, either
etymologically or otherwise. Satyrs are the attendant daemons who form the
Komos, or revel rout, of Dionysus. They are represented in divers
fantastic forms, the human or divine being mixed with that of some animal,
especially the horse or wild goat. Like Dionysus himself, they are
connected in ancient religion with the Renewal of the Earth in spring and
the resurrection of the dead, a point which students of the
_Alcestis_ may well remember. But in general they represent mere
joyous creatures of nature, unthwarted by law and unchecked by
self-control. Two notes are especially struck by them: the passions and
the absurdity of half-drunken revellers, and the joy and mystery of the
wild things in the forest.
The rule was that after three tragedies proper there came a play, still in
tragic diction, with a traditional saga plot and heroic characters, in
which the Chorus was formed by these Satyrs. There was a deliberate clash,
an effect of burlesque; but of course the clash must not be too brutal.
Certain characters of the heroic saga are, so to speak, at home with
Satyrs and others are not. To take our extant specimens of Satyr-plays,
for instance: in the _Cyclops_ we have Odysseus, the heroic
trickster; in the fragmentary _Ichneutae_ of Sophocles we have the
Nymph Cyllene, hiding the baby Hermes from the chorus by the most
barefaced and pleasant lying; later no doubt there was an entrance of the
infant thief himself. Autolycus, Sisyphus, Thersites are all Satyr-play
heroes and congenial to the Satyr atmosphere; but the most congenial of
all, the one hero who existed always in an atmosphere of Satyrs and the
Komos until Euripides made him the central figure of a tragedy, was
Heracles.
[Footnote: The character of Heracles in connexion with the Komos, already
indicated by Wilamowitz and Dieterich (_Herakles_, pp. 98, ff.;
_Pulcinella_, pp. 63, ff.), has been illuminatingly developed in an
unpublished monograph by Mr. J.A.K. Thomson, of Aberdeen.]
The complete Satyr-play had a hero of this type and a Chorus of Satyrs.
But the complete type was refined away during the fifth century; and one
stage in the process produced a play with a normal chorus but with one
figure of the Satyric or "revelling" type. One might almost say the
"comic" type if, for the moment, we may remember that that word is
directly derived from 'Komos.'
The _Alcestis_ is a very clear instance of this Pro-satyric class of
play. It has the regular tragic diction, marked here and there (393,
756, 780, etc.) by slight extravagances and forms of words which are
sometimes epic and sometimes over-colloquial; it has a regular saga plot,
which had already been treated by the old poet Phrynichus in his
_Alcestis_, a play which is now lost but seems to have been Satyric;
and it has one character straight from the Satyr world, the heroic
reveller, Heracles. It is all in keeping that he should arrive tired,
should feast and drink and sing; should be suddenly sobered and should go
forth to battle with Death. It is also in keeping that the contest should
have a half-grotesque and half-ghastly touch, the grapple amid the graves
and the cracking ribs.
* * * * *
So much for the traditional form. As for the subject, Euripides received
it from Phrynichus, and doubtless from other sources. We cannot be sure of
the exact form of the story in Phrynichus. But apparently it told how
Admetus, King of Pherae in Thessaly, received from Apollo a special
privilege which the God had obtained, in true Satyric style, by making the
Three Fates drunk and cajoling them. This was that, when his appointed
time for death came, he might escape if he could find some volunteer to
die for him. His father and mother, from whom the service might have been
expected, refused to perform it. His wife, Alcestis, though no blood
relation, handsomely undertook it and died. But it so happened that
Admetus had entertained in his house the demi-god, Heracles; and when
Heracles heard what had happened, he went out and wrestled with Death,
conquered him, and brought Alcestis home.
Given this form and this story, the next question is: What did Euripides
make of them? The general answer is clear: he has applied his usual
method. He accepts the story as given in the tradition, and then
represents it in his own way. When the tradition in question is really
heroic, we know what his way is. He preserves, and even emphasizes, the
stateliness and formality of the Attic stage conventions; but, in the
meantime, he has subjected the story and its characters to a keener study
and a more sensitive psychological judgment than the simple things were
originally meant to bear. So that many characters which passed as heroic,
or at least presentable, in the kindly remoteness of legend, reveal some
strange weakness when brought suddenly into the light. When the tradition
is Satyric, as here, the same process produces almost an opposite effect.
It is somewhat as though the main plot of a gross and jolly farce were
pondered over and made more true to human character till it emerged as a
refined and rather pathetic comedy. The making drunk of the Three Grey
Sisters disappears; one can only just see the trace of its having once
been present. The revelling of Heracles is touched in with the lightest of
hands; it is little more than symbolic. And all the figures in the story,
instead of being left broadly comic or having their psychology neglected,
are treated delicately, sympathetically, with just that faint touch of
satire, or at least of amusement, which is almost inseparable from a close
interest in character.
What was Admetus really like, this gallant prince who had won the
affection of such great guests as Apollo and Heracles, and yet went round
asking other people to die for him; who, in particular, accepted his
wife's monstrous sacrifice with satisfaction and gratitude? The play
portrays him well. Generous, innocent, artistic, affectionate, eloquent,
impulsive, a good deal spoilt, unconsciously insincere, and no doubt
fundamentally selfish, he hates the thought of dying and he hates losing
his wife almost as much. Why need she die? Why could it not have been some
one less important to him? He feels with emotion what a beautiful act it
would have been for his old father. "My boy, you have a long and happy
life before you, and for me the sands are well-nigh run out. Do not seek
to dissuade me. I will die for you." Admetus could compose the speech for
him. A touching scene, a noble farewell, and all the dreadful trouble
solved--so conveniently solved! And the miserable self-blinded old man
could not see it!
Euripides seems to have taken positive pleasure in Admetus, much as
Meredith did in his famous Egoist; but Euripides all through is kinder to
his victim than Meredith is. True, Admetus is put to obvious shame,
publicly and helplessly. The Chorus make discreet comments upon him.
The Handmaid is outspoken about him. One feels that Alcestis herself, for
all her tender kindness, has seen through him. Finally, to make things
quite clear, his old father fights him openly, tells him home-truth upon
home-truth, tears away all his protective screens, and leaves him with his
self-respect in tatters. It is a fearful ordeal for Admetus, and, after
his first fury, he takes it well. He comes back from his wife's burial a
changed man. He says not much, but enough. "I have done wrong. I have only
now learnt my lesson. I imagined I could save my happy life by forfeiting
my honour; and the result is that I have lost both." I think that a
careful reading of the play will show an almost continuous process of
self-discovery and self-judgment in the mind of Admetus. He was a man who
blinded himself with words and beautiful sentiments; but he was not
thick-skinned or thick-witted. He was not a brute or a cynic. And I think
he did learn his lesson... not completely and for ever, but as well as
most of us learn such lessons.
The beauty of Alcestis is quite untouched by the dramatist's keener
analysis. The strong light only increases its effect. Yet she is not by
any means a mere blameless ideal heroine; and the character which
Euripides gives her makes an admirable foil to that of Admetus. Where he
is passionate and romantic, she is simple and homely. While he is still
refusing to admit the facts and beseeching her not to "desert" him, she in
a gentle but businesslike way makes him promise to take care of the
children and, above all things, not to marry again. She could not possibly
trust Admetus's choice. She is sure that the step-mother would be unkind
to the children. She might be a horror and beat them (l. 307). And when
Admetus has made a thrilling answer about eternal sorrow, and the
silencing of lyre and lute, and the statue who shall be his only bride,
Alcestis earnestly calls the attention of witnesses to the fact that he
has sworn not to marry again. She is not an artist like Admetus. There is
poetry in her, because poetry comes unconsciously out of deep feeling, but
there is no artistic eloquence. Her love, too, is quite different from
his. To him, his love for his wife and children is a beautiful thing, a
subject to speak and sing about as well as an emotion to feel. But her
love is hardly conscious. She does not talk about it at all. She is merely
wrapped up in the welfare of certain people, first her husband and then he
children. To a modern romantic reader her insistence that her husband
shall not marry again seems hardly delicate. But she does not think about
romance or delicacy. To her any neglect to ensure due protection for the
children would be as unnatural as to refuse to die for her husband.
Indeed, Professor J.L. Myres has suggested that care for the children's
future is the guiding motive of her whole conduct. There was first the
danger of their being left fatherless, a dire calamity in the heroic age.
She could meet that danger by dying herself. Then followed the danger of a
stepmother. She meets that by making Admetus swear never to marry. In the
long run, I fancy, the effect of gracious loveliness which Alcestis
certainly makes is not so much due to any words of her own as to what the
Handmaid and the Serving Man say about her. In the final scene she is
silent; necessarily and rightly silent, for all tradition knows that those
new-risen from the dead must not speak. It will need a long _rite de
passage_ before she can freely commune with this world again. It is a
strange and daring scene between the three of them; the humbled and
broken-hearted husband; the triumphant Heracles, kindly and wise, yet
still touched by the mocking and blustrous atmosphere from which he
sprang; and the silent woman who has seen the other side of the grave.
It was always her way to know things but not to speak of them.
The other characters fall easily into their niches. We have only to
remember the old Satyric tradition and to look at them in the light of
their historical development. Heracles indeed, half-way on his road from
the roaring reveller of the Satyr-play to the suffering and erring
deliverer of tragedy, is a little foreign to our notions, but quite
intelligible and strangely attractive. The same historical method seems to
me to solve most of the difficulties which have been felt about Admetus's
hospitality. Heracles arrives at the castle just at the moment when
Alcestis is lying dead in her room; Admetus conceals the death from him
and insists on his coming in and enjoying himself. What are we to think of
this behaviour? Is it magnificent hospitality, or is it gross want of
tact? The answer, I think, is indicated above.
In the uncritical and boisterous atmosphere of the Satyr-play it was
natural hospitality, not especially laudable or surprising. From the
analogy of similar stories I suspect that Admetus originally did not know
his guest, and received not so much the reward of exceptional virtue as
the blessing naturally due to those who entertain angels unawares. If we
insist on asking whether Euripides himself, in real life or in a play of
his own free invention, would have considered Admetus's conduct to
Heracles entirely praiseworthy, the answer will certainly be No, but it
will have little bearing on the play. In the _Alcestis_, as it stands, the
famous act of hospitality is a datum of the story. Its claims are admitted
on the strength of the tradition. It was the act for which Admetus was
specially and marvellously rewarded; therefore, obviously, it was an act
of exceptional merit and piety. Yet the admission is made with a smile,
and more than one suggestion is allowed to float across the scene that in
real life such conduct would be hardly wise.
Heracles, who rose to tragic rank from a very homely cycle of myth, was
apt to bring other homely characters with him. He was a great killer not
only of malefactors but of "keres" or bogeys, such as "Old Age" and "Ague"
and the sort of "Death" that we find in this play. Thanatos is not a god,
not at all a King of Terrors. One may compare him with the dancing
skeleton who is called Death in mediaeval writings. When such a figure
appears on the tragic stage one asks at once what relation he bears to
Hades, the great Olympian king of the unseen. The answer is obvious.
Thanatos is the servant of Hades, a "priest" or sacrificer, who is sent to
fetch the appointed victims.
The other characters speak for themselves. Certainly Pheres can be trusted
to do so, though we must remember that we see him at an unfortunate
moment. The aged monarch is not at his best, except perhaps in mere
fighting power. I doubt if he was really as cynical as he here professes
to be.
* * * * *
In the above criticisms I feel that I may have done what critics are so
apt to do. I have dwelt on questions of intellectual interest and perhaps
thereby diverted attention from that quality in the play which is the most
important as well as by far the hardest to convey; I mean the sheer beauty
and delightfulness of the writing. It is the earliest dated play of
Euripides which has come down to us. True, he was over forty when he
produced it, but it is noticeably different from the works of his old age.
The numbers are smoother, the thought less deeply scarred, the language
more charming and less passionate. If it be true that poetry is bred out
of joy and sorrow, one feels as if more enjoyment and less suffering had
gone to the making of the _Alcestis_ than to that of the later plays.
ALCESTIS
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY
ADMETUS, _King of Pherae in Thessaly_.
ALCESTIS, _daughter of Pelias, his wife_.
PHERES, _his father, formerly King but now in retirement_.
TWO CHILDREN, _his son and daughter_.
A MANSERVANT _in his house_.
A HANDMAID.
The Hero HERACLES.
The God APOLLO.
THANATOS _or_ DEATH.
CHORUS, _cons | 227.604333 |
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_The Early History of the Scottish Union Question_
SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON THE FIRST EDITION.
"With considerable literary skill he has compressed into a brief compass
a most readable and impartial account of the efforts which from the time
of Edward I. went on to weld the two countries into one."--_Edinburgh
Evening News._
"Mr. Omond tells his story brightly and with full
knowledge."--_Manchester Guardian._
"A genuine contribution to British history."--_Dumfries Courier._
"There is much to interest and inform in this volume."--_Liverpool
Mercury._
"The conciseness of the sketch, instead of detracting from the worth of
the work, rather enables the author to give a more vivid description of
the course and progress of events."--_Dundee Advertiser._
"Mr. Omond has laid students of British history under a debt of
gratitude to him for his work on the Scottish Union question."--_Leeds
Mercury._
"Mr. Omond is at home in the struggles which led up to the act of Union
in 1707."--_British Weekly._
"His book, modest and unpretentious as it is, is a careful contribution
to the study of one of the most important features of the history of the
two kingdoms, since 1707 united as Great Britain."--_Liverpool Daily
Post._
"A handy summary of the history of such international relations, written
with an orderly method and much clearness and good sense."--_The
Academy._
"A handy, well-written volume."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"A very interesting, as well as very instructive book."--_Literary
World._
[Illustration: JOHN HAMILTON, LORD BELHAVEN.]
_The Early History
of the
Scottish Union Question_
_By
G. W. T. Omond_
_Author of
"Fletcher of Saltoun" in the "Famous Scots" Series_
_Bi-Centenary Edition_
_Edinburgh & London
Oliphant Anderson & Ferrier
1906_
_Now Complete in 42 Volumes_
_The Famous Scots Series_
_Post 8vo, Art Canvas, 1s. 6d. net; and with gilt top and uncut
edges, price 2s. net_
THOMAS CARLYLE. By HECTOR C. MACPHERSON.
ALLAN RAMSAY. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
HUGH MILLER. By W. KEITH LEASK.
JOHN KNOX. By A. TAYLOR INNES.
ROBERT BURNS. By GABRIEL SETOUN.
THE BALLADISTS. By JOHN GEDDIE.
RICHARD CAMERON. By Professor HERKLESS.
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. By EVE BLANTYRE SIMPSON.
THOMAS CHALMERS. By Professor W. GARDEN BLAIKIE.
JAMES BOSWELL. By W. KEITH LEASK.
TOBIAS SMOLLETT. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
FLETCHER OF SALTOUN. By G. W. T. OMOND.
THE BLACKWOOD GROUP. By Sir GEORGE DOUGLAS.
NORMAN MACLEOD. By JOHN WELLWOOD.
SIR WALTER SCOTT. By Professor SAINTSBURY.
KIRKCALDY OF GRANGE. By LOUIS A. BARBE.
ROBERT FERGUSSON. By A. B. GROSART.
JAMES THOMSON. By WILLIAM BAYNE.
MUNGO PARK. By T. BANKS MACLACHLAN.
DAVID HUME. By Professor CALDERWOOD.
WILLIAM DUNBAR. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. By Professor MURISON.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. By MARGARET MOYES BLACK.
THOMAS REID. By Professor CAMPBELL FRASER.
POLLOK AND AYTOUN. By ROSALINE MASSON.
ADAM SMITH. By HECTOR C. MACPHERSON.
ANDREW MELVILLE. By WILLIAM MORISON.
JAMES FREDERICK FERRIER. By E. S. HALDANE.
KING ROBERT THE BRUCE. By A. F. MURISON.
JAMES HOGG. By Sir GEORGE DOUGLAS.
THOMAS CAMPBELL. By J. CUTHBERT HADDEN.
GEORGE BUCHANAN. By ROBERT WALLACE. Completed by
J. CAMPBELL SMITH.
SIR DAVID WILKIE, AND THE SCOTS SCHOOL OF PAINTERS. By
EDWARD PINNINGTON.
THE ERSKINES, EBENEZER AND RALPH. By A. R. MACEWEN.
THOMAS GUTHRIE. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
DAVID LIVINGSTONE. By T. BANKS MACLACHLAN.
THE ACADEMIC GREGORIES. By AGNES GRAINGER-STEWART.
JOHNSTON OF WARRISTON. By WILLIAM MORISON.
HENRY DRUMMOND. By JAMES Y. SIMPSON.
PRINCIPAL CAIRNS. By JOHN CAIRNS.
VISCOUNT DUNDEE. By LOUIS A. BARBE.
JAMES WATT. By ANDREW CARNEGIE.
_Preface_
The history of the final union of England and Scotland, which took place
on the 1st of May 1707, commences with the accession of Queen Anne; and
with regard to that event, the best sources of information, apart from
original letters, diaries, and other contemporary documents, are Daniel
Defoe's _History of the Union_, published in 1709, Dr. Hill Burton's
_History of Scotland_, Mr. John Bruce's _Report on the Events and
Circumstances which produced the Union_, published, for the use of
Government, in 1799, and Dr. James Mackinnon's _Union of England and
Scotland_, published in 1896. In this volume I have endeavoured to
describe the _earlier_ attempts to unite the kingdoms. These commence,
practically, in the reign of Edward I. of England, and continue, taking
sometimes one form and sometimes another, down to the reign of William
III.
While giving an account of the various negotiations for union, and of
the union which was actually accomplished during the Commonwealth, I
have tried to depict the state of feeling between the two countries on
various points, and particularly in regard to the Church question, which
bulks more largely than any other in the international history of
England and Scotland.
It is a story, sometimes of mutual confidence and common aspirations, as
at the Reformation and the Revolution, but more frequently of
jealousies, recriminations, and misunderstandings, most of which are now
happily removed.
My authorities are sufficiently indicated in the footnotes.
G. W. T. O.
_Contents_
CHAP. PAGE
I. INTERNATIONAL POLITICS BEFORE THE UNION OF THE CROWNS 9
II. THE UNION OF THE CROWNS 52
III. THE UNION DURING THE COMMONWEALTH 96
IV. FROM THE RESTORATION TO THE REVOLUTION 122
V. THE REVOLUTION SETTLEMENT 147
_The Early History of the Scottish Union Question_
CHAPTER I
INTERNATIONAL POLITICS BEFORE THE UNION OF THE CROWNS
The races which inhabited the northern parts of England and the southern
parts of Scotland were descended from a common stock, and spoke a common
language. But for centuries the problem of uniting them baffled the
best-laid plans of kings and statesmen; and neither force, nor policy,
nor treaties of marriage between the royal families, seemed capable of
destroying the inveterate rancour which the peoples felt towards each
other. The petition in response to which the papal sanction was given to
the intended marriage of Prince Edward to the Maid of Norway, pointed
out the wisdom of removing, or at least mitigating, the enmity of the
two nations; and it was the avowed policy of Edward the First to
combine the marriage of his son to the young Queen of Scotland with a
peaceful union of the kingdoms. The clergy, the nobles, and the people
of Scotland agreed to the proposed alliance, and were willing that their
queen should be educated at the English Court. The marriage-contract was
prepared; and the prospects of a lasting peace were bright, when the
death of the young princess on her journey from Norway suddenly changed
the whole course of events.
The competition for the Scottish Crown; the arbitration of Edward; his
claim to the title of Lord Superior; the invasion of Scotland; the
occupation of Scottish strongholds, and of large portions of Scottish
territory, by English garrisons; the homage paid to the English king by
the competitors for the Crown; the spectacle of Englishmen filling many
great offices of State;--all tended to exasperate the Scottish nation.
But Edward never seems to have doubted that he would succeed no matter
at what a cost of blood and treasure in joining the kingdoms. Indeed, it
appears that from the summer of 1291, when the competitors for the
Crown granted him possession of Scotland until his decision should be
made known, he regarded the two countries as practically one. Scotland
is described, in public documents, as "notre ditte terre d'Escose"; and
it was expressly declared that, as England and Scotland were now united,
the king's writ should run in both realms alike.[1]
During the inglorious reign of Baliol, and throughout the period of
anarchy and turmoil which followed its termination, Edward never lost
sight of his favourite policy of an union, which, though brought about
by conquest, and imposed by force of arms upon the people of Scotland,
would, nevertheless, in course of time, secure for him and his
successors the sovereignty of an undivided kingdom from the English
Channel to the Pentland Firth. In pursuance of his policy he resolved
to hold a Parliament in which Scotland should be represented, and by
which regulations should be framed for the future government of that
country. To this Parliament, which met at Westminster in September 1305,
ten representatives of Scotland were summoned.[2] All of them attended
except Patrick Earl of March; but his place was filled, at the king's
command, by Sir John Monteith, the betrayer of Wallace, whose execution
had taken place less than a month before.
With the Scotsmen twenty-two English members were conjoined; and to the
Council thus formed there was administered one of the elaborate oaths
which were then supposed to be peculiarly solemn and binding. They were
sworn on our Lord's Body, the Holy Relics, and the Holy Evangels, to
give good and lawful advice for maintaining the peace of the king's
dominions, especially in Scotland, and loyally to reveal any hindrances
they knew to good government in Scotland, and how these might be
overcome.
It is difficult to believe that the commissioners from Scotland were
free agents in this Parliament. But it suited the purposes of Edward
that the ordinance which was now to be framed for the future government
of Scotland should be promulgated as the result of deliberations in
which the people of Scotland had a voice. It was for this reason that
the Scotsmen had been summoned to Westminster; but the ordinance left
all real power in the hands of Edward. Sir John de Bretaigne, the king's
nephew, became Warden of Scotland, with a Chancellor and Controller
under him.[3] Eight justiciars were appointed. Six of them were to
administer law in the lowlands; and the dangerous duty of executing
justice "beyond the mountains" was entrusted to Sir Reynaud le Chien and
Sir John de Vaux of Northumberland. Sheriffs were appointed, most of
whom were Scotsmen; but the castles were left in the hands of English
commanders. The laws of King David of Scotland were to be read at public
meetings in various places, and such of these laws as appeared unjust
were to be amended.[4]
About this time Edward writes to the Sheriff of York, giving orders that
nobles, prelates, and other people of Scotland journeying to and from
England, were, in future, to be courteously treated, and that anyone who
used threats or bad language to them, or who refused to sell them food,
was to be punished. Similar orders regarding the treatment of Scotsmen
in England were sent to the Sheriffs of London, and many of the English
counties. Edward perhaps thought that by this semblance of an union,
founded on conquest and set forth on parchment, his long-cherished
schemes were at last accomplished. But his plans had hardly been
completed, when he found himself confronted by that combination of the
Scottish people which, during the reign of his son, triumphed under the
leadership of Robert Bruce, and finally secured the complete
independence of | 227.684858 |
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/legendaryyorkshi00ross
LEGENDARY YORKSHIRE
by
FREDERICK ROSS, F.R.H.S.,
Author of
"Celebrities of Yorkshire Wolds," "Yorkshire Family Romance,"
etc.
Hull:
William Andrews & Co., The Hull Press.
London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent, & Co., Limited.
1892.
_NOTE._
Of this book 500 copies have been printed, and this is
No....
Contents.
PAGE
THE ENCHANTED CAVE 1
THE DOOMED CITY 15
THE "WORM" OF NUNNINGTON 34
THE DEVIL'S ARROWS 51
THE GIANT ROAD-MAKER OF MULGRAVE 70
THE VIRGIN'S HEAD OF HALIFAX 80
THE DEAD ARM OF ST. OSWALD THE KING 100
THE TRANSLATION OF ST. HILDA 117
A MIRACLE OF ST. JOHN 131
THE BEATIFIED SISTERS OF BEVERLEY 147
THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY 168
THE MIRACLES AND GHOST OF WATTON 176
THE MURDERED HERMIT OF ESKDALE 195
THE CALVERLEY GHOST 214
THE BEWITCHED HOUSE OF WAKEFIELD 231
LEGENDARY YORKSHIRE.
The Enchanted Cave.
Who is there that has not heard of the famous and redoubtable hero of
history and romance, Arthur, King of the British, who so valiantly
defended his country against the pagan Anglo-Saxon invaders of the
island? Who has not heard of the lovely but frail Guenevera, his Queen,
and the galaxy of female beauty that constituted her Court at Caerleon?
Who has not heard of his companions-in-arms--the brave and chivalrous
Knights of the Round Table, who went forth as knights-errant to succour
the weaker sex, deliver the oppressed, liberate those who had fallen
into the clutches of enchanters, giants, or malicious dwarfs, and
especially in quest of the Holy Graal, that mystic chalice, in which
were caught the last drops of blood of the expiring Saviour, and
which, in consequence, became possessed of wondrous properties and
marvellous virtue of a miraculous character?
If such there be, let him lose no time in perusing Sir John Mallory's
"La Morte d'Arthur," the "Chronicles of Geoffrey of Monmouth," the
"Mabinogian of the Welsh," or the more recent "Idylls of the King,"
of Tennyson. According to Nennius, after vanquishing the Saxons in
many battles, he crossed the sea, and carried his victorious arms into
Scotland, Ireland, and Gaul, in which latter country he obtained a
decisive victory over a Roman army. Moreover, that during his absence
Mordred, his nephew, had seduced his queen and usurped his government,
and that in a battle with the usurper, in 542, at Camlan, in Cornwall,
he was mortally wounded; was conveyed to Avalon (Glastonbury), where
he died of his wound, and was buried there. It is also stated that in
the reign of Henry II. his reputed tomb was opened, when his bones
and his magical sword "Excaliber" were found. This is given on the
authority of Giraldus Cambrensis, who informs us that he was present on
the occasion. But the popular belief in the West of England was that
he did not die as represented, his soul having entered the body of a
raven, which it will inhabit until he reappears to deliver England in
some great extremity of peril.
This is what is told us by old chroniclers of Western England, the
Welsh bards, and some romance writers; but in Yorkshire we have a
different version of the story. It is true, say our legends, that
Arthur was a mighty warrior, the greatest and most valiant that the
island of Britain has produced either before or since; a man, moreover,
of the most devout chivalry and gentle courtesy, and withal so pure
in his life and sincere in his piety as a Christian, that he alone is
worthy to find the Holy Gra | 227.779826 |
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Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they
are listed at the end of the text.
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A single character
following the carat is superscripted (example: X^1). Similarly an
underscore represents a subscript (_sk_4_ has a subscript 4 and is in
italics).
Page numbers enclosed by curly braces (example: {25}) have been
incorporated to facilitate the use of the Index.
* * * * *
THE
ORIGIN OF VERTEBRATES
BY
WALTER HOLBROOK GASKELL
M.A., M.D. (CANTAB.), LL.D. (EDIN. AND McGILL UNIV.); F.R.S.; FELLOW OF
TRINITY HALL AND UNIVERSITY LECTURER IN PHYSIOLOGY, CAMBRIDGE; HONORARY
FELLOW OF THE ROYAL MEDICAL AND CHIRURGICAL SOCIETY; CORRESPONDING MEMBER
OF THE IMPERIAL MILITARY ACADEMY OF MEDICINE, ST. PETERSBURG, ETC.
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA
1908
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
CHAPTER I
THE EVIDENCE OF THE CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM
Theories of the origin of vertebrates--Importance of the central
nervous system--Evolution of tissues--Evidence of Palaeontology--
Reasons for choosing Ammocoetes rather than Amphioxus for the
investigation of this problem--Importance of larval forms--
Comparison of the vertebrate and arthropod central nervous
systems--Antagonism between cephalization and alimentation--
Life-history of lamprey, not a degenerate animal--Brain of
Ammocoetes compared with brain of arthropod--Summary 8
CHAPTER II
THE EVIDENCE OF THE ORGANS OF VISION
Different kinds of eye--Simple and compound retinas--Upright and
inverted retinas--Median eyes--Median or pineal eyes of Ammocoetes
and their optic ganglia--Comparison with other median eyes--Lateral
eyes of vertebrates compared with lateral eyes of crustaceans--
Peculiarities of the lateral eye of the lamprey--Meaning of the
optic diverticula--Evolution of vertebrate eyes--Summary 68
CHAPTER III
THE EVIDENCE OF THE SKELETON
The bony and cartilaginous skeleton considered, not the notochord--
Nature of the earliest cartilaginous skeleton--The mesosomatic
skeleton of Ammocoetes; its topographical arrangement, its
structure, its origin in muco-cartilage--The prosomatic skeleton of
Ammocoetes; the trabeculae and parachordals, their structure, their
origin in white fibrous tissue--The mesosomatic | 227.786785 |
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HISTORY OF ENGLAND
FROM
THE FALL OF WOLSEY
TO
THE DEATH OF ELIZABETH.
BY
JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE, M.A.
LATE FELLOW OF EXETER COLLEGE, OXFORD.
VOLUME II.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES SCRIBNER AND COMPANY.
1872.
[Illustration:
Charles Scribner and Co of No 654 Broadway New York have authority from
me to publish all works which I have chiefly written and may hereafter
write. J A Froude.
London. Jan. 29. 1871.]
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.
CHAPTER VI.
THE PROTESTANTS.
PAGE
The Lollards 16
Presentation to Religious Benefices in the Fourteenth Century 17
Statutes of Provisors 21
Rise of the Lollards 25
John Wycliffe 26
Theory of Property 28
Insurrection of Wat Tyler 29
Wycliffe's Influence declines 30
Death of Wycliffe 31
Insurrection of Oldcastle 34
Close of the Lollard Movement 35
New Birth of Protestantism 37
The Christian Brothers 38
Luther 39
Multiplication of Testaments 40
William Tyndal 41
The Antwerp Printing-Press 42
The Christian Brothers 43
Wolsey's Persecutions 49
Story of Anthony Dalaber 57
Escape of Garret 69
Perplexity of the Authorities 70
The Ports are set for Garret's Capture 71
Garret goes to Bristol, and is taken 72
The Investigation at Oxford 73
Doctor London's Intercession 74
The Bishop of Lincoln 75
Oxford is Purged 76
Temper of the Protestants 77
The Fall of Wolsey brings no Relief 78
Sir Thomas More as Chancellor 79
Contrast between Wolsey and More 88
Martyrdom of Bilney 89
Martyrdom of James Bainham 90
Feelings of the People 92
Pavier the Town Clerk 93
The Worship of Relics 94
Roods and Relics 95
The Rood of Dovercourt 96
The Paladins 97
Early Life of Latimer 98
He goes to Cambridge 100
Latimer's Education 101
His Fame as a Preacher 102
He is appointed Chaplain to the King 103
His Defence of the Protestants 104
He is cited before the Bishops 105
Latimer before the Bishops 106
Thomas Cromwell 109
Will of Thomas Cromwell 116
CHAPTER VII.
THE LAST EFFORTS OF DIPLOMACY.
Mary of Hungary 125
The King is cited to Rome 127
Clement refuses further Delay 128
Isolation of England 129
Henry urgent against the Interview 130
He appeals to a Council 132
Terms of the Appeal 134
Legal Value of the Appeal 136
Cranmer's Sentence known at Rome 137
Measures of the Consistory 138
Henry again calls on Francis 140
He will not surrender his Marriage 141
He will not repeal his Legislation 142
He urges the Rupture of the Interview 143
Recal of the Embassy 144
England and Germany 145
Birth of Elizabeth 149
Clement arrives at Marseilles 150
The Interview 151
Bonner at Marseilles 152
Bonner and the Pope 153
The Pope rejects the Appeal 157
Proposal for a Court to sit at Cambray 158
Francis implores Henry to consent 159
Henry refuses to revoke the Laws against the Papacy 160
State of England 162
The Princess Mary 165
Queen Catherine 168
The Nun of Kent 170
State of Feeling in England 178
Proposed Marriage of the Princess Mary 181
The Nun of Kent 183
Disgrace of Mary 184
The Countess of Salisbury 185
The Nevilles 187
General Superstition 191
Proposals for a Protestant League used as a Menace to Francis 192
The Protestant League 194
The Court of Brussels 196
Meeting of Parliament 197
Perils of the Reformation 198
Cromwell 199
Opening Measures 200
The Conge d'Elire 201
Abolition of Exactions 204
Closing Protest 205
Apology of Sir Thomas More accepted by the King 206
Obstinate Defence of Fisher 208
The Bill proceeds 209
Execution of the Nun 210
Her last Words 211
The Act of Succession 212
The first Oath of Allegiance 216
Clement gives final Sentence against the King 218
Obscurity of the Pope's Conduct 222
Mission of the Duke of Guise 223
The French Fleet watch the Channel 224
The Commission sits to receive the Oath 225
More and Fisher 226
More before the Commission 227
He refuses to Swear 228
Debate in Council 229
The Government are peremptory 230
Concession not possible 231
Royal Proclamation 232
Circular to the Sheriffs 233
Death of Clement VII. 236
CHAPTER VIII.
THE IRISH REBELLION.
State of Ireland 237
The Norman Conquest 238
Absentees 239
The Norman Irish 241
Weakness of the English Rule 248
Distribution of the Irish Clans 249
The Irish Reaction 251
Condition of the People 253
English and Irish Estimates 254
Ireland for the Irish 255
Coyne and Livery 256
The Geraldines of Kildare 257
Deputation of Lord Surrey 261
Return of Kildare 265
Foreign Intrigues 266
Desmond intrigues with the Emperor 267
Geraldine Conspiracy 268
Kildare sent to the Tower 270
The Irish Rise 271
The Duke of Richmond Viceroy 272
Third Deputation to Kildare 273
Ireland in its Ideal State 274
New Aspects of Irish Rebellion 275
Ireland and the Papacy 276
Kildare is sent to the Tower 277
Desmond and the Emperor 278
Corny O'Brien 279
The Holy War of the Geraldines 280
General Rebellion 281
Siege of Dublin 282
Murder of Archbishop Allen 284
Fitzgerald writes to the Pope 285
Dublin saved by the Earl of Ormond 286
A Truce agreed to 287
Delay of the English Deputy 288
Ormond again saves Dublin 289
The Deputy sails from Beaumaris 290
Mismanagement of Skeffington 291
Delay and Incapacity 292
Burning of Trim and Dunboyne 293
Skeffington will not move 294
General Despondency 295
Disorganization of the English Army 296
The Campaign opens 297
Siege of Maynooth 298
Storming of the Castle 299
The Pardon of Maynooth 300
The Rebellion collapses 301
Lord Leonard Grey 302
Fitzgerald surrenders 303
Dilemma of the Government 304
Execution of Fitzgerald 305
End of the Rebellion 306
CHAPTER IX.
THE CATHOLIC MARTYRS.
State of England in 1534 307
Temper of the Clergy 308
Order for Preaching 310
Secret Disaffection among the Clergy 312
The Confessional 313
Treasonable Intrigues 317
Catholic Treasons 318
Persecuting Laws against the Catholics 319
The Act of Supremacy 322
The Oath of Allegiance 326
Election of Paul the Third 328
Anxiety of the Emperor 330
Proposals for a Catholic Coalition 331
Counter-Overtures of Francis to Henry 332
Attitude of Henry 333
Distrust of France 335
England and the Papacy 336
The Penal Laws 337
The Battle of the Faiths 338
The Charterhouse Monks 339
The Anabaptist Martyrs 357
Fisher and More 359
Fisher named Cardinal 364
The Pope condescends to Falsehood 365
Fisher Tried and Sentenced 366
Execution of Fisher 367
Sir Thomas More 368
Effect upon Europe 377
Letter to Cassalis 382
Reply of the Pope 385
Bull of Deposition 386
Intrigues of Francis in Germany 388
England and Germany 390
CHAPTER X.
THE VISITATION OF THE MONASTERIES.
Visitation of the Monasteries 396
The Abbey of St. Albans 402
Commission of 1535 407
The Visitors at Oxford 409
Progress of the Visitors 413
Visit to Langden Abbey 415
Fountains Abbey 417
The Monks at Fordham 419
The Monks of Pershore 421
Rules to be observed in all Abbeys 423
The Black Book in Parliament 427
Discussion in Parliament 429
Conflicting Opinions 431
Smaller Houses suppressed 433
The Protestant Bishops 435
State of London 437
The Vagrant Act 439
Remission of Firstfruits 440
Dissolution of Parliament 441
The Work accomplished by Parliament 442
CHAPTER XI.
TRIAL AND DEATH OF ANNE BOLEYN.
Death of Queen Catherine 443
Anne Boleyn 446
Anne Boleyn committed to the Tower 454
The Tower 457
Cranmer's Letter to the King 459
Cranmer's Postscript 461
Preparations for the Trial 468
True Bills found by the Grand Juries 469
The Indictment 470
The Trials 476
The opposite Probabilities 480
Execution of the five Gentlemen 483
The Divorce 484
The Execution 486
The Succession 488
The King's Third Marriage 490
Opinions of Foreign Courts 491
Meeting of Parliament 492
Speech of the Lord Chancellor 493
Second Act of Succession 495
CHAPTER VI.
THE PROTESTANTS.
Where changes are about to take place of great and enduring moment, a
kind of prologue, on a small scale, sometimes anticipates the true
opening of the drama; like the first drops which give notice of the
coming storm, or as if the shadows of the reality were projected
forwards into the future, and imitated in dumb show the movements of the
real actors in the story.
[Sidenote: Prelude to the Reformation in the fourteenth century.]
Such a rehearsal of the English Reformation was witnessed at the close
of the fourteenth century, confused, imperfect, disproportioned, to
outward appearance barren of results; yet containing a representative of
each one of the mixed forces by which that great change was ultimately
effected, and foreshadowing even something of the course which it was to
run.
[Sidenote: The Lollards forerunners, not fathers, of the Reformation.]
There was a quarrel with the pope upon the extent of the papal
privileges; there were disputes between the laity and the
clergy,--accompanied, as if involuntarily, by attacks on the sacramental
system and the Catholic faith,--while innovation in doctrine was
accompanied also with the tendency which characterized the extreme
development of the later Protestants--towards political republicanism,
the fifth monarchy, and community of goods. Some account of this
movement must be given in this place, although it can be but a sketch
only. "Lollardry"[1] has a history of its own; but it forms no proper
part of the history of the Reformation. It was a separate phenomenon,
provoked by the same causes which produced their true fruit at a later
period; but it formed no portion of the stem on which those fruits
ultimately grew. It was a prelude which was played out, and sank into
silence, answering for the time no other end than to make the name of
heretic odious in the ears of the English nation. In their recoil from
their first failure, the people stamped their hatred of heterodoxy into
their language; and in the word _miscreant_, misbeliever, as the synonym
of the worst species of reprobate, they left an indelible record of the
popular estimate of the followers of John Wycliffe.
[Sidenote: Changes in the mode of presentation to bishopricks.]
[Sidenote: Right of free election conceded in the great charter to the
chapters and the religious houses.]
The Lollard story opens with the disputes between the crown and the see
of Rome on the presentation to English benefices. For the hundred and
fifty years which succeeded the Conquest, the right of nominating the
archbishops, the bishops, and the mitred abbots, had been claimed and
exercised by the crown. On the passing of the great charter, the church
had recovered its liberties, and the privilege of free election had been
conceded by a special clause to the clergy. The practice which then
became established was in accordance with the general spirit of the
English constitution. On the vacancy of a see, the cathedral chapter
applied to the crown for a conge d'elire. The application was a form;
the consent was invariable. A bishop was then elected by a majority of
suffrages; his name was submitted to the metropolitan, and by him to the
pope. If the pope signified his approval, the election was complete;
consecration followed; and the bishop having been furnished with his
bulls of investiture, was presented to the king, and from him received
"the temporalities" of his see. The mode in which the great abbots were
chosen was precisely similar; the superiors of the orders to which the
abbeys belonged were the channels of communication with the pope, in the
place of the archbishops; but the elections in themselves were free, and
were conducted in the same manner. The smaller church benefices, the
small monasteries or parish churches, were in the hands of private
patrons, lay or ecclesiastical; but in the case of each institution a
reference was admitted, or was supposed to be admitted, to the court of
Rome.
[Sidenote: Privilege of the pope and of the superiors of the religious
orders in controlling the elections.]
[Sidenote: A.D. 1306-7.]
There was thus in the pope's hand an authority of an indefinite kind,
which it was presumed that his sacred office would forbid him to abuse,
but which, however, if he so unfortunately pleased, he might abuse at
his discretion. He had absolute power over every nomination to an
English benefice; he might refuse his consent till such adequate
reasons, material or spiritual, as he considered sufficient to induce
him to acquiesce, had been submitted to his consideration. In the case
of nominations to the religious houses, the superiors of the various
orders residing abroad had equal facilities for obstructiveness; and the
consequence of so large a confidence in the purity of the higher orders
of the Church became visible in an act of parliament which it was found
necessary to pass in 1306-7.[2]
[Sidenote: Act to prevent the superiors resident abroad from laying
taxes on the English houses.]
"Of late," says this act, "it has come to the knowledge of the king, by
the grievous complaint of the honourable persons, lords, and other
noblemen of his realm, that whereas monasteries, priories, and other
religious houses were founded to the honour and glory of God, and the
advancement of holy church, by the king and his progenitors, and by the
said noblemen and their ancestors; and a very great portion of lands and
tenements have been given by them to the said monasteries, priories, and
religious houses, and the religious men serving God in them; to the
intent that clerks and laymen might be admitted in such houses, and that
sick and feeble folk might be maintained, hospitality, almsgiving, and
other charitable deeds might be done, and prayers be said for the souls
of the founders and their heirs; the abbots, priors, and governors of
the said houses, _and certain aliens their superiors_, as the abbots and
priors of the Cistercians, the Premonstrants, the orders of Saint
Augustine and of Saint Benedict, and many more of other religions and
orders have at their own pleasure set divers heavy, unwonted heavy and
importable tallages, payments, and impositions upon every of the said
monasteries and houses subject unto them, in England, Ireland, Scotland,
and Wales, without the privity of the king and his nobility, contrary to
the laws and customs of the said realm; and thereby the number of
religious persons being oppressed by such tallages, payments, and
impositions, the service of God is diminished, alms are not given to the
poor, the sick, and the feeble; the healths of the living and the souls
of the dead be miserably defrauded; hospitality, almsgiving, and other
godly deeds do cease; and so that which in times past was charitably
given to godly uses and to the service of God, is now converted to an
evil end, by permission whereof there groweth great scandal to the
people." To provide against a continuance of these abuses, it was
enacted that no "religious" persons should, under any pretence or form,
send out of the kingdom any kind of rent, tax, or tallage; and that
"priors aliens" should not presume to assess any payment, charge, or
other burden whatever upon houses within the realm.[3]
The language of this act was studiously guarded. The pope was not
alluded to; the specific methods by which the extortion was practised
were not explained; the tax upon presentations to benefices, either
having not yet distinguished itself beyond other impositions, or the
government trusting that a measure of this general kind might answer the
desired end. Lucrative encroachments, however, do not yield so easily to
treatment; nearly fifty years after it became necessary to reenact the
same statute; and while recapitulating the provisions of it, the
parliament found it desirable to point out more specifically the
intention with which it was passed.
The popes in the interval had absorbed in their turn from the heads of
the religious orders, the privileges which by them had been extorted
from the affiliated societies. Each English benefice had become the
fountain of a rivulet which flowed into the Roman exchequer, or a
property to be distributed as the private patronage of the Roman bishop:
and the English parliament for the first time found itself in collision
with the Father of Christendom.
[Sidenote: Statute of provisors forbidding the attempts of the popes to
present to benefices in England.]
"The pope," says the fourth of the twenty-fifth of Edward III.,
"accroaching to himself the signories of the benefices within the realm
of England, doth give and grant the same to aliens which did never dwell
in England, and to cardinals which could not dwell here, and to others
as well aliens as denizens, whereby manifold inconveniences have
ensued." "Not regarding" the statute of Edward I., he had also continued
to present to bishopricks, abbeys, priories, and other valuable
preferments: money in large quantities was carried out of the realm from
the proceeds of these offices, and it was necessary to insist
emphatically that the papal nominations should cease. They were made in
violation of the law, and were conducted with simony so flagrant that
English benefices were sold in the papal courts to any person who would
pay for them, whether an Englishman or a stranger. It was therefore
decreed that the elections to bishopricks should be free as in time
past, that the rights of patrons should be preserved, and penalties of
imprisonment, forfeiture, or outlawry, according to the complexion of
the offence, should be attached to all impetration of benefices from
Rome by purchase or otherwise.[4]
[Sidenote: The statute fails, and is again enacted in fresh forms.]
If statute law could have touched the evil, these enactments would have
been sufficient for the purpose; but the influence of the popes in
England was of that subtle kind which was not so readily defeated. The
law was still defied, or still evaded; and the struggle continued till
the close of the century, the legislature labouring patiently, but
ineffectually, to confine with fresh enactments their ingenious
adversary.[5]
[Sidenote: The popes threaten the censures of the church.]
[Sidenote: The parliament declares that to bring any such censures into
the realm shall be punished with death and forfeiture.]
At length symptoms appeared of an intention on the part of the popes to
maintain their claims with spiritual censures, and the nation was
obliged to resolve upon the course which, in the event of their
resorting to that extremity, it would follow. The lay lords[6] and the
House of Commons found no difficulty in arriving at a conclusion. They
passed a fresh penal statute with prohibitions even more emphatically
stringent, and decided that "if any man brought into this realm any
sentence, summons, or excommunication, contrary to the effect of the
statute, he should incur pain of life and members, with forfeiture of
goods; and if any prelate made execution of such sentence, his
temporalities should be taken from him, and should abide in the king's
hands till redress was made."[7]
[Sidenote: A "great council" addresses the pope, with a desire for an
arrangement.]
[Sidenote: The question is brought to an issue by the excommunication of
the bishops.]
So bold a measure threatened nothing less than open rupture. The act,
however, seems to have been passed in haste, without determined
consideration; and on second thoughts, it was held more prudent to
attempt a milder course. The strength of the opposition to the papacy
lay with the Commons.[8] When the session of parliament was over, a
great council was summoned to reconsider what should be done, and an
address was drawn up, and forwarded to Rome, with a request that the
then reigning pope would devise some manner by which the difficulty
could be arranged.[9] Boniface IX. replied with the same want of
judgment which was shown afterwards on an analogous occasion by Clement
VII. He disbelieved the danger; and daring the government to persevere,
he granted a prebendal stall at Wells to an Italian cardinal, to which a
presentation had been made already by the king. Opposing suits were
instantly instituted between the claimants in the courts of the two
countries. A decision was given in England in favour of the nominee of
the king, and the bishops agreeing to support the crown were
excommunicated.[10] The court of Rome had resolved to try the issue by a
struggle of force, and the government had no alternative but to
surrender at discretion, or to persevere at all hazards, and resist the
usurpation.
[Sidenote: A.D. 1392-3.]
[Sidenote: The House of Commons declare that they will stand with the
Crown to live and die,]
[Sidenote: And desire the king to examine the lords spiritual and
temporal how they will stand.]
[Sidenote: The lay lords answer directly, and the spiritual lords
indirectly, to the same effect with the Commons.]
The proceedings on this occasion seem to have been unusual, and
significant of the importance of the crisis. Parliament either was
sitting at the time when the excommunication was issued, or else it was
immediately assembled; and the House of Commons drew up, in the form of
a petition to the king, a declaration of the circumstances which had
occurred. After having stated generally the English law on the
presentation to benefices, "Now of late," they added, "divers processes
be made by his Holiness | 227.883352 |
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[Illustration]
How Girls Can Help Their Country
Adapted from
Agnes Baden-Powell
and
Sir Robert Baden-Powell's Handbook
1917
COPYRIGHT, 1917
BY
JULIETTE LOW
Transcriber's note: Italics are signified by underscores, _, and bold is
signified by tildes, ~, around the words. In one spot in the text [=V]
is used to describe a V with a line above it and [V=] signifies a V with
a line below it.
Contents
Part I.
PAGE
HISTORY 1
HOW TO BEGIN 4
LAWS 7
SELF-IMPROVEMENT 9
Part II.
MEMBERSHIP 20
QUALIFICATIONS FOR GRADES AND RANK 25
ENROLLMENT 27
BADGES AND AWARDS 29
TESTS FOR MERIT BADGES 31
Part III.
GAMES 48
CAMPING 57
SCOUTCRAFT 68
STARS 83
GARDENING 92
Part IV.
SANITATION 94
HEALTH 98
HOME LIFE 106
Part V.
FIRST AID 124
Part VI.
PATRIOTISM 136
LIST OF BOOKS TO READ 142
INDEX 153
Copies of this book may be obtained from Girl Scout National
Headquarters, 527 Fifth Avenue, City of New York; price 30 cents,
postpaid.
PATRONESSES OF GIRL SCOUTS.
MRS. PHILIP BROWN New York
" ARTHUR CHOATE " "
" POWERS FARR " "
" SNOWDON MARSHALL " "
" HENRY PARISH, JR. " "
" THEODORE PRICE " "
" DOUGLAS ROBINSON " "
" SAMUEL VAN DUSEN " "
" LEONARD WOOD " "
" WM. J. BOARDMAN Washington, D. C.
" ALBERT BURLESON " " "
" JAS. MARION JOHNSTON " " "
" JOSEPH R. LAMAR " " "
" RICHARD G. LAY " " "
" OSCAR UNDERWOOD " " "
" JOHN VAN RENSSELAER " " "
" EDWARD DOUGLAS WHITE " " "
" H. C. GREENE Boston, Mass.
MISS KATHERINE LORING " "
" LOUISA LORING " "
MRS. RONALD LYMAN " "
" HENRY PARKMAN " "
" WILLIAM LOWELL PUTNAM " "
" LAWRENCE ROTCH " "
" WILLIAM W. VAUGHAN " "
" BARRETT WENDELL " "
" ROGER WOLCOTT " "
" WILLIAM RUFFIN COX Richmond, Va.
" HUNTER MCGUIRE " "
" GEO. HYDE CLARK Cooperstown, N. Y.
" HERBERT BARRY Orange, N. J.
" THOMAS EDISON " " "
" PHILIP MCK. GARRISON " " "
" GEORGE MERCK " " "
" B. PALMER AXSON Savannah, Ga.
" GEORGE J. BALDWIN " "
MISS ELIZABETH BECKWITH " "
MRS. ROCKWELL S. BRANK " "
" W. W. GORDON " "
" LOUIS W. HASKELL " "
MISS HORTENSE ORCUTT " "
" NINA PAPE " "
MRS. FREDERICK F. REESE " "
" SAMUEL DRURY St. Paul's School, Concord, N. H.
" ORTON BROWN Berlin, N. H.
" FREDERICK FRELINGHUYSEN Newark, N. J.
" WAYNE PARKER " " "
" DOUGLAS GORMAN Baltimore, Md.
MISS MANLY " "
MRS. JAS. HOUSTOUN JOHNSTON Birmingham, Ala.
" WILLIAM S. LOVELL " "
" ROBERT C. ALSTON " "
" JOHN B. GORDON Atlanta, Ga.
" CLELAND KINLOCH NELSON " "
" JOHN M. SLATON " "
" CARTER HARRISON Chicago, Ill.
" HERBERT HAVEMEYER " "
" CYRUS MCCORMICK, SENIOR " "
MISS SKINNER " "
" FREDERICA SKINNER " "
MRS. MARK WILLING " "
" CHARLES G. WASHBURN Worcester, Mass.
MISS KATHERINE HUTCHINSON Philadelphia, Pa.
MRS. ROBERT LESLIE " "
" JOHN MARKOE " "
" ALFONSO MUNOZ " "
MISS ANNE THOMPSON " "
MRS. CHARLES DOBNEY Cincinnati, Ohio
" JAMES PERKINS " "
MISS JOSEPHINE SIMRALL " "
MRS. ROBERT TAFT, JUNIOR " "
" MAX HIRSCH " "
" G. S. RAFTER Washington, D. C.
Part I
HISTORY OF GIRL SCOUTS
Girl Scouts, like Boy Scouts, are found all over the world. When Sir
Robert Baden-Powell formed the first troops of Boy Scouts, six thousand
girls enrolled themselves, but, as Sir Robert's project did not include
the admission of girls, he asked his sister, Miss Baden-Powell, to found
a similar organization for girls, based on the Boy Scout laws, with
activities and occupations properly adapted for girls. She then founded
the Girl Guide organization.
In America, in March, 1912, the first patrols of Girl Guides were
enrolled by Juliette Low, in Savannah, Georgia. In 1913, the National
Headquarters were established by her in Washington, D. C., and Miss
Edith Johnston became the National Secretary. The name Girl Guides was
then changed to Girl Scouts because the object of the organization is to
promote the ten Scout Laws: TRUTH, LOYALTY, HELPFULNESS, FRIENDLINESS,
COURTESY, KINDNESS, OBEDIENCE, CHEERFULNESS, PURITY, and THRIFT.
The movement then grew and spread in a remarkable way. The success of
the movement is due, in a great measure, to the work of the National
Secretary, Miss Cora Neal, who built up the organization during the most
difficult years of its existence. In 1916, Headquarters were removed
from Washington to New York, and the machinery for unifying the national
work of the organization is now placed on an efficient basis.
The training of Girl Scouts is set forth in the Handbook, written by
Lieut.-General Sir Robert Baden-Powell and Miss Baden-Powell.
Juliette Low obtained the rights of their book and, with the help of
committees and experts from all parts of America, adapted it to the use
of the Girl Scouts of the United States. It is impossible to train Girl
Scouts without the Handbook.
In 1915, a Convention of Girl Scout leaders from most of the large
cities was held and a National Council was formed, composed of delegates
from the cities or communities where more than one hundred Girl Scouts
were enrolled.
This National Council met in Washington, D. C., on June 10, 1915, and
put the management of the business of the National Organization in the
hands of an Executive Committee, composed of:
A President.
A Secretary or Executive Officer.
A Treasurer.
A Vice-President.
Chief Commissioner.
Six or more members of the National Council.
The Duties of the Executive Committee are:
(1) To grant charters to the Local Councils of Girl Scouts.
(2) To manufacture and copyright the badges.
(3) To select uniforms and other equipment.
At every annual meeting of the National Council there is an election of
the Executive Committee. This committee has the power to cancel a
charter.
National Headquarters
The National Headquarters has a staff of officers to do the work of the
organization, holding their positions at the pleasure of the Executive
Board. The National Secretary is appointed by the President and holds
office at the pleasure of the President.
Each city or locality has a Local Council of twelve or more members,
according to the size of the community. These local Councils are under
the direction of the National Council and obtain their charters from
Headquarters. Where one hundred or more Girl Scouts have been enrolled,
the Local Council has the right to send one representative to the
National Council for the annual meeting.
The salute is three fingers raised, the little finger held down by the
thumb.
[Illustration: _The Salute_]
Handshake with the left hand while the right hand is raised in half
salute--that is three fingers raised and held on the line with the
shoulder. This is the salute given between one Girl Scout and another,
and the full salute is when the fingers are raised to the temple on a
level with the brow. This is given to officers and to the United States
flag. (In saluting, the hand is always held upright, never in a
horizontal position.)
HOW TO BEGIN
It is not intended that Girl Scouts should necessarily form a new club
separated from all others. Girls who belong to any kind of existing
organization, such as school clubs or Y. W. C. A.'s may also undertake,
in addition to their other work or play, the Girl Scouts' training and
games, especially on Saturdays and Sundays.
It is not meant that girls should play or work on Sunday, but that they
may take walks where they can carry on a study of plants and animals.
Groups or bands of girls not already belonging to any club may be
organized directly as a Girl Scout Patrol or Troop.
How to Start a Patrol
Eight girls in any town, school, or settlement may join together to form
a Patrol. They should have a Captain who must be at least twenty-one
years old. The Captain selects a Lieutenant, or second in command, and
the girls elect a Patrol leader. The girls should be from ten to
seventeen years of age. It is best if all the girls in each Patrol are
about the same age. A less number than eight girls can begin the
movement, but eight girls are required to form a Patrol. A girl may not
become a Lieutenant until she has reached the age of eighteen, or a
Captain until she is twenty-one. In Europe, Girl Scout Patrols are
sometimes formed by grown women who wish to carry out the Girl Scout
program of preparedness. Members of such Patrols are called Senior
Scouts. Senior Scouts make the three promises and accept the Scout law.
They are enrolled as Scouts but do not meet regularly in the same manner
as girls' Troops. They are organized in classes to learn first aid,
signalling, marksmanship, or any other subject of the Girl Scout
program of training. Senior Scouts may well practice what they learn in
such classes by teaching, for one or two months, Patrols of younger Girl
Scouts. Thus they improve their command of what they have learned, and
serve as an example to the younger Scouts, stimulating their interest in
being prepared and especially in the subject taught.
The First Meeting
At the first meeting, the Scout Captain, who has previously studied the
plan, principles, and object of the Girl Scout organization, explains
the laws, promises, and obligations of the Girl Scouts to the members
who are to form the troops. The names and addresses of the girls are
recorded, the day set for the regular meeting, and the length of time
for each meeting determined. Fifteen minutes may be spent on knot-tying,
the Scout Captain first explaining the parts of the knot, and the
requirements for knot-tying. Three-quarters of an hour to an hour should
be spent on recreation out of doors.
Succeeding Meetings
The second, third, and fourth meetings should be spent in learning the
requirements for the Tenderfoot tests. Each meeting should open with the
formation of the troop in rank, by patrols, facing the Scout Captain.
The first salute should be given to the Scout Captain, followed by the
pledge to the flag, and inspection of the troop by the captain. After
inspection the troop should break ranks and hold a short business
meeting. Elections may be held at the second or third meeting for the
patrol leader, corporal, secretary, treasurer, and any other officers
the members of the troop may desire. The Scout Captain should instruct
the troop how to conduct a business meeting, and explain the nomination
and election of officers. Weekly dues may be determined, and some
decision had on the disposition of the funds. After the business
meeting, the | 227.885477 |
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text is surrounded by _underscores_.
GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS
PRACTICAL ARTS FOR LITTLE GIRLS
A Series Uniform with this Volume
_Each book, illustrated, 75 cents net_
COOKERY FOR LITTLE GIRLS
SEWING FOR LITTLE GIRLS
WORK AND PLAY FOR LITTLE GIRLS
HOUSEKEEPING FOR LITTLE GIRLS
GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS
[Illustration: PUZZLE PICTURE,--FIND THE LITTLE GIRL]
GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS
BY
OLIVE HYDE FOSTER
AUTHOR OF
"COOKERY FOR LITTLE GIRLS"
"SEWING FOR LITTLE GIRLS"
"HOUSEKEEPING FOR LITTLE GIRLS"
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1917
Copyright, 1916 by
HOUSE AND GARDEN
Copyright, 1916, by
HOUSEWIVES MAGAZINE
Copyright, 1917, by
ST. NICHOLAS
The Century Co.
Copyright, 1917, by
COUNTRYSIDE MAGAZINE
The Independent Co.
Copyright, 1917, by
OLIVE HYDE FOSTER
_DEDICATED TO
Junior and Allan,
Two of the dearest children that ever showed
love for the soil._
Preface
Children take naturally to gardening, and few occupations count so much
for their development,--mental, moral and physical.
Where children's garden clubs and community gardens have been tried, the
little folks have shown an aptitude surprising to their elders, and
under exactly the same natural, climatic conditions, the children have
often obtained astonishingly greater results. Moreover, in the poor
districts many a family table, previously unattractive and lacking in
nourishment, has been made attractive as well as nutritious, with their
fresh green vegetables and flowers.
Ideas of industry and thrift, too, are at the same time inculcated
without words, and habits formed that affect their character for life. A
well-known New York City Public School superintendent once said to me
that she had a flower bed every year in the children's gardens, where a
troublesome boy could always be controlled by giving to him the honor of
its care and keeping.
The love of nature, whether inborn or acquired, is one of the greatest
sources of pleasure, and any scientific knowledge connected with it of
inestimable satisfaction. Carlyle's lament was, "Would that some one had
taught me in childhood the names of the stars and the grasses."
It is with the hope of helping both mothers and children that this
little book has been most lovingly prepared.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I FIRST STEPS TOWARD A GARDEN 1
II PLANNING AND PLANTING THE FLOWER BEDS 9
III FLOWERS THAT MUST BE RENEWED EVERY YEAR (ANNUALS) 19
IV FLOWERS THAT LIVE THROUGH TWO YEARS 30
V FLOWERS THAT COME UP EVERY YEAR BY THEMSELVES (PERENNIALS) 37
VI FLOWERS THAT SPRING FROM A STOREHOUSE (BULBS AND TUBERS) 48
VII THAT QUEEN--THE ROSE 58
VIII VINES, TENDER AND HARDY 71
IX SHRUBS WE LOVE TO SEE 78
X VEGETABLE GROWING FOR THE HOME TABLE 82
XI YOUR GARDEN'S FRIENDS AND FOES 94
XII A MORNING-GLORY PLAYHOUSE 102
XIII THE WORK OF A CHILDREN'S GARDEN CLUB 107
XIV THE CARE OF HOUSE PLANTS 115
XV GIFTS THAT WILL PLEASE A FLOWER LOVER 130
XVI THE GENTLEWOMAN'S ART--ARRANGING FLOWERS 137
ILLUSTRATIONS
PUZZLE PICTURE,--FIND THE LITTLE GIRL, _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
FIRST WORK IN THE SPRING 14
KIM AND COLUMBINE 40
TAKING CARE OF TABLE FERNS 56
CLEANING UP AROUND THE SHRUBS 78
ALL READY TO HOE 90
AN OUTGROWN PLAYHOUSE 112
SPRING BEAUTIES 126
LINE DRAWINGS IN TEXT
PAGE
PLAN FOR A SMALL BACK YARD 12
AN ARTISTIC ARRANGEMENT OF A NARROW CITY LOT 14
FLOWERS THAT WILL BLOOM FROM EARLY SUMMER UNTIL FROST 16
BLOSSOMS IN JAPANESE ARRANGEMENT 138
NOTE
As the desire is to give the widest possible range of information about
the plants and flowers mentioned herein, and space forbids going into
details in each case, the writer has endeavored to mention all the
colors, extremes of height, and entire season of bloom of each kind. But
the grower must find out the particular variety obtained, and NOT expect
a shrubby clematis to climb, or a fall rose to blossom in the spring!
GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS
A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Fern'd grot--
The veriest school
Of peace; and yet the fool
Contends that God is not--
Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool?
Nay but I have a sign:
'Tis very sure God walks in mine.
--_Thomas Edward Brown._
GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS
CHAPTER I
First Steps Toward a Garden
And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in
the air (where it comes and goes, like the warbling of
music) than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit
for that delight than to know what be the flowers and
plants that do best perfume the air.
--_Bacon._
IF you want a flower garden, you can begin work as early as March. Does
that sound strange,--with cold winds and occasional snow? Ah, but the
plans should all be laid then, and many things started in the house.
Four steps must be taken before starting actual work:
_First._--Find out what space you can have for your garden.
_Second._--Consider the soil, situation, surroundings.
_Third._--Make a list of seeds, bulbs, etc., desired.
_Fourth._--Decide on planting with view to height and color.
As to the first step, find out positively where you can have your
garden. It makes considerable difference whether you can have the whole
back yard, a plot along the walk, a round bed in the center of the lawn
(only worse than none at all!), or a window-box. You can not very well
decide on a single plant until this is settled.
As to the second step, learn all you can about the soil, situation,
surroundings. Is your ground rich or poor? If light and sandy, you can
grow such flowers as nasturtiums and mignonette. By adding fertilizer
you can have poppies, roses, and dahlias. If the ground is heavy and
stiff with clay, you can still have your roses and dahlias if you will
add both manure and sand. So find out what kind of earth you are going
to work with. Quite poor soil will grow sweet alyssum, California
poppies, coreopsis and geraniums, while rich soil is needed for asters,
larkspur, zinnias and marigolds. And think about your location (a dry
spot being necessary for portulaca, and a cool, moist place for
lily-of-the-valley), as well as bear in mind whether your garden is
sheltered and warm or exposed to the chilly winds. Any desert can be
made to blossom as the rose,--if you only know how.
As to the third step, make the list of the seeds, bulbs, etc., that you
would like, with the idea of having some flowers in bloom the whole
summer long. If you are lucky enough to have a kind friend or neighbor
give you of her store, they will probably be good and come up as they
should. If you have to buy, though, be sure to go to a first-class,
reliable dealer, for you don't want to waste your time and money on old
things that won't grow.
Then last of all, decide on your planting from this list with a view to
height and color, so that you will arrange to the best advantage,--the
nasturtiums which climb, for instance, going to the back of the bed
against wall or trellis, while the dwarf variety should be at the front.
BIG WORDS FOR COMMON THINGS
To select your flowers intelligently, though, you must know something
about their nature, habits, and tendencies, and certain words always
found in seed catalogues and garden books may be puzzling to a beginner.
a. _Annuals_, for example, are the plants that live
but a year or a single season.
b. _Biennials_, however, continue for two years before
they perish, making roots and leaves the first year
and usually flowering the second.
c. _Perennials_ are the kind that continue for more
than two years.
d. _Deciduous_ refers to the shrubs and trees that
lose their leaves in the fall.
e. _Evergreens_ are those that keep their verdure the
whole year round.
f. _Herbaceous_ plants may be annual, | 227.889236 |
2023-11-16 18:20:52.1649110 | 163 | 53 | MAGICAL MONARCH OF MO AND HIS PEOPLE***
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THE SURPRISING ADVENTURES OF THE MAGICAL MONARCH OF MO AND HIS PEOPLE
by
L. FRANK BAUM
With pictures by Frank Ver Beck
1903
To the | 228.184951 |
2023-11-16 18:20:52.1661450 | 2,679 | 222 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
OLIVER TWIST,
Or, The Parish Boy's Progress
By Charles Dickens
CONTENTS
I TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF THE
CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH
II TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST'S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD
III RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERY NEAR GETTING A PLACE WHICH
WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SINECURE
IV OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO
PUBLIC LIFE
V OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW ASSOCIATES. GOING TO A FUNERAL FOR THE
FIRST TIME, HE FORMS AN UNFAVOURABLE NOTION OF HIS MASTER'S
BUSINESS
VI OLIVER, BEING GOADED BY THE TAUNTS OF NOAH, ROUSES INTO ACTION,
AND RATHER ASTONISHES HIM
VII OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY
VIII OLIVER WALKS TO LONDON. HE ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAD A STRANGE
SORT OF YOUNG GENTLEMAN
IX CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE PLEASANT OLD
GENTLEMAN, AND HIS HOPEFUL PUPILS
X OLIVER BECOMES BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHARACTERS OF HIS NEW
ASSOCIATES; AND PURCHASES EXPERIENCE AT A HIGH PRICE. BEING A
SHORT, BUT VERY IMPORTANT CHAPTER, IN THIS HISTORY
XI TREATS OF MR. FANG THE POLICE MAGISTRATE; AND FURNISHES A
SLIGHT SPECIMEN OF HIS MODE OF ADMINISTERING JUSTICE
XII IN WHICH OLIVER IS TAKEN BETTER CARE OF THAN HE EVER WAS
BEFORE. AND IN WHICH THE NARRATIVE REVERTS TO THE MERRY OLD
GENTLEMAN AND HIS YOUTHFUL FRIENDS.
XIII SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE INTELLIGENT READER,
CONNECTED WITH WHOM VARIOUS PLEASANT MATTERS ARE RELATED,
APPERTAINING TO THIS HISTORY
XIV COMPRISING FURTHER PARTICULARS OF OLIVER'S STAY AT MR.
BROWNLOW'S, WITH THE REMARKABLE PREDICTION WHICH ONE MR. GRIMWIG
UTTERED CONCERNING HIM, WHEN HE WENT OUT ON AN ERRAND
XV SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND
MISS NANCY WERE
XVI RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER TWIST, AFTER HE HAD BEEN CLAIMED
BY NANCY
XVII OLIVER'S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN TO
LONDON TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION
XVIII HOW OLIVER PASSED HIS TIME IN THE IMPROVING SOCIETY OF HIS
REPUTABLE FRIENDS
XIX IN WHICH A NOTABLE PLAN IS DISCUSSED AND DETERMINED ON
XX WHEREIN OLIVER IS DELIVERED OVER TO MR. WILLIAM SIKES
XXI THE EXPEDITION
XXII THE BURGLARY
XXIII WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN
MR. BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND SHOWS THAT EVEN A BEADLE MAY BE
SUSCEPTIBLE ON SOME POINTS
XXIV TREATS ON A VERY POOR SUBJECT. BUT IS A SHORT ONE, AND MAY BE
FOUND OF IMPORTANCE IN THIS HISTORY
XXV WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS TO MR. FAGIN AND COMPANY
XXVI IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE SCENE; AND MANY
THINGS, INSEPARABLE FROM THIS HISTORY, ARE DONE AND PERFORMED
XXVII ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF A FORMER CHAPTER; WHICH DESERTED
A LADY, MOST UNCEREMONIOUSLY
XXVIII LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES
XXIX HAS AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE INMATES OF THE HOUSE, TO
WHICH OLIVER RESORTED
XXX RELATES WHAT OLIVER'S NEW VISITORS THOUGHT OF HIM
XXXI INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION
XXXII OF THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS KIND FRIENDS
XXXIII WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS, EXPERIENCES A
SUDDEN CHECK
XXXIV CONTAINS SOME INTRODUCTORY PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO A YOUNG
GENTLEMAN WHO NOW ARRIVES UPON THE SCENE; AND A NEW ADVENTURE
WHICH HAPPENED TO OLIVER
XXXV CONTAINING THE UNSATISFACTORY RESULT OF OLIVER'S ADVENTURE; AND
A CONVERSATION OF SOME IMPORTANCE BETWEEN HARRY MAYLIE AND ROSE
XXXVI IS A VERY SHORT ONE, AND MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT IMPORTANCE IN
ITS PLACE, BUT IT SHOULD BE READ NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL
TO THE LAST, AND A KEY TO ONE THAT WILL FOLLOW WHEN ITS TIME
ARRIVES
XXXVII IN WHICH THE READER MAY PERCEIVE A CONTRAST, NOT UNCOMMON IN
MATRIMONIAL CASES
XXXVIII CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR. AND MRS.
BUMBLE, AND MR. MONKS, AT THEIR NOCTURNAL INTERVIEW
XXXIX INTRODUCES SOME RESPECTABLE CHARACTERS WITH WHOM THE READER IS
ALREADY ACQUAINTED, AND SHOWS HOW MONKS AND THE JEW LAID THEIR
WORTHY HEADS TOGETHER
XL A STRANGE INTERVIEW, WHICH IS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST CHAMBER
XLI CONTAINING FRESH DISCOVERIES, AND SHOWING THAT SUPRISES, LIKE
MISFORTUNES, SELDOM COME ALONE
XLII AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF OLIVER'S, EXHIBITING DECIDED MARKS OF
GENIUS, BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARACTER IN THE METROPOLIS
XLIII WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE ARTFUL DODGER GOT INTO TROUBLE
XLIV THE TIME ARRIVES FOR NANCY TO REDEEM HER PLEDGE TO ROSE MAYLIE.
SHE FAILS.
XLV NOAH CLAYPOLE IS EMPLOYED BY FAGIN ON A SECRET MISSION
XLVI THE APPOINTMENT KEPT
XLVII FATAL CONSEQUENCES
XLVIII THE FLIGHT OF SIKES
XLIX MONKS AND MR. BROWNLOW AT LENGTH MEET. THEIR CONVERSATION,
AND THE INTELLIGENCE THAT INTERRUPTS IT
L THE PURSUIT AND ESCAPE
LI AFFORDING AN EXPLANATION OF MORE MYSTERIES THAN ONE, AND
COMPREHENDING A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE WITH NO WORD OF SETTLEMENT
OR PIN-MONEY
LII FAGIN'S LAST NIGHT ALIVE
LIII AND LAST
CHAPTER I -- TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF
THE CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH
Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many
reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which
I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common
to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this
workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble
myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence
to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item
of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter.
For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and
trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable
doubt whether the child would survive to bear any name at all; in
which case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs
would never have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised
within a couple of pages, they would have possessed the inestimable
merit of being the most concise and faithful specimen of biography,
extant in the literature of any age or country.
Although I am not disposed to maintain that the being born in a
workhouse, is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance
that can possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in
this particular instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist
that could by possibility have occurred. The fact is, that there was
considerable difficulty in inducing Oliver to take upon himself the
office of respiration,--a troublesome practice, but one which custom
has rendered necessary to our easy existence; and for some time
he lay gasping on a little flock mattress, rather unequally poised
between this world and the next: the balance being decidedly in
favour of the latter. Now, if, during this brief period, Oliver had
been surrounded by careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced
nurses, and doctors of profound wisdom, he would most inevitably
and indubitably have been killed in no time. There being nobody by,
however, but a pauper old woman, who was rendered rather misty by
an unwonted allowance of beer; and a parish surgeon who did such
matters by contract; Oliver and Nature fought out the point between
them. The result was, that, after a few struggles, Oliver breathed,
sneezed, and proceeded to advertise to the inmates of the workhouse
the fact of a new burden having been imposed upon the parish, by
setting up as loud a cry as could reasonably have been expected
from a male infant who had not been possessed of that very useful
appendage, a voice, for a much longer space of time than three
minutes and a quarter.
As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and proper action of his
lungs, the patchwork coverlet which was carelessly flung over the
iron bedstead, rustled; the pale face of a young woman was raised
feebly from the pillow; and a faint voice imperfectly articulated
the words, 'Let me see the child, and die.'
The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards the fire:
giving the palms of his hands a warm and a rub alternately. As the
young woman spoke, he rose, and advancing to the bed's head, said,
with more kindness than might have been expected of him:
'Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.'
'Lor bless her dear heart, no!' interposed the nurse, hastily
depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of which
she had been tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction.
'Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have,
sir, and had thirteen children of her own, and all on 'em dead
except two, and them in the wurkus with me, she'll know better than
to take on in that way, bless her dear heart! Think what it is to be
a mother, there's a dear young lamb do.'
Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother's prospects
failed in producing its due effect. The patient shook her head, and
stretched out her hand towards the child.
The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her cold white
lips passionately on its forehead; passed her hands over her face;
gazed wildly round; shuddered; fell back--and died. They chafed her
breast, hands, and temples; but the blood had stopped forever. They
talked of hope and comfort. They had been strangers too long.
'It's all over, Mrs | 228.186185 |
2023-11-16 18:20:52.1691350 | 1,469 | 10 |
Transcribed from the 1845 Thomas Nelson “Works of the Puritan Divines
(Bunyan)” edition by David Price, email [email protected]
[Picture: Bunyan’s cottage at Elstow]
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES
CONTENTS
Page
Of the Trinity and a Christian 245
Of the Law and a Christian 251
Bunyan’s Last Sermon 257
Bunyan’s Dying Sayings 267
OF THE
TRINITY AND A CHRISTIAN.
_How a young or shaken Christian should demean himself under the weighty
thoughts of the Doctrine of the Trinity or Plurality of Persons in the
eternal Godhead_.
THE reason why I say a _young_ or _shaken_ Christian, is, because some
that are not young, but of an ancient standing, may not only be assaulted
with violent temptations concerning gospel-principles, but a second time
may become a child, a babe, a shallow man, in the things of God:
especially, either when by backsliding he hath provoked God to leave him,
or when some new, unexpected, and (as to present strength) over weighty
objection doth fall upon the spirit, by means of which great shakings of
mind do commonly attend such a soul in the most weighty matters of the
concerns of faith, of which this is one that I have supposed in the
above-mentioned question: Wherefore passing other things, I will come
directly to that, and briefly propose some helps to a soul in such a
case.
I. The first preparative.
_First_, Then, be sure thou keep close to the Word of God for that is the
revelation of the mind and will of God, both as to the truth of what is
either in himself or ways, and also as to what he requireth and expecteth
of thee, either concerning faith in, or obedience to, what he hath so
revealed. Now for thy better performing of this, I shall give thee in
brief these following directions.
1. Suffer thyself, by the authority of the Word, to be persuaded that
the Scripture indeed is the Word of God the Scriptures of truth, the
words of the Holy One; and that they therefore must be every one true,
pure, and for ever settled in heaven.
2. Conclude therefore from the former doctrine, that that God whose
words they are, is able to make a reconciliation and most sweet and
harmonious agreement with all the sayings therein, how obscure, cross,
dark, and contradictory soever they seem to thee. To understand all
mysteries, to have all knowledge, to be able to comprehend with all
saints, is a great work; enough to crush the spirit, and to stretch the
strings of the most capacious, widened soul that breatheth on this side
glory, be they notwithstanding exceedingly enlarged by revelation. Paul,
when he was caught up to heaven, saw that which was unlawful, because
impossible, for man to utter. And saith Christ to the reasoning
Pharisee, “If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how
shall you believe if I tell you of heavenly things?” It is great
lewdness, and also insufferable arrogancy, to come to the Word of God, as
conceiting already that whatever thou readest must either by thee be
understood, or of itself fall to the ground as a senseless error. But
God is wiser than man, wherefore fear thou him, and tremble at his word,
saying still, with godly suspicion of thine own infirmity, What I see
not, teach thou me; and, Thou art God only wise; but as for me, I am as a
beast before thee.
3. Take heed of taking a part of the Word only, lest thou thereby go
away with the truth as mangled in pieces. For instance, where thou
readest, “The Lord our God is one Lord,” there take heed that thou dost
not thence conclude, then there are not three persons in the Godhead:
when thou readest of “the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” then
take heed of concluding there must therefore either be three Gods, or
else that Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost are not true God, but the
Father only. Wherefore to help thee here, observe,
II. The second preparative.
1. That the Christian religion requireth credit concerning every
doctrine contained in the Word; credit, I say, according to the true
relation of every sentence that the Holy Ghost hath revealed for the
asserting, maintaining, or vindicating that same truth.
2. And therefore, hence it is that a Christian is not called a doer, a
reasoner, an objector, and perverse disputer, but a believer. Be thou an
example to “the believers;” and, “believers” were “added to the church,”
&c.
3. Therefore, know again, that the Word, if it saith and expresseth that
this or that is so and so, as to the matter in hand, thou art bound and
obliged, both by the name, profession, and the truth, unto which thou
hast joined thyself, to assent to, confess, and acknowledge the same,
even then when thy carnal reason will not stoop thereto. “Righteous art
thou, O God,” saith Jeremiah, “yet let me plead with thee; Wherefore do
the wicked live?” Mark, first he acknowledgeth that God’s way with the
wicked is just and right, even then when yet he could not see the reason
of his actions and dispensations towards them. The same reason is good
as to our present case: and hence it is that the apostle saith, the
spiritual armour of Christians should be much exercised against those
high towering and self-exalting imaginations, that within our own bosoms
do exalt themselves against the knowledge of God; that every thought or
carnal reasoning may be not only taken, but brought a captive into
obedience to Christ; that is, be made to stoop to the Word of God, and to
give way and place to the doctrine therein contained, how cross soever
our thoughts and the Word lie to each other. And it is observable that
he here saith, “they exalt themselves against the knowledge of God;”
which cannot be understood, that our carnal, natural reason doth exalt
itself against an eternal deity, simply considered; for that nature
itself doth gather from the very things that | 228.189175 |
2023-11-16 18:20:52.2586050 | 193 | 11 |
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THE STORY OF THE HYMNS AND TUNES
by
THERON BROWN and HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH
_Multae terricolis linguae, coelestibus una._
_Ten thousand, thousand are their tongues,
But all their joys are one._
| 228.278645 |
2023-11-16 18:20:52.2594180 | 313 | 26 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset, v2
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Title: Child of a Century, v2
Author: Alfred de Musset
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Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Frontispiece]
To THE WISE MAN ALL THE WORLD'S A SOIL--BEN JONSON
[Illustration: Title page]
A VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD
_in the years 1740-4 by_
LORD ANSON
LONDON: PUBLISHED by J. M. DENT & SONS Ltd.
AND IN NEW YORK BY E. P. DUTTON & CO
{vii}
INTRODUCTION
The men-of-war in which Anson went to sea were built mostly of oak.
They were painted externally yellow, with a blue stripe round the upper
works. Internally, they were painted red. They carried cannon on one,
two, or three decks according to their size. The biggest ships carried
a hundred cannon and nearly a thousand men. The ship in which this
famous voyage was made was of the middle size, then called the
fourth-rate. She carried sixty cannon, and a crew of four hundred men.
Her lower gun deck, a little above the level of the water, was about
140 feet long. She was of about a thousand tons burthen.
Though this seems small to us, it is not small for a wooden ship. It
is not possible to build a long wooden ship. The _Centurion_, though
short, was broad, bulky, and deep. She was fit for the sea. As she
was built more to carry cannon than to sail, she was a slow sailer.
She became slower as the barnacles gathered on her planks under the
water. She carried three wooden masts, each fitted with two or three
square sails, extended by wooden yards. Both yards and masts were
frequently injured in bad weather.
The cannon were arranged in rows along her decks. On the lower gun
deck, a little above the level of the water, she carried twenty-six
twenty-four-pounders, thirteen on a side. These guns were
muzzle-loading cannon which flung twenty-four-pound balls for a
distance of about a mile. On the deck above this chief battery, she
carried a lighter battery of twenty-six nine- or twelve-pounder guns,
thirteen on a side. These guns were also muzzle-loading. They flung
their balls for a distance of a little more than a mile.
On the quarter-deck, the poop, the forecastle, and aloft in the tops
(the strong platforms on the masts), were lighter guns, throwing balls
of from a half to six pounds' weight. {viii} Some of the lightest guns
were mounted on swivels, so that they could be easily pointed in any
direction. All the guns were clumsy weapons. They could not be aimed
with any nicety. The iron round shot fired from them did not fit the
bores of the pieces. The gun-carriages were clumsy, and difficult to
move. Even when the carriage had been so moved that the gun was
accurately trained, and when the gun itself had been raised or
depressed till it was accurately pointed, the gunner could not tell how
much the ball would wobble in the bore before it left the muzzle. For
these reasons all the effective sea-fights were fought at close range,
from within a quarter of a mile of the target to close alongside. At a
close range, the muskets and small-arms could be used with effect.
The broadside cannon pointed through square portholes cut in the ship's
sides. The ports were fitted with heavy wooden lids which could be
tightly closed when necessary. In bad weather, the lower-deck gun
ports could not be opened without danger of swamping the ship.
Sometimes, when the lower-deck guns were fought in a gale, the men
stood knee deep in water.
In action the guns were "run out" till their muzzles were well outside
the port, so that the flashes might not set the ship's side on fire.
The shock of the discharge made them recoil into a position in which
they could be reloaded. The guns were run out by means of side
tackles. They were kept from recoiling too far by strong ropes called
breechings. When not in use, and not likely to be used, they were
"housed," or so arranged that their muzzles could be lashed firmly to
the ship's side. In a sea way, when the ship rolled very badly, there
was danger of the guns breaking loose and rolling this way and that
till they had knocked the ship's side out. To prevent this happening,
clamps of wood were screwed behind the wheels of the gun-carriages, and
extra breechings were rove, whenever bad weather threatened.
The great weight of the rows of cannon put a severe strain upon the
upper works of the ship. In bad weather, during excessive rolling,
this strain was often great enough to open the seams in the ship's
sides. To prevent this, and other costly damage, it was the custom to
keep the big men-of-war in harbour from October until the Spring. In
the {ix} smaller vessels the strain was made less by striking down some
of the guns into the hold.
The guns were fired by the application of a slow-match to the priming
powder in the touch-holes. The slow-matches were twisted round wooden
forks called linstocks. After firing, when the guns had recoiled,
their bores were scraped with scrapers called "worms" to remove scraps
of burning wad or cartridge. They were then sponged out with a wet
sponge, and charged by the ramming home of fresh cartridges, wads, and
balls. A gun's crew numbered from four to twelve men, according to the
size of the piece. When a gun was trained aft or forward, to bear on
an object before or abaft the beam, the gun's crew hove it about with
crows and handspikes.
As this, and the other exercise of sponging, loading, and running out
the guns in the heat, stench, and fury of a sea-fight was excessively
hard labour, the men went into action stripped to the waist. The decks
on those occasions were thickly sanded, lest the blood upon them should
make them too slippery for the survivors' feet. Tubs of water were
placed between the guns for the wetting of the sponges and the
extinguishing of chance fires. The ship's boys carried the cartridges
to the guns from the magazines below the water-line. The round-shot
were placed close to hand in rope rings called garlands. Nets were
spread under the masts to catch wreck from aloft. The decks were
"cleared for action." All loose articles about the decks, and all
movable wooden articles such as bulkheads (the partitions between
cabins), mess-tables, chests, casks, etc., were flung into the hold or
overboard, lest shot striking them should splinter them. Splinters
were far more dangerous than shot. In this book it may be noticed that
the officers hoped to have no fighting while the gun decks of the ships
in the squadron were cumbered with provision casks.
The ships of war carried enormous crews. The _Centurion_ carried four
hundred seamen and one hundred soldiers. At sea, most of this
complement was divided into two watches. Both watches were subdivided
into several divisions, to each of which was allotted some special
duty, as the working of the main-mast, the keeping of the main deck
clean, etc., etc. Many members of the crew {x} stood no watch, but
worked at special crafts and occupations about the ship. A wooden ship
of war employed and kept busy a carpenter and carpenter's mates, a
sailmaker and sailmaker's mates, a cooper and a gunner, each with his
mates, and many other specially skilled craftsmen and their assistants.
She was a little world, carrying within herself all that she needed.
Her daily business required men to sail her and steer her, men to fight
her guns, men to rule her, men to drill, men to play the spy, men to
teach, preach, and decorate, men to clean her, caulk her, paint her and
keep her sweet, men to serve out food, water, and intoxicants, men to
tinker, repair, and cook and forge, to doctor and operate, to bury and
flog, to pump, fumigate and scrape, and to load and unload. She called
for so many skilled craftsmen, and provided so much special employment
out of the way of seamanship, that the big crew was never big enough.
The special employments took away now one man, now another, till there
were few left to work the ship. The soldiers and marines acted as a
military guard for the prevention of mutiny. They worked about the
ship, hauling ropes, etc., when not engaged in military duty.
The hundreds of men in the ship's crew lived below decks. Most of them
lived on the lower gun deck in the narrow spaces (known as berths)
between the guns. Here they kept their chests, mess-tables, crockery,
and other gear. Here they ate and drank, made merry, danced, got
drunk, and, in port, entertained their female acquaintance. Many more,
including the midshipmen, surgeon, and gunner, lived below the lower
gun deck, in the orlop or cable tier, where sunlight could never come
and fresh air never came willingly. At night the men slept in
hammocks, which they slung from the beams. They were packed together
very tightly, man to man, hammock touching hammock. In the morning,
the hammocks were lashed up and stowed in racks till the evening.
There was no "regulation" naval uniform until some years after the
_Centurion's_ return to England. The officers and men seem to have
worn what clothes they pleased. The ships carried stores of clothes
which were issued to the men as they needed them. The store clothes,
being (perhaps) of similar patterns, may have given a sort of {xi}
uniformity to the appearance of the crews after some months at sea. In
some of the prints of the time the men are drawn wearing rough, buckled
shoes, coarse stockings, aprons or short skirts of frieze, baize, or
tarred canvas, and short jackets worn open. Anson, like most captains,
took care that the men in his boat's crew all dressed alike. The
marines wore their regimental uniforms.
Life at sea has always been, and may always be, a harder life than the
hardest of shore lives.
Life ashore in the early and middle eighteenth century was, in the
main, both hard and brutal. Society ashore was made up of a little,
brilliant, artificial class, a great, dull, honest, and hardworking
mass, and a brutal, dirty, and debased rabble. Society at sea was like
society ashore, except that, being composed of men, and confronted with
the elements, and based on a grand ceremonial tradition, it was never
brilliant, and never artificial. It was, in the main, an honest and
hardworking society. Much in it was brutal, dirty, and debased; but it
had always behind it an order and a ceremony grand, impressive, and
unfaltering. That life in that society was often barbarous and
disgusting cannot be doubted. The best men in the ships were taken by
force from the merchant service. The others were gathered by
press-gangs and gaol-deliveries. They were knocked into shape by
brutal methods and kept in hand by brutal punishments. The officers
were not always gentlemen; and when they were, they were frequently
incompetent. The administration was scandalously corrupt. The ships
were unhealthy, the food foul, the pay small, and the treatment cruel.
The attractions of the service seem to have been these: the chance of
making a large sum of prize-money, and the possibility of getting drunk
once a day on the enormous daily ration of intoxicating liquor. The
men were crammed together into a dark, stinking, confined space, in
which privacy was impossible, peace a dream, and cleanliness a memory.
Here they were fed on rotten food, till they died by the score, as this
book testifies.
"We sent," says Mr. Walter, chaplain in the _Centurion_, "about eighty
sick from the _Centurion_; and the other ships, I believe, sent nearly
as many, in proportion.... As soon as we had performed this necessary
duty, we scraped our decks, and gave our ship a thorough cleaning; then
smoked {xii} it between decks, and after all washed every part well
with vinegar. These operations were extremely necessary for correcting
the noisome stench on board, and destroying the vermin; for... both
these nuisances had increased upon us to a very loathsome degree."
"The Biscuit," says Mr. Thomas, the teacher of mathematics in the
_Centurion_, "(was) so worm-eaten it was scarce anything but dust, and
a little blow would reduce it to that immediately; our Beef and Pork
was likewise very rusty and rotten, and the surgeon endeavoured to
hinder us from eating any of it, alledging it was, tho' a slow, yet a
sure Poison."
That tradition and force of will could keep life efficient, and direct
it to great ends, in such circumstances, deserves our admiration and
our reverence.
The traditions and unpleasantness of the sea service are suggested
vividly in many pages of this book. A few glimpses of both may be
obtained from the following extracts from some of the logs and papers
which deal with this voyage and with Anson's entry into the Navy. The
marine chapters in Smollett's _Roderick Random_ give a fair picture of
the way of life below decks during the years of which this book treats.
George Anson was born at Shugborough, in Staffordshire, on April 23,
1697. His first ship was the _Ruby_, Captain Peter Chamberlen, a
54-gun ship, with a scratch crew of 185 men. George Anson's name
appears in her pay book between the names of John Baker, ordinary
seaman, and George Hirgate, captain's servant. He joined her on
February 2, 1712. The ship had lain cleaning and fitting "at Chatham
and in the River Medway" since the 4th of the preceding month. Two
days after the boy came aboard she weighed her anchor "at 1 afternoon,"
fresh gales and cloudy, and ran out to the Nore where she anchored in
seven fathoms and moored.
It is not known what duties the boy performed during his first days of
service. The ship fired twenty-one guns in honour of the queen's
birthday on February 7. The weather was hazy, foggy, and cold, with
snow and rain; lighters came off with dry provisions, and the ship's
boats brought off water. On February 9, the _Centurion_, an earlier,
smaller _Centurion_ than the ship afterwards made {xiii} famous by him,
anchored close to them. On the 16th, two Dutch men-of-war, with a
convoy, anchored close to them. Yards and topmasts were struck and
again got up on the 17th. On the 24th, three shot were fired at a
brigantine to bring her to.
On the 27th, Sir John Norris and Sir Charles Wager hoisted their flags
aboard the _Cambridge_ and the _Ruby_ respectively, and signal was made
for a court-martial. Six men of the _Dover_ were tried for mutiny,
theft, disorderly conduct, and desertion of their ship after she had
gone ashore "near Alborough Haven." Being all found guilty they were
whipped from ship to ship next morning. Each received six lashes on
the bare back at the side of each ship then riding at the Nore. A week
later, the _Ruby_ and the _Centurion_ sailed leisurely to Spithead,
chasing a Danish ship on the way. On March 11, the _Ruby_ anchored at
Spithead and struck her topmasts. On March 18, Captain Chamberlen
removed "into ye _Monmouth_" with all his "followers," Anson among
them. The _Monmouth_ sailed on April 13, with three other men-of-war,
as a guard to the West Indian fleet, bound for Port Royal. Her master
says that on June 7, in lat. 21 deg. 36' N., long. 18 deg. 9' W., "we duckt
those men that want willing to pay for crossing the tropick." In
August, off the Jamaican coast, a man fell overboard and was drowned.
Later in the month, a hurricane very nearly put an end to Anson and
_Monmouth_ together. Both pumps were kept going, there was four feet
of water on the ballast and the same between decks, the foretopmast
went, the main and mizen masts were cut away, and men with buckets
worked for their lives "bealing at each hatchway." Port Royal was
reached on September 1. The _Monmouth_ made a cruise after pirates in
Blewfields Bay, and returned to Spithead in June 1713.
Anson is next heard of as a second lieutenant aboard the _Hampshire_.
He was in the _Montague_, 60-gun ship, in Sir George Byng's action off
Cape Passaro, in March 1718. In 1722, he commanded the _Weasel_ sloop
in some obscure services in the North Sea against the Dutch smugglers
and French Jacobites. During this command he made several captures of
brandy. From 1724 till 1735 he was employed in various commands,
mostly in the {xiv} American colonies, against the pirates. From 1735
till 1737 he was not employed at sea.
In 1737, he took command of the _Centurion_, and sailed in her to the
Guinea Coast, to protect our gum merchants from the French. His gunner
was disordered in his head during the cruise; and Sierra Leone was so
unhealthy that "the merchant ships had scarce a well man on board." A
man going mad and others dying were the only adventures of the voyage.
He was back in the Downs to prepare for this more eventful voyage by
July 21, 1739.
In November he wrote to the Admiralty that in hot climates "the Pease
and Oatemeal put on board his Maj'y Ships have generally decayed and
become not fitt to issue, before they have all been expended." He
proposed taking instead of peas and oatmeal a proportion of "Stockfish,
Grotts, Grout, and Rice." The Admiralty sanctioned the change; but the
purser seems to have failed to procure the substitutes. Whether, as
was the way of the pursers of that time, he pocketed money on the
occasion, cannot be known. He died at sea long before the lack was
discovered.
A more tragical matter took place in this November. A Mr. McKie, a
naval mate, was attacked on Gosport Beach by twenty or thirty of the
_Centurion's_ crew, under one William Cheney, a boatswain's mate; and
the said William Cheney "with a stick did cutt and bruse" the said
McKie, and tore his shirt and conveyed away his "Murning ring," which
was flat burglary in the said Cheney. "Mr. Cheney aledges no other
reason for beating and Abusing Mr. McKie but the said McKie having got
drunk at Sea, did then beat and abuse him." As Hamlet says, this was
hire and salary, not revenge.
Months went by, doubtfully enlivened thus, till June 1740, when the
pressing of men began. The _Centurion's_ men went pressing, and got
seventy-three men, a fair catch, but not enough. She despatched a
tender to the Downs to press men from homeward bound merchant ships.
This method of getting a crew was the best then in use, because the men
obtained by it were trained seamen, which those obtained from the
gaols, the gin-shops, and the slums seldom were. It was an extremely
cruel method. A man within sight of his home, after a voyage of
perhaps two {xv} years, might be dragged from his ship (before his
wages were paid) to serve willy-nilly in the Navy, at a third of the
pay, for the next half-dozen years. An impartial conscription seems
noble beside such a method. Knowing how the ships were manned, it
cannot seem strange that the Navy was not then a loved nor an honoured
service. Nineteen of the _Centurion's_ catch loved and honoured it so
little that they contrived to desert (risking death at the yard-arm by
doing so) during the weeks of waiting at Portsmouth.
Before the tender sailed for the Downs, Anson discovered that the
dockyard men had scamped their work in the _Centurion_. They had
supplied her with a defective foremast "Not fitt for Sarves." High up
on the mast was "a rotten Nott eleven inches deep," a danger to spar
and ship together. The dockyard officials, who had probably pocketed
the money for a good spar, swore that the Nott only "wants a Plugg
drove in" to be perfection. Dockyard men at this time and for many
years afterwards deserved to be suspended both from their duties and by
their necks. Soon after the wrangle over the spar, there was a wrangle
about the _Gloucester's_ beef. Forty-two out of her seventy-two
puncheons of beef were found to be stinking. With some doubts as to
what would happen in the leaf if such things happened in the bud, Anson
got his squadron to sea. Early in the voyage his master "shoved" his
boatswain while he was knotting a cable, and the boatswain complained.
"The Boatswain," says the letter, "is very often Drunk and incapable of
his Duty." Later in the voyage, when many hundreds had died, Mr.
Cheney, who hit Mr. McKie, became boatswain in his stead.
The squadron sailed from England on September 18, 1740, with six ships
of war manned by 1872 seamen and marines, twenty-four of whom were
sick. At Madeira, on November 4, after less than seven weeks at sea,
there were 122 sick, and fourteen had been buried. Less than eleven
weeks later, at St. Catherine's in Brazil, there were 450 sick, and 160
had been buried. From this time until what was left of the squadron
reached Juan Fernandez, sickness and death took continual toll. It is
shocking to see the _Centurion's_ muster lists slowly decreasing, by
one or two a week, till she was up to the Horn, then dropping six, ten,
twenty, or twenty-four a week, as the scurvy and the frost {xvi} took
hold. Few but the young survived. What that passage of the Horn was
like may be read here at length; but perhaps nothing in this book is so
eloquent of human misery as the following entries from Anson's private
record:--
"1741. 8 May.--Heavy Flaws and dangerous Gusts, expecting every Moment
to have my masts Carry'd away, having very little succor, from the
standing rigging, every Shroud knotted, and not men able to keep the
deck sufficient to take in a Topsail, all being violently afflicted
with the Scurvy, and every day lessening our Number by six eight and
Ten.
"1741. 1st Sept.--I mustered my Ship's Company, the number of Men I
brought out of England, being Five hundred, are now reduced by
Mortality to Two hundred and Thirteen, and many of them in a weak and
Low condition."
Nothing in any of the records is so eloquent as the remark in Pascoe
Thomas's account of the voyage:--
"I have seen 4 or 5 dead Bodies at a time, some sown up in their
Hammocks and others not, washing about the Decks, for Want of Help to
bury them in the Sea."
On December 7, 1741, the 1872 men had dwindled down to 201. Of the six
ships of war only one, the _Centurion_, still held her course. She was
leaking an inch an hour, but she showed bright to the world under a new
coat of paint. On this day Anson sent home a letter to the Admiralty
(from Canton in China). The letter was delivered 173 days later.
In spite of the miseries of the service, there were compensations. The
entry off Payta--
"1741. 12 Nov.--I keept Possession of the Town three days and employed
my Boats in plundering"--
must have been pleasant to write; and the entries for Tuesday, June 21,
1743, and following days, become almost incoherent:--
{xvii}
"reced 112 baggs and 6 Chests of Silver.
"11 Baggs of Virgin silver 72 Chests of Dollers and baggs of Dollers
114 Chests and 100 baggs of Dollers 4 baggs of wrought Plate and Virgin
Silver."
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_Library Edition_
THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF
JOHN RUSKIN
THE EAGLE'S NEST
LOVE'S MEINIE
ARIADNE FLORENTINA
VAL D'ARNO
PROSERPINA
NATIONAL LIBRARY ASSOCIATION
NEW YORK CHICAGO
ARIADNE FLORENTINA.
SIX LECTURES
ON
WOOD AND METAL ENGRAVING
WITH APPENDIX.
GIVEN BEFORE THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD,
IN MICHAELMAS TERM, 1872.
CONTENTS.
LECTURE I.
PAGE
DEFINITION OF THE ART OF ENGRAVING 1
LECTURE II.
THE RELATION OF ENGRAVING TO OTHER ARTS IN FLORENCE 22
LECTURE III.
THE TECHNICS OF WOOD ENGRAVING 42
LECTURE IV.
THE TECHNICS OF METAL ENGRAVING 61
LECTURE V.
DESIGN IN THE GERMAN SCHOOLS OF ENGRAVING (HOLBEIN AND DUeRER) 81
LECTURE VI.
DESIGN IN THE FLORENTINE SCHOOLS OF ENGRAVING (SANDRO BOTTICELLI) 108
APPENDIX.
ARTICLE
I. NOTES ON THE PRESENT STATE OF ENGRAVING IN ENGLAND 143
II. DETACHED NOTES 157
LIST OF PLATES
Facing Page
Diagram 27
The Last Furrow (Fig. 2). Facsimile from Holbein's woodcut 47
The Two Preachers (Fig. 3). Facsimile from Holbein's woodcut 48
I. Things Celestial and Terrestrial, as apparent to the English mind 56
II. Star of Florence 62
III. "At evening from the top of Fesole" 72
IV. "By the Springs of Parnassus" 77
V. "Heat considered as a Mode of Motion." Florentine Natural
Philosophy 92
VI. Fairness of the Sea and Air. In Venice and Athens 95
The Child's Bedtime (Fig. 5). Facsimile from Holbein's woodcut 103
"He that hath ears to hear let him hear" (Fig. 6). Facsimile from
Holbein's woodcut 105
VII. For a time, and times 130
VIII. The Nymph beloved of Apollo (Michael Angelo) 131
IX. In the Woods of Ida 132
X. Grass of the Desert 135
XI. "Obediente Domino voci hominis" 145
XII. The Coronation in the Garden 158
ARIADNE FLORENTINA.
LECTURE I.
DEFINITION OF THE ART OF ENGRAVING.
1. The entrance on my duty for to-day begins the fourth year of my
official work in Oxford; and I doubt not that some of my audience are
asking themselves, very doubtfully--at all events, I ask myself, very
anxiously--what has been done.
For practical result, I have not much to show. I announced, a fortnight
since, that I would meet, the day before yesterday, any gentleman who
wished to attend this course for purposes of study. My class, so minded,
numbers four, of whom three wish to be artists, and ought not therefore,
by rights, to be at Oxford at all; and the fourth is the last remaining
unit of the class I had last year.
2. Yet I neither in this reproach myself, nor, if I could, would I
reproach the students who are not here. I do not reproach myself; for it
was impossible for me to attend properly to the schools and to write the
grammar for them at the same time; and I do not blame the absent
students for not attending a school from which I have generally been
absent myself. In all this, there is much to be mended, but, in true
light, nothing to be regretted.
I say, I had to write my school grammar. These three volumes of lectures
under my hand,[A] contain, carefully set down, the things I want you
first to know. None of my writings are done fluently; the second volume
of "Modern Painters" was all of it written twice--most of it, four
times,--over; and these lectures have been written, I don't know how
many times. You may think that this was done merely in an author's
vanity, not in a tutor's care. To the vanity I plead guilty,--no man is
more intensely vain than I am; but my vanity is set on having it _known_
of me that I am a good master, not in having it _said_ of me that I am a
smooth author. My vanity is never more wounded than in being called a
fine writer, meaning--that nobody need mind what I say.
3. Well, then, besides this vanity, I have some solicitude for your
progress. You may give me credit for it or not, as you choose, but it is
sincere. And that your advance may be safe, I have taken the best pains
I could in laying down laws for it. In these three years I have got my
grammar written, and, with the help of many friends, all working
instruments in good order; and now we will try what we can do. Not that,
even now, you are to depend on my presence with you in personal
teaching. I shall henceforward think of the lectures less, of the
schools more; but my best work for the schools will often be by drawing
in Florence or in Lancashire--not here.
4. I have already told you several times that the course through which I
mean every student in these schools should pass, is one which shall
enable them to understand the elementary principles of the finest art.
It will necessarily be severe, and seem to lead to no immediate result.
Some of you will, on the contrary, wish to be taught what is immediately
easy, and gives prospect of a manifest success.
But suppose they should come to the Professor of Logic and Rhetoric, and
tell him they want to be taught to preach like Mr. Spurgeon, or the
Bishop of ----.
He would say to them,--I cannot, and if I could I would not, tell you
how to preach like Mr. Spurgeon, or the Bishop of ----. Your own
character will form your style; your own zeal will direct it; your own
obstinacy or ignorance may limit or exaggerate it; but my business is to
prevent, as far as I can, your having _any_ particular style; and to
teach you the laws of all language, and the essential power of your own.
In like manner, this course, which I propose to you in art, will be
calculated only to give you judgment and method in future study, to
establish to your conviction the laws of general art, and to enable you
to draw, if not with genius, at least with sense and propriety.
The course, so far as it consists in practice, will be defined in my
Instructions for the schools. And the theory connected with that
practice is set down in the three lectures at the end of the first
course I delivered--those on Line, Light, and Color.
You will have, therefore, to get this book,[B] and it is the only one
which you will need to have of your own,--the others are placed, for
reference, where they will be accessible to you.
5. In the 139th paragraph it states the order of your practical study in
these terms:--
"I wish you to begin by getting command of line;--that is to say, by
learning to draw a steady line, limiting with absolute correctness the
form or space you intend it to limit; to proceed by getting command over
flat tints, so that you may be able to fill the spaces you have inclosed
evenly, either with shade or color, according to the school you adopt;
and, finally, to obtain the power of adding such fineness of drawing,
within the masses, as shall express their undulation, and their
characters of form and texture."
And now, since in your course of practice you are first required to
attain the power of drawing lines accurately and delicately, so in the
course of theory, or grammar, I wish you first to learn the principles
of linear design, exemplified by the schools which (Sec. 137) you will find
characterized as the Schools of Line.
6. If I had command of as much time as I should like to spend with you
on this subject, I would begin with the early forms of art which used
the simplest linear elements of design. But, for general service and
interest, it will be better that I should sketch what has been
accomplished by the greatest masters in that manner; the rather that
their work is more or less accessible to all, and has developed into the
vast industries of modern engraving, one of the most powerful existing
influences of education and sources of pleasure among civilized people.
And this investigation, so far from interrupting, will facilitate our
examination of the history of the nobler arts. You will see in the
preface to my lectures on Greek sculpture that I intend them to be
followed by a course on architecture, and that by one on Florentine
sculpture. But the art of engraving is so manifestly, at Florence,
though not less essentially elsewhere, a basis of style both in
architecture and sculpture, that it is absolutely necessary I should
explain to you in what the skill of the engraver consists, before I can
define with accuracy that of more admired artists. For engraving, though
not altogether in the method of which you see examples in the
print-shops of the High Street, is, indeed, a prior art to that either
of building or sculpture, and is an inseparable part of both, when they
are rightly practiced.
7. And while we thus examine the scope of this first of the arts, it
will be necessary that we learn also the scope of mind of the early
practicers of it, and accordingly acquaint ourselves with the main
events in the biography of the schools of Florence. To understand the
temper and meaning of one great master is to lay the best, if not the
only, foundation for the understanding of all; and I shall therefore
make it the leading aim of this course of lectures to remind you of what
is known, and direct you to what is knowable, of the life and character
of the greatest Florentine master of engraving, Sandro Botticelli; and,
incidentally, to give you some idea of the power of the greatest master
of the German, or any northern, school, Hans Holbein.
8. You must feel, however, that I am using the word "engraving" in a
somewhat different, and, you may imagine, a wider, sense, than that
which you are accustomed to attach to it. So far from being a wider
sense, it is in reality a more accurate and restricted one, while yet it
embraces every conceivable right application of the art. And I wish, in
this first lecture, to make entirely clear to you the proper meaning of
the word, and proper range of the art of, engraving; in my next
following lecture, to show you its place in Italian schools, and then,
in due order, the place it ought to take in our own, and in all schools.
9. First then, to-day, of the Differentia, or essential quality of
Engraving, as distinguished from other arts.
What answer would you make to me, if I asked casually what engraving
was? Perhaps the readiest which would occur to you would be, "The
translation of pictures into black and white by means admitting
reduplication of impressions." But if that be done by lithography, we do
not call it engraving,--whereas we speak contentedly and continually of
seal engraving, in which there is no question of black and white. And,
as scholars, you know that this customary mode of speaking is quite
accurate; and that engraving means, primarily, making a permanent cut or
furrow in something. The central syllable of the word has become a
sorrowful one, meaning the most permanent of furrows.
10. But are you prepared absolutely to accept this limitation with
respect to engraving as a pictorial art? Will you call nothing an
engraving, except a group of furrows or cavities cut in a hard
substance? What shall we say of mezzotint engraving, for instance, in
which, though indeed furrows and cavities are produced mechanically as a
ground, the artist's work is in effacing them? And when we consider the
power of engraving in representing pictures and multiplying them, are we
to recognize and admire no effects of light and shade except those which
are visibly produced by dots or furrows? I mean, will the virtue of an
engraving be in exhibiting these imperfect means of its effect, or in
concealing them?
11. Here, for instance, is the head of a soldier by Duerer,--a mere
gridiron of black lines. Would this be better or worse engraving if it
were more like a photograph or lithograph, and no lines seen?--suppose,
more like the head of Mr. Santley, now in all the music-shops, and
really quite deceptive in light and shade, when seen from over the way?
Do you think Duerer's work would be better if it were more like that? And
would you have me, therefore, leaving the question of technical method
of production altogether to the craftsman, consider pictorial engraving
simply as the production of a light-and-shade drawing, by some method
permitting its multiplication for the public?
12. This, you observe, is a very practical question indeed. For
instance, the illustrations of my own lectures on sculpture are
equivalent to permanent photographs. There can be little doubt that
means will be discovered of thus producing perfect facsimiles of
artists' drawings; so that, if no more than facsimile be required, the
old art of cutting furrows in metal may be considered as, at this day,
virtually ended. And, indeed, it is said that line engravers cannot any
more get apprentices, and that a pure steel or copper plate is not
likely to be again produced, when once the old living masters of the
bright field shall have been all laid in their earth-furrows.
13. Suppose, then, that this come to pass; and more than this, suppose
that wood engraving also be superseded, and that instead of imperfect
transcripts of drawings, on wood-blocks or metal-plates, photography
enabled us to give, quite cheaply, and without limit to number,
facsimiles of the finished light-and-shade drawings of artists
themselves. Another group of questions instantly offers itself, on these
new conditions; namely, What are the best means for a light-and-shade
drawing--the pen, or the pencil, the charcoal, or the flat wash? That is
to say, the pen, producing shade by black lines, as old engraving did;
the pencil, producing shade by gray lines, variable in force; the
charcoal, producing a smoky shadow with no lines in it, or the washed
tint, producing a transparent shadow with no lines in it. Which of
these methods is the best?--or have they, each and all, virtues to be
separately studied, and distinctively applied?
14. See how curiously the questions multiply on us. 1st, Is engraving to
be only considered as cut work? 2d, For present designs multipliable
without cutting, by the sunshine, what methods or instruments of drawing
will be best? And now, 3dly, before we can discuss these questions at
all, is there not another lying at the root of both,--namely, what a
light-and-shade drawing itself properly _is_, and how it differs, or
should differ, from a painting, whether by mere deficiency, or by some
entirely distinct merit?
15. For instance, you know how confidently it is said, in common talk
about Turner, that his works are intelligible and beautiful when
engraved, though incomprehensible as paintings. Admitting this to be so,
do you suppose it is because the translation into light and shade is
deficient in some qualities which the painting had, or that it possesses
some quality which the painting had not? Does it please more because it
is deficient in the color which confused a feeble spectator, and
offended a dogmatic one,--or because it possesses a decision in its
steady linear labor which interprets, or corrects, the swift penciling
of the artist?
16. Do you notice the two words I have just used, _Decision_, and
_Linear_?--Decision, again introducing the idea of cuts or divisions, as
opposed to gradations; Linear, as opposed to massive or broad?
Yet we use all these words at different times in praise, while they
evidently mark inconsistent qualities. Softness and decision, breadth
and delineation, cannot co-exist in equal degrees. There must surely
therefore be a virtue in the engraving inconsistent with that of the
painting, and vice versa.
Now, be clear about these three questions which we have to-day to
answer.
A. Is all engraving to be cut work?
B. If it need not be cut work, but only the reproduction of a
drawing, what methods of executing a light-and-shade drawing
will be best?
C. Is the shaded drawing itself to be considered only as a
deficient or imperfect painting, or as a different thing from a
painting, having a virtue of its own, belonging to black and
white, as opposed to color?
17. I will give you the answers at once, briefly, and amplify them
afterwards.
A. All engraving must be cut work;--_that_ is its differentia.
Unless your effect be produced by cutting into some solid
substance, it is not engraving at all.
B. The proper methods for light-and-shade drawing vary
according to subject, and the degree of completeness
desired,--some of them having much in common with engraving,
and others with painting.
C. The qualities of a light-and-shade drawing ought to be
entirely different from those of a painting. It is not a
deficient or partial representation of a colored scene or
picture, but an entirely different reading of either. So that
much of what is intelligible in a painting ought to be
unintelligible in a light-and-shade study, and _vice versa_.
You have thus three arts,--engraving, light-and-shade drawing, and
painting.
Now I am not going to lecture, in this course, on painting, nor on
light-and-shade drawing, but on engraving only. But I must tell you
something about light-and-shade drawing first; or, at least, remind you
of what I have before told.
18. You see that the three elementary lectures in my first volume are on
Line, Light, and Color,--that is to say, on the modes of art which
produce linear designs,--which produce effects of light,--and which
produce effects of color.
I must, for the sake of new students, briefly repeat the explanation of
these.
Here is an Arabian vase, in which the pleasure given to the eye is only
by lines;--no effect of light, or of color, is attempted. Here is a
moonlight by Turner, in which there are no lines at all, and no colors
at all. The pleasure given to the eye is only by modes of light and
shade, or effects of light. Finally, here is an early Florentine
painting, in which there are no lines of importance, and no effect of
light whatever; but all the pleasure given to the eye is in gayety and
variety of color.
19. I say, the pleasure given to the _eye_. The lines on this vase write
something; but the ornamentation produced by the beautiful writing is
independent of its meaning. So the moonlight is pleasant, first, as
light; and the figures, first, as color. It is not the shape of the
waves, but the light on them; not the expression of the figures, but
their color, by which the _ocular_ pleasure is to be given.
These three examples are violently marked ones; but, in preparing to
draw _any_ object, you will find that, practically, you have to ask
yourself, Shall I aim at the color of it, the light of it, or the lines
of it? You can't have all three; you can't even have any two out of the
three in equal strength. The best art, indeed, comes so near nature as
in a measure to | 228.283828 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
A THOUSAND WAYS TO PLEASE A HUSBAND
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
A THOUSAND WAYS TO PLEASE A HUSBAND
WITH BETTINA'S BEST RECIPES
BY LOUISE BENNETT WEAVER AND HELEN COWLES LECRON
[Illustration]
_The Romance of Cookery_ AND HOUSEKEEPING
Decorations by ELIZABETH COLBOURNE
A. L. Burt Company
Publishers New York
Copyright, 1917
by
Britton Publishing Company, Inc.
All Rights Reserved
Made in U. S. A.
[Illustration]
A DEDICATION
_To every other little bride
Who has a "Bob" to please,
And says she's tried and tried and tried
To cook with skill and ease,
And can't!--we offer here as guide
Bettina's Recipes!_
_To her whose "Bob" is prone to wear
A sad and hungry look,
Because the maid he thought so fair
Is--well--she just can't cook!
To her we say: do not despair;
Just try Bettina's Book!_
[Illustration]
_Bettina's Measurements Are All Level_
C = cup
t = teaspoon
T = tablespoon
lb. = pound
pt. = pint
B.P. = baking-powder
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I HOME AT LAST 11
II BETTINA'S FIRST REAL DINNER 14
III BETTINA'S FIRST GUEST 17
IV BETTINA GIVES A LUNCHEON 21
V BOB HELPS TO GET DINNER 25
VI COUSIN MATILDA CALLS 28
VII A NEW-FASHIONED SUNDAY DINNER 33
VIII CELEBRATING THE FOURTH 36
IX UNCLE JOHN AND AUNT LUCY MAKE A VISIT 39
X RUTH INSPECTS BETTINA'S KITCHEN 42
XI BETTINA'S BIRTHDAY GIFT 46
XII BETTINA'S FATHER TRIES HER COOKING 49
XIII BOB HELPS WITH THE DINNER 53
XIV A SUNDAY EVENING TEA 56
XV A MOTOR PICNIC 59
XVI BETTINA HAS A CALLER 62
XVII BOB GETS BREAKFAST ON SUNDAY 65
XVIII BETTINA GIVES A PORCH PARTY 69
XIX BETTINA AND THE EXPENSE BUDGET 73
XX MRS. DIXON AND BETTINA'S EXPERIMENT 77
XXI A RAINY DAY DINNER 81
XXII BUYING A REFRIGERATOR 84
XXIII BETTINA'S SUNDAY DINNER 87
XXIV BETTINA VISITS A TEA-ROOM. 90
XXV BETTINA ENTERTAINS ALICE AND MR. HARRISON 93
XXVI OVER THE TELEPHONE 97
XXVII BETTINA HAS A BAKING DAY 100
XXVIII POLLY AND THE CHILDREN 103
XXIX BETTINA PUTS UP FRUIT 107
XXX A COOL SUMMER DAY 111
XXXI BOB AND BETTINA ALONE 114
XXXII BETTINA ATTENDS A MORNING WEDDING 117
XXXIII AFTER THE "TEA" 121
XXXIV BETTINA GIVES A PORCH BREAKFAST 124
XXXV A PIECE OF NEWS 127
XXXVI BETTINA ENTERTAINS HER FATHER AND MOTHER 130
XXXVII THE BIG SECRET 133
XXXVIII AFTER THE CIRCUS 136
XXXIX MRS. DIXON ASKS QUESTIONS 139
XL A TELEGRAM FROM UNCLE ERIC 143
XLI BETTINA ENTERTAINS STATE FAIR VISITORS 147
XLII UNCLE JOHN AND AUNT LUCY 149
XLIII SUNDAY DINNER AT THE DIXON'S 151
| 228.289182 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
NELSON THE NEWSBOY
_Or, Afloat in New York_
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
AUTH | 228.379802 |
2023-11-16 18:20:52.4606270 | 1,469 | 10 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
SANDBURRS
By Alfred Henry Lewis
Author of “Wolfville,” etc.
Illustrated by Horace Taylor and George B. Luks
Second Edition
New York: Frederick A. Stokes Company
1898
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0008]
[Illustration: 0009]
TO
JAMES ROBERT KEENE
PREFACE
A SANDBURR is a foolish, small vegetable, irritating and grievously
useless. Therefore this volume of sketches is named Sandburrs. Some folk
there be who apologize for the birth of a book. There's scant propriety
of it. A book is but a legless, dormant creature. The public has but to
let it alone to be safe. And a book, withal! is its own punishment. Is
it a bad book? the author loses. Is it very bad? the publisher loses.
In any case the public is preserved. For all of which there will be no
apology for SAND-BURRS. Nor will I tell what I think of it. No; this
volume may make its own running, without the handicap of my apology, or
the hamstringing of my criticism. There should be more than one to
do the latter with the least of luck. The Bowery dialect--if it be
a dialect--employed in sundry of these sketches is not an exalted
literature. The stories told are true, however; so much may they have
defence.
A. H. L.
New York, Nov. 15, 1899.
SANDBURRS
SPOT AND PINCHER.
Martin is the barkeeper of an East Side hotel--not a good hotel at
all--and flourishes as a sporting person of much emphasis. Martin, in
passing, is at the head of the dog-fighting brotherhood. I often talk
with Martin and love him very much.
Last week I visited Martin's bar. There was “nothin' doin',” to quote
from Martin. We talked of fighting men, a subject near to Martin, he
having fought three prize-fights himself. Martin boasted himself as
still being “an even break wit' any rough-and-tumble scrapper in d'
bunch.”
“Come here,” said Martin, in course of converse; “come here; I'll show
you a bute.”
Martin opened a door to the room back of the bar. As we entered a
pink-white bull terrier, with black spots about the eyes, raced across
to fawn on Martin. The terrier's black toe-nails, bright and hard as
agate, made a vast clatter on the ash floor.
“This is Spot,” said Martin. “Weighs thirty-three pounds, and he's a
hully terror! I'm goin' to fight him to-night for five hundred dollars.”
I stooped to express with a pat on his smooth white head my approbation
of Spot.
“Pick him up, and heft him,” said Martin. “He won't nip you,” 'he
continued, as I hesitated; “bulls is; d' most manful dogs there bees.
Bulls won't bite nobody.”
Thereupon I picked up Spot “to heft him.” Spot smiled widely, wagged
his stumpy tail, tried to lick my face, and felt like a bundle of live
steel.
“Spot's goin' to fight McDermott's Pincher,” said Martin. “And,”
addressing this to Spot, “you want to watch out, old boy! Pincher is
as hard as a hod of brick. And you want to look out for your Trilbys;
Pincher'll fight for your feet and legs. He's d' limit, Spot, Pincher
is! and you must tend to business when you're in d' pit wit' Pincher, or
he'll do you. Then McDermott would win me money, an' you an' me, Spot,
would look like a couple of suckers.”
Spot listened with a pleased air, as if drinking in every word, and
wagged his stump reassuringly. He would remember Pincher's genius for
crunching feet and legs, and see to it fully in a general way that
Pincher did not “do” him.
“Spot knows he's goin' to fight to-night as well as you and me,” said
Martin, as we returned to the bar. “Be d' way! don't you want to go?”
* * * * *
It was nine o'clock that evening. The pit, sixteen feet square, with
board walls three feet high, was built in the centre of an empty loft on
Bleecker street. Directly over the pit was a bunch of electric lights.
All about, raised six inches one above the other, were a dozen rows of
board seats like a circus. These were crowded with perhaps two hundred
sports. They sat close, and in the vague, smoky atmosphere, their faces,
row on row, tier above tier, put me in mind of potatoes in a bin.
Fincher was a bull terrier, the counterpart of Spot, save for the
markings about the face which gave Spot his name. Pincher seemed very
sanguine and full of eager hope; and as he and Spot, held in the arms of
their handlers, lolled at each other across the pit, it was plain they
languished to begin. Neither, however, made yelp or cry or bark. Bull
terriers of true worth on the battle-field were, I learned, a tacit,
wordless brood, making no sound.
Martin “handled” Spot and McDermott did kindly office for Pincher in
the same behalf. Martin and McDermott “tasted” Spot and Pincher
respectively; smelled and mouthed them for snuffs and poisons. Spot and
Pincher submitted to these examinations in a gentlemanly way, but were
glad when they ended.
At the word of the referee, Spot and Pincher were loosed, each in his
corner. They went straight at each other's throats. They met in the
exact centre of the pit like two milk-white thunderbolts, and the battle
began.
Spot and Pincher moiled and toiled bloodily for forty-five minutes
without halt or pause or space to breathe. Their handlers, who were
confined to their corners by quarter circles drawn in chalk so as to hem
them in, leaned forward toward the fray and breathed encouragement.
What struck me as wonderful, withal, was a lack of angry ferocity on
the parts of Spot and Pincher. There was naught of growl, naught of
rage-born cry or comment. They simply blazed with a zeal for blood;
burned with | 228.480667 |
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Produced by Bill Brewer
THE JIMMYJOHN BOSS AND OTHER STORIES
By Owen Wister
To Messrs. Harper & Bothers and Henry Mills Alden whose friendliness and
fair dealing I am glad of this chance to record
Owen Wister
Preface
It's very plain that if a thing's the fashion--
Too much the fashion--if the people leap
To do it, or to be it, in a passion
Of haste and crowding, like a herd of sheep,
Why then that thing becomes through imitation
Vulgar, excessive, obvious, and cheap.
No gentleman desires to be pursuing
What every Tom and Dick and Harry's doing.
Stranger, do you write books? I ask the question,
Because I'm told that everybody writes
That what with scribbling, eating, and digestion,
And proper slumber, all our days and nights
Are wholly filled. It seems an odd suggestion--
But if you do write, stop it, leave the masses,
Read me, and join the small selected classes.
The Jimmyjohn Boss
I
One day at Nampa, which is in Idaho, a ruddy old massive jovial man
stood by the Silver City stage, patting his beard with his left hand,
and with his right the shoulder of a boy who stood beside him. He had
come with the boy on the branch train from Boise, because he was a
careful German and liked to say everything twice--twice at least when it
was a matter of business. This was a matter of very particular business,
and the German had repeated himself for nineteen miles. Presently the
east-bound on the main line would arrive from Portland; then the Silver
City stage would take the boy south on his new mission, and the man
would journey by the branch train back to Boise. From Boise no one could
say where he might not go, west or east. He was a great and pervasive
cattle man in Oregon, California, and other places. Vogel and Lex--even
to-day you may hear the two ranch partners spoken of. So the veteran
Vogel was now once more going over his notions and commands to his
youthful deputy during the last precious minutes until the east-bound
should arrive.
"Und if only you haf someding like dis," said the old man, as he tapped
his beard and patted the boy, "it would be five hoondert more dollars
salary in your liddle pants."
The boy winked up at his employer. He had a gray, humorous eye; he was
slim and alert, like a sparrow-hawk--the sort of boy his father openly
rejoices in and his mother is secretly in prayer over. Only, this boy
had neither father nor mother. Since the age of twelve he had looked out
for himself, never quite without bread, sometimes attaining champagne,
getting along in his American way variously, on horse or afoot, across
regions of wide plains and mountains, through towns where not a soul
knew his name. He closed one of his gray eyes at his employer, and
beyond this made no remark.
"Vat you mean by dat vink, anyhow?" demanded the elder.
"Say," said the boy, confidentially--"honest now. How about you and me?
Five hundred dollars if I had your beard. You've got a record and I've
got a future. And my bloom's on me rich, without a scratch. How many
dollars you gif me for dat bloom?" The sparrow-hawk sailed into a
freakish imitation of his master.
"You are a liddle rascal!" cried the master, shaking with entertainment.
"Und if der peoples vas to hear you sass old Max Vogel in dis style they
would say, 'Poor old Max, he lose his gr-rip.' But I don't lose it." His
great hand closed suddenly on the boy's shoulder, his voice cut clean
and heavy as an axe, and then no more joking about him. "Haf you
understand that?" he said.
"Yes, sir."
"How old are you, son?"
"Nineteen, sir."
"Oh my, that is offle young for the job I gif you. Some of dose man you
go to boss might be your father. Und how much do you weigh?"
"About a hundred and thirty."
"Too light, too light. Und I haf keep my eye on you in Boise. You are
not so goot a boy as you might be."
"Well, sir, I guess not."
"But you was not so bad a boy as you might be, neider. You don't lie
about it. Now it must be farewell to all that foolishness. Haf you
understand? You go to set an example where one is needed very bad. If
those men see you drink a liddle, they drink a big lot. You forbid them,
they laugh at you. You must not allow one drop of whiskey at the whole
place. Haf you well understand?"
"Yes, sir. Me and whiskey are not necessary to each other's happiness."
"It is not you, it is them. How are you mit your gun?"
Vogel took the boy's pistol from its holster and aimed at an empty
bottle which was sticking in the thin Deceiver snow. "Can you do this?"
he said, carelessly, and fired. The snow struck the bottle, but the
unharming bullet was buried half an inch to the left.
The boy took his pistol with solemnity. "No," he said. "Guess I can't do
that." He fired, and the glass splintered into shapelessness. "Told you
I couldn't miss as close as you did," said he.
"You are a darling," said Mr. Vogel. "Gif me dat lofely weapon."
A fortunate store of bottles lay, leaned, or stood about in the white
snow of Nampa, and Mr. Vogel began at them.
"May I ask if anything is the matter?" inquired a mild voice from the
stage.
"Stick that lily head in-doors," shouted Vogel; and the face and
eye-glasses withdrew again into the stage. "The school-teacher he will
be beautifool virtuous company for you at Malheur Agency," continued
Vogel, shooting again; and presently the large old German destroyed a
bottle with a crashing smack. "Ah!" said he, in unison with the smack.
"Ah-ha! No von shall say der old Max lose his gr-rip. I shoot it efry
time now, but the train she whistle. I hear her."
The boy affected to listen earnestly.
"Bah! I tell you I hear de whistle coming."
"Did you say there was a whistle?" ventured the occupant of the stage.
The snow shone white on his glasses as he peered out.
"Nobody whistle for you," returned the robust Vogel. "You listen to me,"
he continued to the boy. "You are offle yoong. But I watch you plenty
this long time. I see you work mit my stock on the Owyhee and the
Malheur; I see you mit my oder men. My men they say always more and
more, 'Yoong Drake he is a goot one,' und I think you are a goot one
mine own self. I am the biggest cattle man on the Pacific <DW72>, und I
am also an old devil. I have think a lot, und I like you."
"I'm obliged to you, sir."
"Shut oop. I like you, und therefore I make you my new sooperintendent
at my Malheur Agency r-ranch, mit a bigger salary as you don't get
before. If you are a sookcess, I r-raise you some more."
"I am satisfied now, sir."
"Bah! Never do you tell any goot business man you are satisfied mit vat
he gif you, for eider he don't believe you or else he think you are a
fool. Und eider ways you go down in his estimation. You make those men
at Malheur Agency behave themselves und I r-raise you. Only I do vish, I
do certainly vish you had some beard on that yoong chin."
The boy glanced at his pistol.
"No, no, no, my son," said the sharp old German. "I don't want gunpowder
in dis affair. You must act kviet und decisif und keep your liddle shirt
on. What you accomplish shootin'? You kill somebody, und then, pop!
somebody kills you. What goot is all that nonsense to me?"
"It would annoy me some, too," retorted the boy, eyeing the capitalist.
"Don't leave me out of the proposition."
"Broposition! Broposition! Now you get hot mit old Max for nothing."
"If you didn't contemplate trouble," pursued the boy, "what was your
point just now in sampling my marksmanship?" He kicked some snow in the
direction of the shattered bottle. "It's understood no whiskey comes on
that ranch. But if no gunpowder goes along with me, either, let's call
the deal off. Buy some other fool."
"You haf not understand, my boy. Und you get very hot because I happen
to make that liddle joke about somebody killing you. Was you thinking
maybe old Max not care what happen to you?"
A moment of silence passed before the answer came: "Suppose we talk
business?"
"Very well, very well. Only notice this thing. When oder peoples talk
oop to me like you haf done many times, it is not they who does the
getting hot. It is me--old Max. Und when old Max gets hot he slings them
out of his road anywheres. Some haf been very sorry they get so slung.
You invite me to buy some oder fool? Oh, my boy, I will buy no oder fool
except you, for that was just like me when I was yoong Max!" Again the
ruddy and grizzled magnate put his hand on the shoulder of the boy, who
stood looking away at the bottles, at the railroad track, at anything
save his employer.
The employer proceeded: "I was afraid of nobody und noding in those
days. You are afraid of nobody and noding. But those days was different.
No Pullman sleepers, no railroad at all. We come oop the Columbia in
the steamboat, we travel hoonderts of miles by team, we sleep, we eat
nowheres in particular mit many unexpected interooptions. There was
Indians, there was offle bad white men, und if you was not offle
yourself you vanished quickly. Therefore in those days was Max Vogel
hell und repeat."
The magnate smiled a broad fond smile over the past which he had kicked,
driven, shot, bled, and battled through to present power; and the boy
winked up at him again now.
"I don't propose to vanish, myself," said he.
"Ah-ha! you was no longer mad mit der old Max! Of coorse I care what
happens to you. I was alone in the world myself in those lofely wicked
days."
Reserve again made flinty the boy's face.
"Neider did I talk about my feelings," continued Max Vogel, "but I nefer
show them too quick. If I was injured I wait, and I strike to kill. We
all paddles our own dugout, eh? We ask no favors from nobody; we must
win our spurs! Not so? Now I talk business with you where you interroopt
me. If cow-boys was not so offle scarce in the country, I would long ago
haf bounce the lot of those drunken fellows. But they cannot be spared;
we must get along so. I cannot send Brock, he is needed at Harper's. The
dumb fellow at Alvord Lake is too dumb; he is not quickly courageous.
They would play high jinks mit him. Therefore I send you. Brock he say
to me you haf joodgement. I watch, and I say to myself also, this boy
haf goot joodgement. And when you look at your pistol so quick, I tell
you quick I don't send you to kill men when they are so scarce already!
My boy, it is ever the moral, the say-noding strength what gets
there--mit always the liddle pistol behind, in case--joost in case. Haf
you understand? I ask you to shoot. I see you know how, as Brock told
me. I recommend you to let them see that aggomplishment in a friendly
way. Maybe a shooting-match mit prizes--I pay for them--pretty soon
after you come. Und joodgement--und joodgement. Here comes that train.
Haf you well understand?"
Upon this the two shook hands, looking square friendship in each other's
eyes. The east-bound, long quiet and dark beneath its flowing clots of
smoke, slowed to a halt. A few valises and legs descended, ascended,
herding and hurrying; a few trunks were thrown resoundingly in and out
of the train; a woolly, crooked old man came with a box and a bandanna
bundle from the second-class car; the travellers of a thousand miles
looked torpidly at him through the dim, dusty windows of their Pullman,
and settled again for a thousand miles more. Then the east-bound,
shooting heavier clots of smoke laboriously into the air, drew its slow
length out of Nampa, and away.
"Where's that stage?" shrilled the woolly old man. "That's what I'm
after."
"Why, hello!" shouted Vogel. "Hello, Uncle Pasco! I heard you was dead."
Uncle Pasco blinked his small eyes to see who hailed him. "Oh!" said he,
in his light, crusty voice. "Dutchy Vogel. No, I ain't dead. You guessed
wrong. Not dead. Help me up, Dutchy."
A tolerant smile broadened Vogel's face. "It was ten years since I see
you," said he, carrying the old man's box.
"Shouldn't wonder. Maybe it'll be another ten till you see me next." He
stopped by the stage step, and wheeling nimbly, surveyed his old-time
acquaintance, noting the good hat, the prosperous watch-chain, the big,
well-blacked boots. "Not seen me for ten years. Hee-hee! No. Usen't to
have a cent more than me. Twins in poverty. That's how Dutchy and me
started. If we was buried to-morrow they'd mark him 'Pecunious' and me
'Impecunious.' That's what. Twins in poverty."
"I stick to von business at a time, Uncle," said good-natured,
successful Max.
A flicker of aberration lighted in the old man's eye. "H'm, yes," said
he, pondering. "Stuck to one business. So you did. H'm." Then, suddenly
sly, he chirped: "But I've struck it rich now." He tapped his box.
"Jewelry," he half-whispered. "Miners and cow-boys."
"Yes," said Vogel. "Those poor, deluded fellows, they buy such stuff."
And he laughed at the seedy visionary who had begun frontier life
with him on the bottom rung and would end it there. "Do you play that
concertina yet, Uncle?" he inquired.
"Yes, yes. I always play. It's in here with my tooth-brush and socks."
Uncle Pasco held up the bandanna. "Well, he's getting ready to start. I
guess I'll be climbing inside. Holy Gertrude!"
This shrill comment was at sight of the school-master, patient within
the stage. "What business are you in?" demanded Uncle Pasco.
"I am in the spelling business," replied the teacher, and smiled,
faintly.
"Hell!" piped Uncle Pasco. "Take this."
He handed in his bandanna to the traveller, who received it politely.
Max Vogel lifted the box of cheap jewelry; and both he and the boy came
behind to boost the old man up on the stage step. But with a nettled
look he leaped up to evade them, tottered half-way, and then, light as a
husk of grain, got himself to his seat and scowled at the schoolmaster.
After a brief inspection of that pale, spectacled face, "Dutchy," he
called out of the door, "this country is not what it was."
But old Max Vogel was inattentive. He was speaking to the boy, Dean
Drake, and held a flask in his hand. He reached the flask to his new
superintendent. "Drink hearty," said he. "There, son! Don't be shy. Haf
you forgot it is forbidden fruit after now?"
"Kid sworn off?" inquired Uncle Pasco of the school-master.
"I understand," replied this person, "that Mr. Vogel will not allow
his cow-boys at the Malheur Agency to have any whiskey brought there.
Personally, I feel gratified." And Mr. Bolles, the new school-master,
gave his faint smile.
"Oh," muttered Uncle Pasco. "Forbidden to bring whiskey on the ranch?
H'm." His eyes wandered to the jewelry-box. "H'm," said he again; and
becoming thoughtful, he laid back his moth-eaten sly head, and spoke no
further with Mr. Bolles.
Dean Drake climbed into the stage and the vehicle started.
"Goot luck, goot luck, my son!" shouted the hearty Max, and opened and
waved both his big arms at the departing boy: He stood looking after the
stage. "I hope he come back," said he. "I think he come back. If he come
I r-raise him fifty dollars without any beard."
II
The stage had not trundled so far on its Silver City road but that a
whistle from Nampa station reached its three occupants. This was the
branch train starting back to Boise with Max Vogel aboard; and the boy
looked out at the locomotive with a sigh.
"Only five days of town," he murmured. "Six months more wilderness now."
"My life has been too much town," said the new school-master. "I am
looking forward to a little wilderness for a change."
Old Uncle Pasco, leaning back, said nothing; he kept his eyes shut and
his ears open.
"Change is what I don't get," sighed Dean Drake. In a few miles,
however, before they had come to the ferry over Snake River, the recent
leave-taking and his employer's kind but dominating repression lifted
from the boy's spirit. His gray eye wakened keen again, and he began
to whistle light opera tunes, looking about him alertly, like the
sparrow-hawk that he was. "Ever see Jeannie Winston in 'Fatinitza'?" he
inquired of Mr. Bolles.
The school-master, with a startled, thankful countenance, stated that he
had never.
"Ought to," said Drake.
"You a man? that can't be true!
Men have never eyes like you."
"That's what the girls in the harem sing in the second act. Golly whiz!"
The boy gleamed over the memory of that evening.
"You have a hard job before you," said the school-master, changing the
subject.
"Yep. Hard." The wary Drake shook his head warningly at Mr. Bolles to
keep off that subject, and he glanced in the direction of slumbering
Uncle Pasco. Uncle Pasco was quite aware of all this. "I wouldn't take
another lonesome job so soon," pursued Drake, "but I want the money.
I've been working eleven months along the Owyhee as a sort of junior
boss, and I'd earned my vacation. Just got it started hot in Portland,
when biff! old Vogel telegraphs me. Well, I'll be saving instead of
squandering. But it feels so good to squander!"
"I have never had anything to squander," said Bolles, rather sadly.
"You don't say! Well, old man, I hope you will. It gives a man a lot
he'll never get out of spelling-books. Are you cold? Here." And despite
the school-master's protest, Dean Drake tucked his buffalo coat round
and over him. "Some day, when I'm old," he went on, "I mean to live
respectable under my own cabin and vine. Wife and everything. But not,
anyway, till I'm thirty-five."
He dropped into his opera tunes for a while; but evidently it was
| 228.482877 |
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MY LORD DUKE
BY E. W. HORNUNG
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1897
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
CONTENTS
I. THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY 1
II. "HAPPY JACK" 16
III. A CHANCE LOST 31
IV. NOT IN THE PROGRAMME 44
V. WITH THE ELECT 63
VI. A NEW LEAF 77
VII. THE DUKE'S PROGRESS 90
VIII. THE OLD ADAM 105
IX. AN ANONYMOUS LETTER 122
X. "DEAD NUTS" 137
XI. THE NIGHT OF THE TWENTIETH 151
XII. THE WRONG MAN 163
XIII. THE INTERREGNUM 180
XIV. JACK AND HIS MASTER 189
XV. END OF THE INTERREGNUM 199
XVI. "LOVE THE GIFT" 215
XVII. AN ANTI-TOXINE 223
XVIII. HECKLING A MINISTER 233
XIX. THE CAT AND THE MOUSE 244
XX. "LOVE THE DEBT" 257
XXI. THE BAR SINISTER 266
XXII. DE MORTUIS 282
MY LORD DUKE
CHAPTER I
THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY
The Home Secretary leant his golf-clubs against a chair. His was the
longest face of all.
"I am only sorry it should have come now," said Claude apologetically.
"Just as we were starting for the links! Our first day, too!" muttered
the Home Secretary.
"_I_ think of Claude," remarked his wife. "I can never tell you, Claude,
how much I feel for you! We shall miss you dreadfully, of course; but we
couldn't expect to enjoy ourselves after this; and I think, in the
circumstances, that you are quite right to go up to town at once."
"Why?" cried the Home Secretary warmly. "What good can he do in the
Easter holidays? Everybody will be away; he'd much better come with me
and fill his lungs with fresh air."
"I can never tell you how much I feel for you," repeated Lady Caroline
to Claude Lafont.
"Nor I," said Olivia. "It's too horrible! I don't believe it. To think
of their finding him after all! I don't believe they _have_ found him.
You've made some mistake, Claude. You've forgotten your code; the cable
really means that they've _not_ found him, and are giving up the
search!"
Claude Lafont shook his head.
"There may be something in what Olivia says," remarked the Home
Secretary. "The mistake may have been made at the other end. It would
bear talking over on the links."
Claude shook his head again.
"We have no reason to suppose there has been a mistake at all, Mr.
Sellwood. Cripps is not the kind of man to make mistakes; and I can
swear to my code. The word means, 'Duke found--I sail with him at
once.'"
"An Australian Duke!" exclaimed Olivia.
"A blackamoor, no doubt," said Lady Caroline with conviction.
"Your kinsman, in any case," said Claude Lafont, laughing; "and my
cousin; and the head of the family from this day forth."
"It was madness!" cried Lady Caroline softly. "Simple madness--but then
all you poets _are_ mad! Excuse me, Claude, but you remind me of the
Lafont blood in my own veins--you make it boil. I feel as if I never
could forgive you! To turn up your nose at one of the oldest titles in
the three kingdoms; to think twice about a purely hypothetical heir at
the antipodes; and actually to send out your solicitor to hunt him up!
If that was not Quixotic lunacy, I should like to know what is?"
The Right Honourable George Sellwood took a new golf-ball from his
pocket, and bowed his white head mournfully as he stripped off the
tissue paper.
"My dear Lady Caroline, _noblesse oblige_--and a man must do his obvious
duty," he heard Claude saying, in his slightly pedantic fashion.
"Besides, I should have cut a very sorry figure had I jumped at the
throne, as it were, and sat there until I was turned out. One knew there
_had_ been an heir in Australia; the only thing was to find out if he
was still alive; and Cripps has done so. I'm bound to say I had given
him up. Cripps has written quite hopelessly of late. He must have found
the scent and followed it up during the last six weeks; but in another
six he will be here to tell us all about it--and we shall see the Duke.
Meanwhile, pray don't waste your sympathies upon _me_. To be perfectly
frank, this is in many ways a relief to me--I am only sorry it has come
now. You know my tastes; but I have hitherto found it expedient to make
a little secret of my opinions. Now, however, there can be no harm in my
saying that they are not entirely in harmony with the hereditary
principle. You hold up your hands, dear Lady Caroline, but I assure you
that my seat in the Upper Chamber would have been a seat of
conscientious thorns. In fact I have been in a difficulty, ever since my
grandfather's death, which I am very thankful to have removed. On the
other hand, I love my--may I say my art? And luckily I have enough to
cultivate the muse on, at all events, the best of oatmeal; so I am not
to be pitied. A good quatrain, Olivia, is more to me than coronets; and
the society of my literary friends is dearer to my heart than that of
all the peers in Christendom."
Claude was a poet; when he forgot this fact he was also an excellent
fellow. His affectations ended with his talk. In appearance he was
distinctly desirable. He had long, clean limbs, a handsome, shaven,
mild-eyed face, and dark hair as short as another's. He would have made
an admirable Duke.
Mr. Sellwood looked up a little sharply from his dazzling new golf-ball.
"Why go to town at all?" said he.
"Well, the truth is, I have been in a false position all these months,"
replied Claude, forgetting his poetry and becoming natural at once. "I
want to get out of it without a day's unnecessary delay. This thing must
be made public."
The statesman considered.
"I suppose it must," said he, judicially.
"Undoubtedly," said Lady Caroline, looking from Olivia to Claude. "The
sooner the better."
"Not at all," said the Home Secretary. "It has kept nearly a year.
Surely it | 228.486849 |
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STRAY PEARLS
MEMOIRS OF MARGARET DE RIBAUMONT, VISCOUNTESS OF BELLAISE
By Charlotte Yonge
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THE DAY OF THE DOG
by
GEORGE BARR MCCUTCHEON
Author of "Grauslark"
"The Sherrods etc"
With Illustrations by
Harrison Fisher
and decorations by
Margaret & Helen Maitland Armstrong
New York
1904
ILLUSTRATIONS
SWALLOW (in color) Frontispiece
CROSBY DRIVES TO THE STATION
THE HANDS HAD GONE TO THEIR DINNER
THE BIG RED BARN
THE TWO BOYS
MRS. DELANCY AND MRS. AUSTIN
MR. AUSTIN
MRS. DELANCY PLEADS WITH SWALLOW
THEY EXAMINE THE DOCUMENTS
"SHE DELIBERATELY SPREAD OUT THE PAPERS ON THE BEAM" (in color)
SWALLOW
SHE WATCHES HIM DESCEND INTO DANGER
MR. CROSBY SHOWS SWALLOW A NEW TRICK
"SWALLOW'S CHUBBY BODY SHOT SQUARELY THROUGH THE OPENING" (in color)
THE MAN WITH THE LANTERN
MR. HIGGINS
"HE WAS SPLASHING THROUGH THE SHALLOW BROOK" (in color)
HE CARRIES HER OVER THE BROOK
MRS. HIGGINS
THEY ENJOY MRS. HIGGINS'S GOOD SUPPER
LONESOMEVILLE
THE DEPUTY SHERIFF
CROSBY AND THE DEPUTY
MRS. DELANCY FALLS ASLEEP
THEY GO TO THE THEATRE
"'GOOD HEAVENS!' 'WHAT IS IT?' HE CRIED. 'YOU ARE NOT MARRIED,
ARE YOU?'"
(in color)
"CROSBY WON BOTH SUITS"
THE DAY OF THE DOG
PART I
"I'll catch the first train back this evening, Graves. Wouldn't go down
there if it were not absolutely necessary; but I have just heard that
Mrs. Delancy is to leave for New York to-night, and if I don't see her
to-day there will be a pack of troublesome complications. Tell Mrs.
Graves she can count me in on the box party to-night."
"We'll need you, Crosby. Don't miss the train."
[Illustration: Crosby Drives to the Station]
"I'll be at the station an hour before the train leaves. Confound it,
it's a mean trip down there--three hours through the rankest kind of
scenery and three hours back. She's visiting in the country, too, but I
can drive out and back in an hour."
"On your life, old man, don't fail me."
"Don't worry, Graves; all Christendom couldn't keep me in Dexter after
four o'clock this afternoon. Good-by." And Crosby climbed into the
hansom and was driven away at breakneck speed toward the station.
Crosby was the junior member of the law firm of Rolfe & Crosby, and his
trip to the country was on business connected with the settlement of a
big estate. Mrs. Delancy, widow of a son of the decedent, was one of the
legatees, and she was visiting her sister-in-law, Mrs. Robert Austin, in
central Illinois. Mr. Austin owned extensive farming interests near
Dexter, and his handsome home was less than two miles from the heart of
the town. Crosby anticipated no trouble in driving to the house and back
in time to catch the afternoon train for Chicago. It was necessary for
Mrs. Delancy to sign certain papers, and he was confident the
transaction could not occupy more than half an hour's time.
At 11:30 Crosby stepped from the coach to the station platform in
Dexter, looked inquiringly about, and then asked a perspiring man with a
star on his suspender-strap where he could hire a horse and buggy. The
officer directed him to a "feed-yard and stable," but observed that
there was a "funeral in town an' he'd be lucky if he got a rig, as all
of Smith's horses were out." Application at the stable brought the first
frown to Crosby's brow. He could not rent a "rig" until after the
funeral, and that would make it too late for him to catch the four
o'clock train for Chicago. To make the story short, twelve o'clock saw
him trudging along the dusty road covering the two miles between town
and Austin's place, and he was walking with the rapidity of one who has
no love for the beautiful.
The early spring air was invigorating, and it did not take him long to
reduce the distance. Austin's house stood on a hill, far back from the
highway, and overlooking the entire country-side.
The big red barn stood in from the road a hundred yards or more, and he
saw that the same driveway led to the house on the hill. There was no
time for speculation, so he hastily made his way up the lane. Crosby had
never seen his client, their business having been conducted by mail or
through Mr. Rolfe. There was not a person in sight, and he slowed his
progress considerably as he drew nearer the big house. At the barn-yard
gate he came to a full stop and debated within himself the wisdom of
inquiring at the stables for Mr. Austin.
He flung open the gate and strode quickly to the door. This he opened
boldly and stepped inside, finding himself in a lofty carriage room.
Several handsome vehicles stood at the far end, but the wide space near
the door was clear. The floor was as "clean as a pin," except along the
west side. No one was in sight, and the only sound was that produced by
the horses as they munched their hay and stamped their hoofs in
impatient remonstrance with the flies.
"Where the deuce are the people?" he muttered as he crossed to the
mangers. "Devilish queer," glancing about in considerable doubt. "The
hands must be at dinner or taking a nap." He passed by a row of mangers
and was calmly inspected by brown-eyed horses. At the end of the long
row of stalls he found a little gate opening into another section of the
barn. He was on the point of opening this gate to pass in among the
horses when a low growl attracted his attention. In some alarm he took a
precautionary look ahead. On the opposite side of the gate stood a huge
and vicious looking bulldog, unchained and waiting for him with an eager
ferocity that could not be mistaken. Mr. Crosby did not open the gate.
Instead he inspected it to see that it was securely fastened, and then
drew his hand across his brow.
"What an escape!" he gasped, after a long breath. "Lucky for me you
growled, old boy. My name is Crosby, my dear sir, and I'm not here to
steal anything. I'm only a lawyer. Anybody else at home but you?"
An ominous growl was the answer, and there was lurid disappointment in
the face of the squat figure beyond the gate.
"Come, now, old chap, don't be nasty. I won't hurt you. There was
nothing farther from my mind than a desire to disturb you. And say,
please do something besides growl. Bark, and oblige me. You may attract
the attention of some one."
By this time the ugly brute was trying to get at the man, growling, and
snarling savagely. Crosby complacently looked on from his place of
safety for a moment, and was on the point of turning away when his
attention was caught by a new move on the part of the dog. The animal
ceased his violent efforts to get through the gate, turned about
deliberately, and raced from view behind the horse stalls. Crosby
brought himself up with a jerk.
"Thunder," he ejaculated; "the brute knows a way to get at me, and he
won't be long about it, either. What the dickens shall I--by George,
this looks serious! He'll head me off at the door if I try to get out
and--Ah, the fire-escape! We'll fool you, you brute! What a cursed idiot
I was not to go to the house instead of coming--" He was shinning up a
ladder with little regard for grace as he mumbled this self-condemnatory
remark. There was little dignity in his manner of flight, and there was
certainly no glory in the position in which he found himself a moment
later. But there was a vast amount of satisfaction.
The ladder rested against a beam that crossed the carriage shed near the
middle. The beam was a large one, hewn from a monster tree, and was free
on all sides. The ladder had evidently been left there by men who had
used it recently and had neglected to return it to the hooks on which it
properly hung.
When the dog rushed violently through the door and into the carriage
room, he found a vast and inexplicable solitude. He was, to all
appearances, alone with the vehicles under which he was permitted to
trot when his master felt inclined to grant the privilege.
Crosby, seated on the beam, fifteen feet above the floor, grinned
securely but somewhat dubiously as he watched the mystified dog below.
At last he laughed aloud. He could not help it. The enemy glanced upward
and blinked his red eyes in surprise; then he stared in deep chagrin,
then glared with rage. For a few minutes Crosby watched his frantic
efforts to leap through fifteen feet of altitudinal space, confidently
hoping that some one would come to drive the brute away and liberate
him. Finally he began to lose the good humor his strategy in fooling the
dog had inspired, and a hurt, indignant stare was directed toward the
open door through which he had entered.
"What's the matter with the idiots?" he growled impatiently. "Are they
going to let this poor dog snarl his lungs out? He's a faithful chap,
too, and a willing worker. Gad, I never saw anything more earnest than
the way he tries to climb up that ladder." Adjusting himself in a
comfortable position, his elbows on his knees, his hands to his chin, he
allowed his feet to swing lazily, tantalizingly, below the beam. "I'm
putting a good deal of faith in this beam," he went on resignedly. The
timber was at least fifteen inches square.
"Ah, by George! That was a bully jump--the best you've made. You didn't
miss me more than ten feet that time. I don't like to be disrespectful,
you know, but you are an exceedingly rough looking dog. Don't get huffy
about it, old fellow, but you have the ugliest mouth I ever saw. Yes,
you miserable cur, politeness at last ceases to be a virtue with me. If
I had you up here I'd punch your face for you, too. Why don't you come
up, you coward? You're bow-legged, too, and you haven't any more figure
than a crab. Anybody that would take an insult like that is beneath me
(thank heaven!) and would steal sheep. Great Scott! Where are all these
people? Shut up, you brute, you! I'm getting a headache. But it doesn't
do any good to reason with you, I can see that plainly. The thing I
ought to do is to go down there and punish you severely. But I'll--
Hello! Hey, boy! Call off this--confounded dog."
Two small Lord Fauntleroy boys were standing in the door, gazing up at
him with wide open mouths and bulging eyes.
"Call him off, I say, or I'll come down there and kick a hole clear
through him." The boys stared all the harder. "Is your name Austin?" he
demanded, addressing neither in particular.
"Yes, sir," answered the larger boy, with an effort.
"Well, where's your father? Shut up, you brute! Can't you see I'm
talking? Go tell your father I want to see him, boy."
"Dad's up at the house."
"That sounds encouraging. Can't you call off this dog?"
"I--I guess I'd better not. That's what dad keeps him for."
"Oh, he does, eh? And what is it that he keeps him for?"
"To watch tramps."
"To watch--to watch tramps? Say, boy, I'm a lawyer and I'm here on
business." He was black in the face with indignation.
"You better come up to the house and see dad, then. He don't live in the
barn," said the boy keenly.
"I can't fly to the house, boy. Say, if you don't call off this dog I'll
put a bullet through him."
"You'd have to be a purty good shot, mister. Nearly everybody in the
county has tried to do it." Both boys were grinning diabolically and the
dog took on energy through inspiration. Crosby longed for a stick of
dynamite.
"I'll give you a dollar if you get him away from here."
"Let's see your dollar." Crosby drew a silver dollar from his trousers
pocket, almost falling from his perch in the effort.
"Here's the coin. Call him off," gasped the lawyer.
"I'm afraid papa wouldn't like it," said the boy. The smaller lad nudged
his brother and urged him to "take the money anyhow."
"I live in Chicago," Crosby began, hoping to impress the boys at least.
"So do we when we're at home," said the smaller boy. "We live in Chicago
in the winter time."
"Is Mrs. Delancy your aunt?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll give you this dollar if you'll tell your father I'm here and want
to see him at once."
"Throw down your dollar." The coin fell at their feet but rolled
deliberately through a crack in the floor and was lost forever. Crosby
muttered something unintelligible, but resignedly threw a second coin
after the first.
"He'll be out when he gets through dinner," said the older boy, just
before the fight. Two minutes later he was streaking across the barn lot
with the coin in his pocket, the smaller boy wailing under the woe of a
bloody nose. For half an hour Crosby heaped insult after insult upon the
glowering dog at the bottom of the ladder and was in the midst of a
rabid denunciation of Austin when the city-bred farmer entered the barn.
"Am I addressing Mr. Robert Austin?" called Crosby, suddenly amiable.
The dog subsided and ran to his master's side. Austin, a
black-moustached, sallow-faced man of forty, stopped near the door and
looked aloft, squinting.
"Where are you?" he asked somewhat sharply.
"I am very much up in the air," replied Crosby. "Look a little sou' by
sou'east. Ah, now you have me. Can you manage the dog? If so, I'll come
down."
"One moment, please. Who are you?"
"My name is Crosby, of Rolfe & Crosby, Chicago. I am here to see Mrs.
Delancy, your sister-in-law, on business before she leaves for New
York."
"What is your business with her, may I ask?"
"Private," said Crosby laconically. "Hold the dog."
"I insist in knowing the nature of your business," said Austin firmly.
"I'd rather come down there and talk, if you don't mind."
"I don't but the dog may," said the other grimly.
"Well, this is a nice way to treat a gentleman," cried Crosby
wrathfully.
"A gentleman would scarcely have expected to find a lady in the barn,
much less on a cross-beam. This is where my horses and dogs live."
"Oh, that's all right now; this isn't a joke, you know."
"I quite agree with you. What is your business with Mrs. Delancy?"
"We represent her late husband's interests in settling up the estate of
his father. Your wife's interests are being looked after by Morton &
Rogers, I believe. I am here to have Mrs. Delancy go through the form of
signing papers authorizing us to bring suit against the estate in order
to establish certain rights of which you are fully aware. Your wife's
brother left his affairs slightly tangled, you remember."
"Well, I can save you a good deal of trouble. Mrs. Delancy has decided
to let the matter rest as it is and to accept the compromise terms
offered by the other heirs. She will not care to see you, for she has
just written to your firm announcing her decision."
"You--you don't mean it," exclaimed Crosby in dismay. He saw a
prodigious fee slipping through his fingers. "Gad, I must see her about
this," he went on, starting down the ladder, only to go back again
hastily. The growling dog leaped forward and stood ready to receive him.
Austin chuckled audibly.
"She really can't see you, Mr. Crosby. Mrs. Delancy leaves at four
o'clock for Chicago, where she takes the Michigan Central for New York
to-night. You can gain nothing by seeing her."
"But I insist, sir," exploded Crosby.
"You may come down when you like," said Austin. "The dog will be here
until I return from the depot after driving her over. Come down when you
like."
Crosby did not utter the threat that surged to his lips. With the wisdom
born of self-preservation, he temporized, reserving deep down in the
surging young breast a promise to amply recompense his pride for the
blows it was receiving at the hands of the detestable Mr. Austin.
"You'll admit that I'm in a devil of a pickle, Mr. Austin," he said
jovially. "The dog is not at all friendly."
"He is at least diverting. You won't be lonesome while I'm away. I'll
tell Mrs. Delancy that you called," said Austin ironically.
He turned to leave the barn, and the sinister sneer on his face gave
Crosby a new and amazing inspiration. Like a flash there rushed into his
mind the belief that Austin had a deep laid design in not permitting him
to see the lady. With this belief also came the conviction that he was
hurrying her off to New York on some pretext simply to forestall any
action that might induce her to continue the contemplated suit against
the estate. Mrs. Delancy had undoubtedly been urged to drop the matter
under pressure of promises, and the Austins were getting her away from
the scene of action before she could reconsider or before her solicitors
could convince her of the mistake she was making. The thought of this
sent the fire of resentment racing through Crosby's brain, and he fairly
gasped with the longing to get at the bottom of the case. His only hope
now lay in sending a telegram to Mr. Rolfe, commanding him to meet Mrs.
Delancy when her train reached Chicago, and to lay the whole matter
before her.
Before Austin could make his exit the voices of women were heard outside
the door and an instant later two ladies entered. The farmer attempted
to turn them back, but the younger, taller, and slighter of the
newcomers cried:
"I just couldn't go without another look at the horses, Bob."
Crosby, on the beam, did not fail to observe the rich, tender tone of
the voice, and it would have required almost total darkness to obscure
the beauty of her face. Her companion was older and coarser, and he
found delight in the belief that she was the better half of the
disagreeable Mr. Austin.
"Good-afternoon, Mrs. Delancy!" came a fine masculine voice from
nowhere. The ladies started in amazement, Mr. Austin ground his teeth,
the dog took another tired leap upward; Mr. Crosby took off his hat
gallantly, and waited patiently for the lady to discover his
whereabouts.
"Who is it, Bob?" cried the tall one, and Crosby patted his bump of
shrewdness happily. "Who have you in hiding here?"
"I'm not in hiding, Mrs. Delancy. I'm a prisoner, that's all. I'm right
near the top of the ladder directly in front of you. You know me only
through the mails, but my partner, Mr. Rolfe, is known to you
personally. My name is Crosby."
"How very strange," she cried in wonder. "Why don't you come down, Mr.
Crosby?"
"I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid. There's the dog, you know. Have you
any influence over him?"
"None whatever. He hates me. Perhaps Mr. Austin can manage him. Oh,
isn't it ludicrous?" and she burst into hearty laughter. It was a very
musical laugh, but Crosby considered it a disagreeable croak.
"But Mr. Austin declines to interfere. I came to see you on private
business and am not permitted to do so."
"We don't know this fellow, Louise, and I can't allow you to talk to
him," said Austin brusquely. "I found him where he is and there he stays
until the marshal comes out from town. His actions have been very
suspicious and must be investigated. I can't take chances on letting a
horse thief escape. Swallow will watch him until I can secure
assistance."
"I implore you, Mrs. Delancy, to give me a moment or two in which to
explain," cried Crosby. "He knows I'm not here to steal his horses, and
he knows I intend to punch his head the minute I get the chance." Mrs.
Austin's little shriek of dismay and her husband's fierce glare did not
check the flow of language from the beam. "I AM Crosby of Rolfe &
Crosby, your counsel. I have the papers here for you to sign and--"
"Louise, I insist that you come away from here. This fellow is a fraud--"
"He's refreshing, at any rate," said Mrs. Delancy gaily. "There can be
no harm in hearing what he has to say, Bob."
"You are very kind, and I won't detain you long."
"I've a mind to kick you out of this barn," cried Austin angrily.
"I don't believe you're tall enough, my good fellow." Mr. Crosby was
more than amiable. He was positively genial. Mrs. Delancy's pretty face
was the picture of eager, excited mirth, and he saw that she was
determined to see the comedy to the end.
"Louise!" exclaimed Mrs. Austin, speaking for the first time. "You are
not fool enough to credit this fellow's story, I'm sure. Come to the
house at once. I will not stay here." Mrs. Austin's voice was hard and
biting, and Crosby also caught the quick glance that passed between
husband and wife.
"I am sure Mrs. Delancy will not be so unkind as to leave me after I've
had so much trouble in getting an audience. Here is my card, Mrs.
Delancy." Crosby tossed a card from his perch, but Swallow gobbled it up
instantly. Mrs. Delancy gave a little cry of disappointment, and Crosby
promptly apologized for the dog's greediness. "Mr. Austin knows I'm
Crosby," he concluded.
"I know nothing of the sort, sir, and I forbid Mrs. Delancy holding
further conversation with you. This is an outrageous imposition, Louise.
You must hurry, by the way, or we'll miss the train," said Austin,
biting his lip impatiently.
"That reminds me, I also take the four o'clock train for Chicago, Mrs.
Delancy. If you prefer, we can talk over our affairs on the train
instead of here. I'll confess this isn't a very dignified manner in
which to hold a consultation," said Crosby apologetically.
"Will you be kind enough to state the nature of your business, Mr.
Crosby?" said the young woman, ignoring Mr. Austin.
"Then you believe I'm Crosby?" cried that gentleman triumphantly.
"Louise!" cried Mrs. Austin in despair.
"In spite of your present occupation, I believe you are Crosby," said
Mrs. Delancy merrily.
"But, good gracious, I can't talk business with you from this confounded
beam," he cried lugubriously.
"Mr. Austin will call the dog away," she said confidently, turning to
the man in the door. Austin's sallow face lighted with a sudden
malicious grin, and there was positive joy in his voice.
"You may be satisfied, but I am not. If you desire to transact business
with this impertinent stranger, Mrs. Delancy, you'll have to do so under
existing conditions | 229.703488 |
2023-11-16 18:20:53.6835760 | 661 | 22 |
Produced by Amy Zellmer
THE
BOOK OF THE BUSH
CONTAINING
MANY TRUTHFUL SKETCHES OF THE
EARLY COLONIAL LIFE OF SQUATTERS, WHALERS,
CONVICTS, DIGGERS, AND OTHERS
WHO LEFT THEIR NATIVE LAND AND
NEVER RETURNED.
By GEORGE DUNDERDALE.
ILLUSTRATED BY J. MACFARLANE.
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED,
WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE.
[ILLUSTRATION 1]
CONTENTS.
_____________
PURGING OUT THE OLD LEAVEN.
FIRST SETTLERS.
WRECK OF THE CONVICT SHIP "NEVA" ON KING'S ISLAND.
DISCOVERY OF THE RIVER HOPKINS.
WHALING.
OUT WEST IN 1849.
AMONG THE DIGGERS IN 1853.
A BUSH HERMIT.
THE TWO SHEPHERDS.
A VALIANT POLICE-SERGEANT.
WHITE SLAVERS.
THE GOVERNMENT STROKE.
ON THE NINETY-MILE.
GIPPSLAND PIONEERS.
THE ISLE OF BLASTED HOPES.
GLENGARRY IN GIPPSLAND.
WANTED, A CATTLE MARKET.
TWO SPECIAL SURVEYS.
HOW GOVERNMENT CAME TO GIPPSLAND.
GIPPSLAND UNDER THE LAW.
UNTIL THE GOLDEN DAWN.
A NEW RUSH.
GIPPSLAND AFTER THIRTY YEARS.
GOVERNMENT OFFICERS IN THE BUSH.
SEAL ISLANDS AND SEALERS.
A HAPPY CONVICT.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
ILLUSTRATION 1.
"Joey's out."
ILLUSTRATION 2.
"I'll show you who is master aboard this ship."
ILLUSTRATION 3.
"You stockman, Frank, come off that horse."
ILLUSTRATION 4.
"The biggest bully apropriated the belle of the ball."
* * *
"The best article in the March (1893) number of the 'Austral Light'
is a pen picture by Mr. George Dunderdale of the famous Ninety-Mile
Beach, the vast stretch of white and lonely sea-sands, which forms
the sea-barrier of Gippsland."--'Review of Reviews', March, 1893.
* * *
"The most interesting article in 'Austral Light' is one on Gippsland
pioneers, by George Dunderdale."--'Review of Reviews', March, 1895.
* * *
"In 'Austral Light' for September Mr. George Dunderdale contributes,
under the title of 'Gippsland under the Law,' one of those realistic
sketches of early colonial life which only he can write."--'Review
of Reviews', September, 1895.
* * *
THE BOOK OF THE BUSH.
---------------------
PURGING OUT THE OLD LEAVEN.
While the world was young | 229.703616 |
2023-11-16 18:20:53.9830040 | 5,473 | 7 |
Produced by Charles Klingman
FIVE PEBBLES
From
THE BROOK.
A Reply
TO
"A DEFENCE OF CHRISTIANITY"
WRITTEN BY
EDWARD EVERETT,
GREEK PROFESSOR OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY
IN ANSWER TO
"THE GROUNDS OF CHRISTIANITY EXAMINED
BY
COMPARING THE NEW TESTAMENT WITH THE OLD"
BY
GEORGE BETHUNE ENGLISH.
"Should a wise man utter vain knowledge, and fill his belly with the
east wind?"
"Should he reason with unprofitable talk? or with speeches
wherewith he can do no good?--Thou chooseth[fn1] the tongue of
the crafty. Thy own mouth condemneth thee, and not I: yea, thine
own lips testify against thee."
"Behold I will make thee a new sharp threshing instrument having
teeth."
PHILADELPHIA:
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.
1824.
[PG Editor's Note: Many printer's errors in this text
have been retained as found in the original--in particular
the will be found a large number of mismatched and
wrongspace quotation marks.]
ADVERTISEMENT.
WHEN I left America, I had no intention of giving Mr. Everett's
book a formal answer: but having learned since my arrival in the
Old World, that: the controversy in which I had engaged myself
had attracted some attention, and had been reviewed by a
distinguished member of a German university, my hopes of being
serviceable to the cause of truth and philanthrophy are revived,
and I have therefore determined to give a reply to Mr. Everett's
publication.
In this Work, as in my prior writings, I have taken for granted the
Divine Authority of the Old Testament, and I have argued upon the
principle that every book, claiming to be considered as a Divine
revelation and building itself upon the Old Testament as upon a
foundation, must agree with it, otherwise the superstructure
cannot stand. The New Testament, the Talmud, and the Koran are
all placed by their authors upon the Law and the Prophets, as an
edifice is upon its foundation; and if it be true that any or all of
them be found to be irreconcileable with the primitive Revelation
to which they all refer themselves, the question as to their Divine
Authority is decided against them, most obviously and completely.
This work was written in Egypt and forwarded to the U. States,
while I was preparing to accompany Ismael Pacha to the conquest
of Ethiopia; an expedition in which I expected to perish, and
therefore felt it to be my duty to leave behind me, something from
which my countrymen might learn what were my real sentiments
upon a most important and interesting subject; and as I hoped
would learn too, how grossly they had been deluded into building
their faith and hope upon a demonstrated error.
On my arrival from Egypt I found that the MS. had not been
published, and I was advised by several, of my friends to abandon
the struggle and to imitate their example; in submitting to the
despotism of popular opinion, which, they said, it was imprudent to
oppose. I was so far influenced by these representations--
extraordinary indeed in a country which boasts that here freedom
of opinion and of speech is established by law--that I intended to
confine myself to sending the MS. to Mr. Everett; in the belief that
when he should have the weakness of his arguments in behalf of
what he defended and the injustice of his aspersions upon me,
fairly and evidently laid before him, that he would make me at
least a private apology. He chose to preserve a sullen silence,
probably believing that he is so securely seated in the saddle
which his brethren have girthed upon the back of "a strong ass"
that; there is no danger that the animal will give him a fall.
Not a little moved at this, I determined to do my myself justice, and
to publish the pages following.
This book is not the work of an Infidel. I am not an infidel; what I
have learned and seen in Europe, Asia and Africa, while it has
confirmed my reasons for rejecting the New Testament, has
rooted in my mind the conviction that the ancient Bible does
contain a revelation from the God of Nature, as firmly as my belief
in the first proposition of Euclid.
The whole analogy of Nature, while it is in many respects opposed
to the characteristics ascribed to the Divinity by the
metaphysicians, yet bears witness in my opinion, that this world
was made and is governed by just such a Being as the Jehovah of
the Old Testament; while the palpable fulfillment of predictions
contained in that book, and which is so strikingly manifest in the
Old World, leaves in my mind no doubt whatever, of the ultimate
fulfillment of all that it promises, and all that it threatens.
I cannot do better than to conclude these observations with the
manly declaration of the celebrated Christian orator Dr. Chalmers,
"We are ready, (says he,) to admit that as the object of the inquiry
is not the character, but the Truth of Christianity, the philosopher
should be careful to protect his mind from the delusions of its
charms. He should separate the exercises of the understanding
from the tendencies of the fancy or of the heart. He should be
prepared to follow the light of evidence, though it should lead him
to conclusions the most painful and melancholy. He should train
his mind to all the hardihood of abstract and unfeeling intelligence.
He should give up every thing to the supremacy of argument and
he able to renounce without a sigh all the tenderest
possessions[fn 2] of infancy, the moment that TRUTH demands of
him the sacrifice." (Dr. Chalmers on the Evidence and Authority of
the Christian Religion. Ch. I.)
Finally, let the Reader remember, that "there is one thing in the
world more contemptible than the slave of a tyrant--it is the dupe
of a SOPHIST."
G. B. E.
PEBBLE I
And David "chose him five smooth stones out of the brook, and
put them in a shepherd's bag which he had, even in a scrip: and
his sling was in his hand: and he drew near to the Philistine."
Mr. Everett commences his work with the following remarks. "Was
Jesus Christ the person foretold by the prophets, as the Messiah
of the Jews?; one method, and a very obvious one, of examining
his claims to this character, is to compare his person, life, actions,
and doctrine, with the supposed predictions of them. But if it also
appear that this Jesus wrought such works, as evinced that he
enjoyed the supernatural assistance and cooperation of God, this
certainly is a fact of great importance. For we cannot say, that in
estimating the validity of our Lord's claims to the character of
Messiah, it is of no consequence whether, while he advanced
those claims, he wrought such works as proved his intimacy with
the God of truth. While he professed himself the Messiah, is it
indifferent whether he was showing himself to be as being beyond
delusion, and above imposture?--Let us make the case our own.
Suppose that we were witnesses of the miraculous works of a
personage of pretensions like our Lord's, should we think it
necessary or reasonable to resort to long courses of argument, or
indeed to any process of the understanding, except what was
requisite to establish the fact of the miracles? Should we, while he
was opening the eyes of the blind, and raising the dead from their
graves, feel it necessary to be deciphering prophecies, and
weighing these[fn 3] difficulties? Now we may transfer this case to
that of Christianity. The miracles of our Lord are either true or
false. The infidel if he maintain the latter must prove it; and if the
former can be made to appear, they are beyond all comparison
the most direct and convincing testimony that can be devised," p.
1, 2. of Mr. Everett's work.
To this statement I would reply--that I do not know what right Mr.
Everett has to call upon his opponent, to prove a negative. It was
his business to prove the affirmative of his question, and to show
that these miracles actually were performed, before he proceeded
to argue upon the strength of them. It is, I conceive, impossible to
demonstrate that miracles said to have been wrought 1800 years
ago, were not performed; but it is, I believe, quite possible to show
that there is no sufficient proof that they were. One of the reasons
given, in the 2d, ch. as I think, of the grounds of Christianity
examined, for throwing out of consideration the miracles recorded
in the New Testament in examining the question of the
Messiahship of Jesus, was, that the New Testament itself, was not
a sufficient proof that these miracles were actually wrought; and
this, with the reader's indulgence, I think I can plainly show.
Mr. Everett allows p. 450 of his work, what indeed he cannot deny,
that the four Gospels do sometimes contradict each other in their
narratives; and he refers with approbation, in a note to p. 458, to a
work of Lessing's, which he says, "ought to be read by every one
who is overfond of Harmonies." This work of Lessing's, if I
recollect right, maintains, that all hopes of harmonizing the
evangelists, of reconciling their contradictions, must be given up.
[See Lessings Sammliche, Schriften, ch. v. S. 150, as quoted by
Mr. Everett, p. 458.]
Now these contradictions, if they do exist, unquestionably argue
one of two things; either fraud, or want of accurate information in
their authors, as no man who wishes to be considered "compos
mentis" will deny, because, accurate information excludes the
possibility of contradiction in authors willing to tell the truth, and
much more in inspired authors, who must be incapable of writing
anything but the truth.
The Christian, therefore, must, it seems to me, on account of
these contradictions, allow one of two things; either, that the
evangelists were fraudulent men, or else that the Gospels were
not written by the Apostles and immediate followers of Jesus:
because want of accurate information, cannot be supposed of the
Apostles and immediate followers of Jesus; as having been
constantly with him, from the beginning, to the end of his
ministery, they must have been perfectly acquainted with his
actions and doctrines. Neither can lapse of memory be urged;
because the Gospels represent Jesus as saying, John ch. xvi. 26,
that they should have the aid of inspiration, which "should, bring
all things, to remembrance;" and in Acts ch. iv. 31, all the followers
of Jesus are represented as having actually received the effusion
of the Holy Ghost: of course want of accurate information, and
lapse or memory in them cannot be supposed.
The Christian, therefore, must allow, since contradictions do exist,
if he would avoid accusing the Apostles and disciples of Jesus of
fraud, that the Gospels were not written by the Apostles and first
followers of Jesus, but that they were written by men, who had no
accurate information about the events they record. It is therefore
plain, that the miracles recorded in the Gospels, are incapable of
proof. For what Christian in his senses can ask another man to
believe accounts of miracles, which accounts, he must at the
same time allow, were written by fraudulent men, or by men who
had no accurate information upon the subjects about which they
write.
The edge of this, as I think, smites right through the neck of Mr.
Everett's argument on which his work depends, and leaves his
book--"a gasping head---a quivering trunk." Sic transit gloria
mundi.
But in order to make Mr. Everett still farther Sensible how easily
his argument can be "overturned, overturned and overturned," I
will suppose a reasonable and reasoning man, desirous to verify
the claims of the books of the New Testament as containing a
Revelation from God, to set down to scrutinize with anxious
solicitude every argument of internal and external evidence, in
favour of their authenticity, and authority, in the hope of becoming
satisfied of the truth of their claims. But in the course of his
examination, such a man will assuredly find, that almost every
step in his inquiry, is an occasion of doubt and of difficulty.
Books containing Revelations from the Supreme, must be
consistent with themselves. But he will observe on a careful
perusal of the evangelists, that the contradictions, particularly in
the narratives of the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, are
numerous; and that all the ingenuity of Christian writers, has been
exhausted in vain in the attempt to reconcile them; for example,
the Gospel called of Matthew says, ch. iii. 14, that John the
Baptist, knew Jesus when he came to him to be baptised, (which
was very probable on account of the relationship and intimacy
subsisting between Mary the mother of Jesus, and: Elizabeth the
mother of John, as mentioned in the Gospel called of Luke, ch. i.
18, it could hardly have been otherwise) but the author of the
Gospel called of John says, ch. i. 31, that John knew him not, until
he was designated by the descent of the Holy Ghost upon him.
Again, it is said in the Gospel called of John, ch. ii. 14. that Jesus,
on his first visit to Jerusalem after he had commenced his
preaching, cast the buyers and sellers out of the Temple, whereas
the Gospel called of Matthew, and also those called of Mark and
Luke, represent this to have been done by Jesus at his last visit to
Jerusalem. See Matt. ch. xxi. 12. Mark ch. xi. 15. Luke ch. xix. 45.
Again, the author of the Gospel called of John, represents the last
supper or Jesus with his Apostles, to have taken place (See ch.
xiii. 1. and ch. xviii. 28.) on the eve before the feast of the
passover, and that Jesus was crucified on the feast day itself,
while the authors of the other Gospels represent the first event to
have taken place, on the evening of the passover itself, and that
Jesus was crucified the day after. See Matt. Ch. xxvi. 18. Mark xiv.
12. Luke ch. xxii. 7. Now Matthew and John must, according to the
Gospels themselves, have been present with Jesus when he
drove the buyers and sellers out of the Temple, and at his last
supper, and when he was seized in the garden of Gethsemane;
they must therefore have known perfectly whether Jesus drove
the buyers; and sellers out of the Temple, at his first visit to
Jerusalem in their company; or at his last, and whether his last
supper, and his seizure in the garden of Gethsemane took place
on the eve before this passover their great national festival, or on
the evening of the passover itself. They could not forget the time
and place of events, so affecting and important as the last
mentioned, and when we add to these considerations, that the
Gospels represent Jesus as saying, (John ch. xiv.;26.) that they
should be inspired by the Holy Spirit, which "should bring all things
to remembrance," the supposition that the real Matthew and John
could contradict each other in this manner, becomes quite
inadmissable.
In the account of the resurrection of Jesus, the most important fact
of Christianity, we also find several contradictions; for instance,
the Gospel called of Matthew says, that the first appearance of
Jesus to his disciples after his resurrection, was in Galillee, (See
Matt. ch.xxxviii. 7,) while the other evangelists assert, that his first
appearance to them after that event was at Jerusalem. See Mark
ch. xvi., Luke ch. xxiv. John ch.xx. The Gospel called of John
says, that he afterwards appeared to them in Galilee: but
according to that of Luke, the disciples did not go to Galilee to
meet Jesus; for that Gospel says, that Jesus expressly ordered
his disciples to tarry at Jerusalem, where they should receive the
effusion of the Holy Ghost, and that after giving that order he was
taken up to Heaven. See Luke ch. xxiv. 49, 50, also, the first ch. of
Acts. [fn 4]
This greatly invalidates the credibility of these accounts; for as
much as that the historical testimony in attestation of supernatural
events, ought, because such events are out of the common
course of nature, to be strong and unexceptionable.
He will observe too that these writers, supposed to have been the
inspired followers of Jesus Christ, have applied many passages of
the Old Testament as prophecies of Jesus, when it is most
certain, (and is at the present day allowed by Christian Biblical
Critics of the highest standing) from examining those passages in
their context in the Old Testament, that they are not prophecies of
Jesus; and that some of the passages cited are in fact no
prophecies at all, but are merely historical. Nor is this all, these
authors have cited as prophecies and proof texts, passages which
do not exist in the Old Testament. From which it seems to follow
that they must have forged those passages, or quoted them from
some Apocryphal book; which they believed to be inspired. If they
were capable of the first, they were not the honest and inspired
followers and disciples of Jesus Christ; if they were capable of the
last, they were not Jews but Gentiles, ignorant that the Jews in the
time of Jesus, acknowledged no books as inspired scripture but
the books of the Old Testament. See Appendix, A.
A reasonable and reasoning man, such as I have supposed, may
ask himself if it be possible that men filled with the Holy Ghost,
and whose minds were supernaturally opened to understand the
scriptures, could make mistakes such as these.
Lastly, he will recollect, on discovering what is about to be stated,
that the Apostles and followers of Jesus Christ were Jews, and
consequently could not be ignorant of what was notorious to the
whole nation, for instance, that the Jewish Sabbath begins at
sunset on Friday evening, and ends at sunset on Saturday
evening. Nevertheless the author of the Gospel called of Matthew
makes ch. xxviii. 1. the Sabbath to end at dawn of day on Sunday
morning: while the author of that called of John apparently
reckons, ch. xx. 19. the evening of the first day of the week as a
part of the first day of the week; whereas it is in fact, according to
the law and customs of the Jews, who then and now reckon their
days from sunset to sunset, the beginning and a part of the
second day of the week. Such mistakes appear to me to indicate
that the writers of those Gospels were Gentiles not perfectly
acquainted with Jewish customs, and therefore not Matthew and
John.[fn 6]
There are other traces of ignorance of Jewish customs, to be
found in the Gospel called of Matthew, which betray the Gentilism
of the author of it. For instance, he says ch. xxvi. 24[fn7], that
Jesus told Peter, that "before the cock crew he should deny him
thrice;" the same is also found in Mark ch. xiv. 30. in Luke ch. xxii.
54[fn8], and in John ch. xiii. 38. Now it is asserted in the Mishna (i.
e the oral law of the Jews.) in the Bava Kama according to Mr.
Everett p. 448. of his work, that cocks were not permitted in
Jerusalem where Peter's denial took place; [probably because that
bird is constantly scratching up the ground with his feet, and was
thereby liable to turn up impurities, by touching which in passing
by, a Jew would be ceremonially defiled, and rendered incapable
of visiting the Temple to perform his devotions, till after the
evening of the day on which the defilement took place], therefore
all the four Gospels which all contain, this story, must have been
written by Gentiles ignorant of the custom which belies the story.
Some Christian writers have endeavoured to get rid of this
objection, by attempting to prove "that the crowing of the cock
here mentioned, does not mean actually the crowing of a cock, but
'the sound of a trumpet!'" while others, blushing at the hardihood
of their brethren, think it more prudent to maintain, that the author
of the Mishna was ignorant of Jewish customs, and that the
writers of the Gospels were perfectly acquainted with them; and
that therefore every good Christian was bound in conscience not
to regard the objection.
But the prohibition of cocks from entering the Holy city is so
perfectly of a piece with many other cautions against defilement
observed by the Jews, and is so perfectly in the taste of the times
of the Pharisees, "the careful washers of plates and platters,"--the
"tithers of mint, anise, and cummin," not to mention the reason
above expressed, which perhaps was, to say truth, according to
the regulations against defilement contained in the Pentateuch a
sufficient reason for excluding that bird from the city, where stood
the Temple, that the reader will probably believe that such a
custom might have existed.
Again, it is said Matt. xxvii. 62, that the Chief Priests and
Pharisees went to Pilate; demanded a guard; went to the
Sepulchre of Jesus, sealed the door, and set watch. Now Jesus is
said to have arisen on the day after this, on the first day of the
week, i.e. Sunday, of course the day before was Saturday of the
Jewish Sabbath. I maintain that the Chief Priests and Pharisees,
who objected to Jesus curing the sick and rubbing corn from the
ear, in order to satisfy his hunger on the Sabbath day; I maintain
that it is utterly incredible, that these men should have gone to
Pilate on public business, and transacted all this on their Sabbath.
For such an action would have come completely within the spirit,
and the letter of the Laws against breaking the Sabbath contained
in the-Pentateuch, which makes the penalty of such actions as are
here ascribed to the Chief Priests and rigorous Pharisees, nothing
less than stoning to death. I infer therefore, that the author of the
Gospel of Matthew was ignorant of this, and of course not a Jew,
and consequently not Matthew.
I would observe further, in connection with this subject, that Jesus
is represented, Matt. xxiii. 35, as saying, that upon the Jews of this
time should come "the blood of Zecharias the son of Barachias
whom ye slew between the Temple and the altar." Now, I believe
that it is recorded in Josephus' history, that the Jews slew this
Zecharias in the time of the Jewish war, about forty years after
Jesus is represented as saying, that they had killed him already.
Of course Jesus never could have said this, nor would a Jew
acquainted with the times, as Matthew must have been, have
been guilty of such an anachronism. The writer of that Gospel
must therefore, have been a Gentile, and not Matthew. The same
mistake is made by Luke xi. 51.
On turning his attention to the external evidence in favour of the
authenticity of the Gospels, the difficulties and objections
accumulate. He will find, that they are not mentioned by any writer
earlier than the latter half of the second century, after the birth of
Jesus. The first writers who name the four Gospels, were
Irenaeus, and Tertullian.[fn9] The competency of the testimony of
these Fathers of the church, as to the genuineness of these
books, is invalidated by the fact, (See Middleton's Free Enquiry)
that they admitted the principle of the lawfulness of pious frauds,
and from their having acted upon this principle, in having asserted
in their writings, as from their personal knowledge, things which
were certainly false; (See the work above referred to) while their
capability to distinguish the genuine writings of the Apostles, from
the numerous forgeries in their names that appeared about the
| 230.003044 |
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Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
Bold text has been marked with =equals signs=.
Money:
Thoughts for God's Stewards
By Rev. Andrew Murray.
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Fleming H. Revell Company
NEW YORK: 112 Fifth Ave.
CHICAGO: 63 Washington St.
TORONTO: 140 & 142 Yonge St.
Money:
Thoughts for God's Stewards
BY
Rev. Andrew Murray
AUTHOR OF
"With Christ," "Abide in Christ,"
"Waiting on God," etc.
[Illustration]
New York Chicago Toronto
Fleming H. Revell Company
MDCCCXCVII
Copyright, 1897
BY
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. CHRIST'S ESTIMATE OF MONEY 7
II. THE HOLY SPIRIT AND MONEY 24
III. THE GRACE OF GOD AND MONEY 42
IV. THE POVERTY OF CHRIST 63
[Illustration]
I
CHRIST'S ESTIMATE OF MONEY
"Jesus beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many
that were rich cast in much. And a certain poor widow came, and
cast in a farthing. Jesus called His disciples, and saith unto
them, This poor widow hath cast more in than all: for all they did
cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all
that she had, even all her living."--_Mark_ xii. 41.
In all our religion and our Bible study, it is of the greatest
consequence to find out what the mind of Christ is, to think as He
thought, and to feel just as He felt. There is not a question that
concerns us, not a single matter that ever comes before us, but we find
in the words of Christ something for our guidance and help. We want
to-day to get at the mind of Christ about Money; to know exactly what He
thought, and then to think and act just as He would do. This is not an
easy thing. We are so under the influence of the world around us, that
the fear of becoming utterly unpractical if we thought and acted just
like Christ, easily comes upon us. Let us not be afraid; if we really
desire to find out what is His mind, He will guide us to what He wants
us to think and do. Only be honest in the thought: I want to have Christ
teach me how to possess and how to use my money.
Look at Him for a moment sitting here over against the treasury,
watching the people putting in their gifts. Thinking about money in the
church, looking after the collection: we often connect that with Judas,
or some hard-worked deacon, or the treasurer or collector of some
society. But see here--Jesus sits and watches the collection. And as He
does it, He weighs each gift in the balance of God, and puts its value
on it. In heaven He does this still. Not a gift for any part of God's
work, great or small, but He notices it, and puts its value on it for
the blessing, if any, that it is to bring in time or eternity. And He is
willing, even here on earth in the waiting heart, to let us know what He
thinks of our giving. Giving money is a part of our religious life, is
watched over by Christ, and must be regulated by His word. Let us try
and discover what the scriptures have to teach us.
_1. Money giving a sure test of character._
In the world money is the standard of value. It is difficult to express
all that money means. It is the symbol of labor and enterprise and
cleverness. It is often the token of God's blessing on diligent effort.
It is the equivalent of all that it can procure of the service of mind
or body, of property or comfort or luxury, of influence and power. No
wonder that the world loves it, seeks it above everything, and often
worships it. No wonder that it is the standard of value not only for
material things, but for man himself, and that a man is too often valued
according to his money.
It is, however, not only thus in the kingdom of this world, but in the
kingdom of heaven too, that a man is judged by his money, and yet on a
different principle. The world asks, _what_ does a man own? Christ,
_how_ does he use it? The world thinks more about the money getting;
Christ about the money giving. And when a man gives, the world still
asks, _what_ does he give? Christ asks, how does he give? The world
looks at the money and its amount, Christ at the man and his motive. See
this in the story of the poor widow. Many that were rich cast in _much_;
but it was _out of their abundance;_ there was no real sacrifice in it;
their life was as full and comfortable as ever, it cost them nothing.
There was no special love or devotion to God in it; part of an easy and
traditional religion. The widow cast in _a farthing_. Out of her want
she cast in all that she had, even all her living. She gave all to God
without reserve, without holding back anything, she gave all.
How different our standard and Christ's. We ask how much a man _gives_.
Christ asks, how much he _keeps_. We look at the gift. Christ asks
whether the gift was a sacrifice. The widow kept nothing over, she gave
all; the gift won His heart and approval, for it was in the spirit of
His own self-sacrifice, who, being rich, became poor for our own sakes.
They--out of their abundance--cast in much: She, out of her want--all
that she had.
But if our Lord wanted us to do as she did, why did He not leave a clear
command? How gladly then would we do it. Ah! there you have it. You want
a command to make you do it: that would just be the spirit of the world
in the church looking at _what_ we give, at our giving all. And that is
just what Christ does not wish and will not have. He wants the generous
love that does it unbidden. He wants every gift to be a gift warm and
bright with love, a true free will offering. If you want the Master's
approval as the poor widow had it, remember one thing: you must put all
at His feet, hold all at His disposal. And that, as the spontaneous
expression of a love that, like Mary's, cannot help giving, just because
it loves.
All my money giving--what a test of character! Lord Jesus! Oh give me
grace to love Thee intently, that I may know how to give.
_2. Money giving a great means of grace._
Christ called His disciples to come and listen while He talked to them
about the giving He saw there. It was to guide their giving and ours.
Our giving, if we listen to Christ with the real desire to learn, will
have more influence on our growth in grace than we know.
The spirit of the world, "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye,
and the pride of life." Money is the great means the world has for
gratifying its desires. Christ has said of His people, "they are not of
the world, as I am not of the world." They are to show in their disposal
of money that they act on unworldly principle, that the spirit of heaven
teaches them how to use it. And what does that spirit suggest? Use it
for spiritual purposes, for what will last for eternity, for what is
pleasing to God. "They that are Christ's have crucified the flesh and
its lusts." One of the ways of manifesting and maintaining the
crucifixion of the flesh is never to use money to gratify it. And the
way to conquer every temptation to do so, is to have the heart filled
with large thoughts of the spiritual power of money. Would you learn to
keep the flesh crucified--refuse to spend a penny on its gratification.
As much as money spent on self, may nourish and strengthen and comfort
self, money sacrificed to God may help the soul in the victory that
overcometh the world and the flesh.
Our whole life of faith may be strengthened by the way we deal with
money. Many men have to be engaged continually in making money--by
nature the heart is dragged down and bound to earth in dealing with what
is the very life of the world. It is faith that can give a continual
victory over this temptation. Every thought of the danger of money,
every effort to resist it, every loving gift to God, helps our life of
faith. We look at things in the very light of God. We judge of them as
out of eternity, and the money passing through our hands and devoted to
God may be a daily education in faith and heavenly-mindedness.
Very specially may our money giving strengthen our life of love. Every
grace needs to be exercised if it is to grow; most of all is this true
of love. And--did we but know it--how our money might develop and
strengthen our love, as it called us to the careful and sympathizing
consideration of the needs of those around us. Every call for money, and
every response we give, might be the stirring of a new love, and the aid
to a fuller surrender to its blessed claims.
Money giving may be one of your choicest means of grace, a continuous
fellowship with God in the renewal of your surrender of your all to
Him, and in proof of the earnestness of your heart to walk before Him in
self-denial, and faith and love.
_3. Money giving a wonderful power for God._
What a wonderful religion Christianity is. It takes money, the very
embodiment of the power of sense of this world, with its self-interest,
its covetousness, and its pride, and it changes it into an instrument
for God's service and glory.
Think of the poor. What help and happiness is brought to tens of
thousands of helpless ones by the timely gift of a little money from the
hand of love. God has allowed the difference of rich and poor for this
very purpose--that just as in the interchange of buying and selling
mutual dependence upon each other is maintained among men--so in the
giving and receiving of charity there should be abundant scope for the
blessedness of doing and receiving good. He said, "It is more blessed to
give than to receive." What a Godlike privilege and blessedness to have
the power of relieving the needy and making glad the heart of the poor
by gold or silver! What a blessed religion that makes the money we give
away a source of greater pleasure than that which we spend on ourselves!
The latter is mostly spent on what is temporal and carnal, that spent in
the work of love has eternal value, and brings double happiness, to
ourselves and others.
Think of the church and its work in this world; of missions at home and
abroad, and the thousand agencies for winning men from sin to God and
Holiness. Is it indeed true that the coin of this world, by being cast
into God's treasury in the right spirit, can receive the stamp of the
mint of heaven, and be accepted in exchange for heavenly blessings? It
is true. The gifts of faith and love go not only into the Church's
treasury, but into God's own treasury, and are paid out again in
heavenly goods. And that not according to the earthly standard of value,
where the question always is, How much? but according to the standard of
heaven, where men's judgments of much and little, great and small, are
all unknown.
Christ has immortalized a poor widow's farthing. With His approval it
shines through the ages brighter than the brightest gold. It has been a
blessing to tens of thousands in the lesson it has taught. It tells you
that your farthing, if it be your all, that your gift, if it be honestly
given (as you all ought to give to the Lord), has His approval, His
stamp, His eternal blessing.
If we did but take more time in quiet thoughtfulness for the Holy Spirit
to show us our Lord Jesus in charge of the Heavenly Mint | 230.006963 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has the other two volumes of this
novel.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35428
Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35429
Images of the original pages are available through
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http://www.archive.org/details/charmingfellow03trol
A CHARMING FELLOW.
by
FRANCES ELEANOR TROLLOPE,
Author of "Aunt Margaret's Trouble," "Mabel's Progress," etc. etc.
In Three Volumes.
VOL. III.
London:
Chapman and Hall, 193, Piccadilly.
1876.
Charles Dickens and Evans,
Crystal Palace Press.
A CHARMING FELLOW.
CHAPTER I.
There was a "scene" that evening at Ivy Lodge--not the less a "scene" in
that it was conducted on genteel methods. Mrs. Algernon Errington
inflicted on her husband during dinner a recapitulation of all her
wrongs and injuries which could be covertly hinted at. She would not
broadly speak out her meaning before "the servants." The phrase shaped
itself thus in her mind from old habit. But in truth "the servants" were
represented by one plump-faced damsel in a yellow print gown, into which
her person seemed to have been inserted in the same way that bran is
inserted into the cover of a pincushion. She seemed to have been stuffed
into it by means of considerable force, and with less reference to the
natural shape of her body than to the arbitrary outlines of the case
made for it by a Whitford dressmaker.
This girl ministered to her master and mistress during dinner, pouring
water and wine, changing knives and plates, handing vegetables, and not
unfrequently dropping a spoon or a sprinkling of hot gravy into the laps
of her employers. She had succeeded to Slater, who resigned her post
after a trial of some six weeks' duration. Castalia, in despair at this
desertion, had written to Lady Seely to send her a maid from London
forthwith. But to this application she received a reply to the effect
that my lady could not undertake to find any one who would suit her
niece, and that her ladyship thought Castalia had much better make up
her mind to do without a regular lady's-maid, and take some humbler
attendant, who would make herself generally useful.
"I always knew Slater wouldn't stay with you," wrote Lady Seely; "and
you won't get any woman of that kind to stay. You can't afford to keep
one. Your uncle is fairly well; but poor Fido gives me a great deal of
unhappiness. He eats nothing | 230.007911 |
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THE VIGIL OF
BRUNHILD
A NARRATIVE POEM
BY FREDERIC MANNING
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1907
PRINTED BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
LONDON AND AYLESBURY.
INTRODUCTION
BRUNHILD, died A.D. 613
The intervention of women in the course of the world’s history has
nearly always been attended by those events upon which poets delight to
meditate: events of sinister and tragic significance, the chief value
of which is to show in rude collision the ideals and the realities of
life; the common humanity of the central figures in direct conflict
with the inhuman march of circumstance; and the processes through which
these central figures, like Lady Macbeth or Cleopatra, are made to
transcend all conventional morality, and, though completely evil in the
ordinary sense, to redeem themselves and win our sympathy by a moment
of heroic fortitude, or of supreme and consuming anguish. Such events
and processes, however, belong properly to dramatic art; narrative
poetry, being of a smoother and easier texture allowing more scope to the
subjective play of ideas: in short, it is more spiritual than real. The
Queen of Austrasia and Burgundy, whom I have made the subject of my poem,
is essentially a figure of tragedy. Perhaps it might have been better to
treat her as a subject of dramatic action; but in order to do so it would
have been necessary to limit her personality, to define her character, to
treat only a part of her various and complex psychology. I preferred to
show her at the moment of complete renunciation, a prisoner in her own
castle of Orbe on the banks of the lake of Neuchâtel, after she had been
betrayed by her own army, and had become the prey of her own rebellious
nobles; and the poem is but a series of visions that come to her in
the stress of her final degradation, while she is awaiting the brutal
death which the victors reserved for her. Indeed, so entirely spiritual
was my intention, I have scarcely thought it worth while to enumerate
the ironies of her situation. The squalor of her cell, the triumph
of her foes, the prospect of her own immediate death become entirely
insignificant beside the pageantry, the splendour, the romance of a past
which her memories evoke and clothe with faint, reflected glories. She
hears, in the charming phrase of Renan, “les cloches d’une ville d’Is.”
In a note at the end of the volume I have given some extracts from
the _Histoire de France_, edited by M. Ernest Lavisse, which show the
principal events of her life.
F. M.
THE VIGIL OF BRUNHILD
Brunhild, with worn face framed in withered hands,
Sate in her wounded royalty; and seemed
Like an old eagle, taken in the toils,
And fallen from the wide extended sway
Of her dominion, whence the eye looks down
On mountains shrunk to nothing, and the sea
Fretting in vain against its boundaries.
She sate, with chin thrust forward, listening
To the loud shouting and the ring of swords
On shields, that sounded from the crowded hall;
Where all her ancient bards were emulous
In praise, now, of her foes who feasted there.
Her humid cell was strown with rotten straw,
A roost of owls, and haunt of bats; the wind
Blew the cold rain in, and made tremulous
The smoking flame, on which her eyes were set;
Her raiment was all torn, and stained with blood;
Her hair had fallen, and she heeded not:
She was alone and friendless, but her eyes
Held something kingly that could outfrown Fate.
Gray, haggard, wan, and yet with dignity,
Which had been beauty once, and now was age,
She sate in that foul cellar, as one sits
To whom life owes no further injury,
Whom no hopes cheat, and no despairs make pale;
Though in her heart, and on her rigid face,
Despair was throned in gaunt magnificence.
A sound disturbed her thought; she turned her head,
Waiting, while a strong hand unbarred the door,
With hatred burning in her tearless eyes,
Ready to front her foes. The huge door gave
Creaking, unwillingly, to close again
Behind a priest, whose melancholy eyes
Were dropped before the anger of her own.
“A priest!” she cried; “they send to me a priest!
Mocking me, that my hand first helped these priests
Till a priest’s hand was strong to strike me down.”
He bent before her, swayed by grief and shame;
Then spoke: “Brunhild, they sent me not to thee;
But I came willingly, nor feared their wrath.
Arnulf and Pippin feast their warriors
In the high-raftered hall, and cheer the bards,
Who sing of how they smote thee: so I crept
Forth from the tumult. At the height of noon
To-morrow they will tie thee to a horse
That never has known bridle, to be dragged
Over the stony ways till thou art dead;
And I am come to shrive thee”: and he stayed
His tongue; but sorrow filled his frightened eyes.
“Go from me,” then she said; “thou knowest how
My life has been as angry as a flame,
Consumed with its own passions. Go from me:
Thou couldst not bear the weight of all my sins.
Yea, go. I will not call upon thy God;
He is too far from me: could I again
Have my old strength and beauty, I should waste
Again the earth with my delight in war,
And vex my body with the restless loves
That my youth knew. A life of war and love;
Passions that shake the soul; bright, ruddy flames
Devouring speedily this fretful flesh:
A life of clamour, shouting, dust and heat,
The tumult of the battle, ringing shields,
The hiss of sudden arrows through the air,
And drumming hoofs of horses in the mad
Thunderous fury of the charge, that breaks
Baffled, like waves upon a wall of steel:
Give me again that life of ecstasy
And I shall leave your heaven to its sleep.”
She wrapped her cloak about her, close; and frowned
Once more upon the flame. He spoke again:
“When I was long-haired, too, the windy joys
Of battle wrought a madness in my blood;
Yet never night came but mine eyes would close
On sleep, that seemed a mother to my soul,
In trustfulness as quiet as a child’s.
Hast thou no need of quiet, of a sleep
That stretches out its wings and shrouds thee close,
Healing thee of all wounds, and wards the day
Off from thine eyelids? There is peace in God,
If we might find him; but the way is far
And difficult of travel for our feet,
Leading through all the sounding ways of life
And silent ways of death, through whose domain
Each blind soul voyages in loneliness:
Nor ever has a man with undimmed eyes,
Save he whom ravens fed, and he whose voice
Sounded the note of triumph, even in Hell,
While the dead flocked unto him, and the gates
Were lifted up for gladness, travelled it.
Wide regions filled with spirits numberless——”
But Brunhild turned on him: “I see them now,
Though Death has not yet claimed me, in that flame;
And wouldst thou have me go to them in fear,
With loosened knees and face untaught to frown?
Would they for all my weeping pity me?
Yea, there is Fredegonde with mocking eyes:
I seem to see my life through smoking blood
That she and I have spilt in quarrelling.
Shall we too fill, with greater clamour, Hell;
Battling like eagles through the gloomy air,
That trembles at the passion of our wings?
Go from me: I repent not anything.”
“Nay, yet I shall not go; but rest and hear
Thy story in the form it leaves thy lips;
Nor question thee, but bless thee and depart.
For surely all thy soul yearns backward now
To half | 230.008014 |
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USE OF THE DEAD
TO THE
LIVING.
FROM THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW.
_ALBANY_:
PRINTED BY WEBSTERS AND SKINNERS.
1827.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The following pages contain an article extracted from the Westminster
Review, an English periodical of considerable reputation. On its
appearance in Great Britain, it excited great attention; and, indeed,
has been there reprinted in a cheap form for general distribution. The
author (Dr. SOUTHWOOD SMITH) deserves the thanks of the community for
the talents he has displayed, and the lucid and powerful manner in which
he has investigated the important subject under consideration.
The editors believe that they are discharging a duty to the community in
presenting it to them for perusal and consideration. They will not
conceal their wishes, that it may have a favorable effect on a bill now
pending before the Legislature. Both in a general point of view, as well
as with reference to the particular institution to be benefitted, the
arguments are particularly applicable; nor will an enlightened body of
men be deterred from doing what they may deem their duty by the
unparalleled impudence of those who _now_ cry out against monopoly, when
they have risen into importance by monopoly, and have, always, while it
suited their views, been its most persecuting and vindictive advocates.
It is due to truth to state, that the suggestion of the republication of
this article, originated with a member of the Senate of this state, and
who does not belong to the profession.
_February, 1827._
USE OF THE DEAD TO THE LIVING.
FROM THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW.
_An Appeal to the Public and to the Legislature, on the necessity
of affording Dead Bodies to the Schools of Anatomy, by Legislative
Enactment._ By WILLIAM MACKENZIE. Glasgow. 1824.
Every one desires to live as long as he can. Every one values health
"above all gold and treasure." Every one knows that as far as his own
individual good is concerned, protracted life and a frame of body sound
and strong, free from the thousand pains that flesh is heir to, are
unspeakably more important than all other objects, because life and
health must be secured before any possible result of any possible
circumstance can be of consequence to him. In the improvement of the art
which has for its object the preservation of health and life, every
individual is, therefore, deeply interested. An enlightened physician
and a skilful surgeon, are in the daily habit of administering to their
fellow men more real and unquestionable good, than is communicated, or
communicable by any other class of human beings to another. Ignorant
physicians and surgeons are the most deadly enemies of the community:
the plague itself is not so destructive; its ravages are at distant
intervals, and are accompanied with open and alarming notice of its
purpose and power; theirs are constant, silent, secret; and it is while
they are looked up to as saviours, with the confidence of hope, that
they give speed to the progress of disease and certainty to the stroke
of death.
It is deeply to be lamented that the community, in general, are so
entirely ignorant of all that relates to the art and the science of
medicine. An explanation of the functions of the animal economy; of
their most common and important deviations from the healthy state; of
the remedies best adapted to restore them to a sound condition, and of
the mode in which they operate, as far as that is known, ought to form a
part of every course of liberal education. The profound ignorance of the
people on all these subjects, is attended with many disadvantages to
themselves, and operates unfavorably on the medical character. In
consequence of this want of information, persons neither know what are
the attainments of the man in whose hands they place their life, nor
what they ought to be; they can neither form an opinion of the course of
education which it is incumbent on him to follow, nor judge of the
success with which he has availed himself of the means of knowledge
which have been afforded him. There is one branch of medical education
in particular, the foundation, in fact, on which the whole
superstructure must be raised, the necessity of which is not commonly
understood, but which requires only to be stated to be perceived.
Perhaps it is impossible to name any one subject which it is of more
importance that the community should understand. It is one in which
every man's life is deeply implicated: it is one on which every man's
ignorance or information will have a considerable influence. We shall,
therefore, enter into it with some detail: we shall show the kind of
knowledge which it is indispensable that the physician and surgeon
should possess; we shall illustrate, by a reference to particular cases,
the reason why this kind of knowledge cannot be dispensed with: and we
shall explain, by a statement of facts, the nature and extent of the
obstacles which at present oppose the acquisition of this knowledge. We
repeat, there is no subject in which every reader can be so immediately
and deeply interested, and we trust that he will give us his calm and
unprejudiced attention.
The basis of all medical and surgical knowledge is anatomy. Not a single
step can be made either in medicine or surgery, considered either as an
art or a science without it. This should seem self evident, and to need
neither proof nor illustration: nevertheless, as it is useful
occasionally to contemplate the evidence of important truth, we shall
show why it is, that there can be no rational medicine, and no safe
surgery, without a thorough knowledge of anatomy.
Disease, which it is the object of these arts to prevent and to cure, is
denoted by disordered function: disordered function cannot be understood
without a knowledge of healthy function; healthy function cannot be
understood without a knowledge of structure; structure cannot be
understood unless it be examined.
The organs on which all the important functions of the human body
depend, are concealed from the view. There is no possibility of
ascertaining their situation and connections, much less their nature and
operation, without inspecting the interior of this curious and
complicated machine. The results of the mechanism are visible; the
mechanism itself is concealed, and must be investigated to be perceived.
The important operations of nature are seldom entirely hidden from the
human eye; still less are they obtruded upon it, but over the most
curious and wonderful operations of the animal economy so thick a veil
is drawn, that they never could have been perceived without the most
patient and minute research. The circulation of the blood, for example,
never could have been discovered without dissection. Notwithstanding the
partial knowledge of anatomy which must have been acquired by the
accidents to which the human body is exposed, by attention to wounded
men, by the observance of bodies killed by violence; by the huntsman in
using his prey; by the priest in immolating his victims; by the augur in
pursuing his divinations; by the slaughter of animals; by the dissection
of brutes; and even occasionally by the dissection of the human body,
century after century passed away, without a suspicion having been
excited of the real functions of the two great systems of vessels,
arteries and veins. It was not until the beginning of the 17th century,
when anatomy was ardently cultivated, and had made considerable
progress, that the valves of the veins and of the heart were discovered,
and subsequently that the great Harvey, the pupil of the anatomist who
discovered the latter, by inspecting the structure of these valves; by
contemplating their disposition; by reasoning upon their use, was led to
suspect the course of the blood, and afterwards to demonstrate it.
Several systems of vessels in which the most important functions of
animal life are carried on--the absorbent system, for example, and even
that portion of it which receives the food after it is digested, and
which conveys it into the blood, are invisible to the naked eye, except
under peculiar circumstances: whence it must be evident, not only that
the interior of the human body must be laid open, in order that its
organs may be seen; but that these organs must be minutely and patiently
dissected, in order that their structure may be understood.
The most important diseases have their seat in the organs of the body;
an accurate acquaintance with their situation is, therefore, absolutely
necessary, in order to ascertain the seats of disease; but for the
reasons already assigned, their situation cannot be learnt, without the
study of anatomy. In several regions, organs the most different in
structure and function are placed close to each other. In what is termed
the epigastric region, for example, are situated the stomach, the liver,
the gall bladder, the first portion of the small intestine, (the
duodenum) and a portion of the large intestine (the colon); each of
these organs is essentially different in structure and in use, and is
liable to distinct diseases. Diseases the most diversified, therefore,
requiring the most opposite treatment, may exist in the same region of
the body; the discrimination of which is absolutely impossible, without
that knowledge which the study of anatomy alone can impart.
The seat of pain is often at a great distance from that of the affected
organ. In disease of the liver, the pain is generally felt at the top of
the right shoulder. The right phrenic nerve sends a branch to the liver:
the third cervical nerve, from which the phrenic arises, distributes
numerous branches to the neighborhood of the shoulder: thus is
established a nervous communication between the shoulder and the liver.
This is a fact which nothing but anatomy could teach, and affords the
explanation of a symptom which nothing but anatomy could give. The
knowledge of it would infallibly correct a mistake, into which a person
who is ignorant of it, would be sure to fall: in fact, persons ignorant
of it do constantly commit the error. We have know several instances in
which organic disease of the liver has been considered, and treated as
rheumatism of the shoulder. In each of these cases, disease in a most
important organ might have been allowed to steal on insidiously, until
it became incurable; while a person, acquainted with anatomy, would have
detected it at once, and cured it without difficulty. Many cases have
occurred of persons who have been supposed to labor under disease of the
liver, and who have been treated accordingly: on examination after
death, the liver has been found perfectly healthy, but there has been
discovered extensive disease of the brain. Disease of the liver is often
mistaken for disease of the lungs: on the other hand, the lungs have
been found full of ulcers, when they were supposed to have been
perfectly sound, and when every symptom was referred to disease of the
liver. Persons are constantly attacked with convulsions--children
especially; convulsions are spasms: spasms, of course, are to be treated
by antispasmodics. This is the notion amongst people ignorant of
medicine: it is the notion amongst old medical men: it is the notion
amongst half educated young ones. All this time these convulsions are
merely a symptom; that symptom depends upon, and denotes, most important
disease in the brain: the only chance of saving life, is the prompt and
vigorous application of proper remedies to the brain; but the
practitioner whose mind is occupied with the symptom, and who prescribes
antispasmodics, not only loses the time in which alone any thing can be
done to snatch the victim from death, but by his remedies absolutely
adds fuel to the flame which is consuming his patient. In disease of the
hip-joint pain is felt, not in the hip, but, in the early stage of the
disease, at the knee. This also depends on nervous communication. The
most dreadful consequences daily occur from an ignorance of this single
fact. In all these cases error is inevitable, without a knowledge of
anatomy: it is scarcely possible with it: in all these cases error is
fatal: in all these cases anatomy alone can prevent the error--anatomy
alone can correct it. Experience, so far from leading to its detection,
would only establish it in men's minds, and render its removal
impossible. What is called experience is of no manner of use to an
ignorant and unreflecting practitioner. In nothing does the adage, that
it is the wise only who profit by experience, receive so complete an
illustration as in medicine. A man who is ignorant of certain
principles, and who is incapable of reasoning in a certain manner, may
have daily before him for fifty years cases affording the most complete
evidence of their truth, and of the importance of the deduction to which
they lead, without observing the one, or deducing the other. Hence the
most profoundly ignorant of medicine, are often the oldest members of
the profession, and those who have had the most extensive practice. A
medical education, founded on a knowledge of anatomy, is, therefore, not
only indispensable to prevent the most fatal errors, but to enable a
person to obtain advantage from those sources of improvement which
extensive practice may open to him.
To the surgeon, anatomy is eminently what Bacon has so beautifully said
that knowledge in general is: it is power--it is power to lessen pain,
to save life, and to eradicate diseases, which, without its aid, would
be incurable and fatal. It is impossible to convey to the reader a clear
conception of this truth, without a reference to particular cases; and
the subject is one of such extreme importance, that it may be worth
while to direct the attention for a moment to two or three of the
capital diseases which the surgeon is daily called upon to treat.
Aneurism, for example, is a disease of an artery, and consists of a
preternatural dilatation of its coats. This dilatation arises from the
debility of the vessel, whence, unable to resist the impetus of the
blood, it yields, and is dilated into a sac. When once the disease is
induced, it commonly goes on to increase with a steady and uninterrupted
progress, until at last it suddenly bursts, and the patient expires
instantaneously from loss of blood. When left to itself, it almost
uniformly proves fatal in this manner; yet, before the time of Galen, no
notice was taken of this terrible malady. The ancients, indeed, who
believed that the arteries were air tubes, could not possibly have
conceived the existence of an aneurism. Were the number of individuals
in Europe, who are now annually cured of aneurism, by the interference
of art, to be assumed as the basis of a calculation of the number of | 230.404965 |
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Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Book cover]
THE
COXON FUND
BY HENRY JAMES
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
* * * * *
LONDON: MARTIN SECKER
NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET ADELPHI
* * * * *
| 230.499596 |
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Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and spaced text by =equal
signs=. In the ads, an = sign denotes bold text.
On page 431, 1854 should possibly be 1845.
On page 533, the page number referenced is missing on the first
Chapter XXXV citation.
On page 544, the pages listed as pp 226-223 are possibly a typo.
[Theta] represents the greek letter named in the brackets.
[=HS] represents the characters HS with a bar over the top.
[*] represents the Roman Denarius sign.
[E] represents the Roman symbol for 2 oz., two stacked "c"s.
[M] represents the Roman numeral 1000.
[^C] represents a backwards C.
\B and \F represent VB and VF ligatures.
In Figure 54 and the subsequent text, letters indicated by ~A~
represent small capital letters.
POMPEII
ITS LIFE AND ART
[Illustration: PLATE I.--VIEW OF THE FORUM, LOOKING TOWARD VESUVIUS]
POMPEII
ITS LIFE AND ART
BY
AUGUST MAU
GERMAN ARCHAEOLOGICAL INSTITUTE IN ROME
Translated into English
BY FRANCIS W. KELSEY
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
_WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS FROM ORIGINAL
DRAWINGS AND PHOTOGRAPHS_
NEW EDITION, REVISED AND CORRECTED
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1902
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1899, 1902,
BY FRANCIS W. KELSEY.
First Edition, October, 1899.
New Revised Edition, with additions, November, 1902.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
For twenty-five years Professor Mau has devoted himself to the study
of Pompeii, spending his summers among the ruins and his winters in
Rome, working up the new material. He holds a unique place among the
scholars who have given attention to Pompeian antiquities, and his
contributions to the literature of the subject have been numerous in
both German and Italian. The present volume, however, is not a
translation of one previously issued, but a new work first published
in English, the liberality of the publishers having made it possible
to secure assistance for the preparation of certain restorations and
other drawings which Professor Mau desired to have made as
illustrating his interpretation of the ruins.
In one respect there is an essential difference between the remains of
Pompeii and those of the large and famous cities of antiquity, as Rome
or Athens, which have associated with them the familiar names of
historical characters. Mars' Hill is clothed with human interest, if
for no other reason, because of its relation to the work of the
Apostle Paul; while the Roman Forum and the Palatine, barren as they
seem to-day, teem with life as there rise before the mind's eye the
scenes presented in the pages of classical writers. But the Campanian
city played an unimportant part in contemporary history; the name of
not a single great Pompeian is recorded. The ruins, deprived of the
interest arising from historical associations, must be interpreted
with little help from literary sources, and repeopled with aggregate
rather than individual life.
A few Pompeians, whose features have survived in herms or statues and
whose names are known from the inscriptions, seem near to us,--such
are Caecilius Jucundus and the generous priestess Eumachia; but the
characters most commonly associated with the city are those of
fiction. Here, in a greater degree than in most places, the work of
reconstruction involves the handling of countless bits of evidence,
which, when viewed by themselves, often seem too minute to be of
importance; the blending of these into a complete and faithful picture
is a task of infinite painstaking, the difficulty of which will best
be appreciated by one who has worked in this field.
It was at first proposed to place at the end of the book a series of
bibliographical notes on the different chapters, giving references to
the more important treatises and articles dealing with the matters
presented. But on fuller consideration it seemed unnecessary thus to
add to the bulk of the volume; those who are interested in the study
of a particular building or aspect of Pompeian culture will naturally
turn to the _Pompeianarum antiquitatum historia_, the reports in the
_Notizie degli Scavi_, the reports and articles by Professor Mau in
the Roman _Mittheilungen_ of the German Archaeological Institute, the
Overbeck-Mau _Pompeji_, the Studies by Mau and by Nissen, the
commemorative volume issued in 1879 under the title _Pompei e la
regione sotterrata dal Vesuvio_, the catalogues of the paintings by
Helbig and Sogliano, together with Mau's _Geschichte der decorativen
Wandmalerei in Pompeji_, H. von Rohden's _Terracotten von Pompeji_,
and the older illustrated works, as well as the beautiful volume,
_Pompeji vor der Zerstoerung_, published in 1897 by Weichardt.
The titles of more than five hundred books and pamphlets relating to
Pompeii are given in Furchheim's _Bibliografia di Pompei_ (second
edition, Naples, 1891). To this list should be added an elaborate work
on the temple of Isis, _Aedis Isidis Pompeiana_, which is soon to
appear. The copperplates for the engravings were prepared at the
expense of the old Accademia ercolanese, but only the first section of
the work was published; the plates, fortunately, have been preserved
without injury, and the publication has at last been undertaken by
Professor Sogliano.
Professor Mau wishes to make grateful acknowledgment of obligation to
Messrs. C. Bazzani, R. Koldewey, G. Randanini, and G. Tognetti for
kind assistance in making ready for the engraver the drawings
presenting restorations of buildings; to the authorities of the German
Archaeological Institute for freely granting the use of a number of
drawings in its collection; and to the photographer, Giacomo Brogi of
Florence, for placing his collection of photographs at the author's
disposal and making special prints for the use of the engraver. In
addition to the photographs obtained from Brogi, a small number were
furnished for the volume by the translator, and a few were derived
from other sources.
The restorations are not fanciful. They were made with the help of
careful measurements and of computations based upon the existing
remains; occasionally also evidence derived from reliefs and wall
paintings was utilized. Uncertain details are generally omitted.
It is due to Professor Mau to say that in preparing his manuscript for
English readers I have, with his permission, made some changes. The
order of presentation has occasionally been altered. In several
chapters the German manuscript has been abridged, while in others,
containing points in regard to which English readers might desire a
somewhat fuller statement, I have made slight additions. The
preparation of the English form of the volume, undertaken for reasons
of friendship, has been less a task than a pleasure.
FRANCIS W. KELSEY.
ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN,
October 25, 1899.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
The author and the translator unite in expressing their deep
appreciation of the kind reception accorded to the first edition of
this book.
The second edition has been revised on the spot. Besides minor
additions, it has been enlarged by a chapter on the recently
discovered temple of Venus Pompeiana, and a Bibliographical Appendix;
prepared in response to requests from various quarters. Among the new
illustrations in the text are a restoration of the temple of Vespasian
and a reproduction of the bronze youth found in 1900, besides the
Alexandria patera and one of the skeleton cups from the Boscoreale
treasure; in Plate VIII are presented two additional paintings from
the house of the Vettii.
The translator is alone responsible for Chapter LIX, which was
prepared for the first edition at Professor Mau's request, at a time
when he was pressed with other work; for the paragraphs in regard to
the treasure of Boscoreale, and for one-half of the references in the
Bibliographical Appendix.
AUGUST MAU
FRANCIS W. KELSEY
ALBERGO DEL SOLE, POMPEI
August 2, 1901
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE SITUATION OF POMPEII 1
II. BEFORE 79 8
III. THE CITY OVERWHELMED 19
IV. THE UNEARTHING OF THE CITY 25
V. A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW 31
VI. BUILDING MATERIALS, CONSTRUCTION, AND ARCHITECTURAL
PERIODS 35
PART I
PUBLIC PLACES AND BUILDINGS
VII. THE FORUM 45
VIII. GENERAL VIEW OF THE BUILDINGS ABOUT THE FORUM.--THE
TEMPLE OF JUPITER 61
IX. THE BASILICA 70
X. THE TEMPLE OF APOLLO 80
XI. THE BUILDINGS AT THE NORTHWEST CORNER OF THE
FORUM, AND THE TABLE OF STANDARD MEASURES 91
XII. THE MACELLUM 94
XIII. THE SANCTUARY OF THE CITY LARES 102
XIV. THE TEMPLE OF VESPASIAN 106
XV. THE BUILDING OF EUMACHIA 110
XVI. THE COMITIUM 119
XVII. THE MUNICIPAL BUILDINGS 121
XVIII. THE TEMPLE OF VENUS POMPEIANA 124
XIX. THE TEMPLE OF FORTUNA AUGUSTA 130
XX. GENERAL VIEW OF THE PUBLIC BUILDINGS NEAR THE
STABIAN GATE.--THE FORUM TRIANGULARE AND THE
DORIC TEMPLE 133
XXI. THE LARGE THEATRE 141
XXII. THE SMALL THEATRE 153
XXIII. THE THEATRE COLONNADE USED AS BARRACKS FOR
GLADIATORS 157
XXIV. THE PALAESTRA 165
XXV. THE TEMPLE OF ISIS 168
XXVI. THE TEMPLE OF ZEUS MILICHIUS 183
XXVII. THE BATHS AT POMPEII.--THE STABIAN BATHS 186
XXVIII. THE BATHS NEAR THE FORUM 202
XXIX. THE CENTRAL BATHS 208
XXX. THE AMPHITHEATRE 212
XXXI. STREETS, WATER SYSTEM, AND WAYSIDE SHRINES 227
XXXII. THE DEFENCES OF THE CITY 237
PART II
THE HOUSES
XXXIII. THE POMPEIAN HOUSE 245
I. Vestibule, Fauces, and Front Door 248
II. The Atrium 250
III. The Tablinum 255
IV. The Alae 258
V. The Rooms about the Atrium. The Andron 259
VI. Garden, Peristyle, and Rooms about the Peristyle 260
VII. Sleeping Rooms 261
VIII. Dining Rooms 262
IX. The Kitchen, the Bath, and the Storerooms 266
X. The Shrine of the Household Gods 268
XI. Second Story Rooms 273
XII. The Shops 276
XIII. Walls, Floors, and Windows 278
XXXIV. THE HOUSE OF THE SURGEON 280
XXXV. THE HOUSE OF SALLUST 283
XXXVI. THE HOUSE OF THE FAUN 288
XXXVII. A HOUSE NEAR THE PORTA MARINA 298
XXXVIII. THE HOUSE OF THE SILVER WEDDING 301
XXXIX. THE HOUSE OF EPIDIUS RUFUS 309
XL. THE HOUSE OF THE TRAGIC POET 313
XLI. THE HOUSE OF THE VETTII 321
XLII. THREE HOUSES OF UNUSUAL PLAN 341
I. The House of Acceptus and Euhodia 341
II. A House without a Compluvium 343
III. The House of the Emperor Joseph II 344
XLIII. OTHER NOTEWORTHY HOUSES 348
XLIV. ROMAN VILLAS.--THE VILLA OF DIOMEDES 355
XLV. THE VILLA RUSTICA AT BOSCOREALE 361
XLVI. HOUSEHOLD FURNITURE 367
PART III
TRADES AND OCCUPATIONS
XLVII. THE TRADES AT POMPEII.--THE BAKERS 383
XLVIII. THE FULLERS AND THE TANNERS 393
XLIX. INNS AND WINESHOPS 400
PART IV
THE TOMBS
L. POMPEIAN BURIAL PLACES.--THE STREET OF TOMBS 405
LI. BURIAL PLACES NEAR THE NOLA, STABIAN, AND NOCERA
GATES 429
PART V
POMPEIAN ART
LII. ARCHITECTURE 437
LIII. SCULPTURE 445
LIV. PAINTING.--WALL DECORATION 456
LV. THE PAINTINGS 471
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
A CHRISTMAS MORALITY
[Illustration: Remember my ears are so quick I can hear the grass
grow. _Frontispiece._]
[Illustration]
LITTLE PETER
A Christmas Morality
for Children of any Age
By LUCAS MALET
AUTHOR OF 'COLONEL ENDERBY'S WIFE' ETC.
[Illustration]
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY PAUL HARDY
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1888
TO
CECILY
IN TOKEN OF AFFECTION
TOWARDS HERSELF, HER MOTHER, AND HER STATELY HOME
THIS LITTLE STORY IS DEDICATED
BY
HER OBEDIENT SERVANT
LUCAS MALET
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Which deals with the opinions of a Cat, and the sorrows of
a Charcoal-burner 1
II. Which introduces the Reader to an Admirer of the Ancient
Romans 19
III. Which improves our acquaintance with the Grasshopper-man 36
IV. Which leaves some at Home, and takes some to Church 50
V. Which is both Social and Religious 68
VI. Which attempts to show why the Skies fall 84
VII. Which describes a pleasant Dinner Party, and an
unpleasant Walk 95
VIII. Which proves that even Philosophic Politicians may
have to admit themselves in the wrong 115
IX. Which is very short because, in some ways, it is rather
sad 132
X. Which ends the Story 143
_ILLUSTRATIONS._
'Remember my ears are so quick I can hear
the grass grow' _Frontispiece_
'What will happen? please tell me' _To face p._ 10
'Go to bed when you are told' " 34
'You all despise me' " 66
Going to Church " 72
Lost " 110
Waiting " 120
Found " 138
The Charcoal-burner visits Little Peter " 150
[Illustration: Little Peter.]
CHAPTER I.
WHICH DEALS WITH THE OPINIONS OF A CAT, AND THE SORROWS OF A CHARCOAL
BURNER.
The pine forest is a wonderful place. The pine-trees stand in ranks
like the soldiers of some vast army, side by side, mile after mile, in
companies and regiments and battalions, all clothed in a sober uniform
of green and grey. But they are unlike soldiers in this, that they are
of all ages and sizes; some so small that the rabbits easily jump
over them in their play, and some so tall and stately that the fall
of them is like the falling of a high tower. And the pine-trees are
put to many different uses. They are made into masts for the gallant
ships that sail out and away to distant ports across the great ocean.
Others are sawn into planks, and used for the building of sheds; for
the rafters and flooring, and clap-boards and woodwork of our houses;
for railway-sleepers, and scaffoldings, and hoardings. Others are
polished and fashioned into articles of furniture. Turpentine comes
from them, which the artist uses with his colours, and the doctor in
his medicines; which is used, too, in the cleaning of stuffs and in a
hundred | 230.605378 |
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THE GARDEN OF ALLAH
BY
ROBERT HICHENS
PREPARER'S NOTE
This text was prepared from an edition published by Grosset &
Dunlap, New York. It was originally published in 1904.
CONTENTS
BOOK I. PRELUDE
BOOK II. THE VOICE OF PRAYER
BOOK III. THE GARDEN
BOOK IV. THE JOURNEY
BOOK V. THE REVELATION
BOOK VI. THE JOURNEY BACK
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH
BOOK I. PRELUDE
CHAPTER I
The fatigue caused by a rough sea journey, and, perhaps, the
consciousness that she would have to be dressed before dawn to catch the
train for Beni-Mora, prevented Domini Enfilden from sleeping. There was
deep silence in the Hotel de la Mer at Robertville. The French officers
who took their pension there had long since ascended the hill of Addouna
to the barracks. The cafes had closed their doors to the drinkers and
domino players. The lounging Arab boys had deserted the sandy Place de
la Marine. In their small and dusky bazaars the Israelites had reckoned
up the takings of the day, and curled themselves up in gaudy quilts
on their low divans to rest. Only two or three _gendarmes_ were still
about, and a few French and Spaniards at the Port, where, moored against
the wharf, lay the steamer _Le General Bertrand_, in which Domini had
arrived that evening from Marseilles.
In the hotel the fair and plump Italian waiter, who had drifted to North
Africa from Pisa, had swept up the crumbs from the two long tables
in the _salle-a-manger_, smoked a thin, dark cigar over a copy of the
_Depeche Algerienne_, put the paper down, scratched his blonde head, on
which the hair stood up in bristles, stared for a while at nothing in
the firm manner of weary men who are at the same time thoughtless and
depressed, and thrown himself on his narrow bed in the dusty corner of
the little room on the stairs near the front door. Madame, the landlady,
had laid aside her front and said her prayer to the Virgin. Monsieur,
the landlord, had muttered his last curse against the Jews and drunk
his last glass of rum. They snored like honest people recruiting their
strength for the morrow. In number two Suzanne Charpot, Domini's maid,
was dreaming of the Rue de Rivoli.
But Domini with wide-open eyes, was staring from her big, square pillow
at the red brick floor of her bedroom, on which stood various trunks
marked by the officials of the Douane. There were two windows in the
room looking out towards the Place de la Marine, below which lay the
station. Closed _persiennes_ of brownish-green, blistered wood protected
them. One of these windows was open. Yet the candle at Domini's bedside
burnt steadily. The night was warm and quiet, without wind.
As she lay there, Domini still felt the movement of the sea. The passage
had been a bad one. The ship, crammed with French recruits for the
African regiments, had pitched and rolled almost incessantly for
thirty-one hours, and Domini and most of the recruits had been ill.
Domini had had an inner cabin, with a skylight opening on to the lower
deck, and heard above the sound of the waves and winds their groans and
exclamations, rough laughter, and half-timid, half-defiant conversations
as she shook in her berth. At Marseilles she had seen them come on
board, one by one, dressed in every variety of poor costume, each one
looking anxiously around to see what the others were like, each one
carrying a mean | 230.609012 |
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E-text prepared by Clarity, Cindy Beyer, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/pestshore00shoriala
THE PEST
by
W. TEIGNMOUTH SHORE
Author of “The Talking Master,” “Egomet,” etc., and
Part Author of “The Fruit of the Tree”
[Illustration]
New York
C. H. Doscher & Co.
1909
Copyright, 1909, by
C. H. Doscher & Co.
The Pest
CHAPTER I
PAVEMENTS and roadway slippery with greasy, black mud; atmosphere yellow
with evil-tasting vapor; a November afternoon in London; evening drawing
on, fog closing down.
George Maddison, tall, erect, dark, walked slowly along, his eyes, ever
ready to seize upon any striking effect of color, noting the curious
mingling of lights: the dull yellow overhead, the chilly beams of the
street lamps, the glow and warmth from the shop windows. Few of the
faces he saw were cheerful, almost all wearing that expression of
discontent which such dreary circumstances bring to even the most
hardened and experienced Cockneys. For his own part he was well pleased,
having heard that morning of his election as an Associate of the Royal
Academy, a fact that gratified him not as adding anything to his repute,
but as being a compliment to the school of young painters of which he
was the acknowledged leader and ornament: impressionists whose
impressions showed the world to be beautiful; idealists who had the
imagination to see that the ideal is but the better part of the real.
Maddison paused before a highly lighted picture-dealer’s window,
glancing with amusement at the conventional prettiness there displayed;
then, turning his back upon it, he looked across the street, debating
whether he should cross over and have some tea at the famous pastry
cook’s. A tall, slight figure of a woman, neatly dressed in black,
caught his attention. Obviously, she too was hesitating over the same
question. In spite of the simplicity and quiet fashion of her black
gown, her air was elegant; her head nicely poised; her shoulders well
held; the lines of her figure graceful, lithe and seductive. Though he
could not see her face he felt certain that she was interesting and
attractive, if not beautiful; also, there was a something wistful and
forlorn about her that appealed to him. Warily stepping through the
slippery mud, he crossed over and stood behind her for a moment, marking
the graceful tendrils of red-gold hair that clustered round the nape of
her neck and the delicate shape and coloring of her ears. As she turned
to move away, she came full face to him, instant recognition springing
into her eyes.
“George—!” she exclaimed.
“Miss Lewis!”
There was immediate and evident constraint on each side, as though the
sudden meeting were half-welcome, half-embarrassing.
“Were you going in to tea here?” he asked. “I was. Let me come with you?
It’s an age since we met. It’s horrid and damp out here.”
“It is,” she replied, slightly shivering. “Yes, I should like a cup of
tea.”
They went through the heavy swing doors, opened for them by a diminutive
boy in buttons, into the long, highly decorated, dimly lighted, discreet
tea room, which lacked its usual crowd. A few couples, in one case two
young men, occupied the cozy corners, to one of the more remote of which
Maddison led the way, and settled himself and his companion in the
comfortable armchairs. He ordered tea and cakes of the pretty,
black-eyed waitress, dainty and demure in the uniform of deep, dull red.
“You sigh as if you were tired, Miss Lewis, and glad to rest?” he said,
trying in the dim light to study her expression.
“I am tired and I am glad to rest. It’s very cozy in here. I’ve never
been here before.”
She laid her hand upon the arm of the chair next to him and he noticed
that she wore a wedding ring.
“I called you Miss Lewis. I see——?”
“Yes—I’m married. I don’t suppose you remember much about Larchstone—I
recognized you before you did me; I saw you across the road. But just
possibly you do remember our curate, Mr. Squire—you used to laugh at
him. I’m Mrs. Squire. He’s still a curate, but not any longer in the
country. We live at Kennington; what a world of difference one letter
makes! Kennington—Kensington. Have you ever been in Kennington?”
Maddison remembered Edward Squire distinctly: a tall, gaunt enthusiast,
clumsy in mind and in body. He leaned back in his chair as a whirl of
recollections rushed across his mind: the red-roofed, old-fashioned
village of Larchstone; the old-world rector and his daughter, a pretty
slip of a country girl, who had grown into—Mrs. Squire. He remembered
the summer weeks he had spent there, painting in the famous woodlands,
and the half-jesting, half-serious love he had made to the rector’s
daughter. Since then until this afternoon he had not met her, though the
memory of her face, with the searching eyes, had come to him now and
again.
She watched him as he dreamed. He had changed very little; how
distinctly she had always remembered him; the swarthy, narrow face
framed in heavy black hair, the deep-set black eyes, the thin nose, the
trim pointed beard and mustache hiding the sensual mouth, the tall,
well-knit figure. Far more vividly than he did she recall those summer
months; in her life they had been an outstanding event, an episode
merely in his.
“Do you still take three lumps of sugar?” she asked, as she poured out
the tea.
“You remember that? Yes, still three, thanks.”
“You see, I hadn’t very much to remember in those days.”
“It’s five years ago—” he hesitated.
“Five this last summer, and a good many things have happened since then.
My father’s dead—three years ago—and I’m a good young curate’s wife.
And you? But I needn’t ask; the newspapers have told me all about you.
Are you still full of enthusiasms?”
“I suppose so. I think so, only they’re crystallizing into practices. As
we grow older the brain grows stiff, and we’re not so ready to go
climbing mountains to achieve impossible heights.”
“You’ve climbed pretty high. A step higher to-day—A.R.A. Fame, success
and money, that’s a fairly high mountain to have climbed—at least it
looks so to me.”
The forlorn tone of her voice confirmed the impression his first sight
of her had made upon him. He looked at her keenly as she sat there with
her eyes fixed upon her tea which she was stirring slowly. She had
become a very lovely woman and a poor curate’s wife.
“Lonely?” he asked almost unintentionally.
“Did I say lonely?” she asked looking quickly at him. “We were talking
in metaphors. I suppose that way of talking was invented by some one who
didn’t want to blurt out ugly truths.”
“Or who fancied that commonplace ideas become uncommon when divorced
from commonplace words.”
“It’s strange, isn’t it, sitting here, chatting like old friends—after
all this time? You didn’t answer my question: have you ever been in
Kennington?”
“I go down to the Oval now and then to watch the cricket; that’s all I
know about Kennington.”
“And that’s nothing. You might as well judge West Kensington by an
Earl’s Court exhibition, or a woman’s nature by her face. I think it
would do you good to see more of Kennington. I can believe that to
anyone who has lived there any other place on earth would seem heaven.”
“Heaven?”
“Even the other place would be an improvement.”
“You’re rather hard on Kennington, aren’t you?”
“It’s very hard on _me_! It stifles me. I come up to town—you see, I
speak of coming up to town—every now and then, just to escape from the
horrible atmosphere. There; just to breathe freely for a bit, to look at
the shops, to see faces with some thoughts in them, to escape
from—Kennington.”
“And do you escape?”
“Not altogether. The atmosphere there is saturating.”
“Does your husband like it?”
“He doesn’t know anything about it. Souls to save and bodies to feed,
that’s his simple want in life. There are plenty of both in our
neighborhood. I suppose you wouldn’t come down to see us?”
“If I may——?”
“You may,” she answered, laughing softly, almost to herself, and he
noticed how her smile lit up her whole face for the moment. “You’ll seem
so queer down there.”
“Why?”
“Just think—but no, you couldn’t realize what I’m laughing at; you’ve
never been in Kennington, and—even more likely—have never seen
yourself as I see you.”
Resisting the temptation to ask her in what light she saw him, he in
turn laughed as he looked down into the provocative face turned toward
him.
“You’re getting better,” he said.
“Yes, thanks; the tea has done me good, and the meeting with you.”
She spoke quite frankly.
“I’m glad,” he answered, “and glad I was lucky enough to meet you.”
“What a pretty, empty phrase,” she said, with a little sigh and a droop
of the corners of her mouth. “Sayings like that are the threepenny bits
of conversation; they’re not worth sixpence, but they’re better than
coppers. Now, I must be off.”
“It’s quite early.”
“Yes, for you. But for me—Kennington and high tea; but you know neither
of them.”
“You’ve asked me to come——”
“Not to high tea. Come some afternoon or evening. Drop me a post card so
that we shall be sure to be in. My husband will be so glad to see you
again.”
“And you?”
“I _have_ seen you again.”
“Very well, I’ll drop you a line of warning. And how are you going
home?”
“By a clever and cheap combination of penny bus and halfpenny tram. Now,
good-by, and thank you.”
They lingered a moment in the shop entrance, warmth and coziness behind,
the darkness and the thickening fog before.
“I don’t like you’re going alone. The fog’s getting very thick.”
“Please don’t worry about me; if the tram can’t get along I shall walk.
Good-by, and, again, thank you.”
Nodding in a friendly manner, she walked quickly away, leaving him
irresolute. But he soon determined to follow her.
“You really must let me see you home,” he said, as he caught up with
her; “it’s going to be bad.”
“So am I, and insist on having my own way. Don’t spoil it for me. I
don’t often have my own way with anything or anybody.”
Again she walked quickly away into the darkness.
CHAPTER II
ACACIA GROVE, Kennington, was once upon a time, and not so many years
ago, the home of snug citizens, who loved to dwell on the borderland of
town and country. It is a wide road of two-storied houses, all alike:
three windows to the top floor; on the ground floor, two windows and a
hall door, painted green and approached by three steep steps; a front
garden, generally laid out in gravel with a circular bed of sooty shrubs
in the center and a narrow border of straggling flowers along each side,
spike-headed railings separating the garden from the pavement. Few of
the gates are there that do not creak shrilly, calling aloud for oil. In
one of these houses, distinguished only from its neighbors by its
number, lodged the Reverend Edward Squire, occupying the front “parlor,”
a small den at the back of the same, and the front bedroom and dressing
room on the upper floor. The furniture throughout was plain,
inoffensive, somber, entirely unhomelike; faded green curtains with
yellow fringe hung at the parlor windows, by one of which Marian sat in
the gloaming two days after her meeting with Maddison. The fire shed a
flickering light over the room and on the weary face of her husband, who
lay back asleep in a heavy horsehair armchair. She glanced at him now
and then, each time comparing his commonplace features with those of
George Maddison, her meeting with whom had stirred tumult in her already
mutinous blood.
Rousing himself at length, Squire looked at his watch.
“Half-past four! I must be off, Marian. Don’t you find it dismal sitting
there in the dark?”
“You can dream in the dark.”
“Dream?” he said, standing up and stretching his lanky limbs, stamping
his heavy feet as though cold. “Don’t you dream too much, dear? I wish
parish work had more interest for you; there is so much to do, and——”
“I don’t do much!” she broke in sharply.
“I wasn’t going to say that. Wouldn’t it make life brighter for you if
you spent more time in brightening it for others? However, I mustn’t
stop to talk now. There’s a meeting of the Boot Club at a quarter to
five, and several things after that. I can’t get back till about
half-past six: will that be too late for tea?”
He stood beside her, feeling clumsily helpless to express his sympathy
with her evident discontent, and unable to help her.
“No, I don’t mind what time,” she answered, turning her back toward him,
and looking out at the dreary prospect of leafless trees and dim gas
lamps.
He stooped to kiss her, but she pushed him away.
“Don’t be silly, Edward; everyone can see into the room. If you don’t
go, you’ll be late.”
With a sigh he turned away and went out.
For months past hatred of her home life had been growing in her, and it
had been intensified, brought to fever heat, by her meeting with
Maddison. His prosperity had emphasized the dunness of her own career.
Why had he ever made love to her, giving her a glimpse of brightness,
and then left her to be driven by circumstances to accept her husband’s
dogged love, to accept this life of struggle, to accept this daily round
of distasteful tasks and hateful | 230.698152 |
2023-11-16 18:20:54.6811530 | 5,590 | 76 |
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Note: The Table of Contents and the list of illustrations were added
by the transcriber.
LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE OF POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE
February, 1876.
Vol. XVII, No. 98.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE CENTURY--ITS FRUITS AND ITS FESTIVAL.
II.--AMERICAN PROGRESS.
UP THE THAMES.
CONCLUDING PAPER, by EDWARD C. BRUCE.
THE POET'S PEN, by F.A. HILLARD.
SKETCHES OF INDIA.
II.
FRA ALOYSIUS, by EMMA LAZARUS.
A FEW HOURS IN BOHEMIA.
PROFESSOR AND TEACHER, by JAMES MORGAN HART.
CONTRASTED MOODS, by CHARLOTTE F. BATES.
THE ATONEMENT OF LEAM DUNDAS, by MRS. E. LYNN LINTON
CHAPTER XXI. CHANGES.
CHAPTER XXII. EDGAR HARROWBY.
CHAPTER XXIII. ON THE MOOR.
CHAPTER XXIV. THE CHILD FINA.
LETTERS FROM SOUTH AFRICA, by LADY BARKER.
ON SANKOTA HEAD, by ETHEL C. GALE.
AT THE OLD PLANTATION.
TWO PAPERS.--II, by ROBERT WILSON.
OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP.
A GERMAN AGRICULTURAL FAIR.
A PAIR OF WHEELS AND AN OLD PARASOL.
MEDICAL EDUCATION IN THE UNITED STATES, by R.A.F. PENROSE.
OUR EARLY NEWSPAPERS.
LITERATURE OF THE DAY.
_Books Received._
ILLUSTRATIONS
POST-OFFICE DEPARTMENT BUILDING AT WASHINGTON.
THE CAPITOL AT WASHINGTON AND CARPENTERS' HALL, WHERE THE FIRST
COLONIAL CONGRESS MET.
HOE'S NEW PERFECTING PRINTING-PRESS, PRINTING 12,000 DOUBLE
IMPRESSIONS PER HOUR, AND THE OLD EPHRATA PRESS.
THE CITY OF TOKYO, THE LARGEST STEAMSHIP BUILT IN AMERICA, AND
FITCH'S STEAMBOAT, THE FIRST CONSTRUCTED.
THE COTTON GIN.
GRAIN ELEVATOR.
INTERIOR OF A POSTAL CAR.
PROF. S.F.B. MORSE, THE INVENTOR OF THE ELECTRO-MAGNETIC TELEGRAPH.
THE SCHOOL-HOUSE OF THE PAST AND THE PRESENT.
WINDSOR CASTLE, FROM ETON.
MORTON CHURCH.
MILTON'S PEAR TREE.
GRAY.
BEACONSFIELD CHURCH.
TOMB OF BURKE.
HEDSOR AND COOKHAM CHURCHES.
ETON COLLEGE AND CHAPEL.
ETON COLLEGE, FROM NORTH TERRACE, WINDSOR.
STAINES CHURCH.
NORMAN GATE AND ROUND TOWER, WINDSOR.
HERNE'S OAK.
EAST FRONT, WINDSOR CASTLE.
QUEEN ELIZABETH'S BUILDING, WINDSOR.
EARL OF SURREY.
WINDSOR CASTLE, FROM BISHOPSGATE.
LOCK AT WINDSOR.
THE THAMES EMBANKMENT.
ELMS NEAR THE HERONRY.
HINDU TEMPLES NEAR POONA.
GONDS.
CENOTAPHS IN THE VALLEY OF THE TONSA.
THE GAUR, OR INDIAN BISON.
BANJARIS.
LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE
OF
_POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE_.
FEBRUARY, 1876.
THE CENTURY--ITS FRUITS AND ITS FESTIVAL.
II.--AMERICAN PROGRESS.
[Illustration: POST-OFFICE DEPARTMENT BUILDING AT WASHINGTON.]
From showing the world's right to the epoch of '76, and sketching the
progress of the century in its wider aspect, a natural transition is
to the part played in illustrating the period by the people from whose
political birth it dates, and who have made the task of honoring it
their own. They have reached their first resting-place, and pardonably
enjoy the opportunity of looking back at the road they have traversed.
They pause to contemplate its gloomy beginning, the perilous
precipices along which it wound, and the sudden quagmires that often
interrupted it, all now softened by distance and by the consciousness
of success. Opening with a forest-path, it has broadened and
brightened into a highway of nations.
So numerous and various were the influences, formative and impellent,
which combined to bring the colonies up to the precise ripening-point
of their independence, as to make it difficult to assign each its
proper force. In the concentric mass, however, they stand out sharp
and clear, and the conjoint effect seems preordained. That the event
should have come when it did, and not before or after, is as obvious
as any of history's predictions after the fact. Looking through the
glasses of to-day, we find it hard to realize that the Continental
Congress renewed its expressions of loyalty to the king three weeks
after the battle of Bunker Hill, so distinct before us rises the
completed and symmetrical edifice of separation ready for its
capstone, from its foundations growing steadily through the past.
Thirteen years--one for each State--were occupied in the topping-off.
The Seven Years' War, that created the new central power of modern
Europe, had a great deal to do with creating the new American power.
It taught the colonies their strength, gave them several thousand
native soldiers, and sent them from over the water the material,
some of it completely wrought, for more in the German immigration
consequent upon it. Out of it grew the obnoxious enactments that
brought on the end. So closely simultaneous were these with the king's
proclamation of October 7, 1763, prohibiting all his subjects "from
making any purchases or settlements whatever, or taking possession of
any of the lands, beyond the sources of any of the rivers which fall
into the Atlantic Ocean from the west or north-west," as to support
the suspicion that the British ministry had a premonitory sense of the
coming struggle, and meant to prepare for it by checking the expansion
of the colonies. The pressure applied to front and rear was part of
one and the same movement; and is incompatible with the accepted
view that neither cabinet nor Parliament anticipated, in the first
instance, any American opposition to the Stamp Act and the system of
legislation to which it was the opening wedge. The England of that day
proposed to rule America after much the same fashion with Ireland,
the Alleghanies presenting themselves very conveniently for an
Indian Pale. This line of policy was in harmony with the ideas then
predominant in England, and was fully understood by the colonists.
They could not possibly have been blind to it, in view of the
continuous and repeated claims of absolute legislative supremacy
formally put forth, from the bill to that effect passed coincidently
with the repeal of the Stamp Act down to the alterations made in the
Massachusetts charter in 1774; the latter proceeding being in close
harmony, both in time and motive, with the extension of the province
of Quebec to the Ohio--one of the very rare evidences of sagacity and
foresight discernible in the course of the ministry; for, while it did
not avail to dam the westward flood, it certainly contributed, with
other concessions made at the same time to the Canadians, to save the
St. Lawrence to the Crown.
As apropos to this point, we transcribe from the original
manuscript, written in the round, clear, unhesitating but steady hand
characteristic of all Washington's letters, the following to James
Wood of Winchester, afterward governor of Virginia, but then little
more than a stripling:
"MOUNT VERNON, Feb'y 20th, 1774.
"DEAR SIR: I have to thank you, for your obliging acc't of
your trip down the Mississippi, contained in a Letter of the
18th of Octob'r from Winchester--the other Letter, therein
refer'd to, I have never yet receiv'd, nor did this come
to hand till some time in November, as I was returning from
Williamsburg.
"The contradictory acc'ts given of the Lands upon the
Mississippi are really astonishing--some speak of the Country
as a terrestrial Paradise, whilst others represent it as
scarce fit for anything but Slaves and Brutes. I am well
satisfied, however, from your description of it, that I have
no cause to regret my disappointment:--The acc't of Lord
Hillsborough's sentiments of the Proclamation of 1763, I can
view in no other light than as one, among many other proofs,
of his Lordship's malignant disposition towards us poor
Americans, formed equally in malice, absurdity, and error; as
it would have puzzled this noble Peer, I am persuaded, to have
assigned any plausible reason in support of this opinion.
"As I do not know but I may shortly see you in Frederick, and
assuredly shall before the Assembly, I shall add no more than
that, it will always give me pleasure to see you at this place
whenever it is convenient to you, and that with compliments
to your good Mother I remain, D'r Sir, Y'r most Obed't H'ble
Serv't,
"G'o WASHINGTON."
[Illustration: THE CAPITOL AT WASHINGTON AND CARPENTERS' HALL, WHERE
THE FIRST COLONIAL CONGRESS MET.]
This private note, discussing casually and curtly the great river
of the West, and the minister who endeavored to make it a _flumen
clausum_ to the colonists, nearly equidistant in date between the
Boston Tea-party and the meeting of the Assembly which called the
first Continental Congress, has some public interest. The West
always possessed a peculiar attraction for Washington. He explored
it personally and through others, and lost no occasion of procuring
detailed information in regard to its capabilities. He acquired large
bodies of land along the Ohio at different points, from its affluents
at the foot of the Alleghany to the Great Kanawha and below. Now we
see him gazing farther, over the yet unreddened battle-grounds of
Boone and Lewis, to the magnificent province France and Spain were
carefully holding in joint trusteeship for the infant state he was to
nurse. The representative in the provincial legislature of a frontier
county stretching from the Potomac to the Ohio, we may fancy him
inspired, as he looked around from his post on the vertebral range of
the continent, with "something of prophetic strain." If so, he was
not long to have leisure for indulging it. Within eighteen months his
life's work was to summon him eastward to the sea-shore. The Dark and
Bloody Ground must wait. For its tillage other guess implements than
the plough were preparing--the same that beckoned him to Cambridge and
the new century.
The slender driblet of population which at this juncture flowed
toward the Lower Mississippi was due to the anxiety of Spain to get a
home-supply of wheat, hemp and such-like indispensables of temperate
extraction for her broad tropical empire. A newspaper of August 20,
1773 gives news from New York of the arrival at that port of "the
sloop Mississippi, Capt. Goodrich, with the Connecticut Military
Adventurers from the Mississippi, but last from Pensacola, the 16th
inst." They had "laid out twenty-three townships at the Natchez,"
where lands were in process of rapid occupation, the arrivals
numbering "above four hundred families within six weeks, down the Ohio
from Virginia and the Carolinas." The Connecticut men doubtless came
back prepared, a little later, to vindicate their martial cognomen;
and to aid them in that they were met by Transatlantic recruits in
unusual force. The same journal mentions the arrival at Philadelphia
of 1050 passengers in two ships from Londonderry; this valuable
infusion of Scotch-Irish brawn, moral, mental and muscular, being
farther supplemented by three hundred passengers and servants in the
ship Walworth from the same port for South Carolina. The cash value to
the country of immigrants was ascertainable by a much less circuitous
computation then than now; many of them being indentured for a term
of years at an annual rate that left a very fair sum for interest and
sinking fund on the one thousand dollars it is the practice of our
political economist of to-day to clap on each head that files
into Castle Garden. The German came with the Celt in almost equal
force--enough to more than balance their countrymen under Donop,
Riedesel and Knyphausen. The attention drawn to the colonies by the
ministerial aggressions thus contributed to strengthen them for the
contest.
But with all these accessions in the nick of time, two millions and
a quarter of whites was a meagre outfit for stocking a virgin farm of
fifteen hundred miles square, to say nothing of its future police and
external defence against the wolves of the deep. It barely equaled the
original population, between the two oceans, of nomadic Indians, who
were, by general consent, too few to be counted or treated as owners
of the land. It fell far short of the numbers that had constituted,
two centuries earlier, the European republic from which our federation
borrowed its name. The task, too, of the occidental United States
was double. Instead of being condensed into a small, wealthy and
defensible territory, they had at once to win their independence
from a maritime power stronger than Spain, and to redeem from utter
crudeness and turn into food, clothing and the then recognized
appliances of civilized life the wilderness thus secured. The result
could not vary nor be doubted; but that the struggle, in war and in
peace, must be slow and wearing, was quite as certain. It is dreary to
look back upon its commencement now, and upon the earlier decades
of its progress; and we cannot wonder that those who had it to look
forward to half shrank from it. Among them there may have been a
handful who could scan the unshaped wilderness as the sculptor does
his block, and body forth in imagination the glory hidden within. That
which these may have faintly imagined stands before us palpable if not
yet perfected, the amorphous veil of the shapely figure hewn away,
and the long toil of drill and chisel only in too much danger of being
forgotten.
Population, the most convenient gauge of national strength and
progress, is far from being a universally reliable one. We shall find
sometimes as wide a difference between two given millions as between
two given individuals. Either may grow without doing much else. They
may direct their energies to different fields. Compared with the
United States, France and Germany, for example, have advanced but
little in population. They have, however, done wonders for themselves
and the world by activities which we have, in comparison, neglected.
The old city of London gains in wealth as it loses in inhabitants.
[Illustration: HOE'S NEW PERFECTING PRINTING-PRESS, PRINTING 12,000
DOUBLE IMPRESSIONS PER HOUR, AND THE OLD EPHRATA PRESS.]
Yet success in the multiplication of souls within their own
borders--depopulate as they may elsewhere--is eagerly coveted and
regularly measured by all the nations. Since 1790, when we set them
the example, they have one by one adopted the rule of numbering heads
every five, six or ten years, recognizing latterly as well, more and
more, the importance of numbering other things, until men, women and
children have come to be embedded in a medley of steam-engines,
pigs, newspapers, schools, churches and bolts of calico. For twenty
centuries this taking of stock by governments had been an obsolete
practice, until revived by the framers of the American Constitution
and made a vital part of that instrument. The right of the most--and
not of the richest, the best, the bravest, the cleverest, or the
oldest in blood--to rule being formally recognized and set down on
paper, it became necessary to ascertain at stated intervals who were
the most. The lords of the soil, instead of being inducted into power
on the death of their parents with great pother of ointment, Te Deum,
heraldry, drum and trumpet, were chosen every ten years by a corps of
humble knights of the pencil and schedule.
To these disposers of empire, the enhancement and complication of
whose toil has been a labor of love with each decennial Congress, we
owe the knowledge that eighty years, out of the hundred, brought the
people of the Union up from a tally of 3,929,214 in 1790 to 38,558,371
in 1870, and that down to the beginning of the last decade the rate of
increment adhered closely to 35 per cent. On that basis of growth the
latest return falls nearly four millions short. One of the causes of
this is "too obvious" (and too disagreeable) "to mention;" but it
is inadequate. The sharp demarcation of the western frontier by the
grasshopper and the hygrometer is another, which will continue to
operate until, by irrigation, tree-planting or some other device, a
new climate can be manufactured for the Plains. The teeming West, that
of old needed only to be tickled with a hoe to laugh with a harvest,
has disappeared. At least what is left of it has lost the power of
suction that was wont to reach across the ocean, pull Ballys and Dorfs
up by the roots and transplant them bodily to the Muskingum and
the Des Moines. A third cause, operating more especially within
the current decade, is attributable to another mode in which that
attractive power has been exerted--the absorption from the European
purse for the construction of railways of seven or eight times as much
as the thirty-five millions in specie it took to fight through the
Revolutionary war. For a while, Hans came with his thalers, but they
outfooted him--"fast and faster" behind came "unmerciful disaster,"
and he was fain to turn his back on the land of promise and promises.
Similar set-backs, however, are interspersed through our previous
history, and the influence of the last one may be over-rated.
In truth, the Old World's fund of humanity is not sufficiently ample
to keep up the pace; and the rate of natural increase is no longer
what it was when the country was all new, and cornfield and nursery
vied in fecundity. That the former source of augmentation is gaining
in proportion upon the latter is apparent from the last three returns.
The ratio of foreign-born inhabitants to the aggregate in 1850 was
9.68 per cent. in 1860, 13.16, and in 1870, 14.44. In the last-named
year, moreover, 10,892,015, or 28 per cent. of the entire population,
white and black, are credited with foreign parentage on one or both
sides. Excluding the element, ranked as all native, this
proportion rises to 32 per cent.
Judged by the test of language, three-fifths of those who are of
foreign birth disappear from the roll of foreigners, 3,119,705 out
of 5,567,229 having come from the British Isles and British America.
Germany, including Bohemia, Holland and Switzerland, sums up
1,883,285; Scandinavia, 241,685; and France and Belgium, 128,955. The
Celtic influx from Ireland, and the Teutonic and Norse together, form
two currents of almost identical volume. Compared with either,
the contribution of the Latin or the Romance races sinks into
insignificance--an insignificance, however, that shows itself chiefly
in numbers, the traces of their character and influence being,
relatively to their numerical strength, marked. The immigrants from
Northern and Southern Europe have a disposition, in choosing their
new homes, to follow latitude, or rather the isotherms; the North-men
skirting the Canadian frontier and grouping themselves on the coldest
side of Lake Michigan, while the Italians, Spaniards and French drift
toward the Gulf States. The Irish and Germans are more cosmopolitan,
each in a like degree. They disperse with less regard to climate or
surroundings, and are more rapidly and imperceptibly absorbed and
blended, thus promoting rather than marring the homogeneity of the
American people. The Germans are, however, more prone to colonizing
than the Irish--a circumstance due in great measure to their differing
in language from the mass of their new neighbors. This cause of
isolation is gradually losing its weight, the recognition of the
German tongue by State legislatures, municipalities, etc. being less
common than formerly, notwithstanding the immense immigratior so
calculated to extend it.
While assimilation has been growing more complete, and a fixed
resultant becoming more discernible, the ingredients of this ethnic
medley do not seem to have materially varied in their proportions
since the beginning of the century. They present a tolerably close
parallel to the like process in Northern France, where Celt and Teuton
combined in nearly equal numbers, with, as in our case, a limited
local infusion of the Norse. The result cannot, however, be identical,
the French lacking our Anglo-Saxon substratum, with its valuable
traditions and habitudes of political thought. The balance between
impulse and conservatism has never been, in this country, long or
seriously disturbed, and is probably as sound now as a hundred
years ago. In the discussions of the twenty years which embrace our
Revolutionary period we find abundance of theory, but they were never
carried by abstractions out of sight of the practical. Our publicists
were not misled by convictions of the "infinite perfectibility of
the human mind," the motive proclaimed by Condorcet, writing in sweet
obliviousness of the guillotine, as explaining "how much more pure,
accurate and profound are the principles upon which the constitution
and laws of France have been formed than those which directed the
Americans." The lack of this equilibrium among the pure, and, as we
may venture to term them, the untrained races, we have occasional
opportunities of noting on our own soil when for a passing cause they
resort to isolated action.
[Illustration: THE CITY OF TOKYO, THE LARGEST STEAMSHIP BUILT IN
AMERICA, AND FITCH'S STEAMBOAT, THE FIRST CONSTRUCTED.]
A race-question of a character that cannot be supplied by
differentiation within Caucasian limits haunts us as it has done from
the very birth of the colonies. Like the Wild Huntsman, we have had
the sable spectre close beside us through the whole run. But, more
fortunate than he, we see it begin to fade. At least its outlines are
contracting. The ratio of inhabitants to the aggregate,
in 1790 19.26 per cent., or one-fifth, fell in 1860 to 14.12, or
one-seventh, and in 1870 to 12.65, or an eighth. The next census will
beyond doubt point more strongly in the same direction. If, whilst
dwindling in magnitude, the dusky shape perplex us by assuming
suddenly a novel form, we may yet be assured that it is the same in
substance and in manageability. Its hue is whitening with the fleece
of five millions of cotton bales. The cloud has a silver lining--a
golden one in fact--for ours is pecuniarily a serviceable phantom to
the extent of adding to our annual income a sum equal to eight or ten
times the entire yearly export of the colonies. Should he lead us,
like the Land--und--Wild--Graf, into the pit of ruin, he will have
first bottomed it with an ample and soft cushion of lint whereon to
fall.
Extremes meet, and modern culture, like ancient anarchy, drives its
people into cities. Such is the tendency on both sides of the ocean.
Improvement must result from associated effort, and of that cities are
the last expression. All the European towns are outgrowing the rural
districts. With us the change states itself in an advance, since 1790,
of the city population from 3.4 to 20.9 per cent. of the aggregate.
Broadcloth has gained on homespun in the proportion of six to one,
Giles having thus six mouths to fill where he formerly had but one.
We shall show farther on how gallantly he meets this draft. New York,
with its suburbs, contains more Germans than any German city save
Vienna and Berlin, more Irish than Dublin, and more English-speaking
inhabitants than Liverpool, | 230.701193 |
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Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE LETTERS
GRACCHUS
ON THE
_EAST INDIA QUESTION_.
_LONDON_:
PRINTED FOR J. HATCHARD,
BOOKSELLER AND PUBLISHER,
NO. 190, OPPOSITE ALBANY, PICCADILLY.
1813.
Printed by S. GOSNELL, Little Queen Street, London.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The following Letters appeared in the MORNING POST, at the dates which
are annexed to them. The impartial Reader will find in them a strong
determination, to uphold the public rights of the Country, with respect
to the India Trade; but he will not discover any evidence of a desire to
lower the just, and well-earned honours, of THE EAST INDIA COMPANY, nor
any symptom of a disposition hostile to their fair pretensions.
LETTERS
OF
GRACCHUS.
LETTER I.
GENERAL VIEW OF THE EAST INDIA QUESTION.
_Tuesday, January 12, 1813._
The crisis, at which the affairs of the East India Company are now
arrived, is one which involves the most important interests of the
British Empire. It would be unnecessary to prove a proposition which is
so universally acknowledged and felt. It has happened however, that, in
our approaches towards this crisis, the Public understanding has been
but little addressed upon the subject; so that the appeal which is now
suddenly made to their passions and imaginations, finds them unprepared
with that knowledge of the true circumstances of the case, which can
alone enable them to govern those passions, and control those
imaginations. Let us then endeavour to recover the time which has been
lost, by taking a deliberate view of the circumstances which produce
this crisis.
The crisis, is the proximity of the term which may conclude the East
India Company's rights, to the exclusive trade with India and China, and
to the powers of government now exercised by them over the Indian
Empire.
The rights of the East India Company are two-fold; and have long been
distinguished as, their _permanent_ rights, and their _temporary_
rights. Those rights are derived to them from distinct Charters, granted
to them at different times by Parliament. By the former, they were
created a _perpetual_ Corporate Society of Merchants, trading to
India[1]. By the latter, they obtained, for a _limited period of time_,
the exclusive right of trading with India and China, and of executing
the powers of government over those parts of the Indian territory, which
were acquired either by conquest or by negotiation. The Charter
conveying the latter limited rights, is that which will expire in the
course of the ensuing year 1814; on the expiration of which, the
exclusive trade to the East will be again open to the British population
at large, and the powers of the India Government will lapse in course
to the Supreme Government of the British Empire, to be provided for as
Parliament in its wisdom may judge it advisable to determine.
The renewal of an _expired_ privilege cannot be pursued upon a ground of
_right_. The exclusive Charter of the Company is _a patent_, and their
patent, like every other patent, is limited as to _its duration_. But
though the patentee cannot allege a ground of right for the renewal of
his patent, he may show such strong pretensions, such good claims in
equity, such weighty reasons of expediency for its renewal, as may
ensure its attainment. Such are the claims and the pretensions of the
East India Company to a renewal of their Charter; and as such they have
been promptly and cheerfully received, both by the Government and the
country at large.
But the progress of society, during a long course of years, is of a
nature to produce a considerable alteration in the general state of
things; the state of things must, therefore, naturally be called into
consideration, upon the expiration of the term of years which determines
the exclusive Charter of the East India Company; in order to inquire,
whether that Charter should be renewed precisely in the same terms, and
with the same conditions, as before; or whether the actual state of
public affairs demands, that some alteration, some modification, of
terms and conditions, should be introduced into the Charter or System
which is to succeed.
The arduous task of this investigation must necessarily fall upon those
persons, who chance to be in the Administration of the Country, at the
latest period to which the arrangements for the renewal of the Charter
can be protracted; and it is hardly possible to imagine a more difficult
and perplexing position, for any Administration. Those persons, if they
have any regard for the duties which they owe to the Public, will
consider themselves as standing _between two interests_; the interest of
those who are about to lose an exclusive right, and the interest of
those who are about to acquire an open and a common one. They will be
disposed to listen, patiently and impartially, to the pretensions of
both parties; of those who pray for the renewal of an exclusive
privilege, and of those who pray that they may not be again wholly
excluded from the right which has reverted. And although they may amply
allow the preference which is due to the former petitioners, yet they
will endeavour to ascertain, whether the latter may not, with safety to
the public interest, receive some enlargement of the benefits, which the
opportunity opens to them, and from which they have been so long
excluded.
While they thus look alternately to each of these interests, and are
engaged in striving to establish a reconciliation between the two, it
will be neither equitable nor liberal for one of the interested parties
to throw out a doubt to the Public, whether they do this "from a
consciousness of strength, and a desire of increasing their own power
and influence, or from a sense of weakness and a wish to strengthen
themselves by the adoption of popular measures[2]." And the author of
the doubt may find himself at length obliged to determine it, by an
awkward confession, that Ministers do not do it "with any view of
augmenting their own patronage and power[3]."
It is thus that the Ministers of the Crown have conducted themselves, in
the embarrassing crisis into which they have fallen. Fully sensible of
the just and honourable pretensions which the East India Company have
established in the course of their long, important, and distinguished
career, they have consented to recommend to Parliament, _to leave the
whole system of Indian Government and Revenue to the Company_, under the
provisions of the Act of 1793; together with _the exclusive trade to
China_, as they have hitherto possessed them; but, at the same time,
considering the present state of the world, and its calamitous effects
upon the commercial interest in general, they are of opinion, that some
participation in the Indian trade, thus reverting, might possibly be
conceded, under due regulations, to British merchants not belonging to
the East India Company; which would not impair the interests either of
the Public or of the Company.
In this moderate opinion, they are fully justified, by the consent of
the Company, to admit the Merchants of the out-ports to a share in the
Indian trade. And thus far, all is amicable. But the out-port Merchants
having represented to Government, that the condition, hitherto annexed
to a Licensed Import Trade,--of bringing back their Indian Cargoes to
the port of London, and of disposing of them solely in the Company's
sales, in Leadenhall Street,--would defeat the object of the concession;
and that the delay, embarrassment, and perplexity, which such an
arrangement would create, would destroy the simple plan of their
venture; and having therefore desired, that they might be empowered to
return with their cargoes to the ports from whence they originally
sailed, and to which all their interests are confined; Government, being
convinced of the justice of the representation, have proposed that the
Import Trade may be yielded to the Out-ports, _under proper
regulations_, as well as the Export Trade. To this demand the Court of
Directors peremptorily refuse their consent; and upon this _only point_
the parties are now at issue. This question alone, <DW44>s the final
arrangements for the renewal of their Charter.
Yet it is this point, which one of the parties interested affirms, to be
"a question of the last importance to the safety of the British Empire
in India, and of the British Constitution at home;" and therefore
undertakes to resist it, with all the determination which the importance
of so great a stake would naturally inspire. But, when we compare the
real measure in question with the menacing character which is thus
attempted to be attached to it, we at once perceive something so
extravagantly hyperbolical, something so disproportionate, that it at
once fixes the judgment; and forces upon it a suspicion, that | 230.702835 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/gertrudesmarria00heimgoog
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
GERTRUDE'S MARRIAGE
W. HEIMBURG
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN
BY MRS. | 230.80437 |
2023-11-16 18:20:54.7871150 | 2,124 | 13 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
produced by the Wright American Fiction Project.)
THE STANDARD DRAMA.
The Acting Edition.
NO. CCXXV.
THE ROMANCE OF
A POOR YOUNG MAN.
A Drama, adapted from the French of
OCTAVE FEUILLET,
BY MESSRS. PIERREPONT EDWARDS AND LESTER WALLACK.
TO WHICH ARE ADDED
A Description of the Costume--Cast of the Characters--Entrances
and Exits--Relative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and
the whole of the Stage Business
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by LESTER
WALLACK, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the
Southern District of New York.
NEW YORK:
SAMUEL FRENCH, PUBLISHER,
122 NASSAU STREET, (UP STAIRS.)
CHARACTERS REPRESENTED.
_Manuel, Marquis de Champcey_, Mr. Lester Wallack.
_Doctor Desmarets,--formerly of the French Army_, Mr. Brougham.
_M. de Bevannes--a man of the world_, Mr. Walcot.
_Gaspar Laroque--an aged man, formerly Captain of a Privateer_,
Mr. Dyott.
_Alain--a confidential domestic_, Mr. Young.
_M. Nouret--a Notary_, Mr. Levere.
_Yvonnet--a Breton Shepherd_, Mr. Baker.
_Henri_, Mr. Oliver.
_Louis_, Mr. Coburn.
_Madame Laroque--Daughter-in-Law to Gaspar_, Mrs. Vernon.
_Marguerite--her daughter_, Mrs. Hoey.
_Mlle Helouin--a Governess_,
_Madame Aubrey--a relative of the Laroque family_,
Miss Mary Gannon.
_Louise Vauberger--formerly nurse to Manuel, now keeper of a lodging
house_, Mrs. Walcot.
_Christine--a Breton peasant girl_, Miss Fanny Reeves.
_Guests, Servants, Peasantry, &c., &c._
The events of the Drama take place (during the 1st Act) in Paris,
afterward in the Province of Britanny.
Costumes of the present day.
The Overture, incidental Music, and Choruses composed and arranged by
Mr. Robert Stoepel.
A POOR YOUNG MAN.
TABLEAU I.
_A Room, simply furnished--Table, Chairs, Arm Chair, Secretaire,
Side Table--Door C._
_MADAME VAUBERGER peeps in L._
_Madame Vauberger._ No; he has not yet returned. [_Enters._] Things
cannot go on in this manner much longer--I shall have to speak out, and
plainly too. And why not? Surely he won't take it ill from me--ah, no.
I, who loved his poor mother so, could never--What's this? A purse!
empty! And this key, left carelessly lying about; that's a bad sign.
[_Opens Secretaire._] No, not one solitary sous--his last coin came
yesterday to pay me the rent. In the drawer, perhaps--
_DR. DESMARETS looks in._
_Dr. Desmarets._ Hallo! [_She starts._] What are you at there?
_Mad. V._ Me, sir? I was just--I was just--
_Des._ Poking your nose into that drawer--that what you call just?
_Mad. V._ I was dusting and putting the things in order, sir.
_Des._ I'll tell you what, Madame V., you're an extraordinary woman.
Yesterday, when I called, you were dusting--half-an-hour ago when I
called, you were dusting--and now, when I call again, you're dusting.
Where the devil you find so much dust to dust, _I_ can't think.
_Mad. V._ Ah, sir, look into this drawer.
_Des._ What for?
_Mad. V._ Is it not the place where, if one had money, one would
naturally keep it?
_Des._ I suppose so. What of that?
_Mad. V._ See, sir, it is empty.
_Des._ What's that to me?
_Mad. V._ And his purse, also.
_Des._ What's that to you? [_Goes up and puts hat on table._
_Mad. V._ [_Aside._] I dare not tell him that Manuel is without a
meal--starving--I should never be forgiven. His _pride_ would be
wounded, and nothing could excuse that.
_Des._ Well, what are you cogitating about? Looking for something to
dust?
_Mad. V._ I'm thinking of the Marquis, sir.
_Des._ Well, what of him?
_Mad. V._ Is it not dreadful? Brought up as he has been--surrounded by
every luxury--and now reduced to want even. Oh! it is too hard--too
hard!
_Des._ Well, it's his own fault, isn't it? There was enough left from
the wreck of his father's property, to give him a sort of a living, and
he must needs go and settle it all upon his little sister Helen.
_Mad. V._ And for what? To give her the education befitting her rank.
_Des._ Fudge!
_Mad. V._ Doctor Desmarets, your're very unfeeling.
_Des._ Oh, of course, of course. I give him good advice, he rejects it.
I withdraw my sympathy, and then I'm unfeeling. If he can't manage
better with the little that's left him, egad! he may think himself lucky
that he can get his daily meals.
_Mad. V._ Sir, he can't even--[_Aside._] Oh, if I dared--
_Des._ Can't even what? Send for his coupe, I suppose, or drink Chateau
margaux--terrible hardships, truly. When there's nothing else in a man's
pocket, he had better put his pride there, and button it up tight.
_Mad. V._ Some day, sir, we shall find that he has taken poison, or cut
his throat.
_Des._ Ah! and then there'll be nothing to dust.
_Mad. V._ Monsieur, I repeat it--you're unfeeling. But I, who loved and
served his dear mother, whom he so much resembles--
_Des._ Not a bit--hasn't a look of her. The father, the father all over.
_Mad. V._ Of course. So you always say, and everybody knows why. You
loved the poor Marchioness, offered her your hand, and she preferred the
Marquis.
_Des._ Madame!
_Mad. V._ I don't care. I _will_ speak my mind. And because she refused
you, you have no regard for her son.
_Des._ Madame!
_Mad. V._ But if he has his father's face, he has his mother's heart.
_Des._ Much you know about it.
_Mad. V._ And who _should_ know if I don't? Havn't I attended him since
he was an infant?
_Des._ Well, and havn't _I_ attended him since he was an infant?
_Mad. V._ Wasn't I with him during every sickness?
_Des._ Wasn't I with him too?
_Mad. V._ Didn't I nurse him?
_Des._ Didn't I cure him?
_Mad. V._ Wouldn't I follow him through the world?
_Des._ Didn't I bring him _into_ it?
_Mad. V._ Yes, and if things go on at this rate, he won't have much to
thank you for.
_Des._ How do _you_ know? How do _you_ know, you foolish old woman you.
_MANUEL appears._
_Man._ Heyday! the only two friends I have in the world at high words?
What can have caused this?
_Mad. V._ My lord, the Doctor says you--
_Man._ Me! my dear Doctor, you never were quarrelling about so
unimportant a person, surely?
_Des._ No matter for that. But I have some business with the Marquis, if
this very positive old lady will allow me the luxury of an interview
with him--a _private_ interview. Pray, ma'am, _may_ I trespass on your
indulgence?
_Mad. V._ Truly, Doctor, your campaign in the Crimea has improved
neither your manners, or your beauty. [_Exit L. H._
_Des._ Confound her impudence! The attack on my manners I could forgive,
but my beauty--that's a tender point.
_Man._ Ah, Doctor, you must pardon her brusque manner. If she's poor in
courtesy, she's rich in a rarer gift--fidelity.
_Des._ Oh! hang her! let her go. And now to your affairs. Your father's
death occurred while I was with the army, in the Crimea. Rumors reached
me there, but I have never heard the full particulars. I would not
willingly revive a painful theme, but as an old friend--
_Man._ Nay, I shall be more satisfied when you know the facts. When you
left France you know what our position was, and what our style of
living.
_Des._ All the luxuries that money could procure--a mansion in Paris, an
ancestral chateau, and a stable that could | 230.807155 |
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E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Graeme Mackreth, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
THE WIFE OF SIR ISAAC HARMAN
by
H. G. WELLS
New York
The Macmillan Company
1914
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1914,
By H. G. Wells.
Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1914.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCES LADY HARMAN 1
II. THE PERSONALITY OF SIR ISAAC 30
III. LADY HARMAN AT HOME 51
IV. THE BEGINNINGS OF LADY HARMAN 83
V. THE WORLD ACCORDING TO SIR ISAAC 98
VI. THE ADVENTUROUS AFTERNOON 143
VII. LADY HARMAN LEARNS ABOUT HERSELF 198
VIII. SIR ISAAC AS PETRUCHIO 231
IX. MR. BRUMLEY IS TROUBLED BY DIFFICULT IDEAS 287
X. LADY HARMAN COMES OUT 343
XI. THE LAST CRISIS 427
XII. LOVE AND A SERIOUS LADY 496
THE WIFE OF SIR ISAAC HARMAN
CHAPTER THE FIRST
INTRODUCES LADY HARMAN
Sec.1
The motor-car entered a little white gate, came to a porch under a thick
wig of jasmine, and stopped. The chauffeur indicated by a movement of
the head that this at last was it. A tall young woman with a big soft
mouth, great masses of blue-black hair on either side of a broad, low
forehead, and eyes of so dark a brown you might have thought them black,
drooped forward and surveyed the house with a mixture of keen
appreciation and that gentle apprehension which is the shadow of desire
in unassuming natures....
The little house with the white-framed windows looked at her with a
sleepy wakefulness from under its blinds, and made no sign. Beyond the
corner was a glimpse of lawn, a rank of delphiniums, and the sound of a
wheel-barrow.
"Clarence!" the lady called again.
Clarence, with an air of exceeding his duties, decided to hear,
descended slowly, and came to the door.
"Very likely--if you were to look for a bell, Clarence...."
Clarence regarded the porch with a hostile air, made no secret that he
thought it a fool of a porch, seemed on the point of disobedience, and
submitted. His gestures suggested a belief that he would next be asked
to boil eggs or do the boots. He found a bell and rang it with the
needless violence of a man who has no special knowledge of ringing
bells. How was _he_ to know? he was a chauffeur. The bell did not so
much ring as explode and swamp the place. Sounds of ringing came from
all the windows, and even out of the chimneys. It seemed as if once set
ringing that bell would never cease....
Clarence went to the bonnet of his machine, and presented his stooping
back in a defensive manner against anyone who might come out. He wasn't
a footman, anyhow. He'd rung that bell all right, and now he must see to
his engine.
"He's rung so _loud!_" said the lady weakly--apparently to God.
The door behind the neat white pillars opened, and a little red-nosed
woman, in a cap she had evidently put on without a proper glass,
appeared. She surveyed the car and its occupant with disfavour over her
also very oblique spectacles.
The lady waved a pink paper to her, a house-agent's order to view. "Is
this Black Strands?" she shouted.
The little woman advanced slowly with her eyes fixed malevolently on the
pink paper. She seemed to be stalking it.
"This is Black Strands?" repeated the tall lady. "I should be so sorry
if I disturbed you--if it isn't; ringing the bell like that--and all.
You can't think----"
"This is Black _Strand_," said the little old woman with a note of deep
reproach, and suddenly ceased to look over her glasses and looked
through them. She looked no kindlier through them, and her eye seemed
much larger. She was now regarding the lady in the car, though with a
sustained alertness towards the pink paper. "I suppose," she said,
"you've come to see over the place?"
"If it doesn't disturb anyone; if it is quite convenient----"
"Mr. Brumley is _hout_," said the little old woman. "And if you got an
order to view, you got an order to view."
"If you think I might."
The lady stood up in the car, a tall and graceful figure of doubt and
desire and glossy black fur. "I'm sure it looks a very charming house."
"It's _clean_," said the little old woman, "from top to toe. Look as you
may."
"I'm sure it is," said the tall lady, and put aside her great fur coat
from her lithe, slender, red-clad body. (She was permitted by a sudden
civility of Clarence's to descend.) "Why! the windows," she said,
pausing on the step, "are like crystal."
"These very 'ands," said the little old woman, and glanced up at the
windows the lady had praised. The little old woman's initial sternness
wrinkled and softened as the skin of a windfall does after a day or so
upon the ground. She half turned in the doorway and made a sudden
vergerlike gesture. "We enter," she said, "by the 'all.... Them's Mr.
Brumley's 'ats and sticks. Every 'at or cap 'as a stick, and every stick
'as a 'at _or_ cap, and on the 'all table is the gloves corresponding.
On the right is the door leading to the kitching, on the left is the
large droring-room which Mr. Brumley 'as took as 'is study." Her voice
fell to lowlier things. "The other door beyond is a small lavatory
'aving a basing for washing 'ands."
"It's a perfectly delightful hall," said the lady. "So low and
wide-looking. And everything so bright--and lovely. Those long, Italian
pictures! And how charming that broad outlook upon the garden beyond!"
"You'll think it charminger when you see the garding," said the little
old woman. "It was Mrs. Brumley's especial delight. Much of it--with 'er
own 'ands."
"We now enter the droring-room," she proceeded, and flinging open the
door to the right was received with an indistinct cry suggestive of the
words, "Oh, _damn_ it!" The stout medium-sized gentleman in an artistic
green-grey Norfolk suit, from whom the cry proceeded, was kneeling on
the floor close to the wide-open window, and he was engaged in lacing up
a boot. He had a round, ruddy, rather handsome, amiable face with a sort
of bang of brown hair coming over one temple, and a large silk bow under
his chin and a little towards one ear, such as artists and artistic men
of letters affect. His profile was regular and fine, his eyes
expressive, his mouth, a very passable mouth. His features expressed at
first only the naive horror of a shy man unveiled.
Intelligent appreciation supervened.
There was a crowded moment of rapid mutual inspection. The lady's
attitude was that of the enthusiastic house-explorer arrested in full
flight, falling swiftly towards apology and retreat. (It was a
frightfully attractive room, too, full of the brightest colour, and with
a big white cast of a statue--a Venus!--in the window.) She backed over
the threshold again.
"I thought you was out by that window, sir," said the little old woman
intimately, and was nearly shutting the door between them and all the
beginnings of this story.
But the voice of the gentleman arrested and wedged open the closing
door.
"I----Are you looking at the house?" he said. "I say! Just a moment,
Mrs. Rabbit."
He came down the length of the room with a slight flicking noise due to
the scandalized excitement of his abandoned laces. The lady was reminded
of her not so very distant schooldays, when it would have been
considered a suitable answer to such a question as his to reply, "No, I
am walking down Piccadilly on my hands." But instead she waved that pink
paper again. "The agents," she said. "Recommended--specially. So sorry
if I intrude. I ought, I know, to have written first; but I came on an
impulse."
By this time the gentleman in the artistic tie, who had also the
artistic eye for such matters, had discovered that the lady was young,
delightfully slender, either pretty or beautiful, he could scarcely tell
which, and very, very well dressed. "I am glad," he said, with
remarkable decision, "that I was not out. _I_ will show you the house."
"'Ow _can_ you, sir?" intervened the little old woman.
"Oh! show a house! Why not?"
"The kitchings--you don't understand the range, sir--it's beyond you.
And upstairs. You can't show a lady upstairs."
The gentleman reflected upon these difficulties.
"Well, I'm going to show her all I can show her anyhow. And after that,
Mrs. Rabbit, you shall come in. You needn't wait."
"I'm thinking," said Mrs. Rabbit, folding stiff little arms and
regarding him sternly. "You won't be much good after tea, you know, if
you don't get your afternoon's exercise."
"Rendez-vous in the kitchen, Mrs. Rabbit," said Mr. Brumley, firmly, and
Mrs. Rabbit after a moment of mute struggle disappeared discontentedly.
"I do not want to be the least bit a bother," said the lady. "I'm
intruding, I know, without the least bit of notice. I _do_ hope I'm not
disturbing you----" she seemed to make an effort to stop at that, and
failed and added--"the least bit. Do please tell me if I am."
"Not at all," said Mr. Brumley. "I hate my afternoon's walk as a
prisoner hates the treadmill."
"She's such a nice old creature."
"She's been a mother--and several aunts--to us ever since my wife died.
She was the first servant we ever had."
"All this house," he explained to his visitor's questioning eyes, "was
my wife's creation. It was a little featureless agent's house on the
edge of these pine-woods. She saw something in the shape of the
rooms--and that central hall. We've enlarged it of course. Twice. This
was two rooms, that is why there is a step down in the centre."
"That window and window-seat----"
"That was her addition," said Mr. Brumley. "All this room
is--replete--with her personality." He hesitated, and explained further.
"When we prepared this house--we expected to be better off--than we
subsequently became--and she could let herself go. Much is from Holland
and Italy."
"And that beautiful old writing-desk with the little single rose in a
glass!"
"She put it there. She even in a sense put the flower there. It is
renewed of course. By Mrs. Rabbit. She trained Mrs. Rabbit."
He sighed slightly, apparently at some thought of Mrs. Rabbit.
"You--you write----" the lady stopped, and then diverted a question that
she perhaps considered too blunt, "there?"
"Largely. I am--a sort of author. Perhaps you know my books. Not very
important books--but people sometimes read them."
The rose-pink of the lady's cheek deepened by a shade. Within her pretty
head, her mind rushed to and fro saying "Brumley? Brumley?" Then she had
a saving gleam. "Are you _George_ Brumley?" she asked,--"_the_ George
Brumley?"
"My name _is_ George Brumley," he said, with a proud modesty. "Perhaps
you know my little Euphemia books? They are still the most read."
The lady made a faint, dishonest assent-like noise; and her rose-pink
deepened another shade. But her interlocutor was not watching her very
closely just then.
"Euphemia was my wife," he said, "at least, my wife gave her to me--a
kind of exhalation. _This_"--his voice fell with a genuine respect for
literary associations--"was Euphemia's home."
"I still," he continued, "go on. I go on writing about Euphemia. I have
to. In this house. With my tradition.... But it is becoming
painful--painful. Curiously more painful now than at the beginning. And
I want to go. I want at last to make a break. That is why I am letting
or selling the house.... There will be no more Euphemia."
His voice fell to silence.
The lady surveyed the long low clear room so cleverly prepared for life,
with its white wall, its Dutch clock, its Dutch dresser, its pretty
seats about the open fireplace, its cleverly placed bureau, its
sun-trap at the garden end; she could feel the rich intention of living
in its every arrangement and a sense of uncertainty in things struck
home to her. She seemed to see a woman, a woman like herself--only very,
very much cleverer--flitting about the room and making it. And then this
woman had vanished--nowhither. Leaving this gentleman--sadly left--in
the care of Mrs. Rabbit.
"And she is dead?" she said with a softness in her dark eyes and a fall
in her voice that was quite natural and very pretty.
"She died," said Mr. Brumley, "three years and a half ago." He
reflected. "Almost exactly."
He paused and she filled the pause with feeling.
He became suddenly very brave and brisk and businesslike. He led the way
back into the hall and made explanations. "It is not so much a hall as a
hall living-room. We use that end, except when we go out upon the
verandah beyond, as our dining-room. The door to the right is the
kitchen."
The lady's attention was caught again by the bright long eventful
pictures that had already pleased her. "They are copies of two of
Carpaccio's St. George series in Venice," he said. "We bought them
together there. But no doubt you've seen the originals. In a little old
place with a custodian and rather dark. One of those corners--so full of
that delightful out-of-the-wayishness which is so characteristic, I
think, of Venice. I don't know if you found that in Venice?"
"I've never been abroad," said the lady. "Never. I should love to go. I
suppose you and your wife went--ever so much."
He had a transitory wonder that so fine a lady should be untravelled,
but his eagerness to display his backgrounds prevented him thinking that
out at the time. "Two or three times," he said, "before our little boy
came to us. And always returning with something for this place. Look!"
he went on, stepped across an exquisite little brick court to a lawn of
soft emerald and turning back upon the house. "That Dellia Robbia
placque we lugged all the way back from Florence with us, and that stone
bird-bath is from Siena."
"How bright it is!" murmured the lady after a brief still appreciation.
"Delightfully bright. As though it would shine even if the sun didn't."
And she abandoned herself to the rapture of seeing a house and garden
that were for once better even than the agent's superlatives. And within
her grasp if she chose--within her grasp.
She made the garden melodious with soft appreciative sounds. She had a
small voice for her size but quite a charming one, a little live bird of
a voice, bright and sweet. It was a clear unruffled afternoon; even the
unseen wheel-barrow had very sensibly ceased to creak and seemed to be
somewhere listening....
Only one trivial matter marred their easy explorations;--his boots
remained unlaced. No propitious moment came when he could stoop and lace
them. He was not a dexterous man with eyelets, and stooping made him
grunt and his head swim. He hoped these trailing imperfections went
unmarked. He tried subtly to lead this charming lady about and at the
same time walk a little behind her. She on her part could not determine
whether he would be displeased or not if she noticed this slight
embarrassment and asked him to set it right. They were quite long
leather laces and they flew about with a sturdy negligence of anything
but their own offensive contentment, like a gross man who whistles a
vulgar tune as he goes round some ancient church; flick, flock, they
went, and flip, flap, enjoying themselves, and sometimes he trod on one
and halted in his steps, and sometimes for a moment she felt her foot
tether him. But man is the adaptable animal and presently they both
became more used to these inconveniences and more mechanical in their
efforts to avoid them. They treated those laces then exactly as nice
people would treat that gross man; a minimum of polite attention and all
the rest pointedly directed away from him....
The garden was full of things that people dream about doing in their
gardens and mostly never do. There was a rose garden all blooming in
chorus, and with pillar-roses and arches that were not so much growths
as overflowing cornucopias of roses, and a neat orchard with shapely
trees white-painted to their exact middles, a stone wall bearing
clematis and a clothes-line so gay with Mr. Brumley's blue and white
flannel shirts that it seemed an essential part of the design. And then
there was a great border of herbaceous perennials backed by delphiniums
and monkshood already in flower and budding hollyhocks rising to their
duty; a border that reared its blaze of colour against a hill-<DW72> dark
with pines. There was no hedge whatever to this delightful garden. It
seemed to go straight into the pine-woods; only an invisible netting
marked its limits and fended off the industrious curiosity of the
rabbits.
"This strip of wood is ours right up to the crest," he said, "and from
the crest one has a view. One has two views. If you would care----?"
The lady made it clear that she was there to see all she could. She
radiated her appetite to see. He carried a fur stole for her over his
arm and flicked the way up the hill. Flip, flap, flop. She followed
demurely.
"This is the only view I care to show you now," he said at the crest.
"There was a better one beyond there. But--it has been defiled.... Those
hills! I knew you would like them. The space of it! And... yet----.
This view--lacks the shining ponds. There are wonderful distant ponds.
After all I must show you the other! But you see there is the high-road,
and the high-road has produced an abomination. Along here we go. Now.
Don't look down please." His gesture covered the foreground. "Look right
over the nearer things into the distance. There!"
The lady regarded the wide view with serene appreciation. "I don't see,"
she said, "that it's in any way ruined. It's perfect."
"You don't see! Ah! you look right over. You look high. I wish I could
too. But that screaming board! I wish the man's crusts would choke
him."
And indeed quite close at hand, where the road curved about below them,
the statement that Staminal Bread, the True Staff of Life, was sold only
by the International Bread Shops, was flung out with a vigour of yellow
and Prussian blue that made the landscape tame.
His finger directed her questioning eye.
"_Oh!_" said the lady suddenly, as one who is convicted of a stupidity
and slightly.
"In the morning of course it is worse. The sun comes directly on to it.
Then really and truly it blots out everything."
The lady stood quite silent for a little time, with her eyes on the
distant ponds. Then he perceived that she was blushing. She turned to
her interlocutor as a puzzled pupil might turn to a teacher.
"It really is very good bread," she said. "They make it----Oh! most
carefully. With the germ in. And one has to tell people."
Her point of view surprised him. He had expected nothing but a docile
sympathy. "But to tell people _here_!" he said.
"Yes, I suppose one oughtn't to tell them here."
"Man does not live by bread alone."
She gave the faintest assent.
"This is the work of one pushful, shoving creature, a man named Harman.
Imagine him! Imagine what he must be! Don't you feel his soul defiling
us?--this summit of a stupendous pile of--dough, thinking of nothing
but his miserable monstrous profits, seeing nothing in the delight of
life, the beauty of the world but something that attracts attention,
draws eyes, something that gives him his horrible opportunity of getting
ahead of all his poor little competitors and inserting--_this!_ It's the
quintessence of all that is wrong with the world;--squalid, shameless
huckstering!" He flew off at a tangent. "Four or five years ago they
made this landscape disease,--a knight!"
He looked at her for a sympathetic indignation, and then suddenly
something snapped in his brain and he understood. There wasn't an
instant between absolute innocence and absolute knowledge.
"You see," she said as responsive as though he had cried out sharply at
the horror in his mind, "Sir Isaac is my husband. Naturally... I ought
to have given you my name to begin with. It was silly...."
Mr. Brumley gave one wild glance at the board, but indeed there was not
a word to be said in its mitigation. It was the crude advertisement of a
crude pretentious thing crudely sold. "My dear lady!" he said in his
largest style, "I am desolated! But I have said it! It isn't a pretty
board."
A memory of epithets pricked him. "You must forgive--a certain touch
of--rhetoric."
He turned about as if to dismiss the board altogether, but she remained
with her brows very faintly knit, surveying the cause of his offence.
"It isn't a _pretty_ board," she said. "I've wondered at times.... It
isn't."
"I implore you to forget that outbreak--mere petulance--because, I
suppose, of a peculiar liking for that particular view. There
are--associations----"
"I've wondered lately," she continued, holding on to her own thoughts,
"what people _did_ think of them. And it's curious--to hear----"
For a moment neither spoke, she surveyed the board and he the tall ease
of her pose. And he was thinking she must surely be the most beautiful
woman he had ever encountered. The whole country might be covered with
boards if it gave us such women as this. He felt the urgent need of some
phrase, to pull the situation out of this pit into which it had fallen.
He was a little unready, his faculties all as it were neglecting his
needs and crowding to the windows to stare, and meanwhile she spoke
again, with something of the frankness of one who thinks aloud.
"You see," she said, "one _doesn't_ hear. One thinks perhaps----And
there it is. When one marries very young one is apt to take so much for
granted. And afterwards----"
She was wonderfully expressive in her inexpressiveness, he thought, but
found as yet no saving phrase. Her thought continued to drop from her.
"One sees them so much that at last one doesn't see them."
She turned away to survey the little house again; it was visible in
bright strips between the red-scarred pine stems. She looked at it chin
up, with a still approval--but she was the slenderest loveliness, and
with such a dignity!--and she | 230.900082 |
2023-11-16 18:20:54.8831350 | 50 | 9 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Web Archive (The Library of Congress)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
https://archive.org/details/nineofheartsnove | 230.903175 |
2023-11-16 18:20:55.4847770 | 3,325 | 12 |
Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
THE CRIME DOCTOR
_By_ ERNEST W. HORNUNG
Author of Raffles, The Amateur Cracksman, The Thousandth Woman, etc.
_With Illustrations by_
FREDERIC DORR STEELE
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1914
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
[Illustration: "It was struck with--this"]
CONTENTS
I THE PHYSICIAN WHO HEALED HIMSELF 1
II THE LIFE-PRESERVER 40
III A HOPELESS CASE 77
IV THE GOLDEN KEY 118
V A SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD 159
VI ONE POSSESSED 199
VII THE DOCTOR'S ASSISTANT 237
VIII THE SECOND MURDERER 272
THE CRIME DOCTOR
I
THE PHYSICIAN WHO HEALED HIMSELF
In the course of his meteoric career as Secretary of State for the Home
Department, the Right Honorable Topham Vinson instituted many reforms
and earned the reformer's whack of praise and blame. His methods were
not those of the permanent staff; and while his notorious courage
endeared him to the young, it was not in so strong a nature to leave
friend or foe lukewarm. An assiduous contempt for tradition fanned the
flame of either faction, besides leading to several of those personal
adventures which were as breath to the Minister's unregenerate nostrils,
but which never came out without exposing him to almost universal
censure. It is matter for thanksgiving that the majority of his
indiscretions were unguessed while he and his held office; for he was
never so unconventional as in pursuance of those enlightened tactics on
which his reputation rests, or in the company of that kindred spirit who
had so much to do with their inception.
It was early in an autumn session that this remarkable pair became
acquainted. Mr. Vinson had been tempted by the mildness of the night to
walk back from Westminster to Portman Square. He had just reached home
when he heard his name cried from some little distance behind him. The
voice tempered hoarse excitement with the restraint due to midnight in a
quiet square; and as Mr. Vinson turned on his door-step, a young man
rushed across the road with a gold chain swinging from his outstretched
hand.
"Your watch, sir, your watch!" he gasped, and displayed a bulbous hunter
with a monogram on one side and the crest of all the Vinsons on the
other.
"Heavens!" cried the Home Secretary, feeling in an empty waistcoat
pocket before he could believe his eyes. "Where on earth did you find
that? I had it on me when I left the House."
"It wasn't a case of findings," said the young man, as he fanned himself
with his opera hat. "I've just taken it from the fellow who took it from
you."
"Who? Where?" demanded the Secretary of State, with unstatesmanlike
excitement.
"Some poor brute in North Audley Street, I think it was."
"That's it! That was where he stopped me, just at the corner of
Grosvenor Square!" exclaimed Vinson. "And I went and gave the old
scoundrel half-a-crown!"
"He probably had your watch while you were looking in your purse."
And the young man dabbed a very good forehead, that glistened in the
light from the open door, with a white silk handkerchief just extracted
from his sleeve.
"But where were you?" asked Topham Vinson, taking in every inch of him.
"I'd just come into the square myself. You had just gone out of it. The
pickpocket was looking to see what he'd got, even while he hurled his
blessings after you."
"And where is he now? Did he slip through your fingers?"
"I'm ashamed to say he did; but your watch didn't!" its owner was
reminded with more spirit. "I could guess whose it was by the crest and
monogram, and I decided to make sure instead of giving chase."
"You did admirably," declared the Home Secretary, in belated
appreciation. "I'm in the papers quite enough without appearing as a mug
out of office hours. Come in, please, and let me thank you with all the
honors possible at this time of night."
And, taking him by the arm, he ushered the savior of his property into a
charming inner hall, where elaborate refreshments stood in readiness on
a side-table, and a bright fire looked as acceptable as the saddlebag
chairs drawn up beside it. A bottle and a pint of reputable champagne
had been left out with the oysters and the caviar; and Mr. Vinson,
explaining that he never allowed anybody to sit up for him, opened the
bottle with the precision of a practised hand, and led the attack on
food and drink with schoolboy gusto and high spirits.
In the meantime there had been some mutual note-taking. The Home
Secretary, whose emphatic personality lent itself to the discreet pencil
of the modern caricaturist, was in appearance exactly as represented in
contemporary cartoons; there was nothing unexpected about him, since his
boyish vivacity was a quality already over-exploited by the Press. His
frankness was something qualified by a gaze of habitual penetration, but
still it was there, and his manner could evidently be grand or
colloquial at will. The surprise was in his surroundings rather than in
the man himself. The perfect union of luxury and taste is none too
common in the professed Sybarite who is that and nothing more; in men of
action and pugnacious politicians it is yet another sign of sheer
capacity. The bits of rich old furniture, the old glass twinkling at
every facet, the brasses blazing in the firelight, the few but fine
prints on the Morris wallpaper, might have won the approval of an art
student, and the creature comforts that of the youngest epicure.
The young man from the street was easily pleased in all such respects;
but indoors he no longer looked quite the young man. He had taken off an
overcoat while his host was opening the champagne, and evening clothes
accentuated a mature gauntness of body and limb. His hair, which was
dark and wiry, was beginning to bleach at the temples; and up above one
ear there was a little disk of downright silver, like a new florin. The
shaven face was pale, eager, and austere. Dark eyes burnt like beacons
under a noble brow, and did not lose in character or intensity by a
distinct though slight strabism. So at least it seemed to Topham Vinson,
who was a really wonderful judge of faces, yet had seldom seen one
harder to sum up.
"I'm sorry you don't smoke," said he, snipping a cigar which he had
extolled in vain. "And that champagne, you know! You haven't touched it,
and you really should."
The other was on his legs that instant. "I never smoke and seldom
drink," he exclaimed; "but I simply can not endure your hospitality,
kind as it is, Mr. Vinson, without being a bit more honest with you than
I've been so far. I didn't lose that pickpocket by accident or because
he was too quick for me. I--I purposely packed him off."
In the depths of his softest chair Mr. Vinson lolled smiling--but not
with his upturned eyes. They were the steel eyes of all his tribe, but
trebly keen, as became its intellectual head and chief.
"The fellow pitched a pathetic yarn?" he conjectured. He had never seen
a more miserable specimen, he was bound to say.
"It wasn't that, Mr. Vinson. I should have let him go in any case--once
I'd recovered what he'd taken--as a matter of principle."
"Principle!" cried the Secretary of State. But he did not modify his
front-bench attitude; it was only the well-known eyebrows that rose.
"The whole thing is," his guest continued, yet more frankly, "that I
happen to hold my own views on crime and its punishment If I might be
permitted to explain them, however briefly, they would at least afford
the only excuse I have to offer for my conduct. If you consider it no
excuse, and if I have put myself within reach of the law, there, sir, is
my card; and here am I, prepared to take the consequences of my act."
The Home Secretary leaned forward and took the card from a sensitive
hand, vibrant as the voice to which he had just been listening, but no
more tremulous. Again he looked up, into a pale face grown paler still,
and dark eyes smoldering with suppressed enthusiasm. It was by no means
his baptism of that sort of fire; but it seemed to Mr. Vinson that here
was a new type of eccentric zealot; and it was only by an effort that he
resumed his House of Commons attitude and his smile.
"I see, Doctor Dollar, that you are a near neighbor of mine--only just
round the corner in Welbeck Street. May I take it that your experience
as a consultant is the basis of the views you mention?"
"My experience as an alienist," said Doctor Dollar, "so far as I can lay
claims to that euphemism."
"And how far is that, doctor?"
"In the sense that all crime is a form of madness."
"Then you would call yourself----"
The broken sentence ended on a note as tactfully remote from the direct
interrogative as practised speech could make it.
"In default of a recognized term," said Doctor Dollar, "which time will
confer as part of a wider recognition, I can only call myself a crime
doctor."
"A branch not yet acknowledged by your profession?"
"Neither by my profession nor by the law, Mr. Vinson; but both have got
to come to it, just as surely as we all accept the other scientific
developments of the day."
"But have you reduced your practise to a science, doctor?"
"I am doing so," said Doctor Dollar, with the restrained confidence
which could not but impress one who knew the value of that quality in
himself and in others. "I have made a start; if it were not so late I
would tell you all about it. You are the Home Secretary of England, the
man of all others whom I could wish to convert to my views. But already
I have kept you up too long. If you would grant me an appointment----"
"Not at all," interrupted Mr. Vinson, as he settled himself even more
comfortably in his chair. "The night is still young--so is my cigar.
Pray say all you care to say, and say it as confidentially as you
please. You interest me, Doctor Dollar; nor can I forget that I am much
indebted to you."
"I don't want to trade on that," returned the doctor, hastily. "But it
is an old dream of mine to tell you, sir, about my work, and how and why
I came to take it up. I was not intended for medicine, you see; my
people are army people, were Border outlaws once upon a time, and
fighting folk ever since. My father was an ensign in the Crimea--Scots
Fusiliers. I joined the Argyll and Sutherlands the year before South
Africa--where, by the way, I remember seeing you with your Yeomen."
"I had eighteen months of it without a headache or a scratch."
"I wish I could say the same, Mr. Vinson. I was shot through the head at
the Modder, ten days after I landed."
"Through the head, did you say?" asked the Home Secretary, lifting his
own some inches.
The doctor touched the silver patch in his dark strong hair. "That's
where the bullet came slinking out; any but a Mauser would have carried
all before it! As it was, it left me with a bit of a squint, as you can
see; otherwise, in a very few weeks, I was as fit as ever--physically."
"Wonderful!"
"Physically and even mentally--from a medical point of view--but not
morally, Mr. Vinson! Something subtle had happened, some pressure
somewhere, some form of local paralysis. And it left me a pretty
low-down type, I can tell you! It was a case of absolute automatism--but
I won't go into particulars now, if you don't mind."
"On no account, my dear doctor!" exclaimed the Secretary of State, with
inadvertent cordiality. "This is all of extraordinary interest. I
believe I can see what's coming. But I want to hear every word you care
to tell me--and not one that you don't."
"It had destroyed my moral sense on just one curious point; but, thank
God, I came to see the cause as well as to suffer unspeakably from the
effect. After that it was a case of killing or curing oneself by hook or
by crook. I decided to try the curing first. And--to cut a long yarn
short--I _was_ cured."
"Easily?"
"No. The slander may come home to roost, but I shall never think much of
the London specialist! I've dropped my two sovereigns and a florin into
too many of their itching palms, beginning with the baronets and knights
and ending up with the unknown adventures. But not a man-Jack of them
was ashamed to pocket his two guineas (in one case three) for politely
telling me I was as mad as a hatter to think of such a thing as really
was the matter with me!"
"And in the end?"
"In the end I struck a fellow with an open mind--but not in England--and
if I said that he literally opened mine it might be an exaggeration, but
that's all. He did go prospecting in my skull--risked his reputation as
against my life--but we both came out on top."
"And you've been your own man ever since?"
Topham Vinson asked the question gravely; it would have taken as keen a
superficial observer as himself to detect much difference in his manner,
in his eyes, in anything about him. Doctor Dollar was not that kind of
observer. To see far one must look high, and to look high is to miss
things under one's nose. It is all a matter of mental trajectory. In the
sheer height of his enthusiasm, the soaring visionary was losing touch
with the hard-headed groundling in the chair.
"I was cured," he answered with tense simplicity. " | 231.504817 |
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Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
A
MONTHLY MAGAZINE
OF
GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.
VOL. XXII.
OCTOBER, 1875, TO MARCH, 1876.
NEW YORK:
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE,
9 Warren Street.
1876.
CONTENTS.
Allegri’s Miserere, 562.
Anglicans, Old Catholics, and the Conference at Bonn, 502.
Anti-Catholic Movements in the United States, 810.
Apostolic Mission to Chili, The, 548.
Are You My Wife? 13, 194, 309, 590, 735.
Basques, The, 646.
Birth-Place of S. Vincent de Paul, 64.
Castlehaven’s Memoirs, 78.
Chapter, A, in the Life of Pius IX., 548.
Charities of Rome, The, 266.
Christmas Vigil, A, 541.
Colporteurs of Bonn, The, 90.
Doctrinal Authority of the Syllabus, 31.
Duration, 111, 244.
Early Persecutions of the Christians, 104.
Eternal Years, The, 656, 841.
Finding a Lost Church, 282.
Freemasonry, 145.
Friends of Education, The, 758.
From Cairo to Jerusalem, 529.
Garcia Moreno, 691.
Gladstone Controversy, Sequel of the, 577, 721.
Grande Chartreuse, A Night at the, 712.
Historical Romance, A, 43, 162, 339, 614, 772.
Incident of the Reign | 231.60086 |
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Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the | 231.600946 |
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Produced by Mark C. Orton, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
OLIVE...
IN ITALY
BY MORAY DALTON
[Illustration]
London
T. FISHER UNWIN
MCMIX
[_All Rights Reserved_]
"For in the hand of the Lord there is a cup, and the
wine is red; it is full mixed, and He poureth out of the
same. As for the dregs thereof: all the ungodly of the
earth shall drink them...."
CONTENTS
BOOK I. PAGE
SIENA 17
BOOK II.
FLORENCE 115
BOOK III.
ROME 213
OLIVE IN ITALY
BOOK I.--SIENA
CHAPTER I
"I believe that Olive Agar is going to tell you that she can't pay her
bill," said the landlady's daughter as she set the breakfast tray down
on the kitchen table.
"Good gracious, Gwen, how you do startle one! Why?"
"She began again about the toast, and I told her straight that you
always set yourself against any unnecessary cooking. Meat and
vegetables must be done, I said, but those who can't relish bread as
it comes from the baker's, and plain boiled potatoes, can go without,
I said. Then she says, of course I must do as my mother tells me, and
would I ask you to step up and see her presently."
"Perhaps you were a bit too sharp with her."
The girl sniffed resentfully. "Good riddance if she goes," she called
after her mother.
Mrs Simons knocked perfunctorily at the dining-room door.
A young voice bade her come in. "I wanted to tell you that I heard
from my cousins in Italy this morning. I am going to stay with them
for a little, so I shall be leaving you at the end of the week."
The landlady's cold stare was disconcerting. There was a distinct note
of disapproval in her voice as she answered, "I do not know much about
Italy." She seemed to think it not quite a seemly subject, yet she
pursued it. "I should have thought it was better for a young lady
without parents or friends to find some occupation in her own
country."
Olive smiled. "Ah, but I hate boiled potatoes, and I think I shall
love Italy and Italian cooking. You remember the Athenians who were
always seeking some new thing? They had a good time, Mrs Simons."
"I hope you may not live to wish those words unsaid, miss," the woman
answered primly. "You have as good as sold your birthright, as Esau
did, in that speech."
"He was much nicer than Jacob."
"Oh, miss, how can you! But, after all, I suppose you are not
altogether one of us since you have foreign cousins. What's bred in
the bone comes out in the flesh they say."
"I am quite English, if that is what you mean. My aunt married an
Italian."
Mrs Simons's eyes had wandered from the girl's face to the heavy
chandelier tied up in yellow muslin, and thence, by way of "Bubbles,"
framed in tarnished gilt, to the door. "Ah, well, I shall take your
notice," she said finally.
She went down again into the kitchen. "I never know where to have
her," she complained. "There's something queer and foreign about her
for all she says. What's bred in the bone! I said that to her face,
and I repeat it to you, Gwendolen."
Mrs Simons might have added that adventures are to the adventurous.
Olive's father was Jack Agar, of the Agars of Lyme, and he married his
cousin. If Mrs Simons had known all that must be implied in this | 231.601869 |
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Produced by Anthony Matonac.
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
or
The Quickest Flight on Record
By
VICTOR APPLETON
CONTENTS
I The Prize Offer
II Mr. Swift Is Ill
III The Plans Disappear
IV Anxious Days
V Building the Sky Racer
VI Andy Foger Will Contest
VII Seeking a Clue
VIII The Empty Shed
IX A Trial Flight
X A Midnight Intruder
XI Tom Is Hurt
XII Miss Nestor Calls
XIII A Clash with Andy
XIV The Great Test
XV A Noise in the Night
XVI A Mysterious Fire
XVII Mr. Swift Is Worse
XVIII The Broken Bridge
XIX A Nervy Specialist
XX Just in Time
XXI "Will He Live?"
XXII Off to the Meet
XXIII The Great Race
XXIV Won by a Length
XXV Home Again--Conclusion
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
Chapter One
The Prize Offer
"Is this Tom Swift, the inventor of several airships?"
The man who had rung the bell glanced at the youth who answered his
summons.
"Yes, I'm Tom Swift," was the reply. "Did you wish to see me?"
"I do. I'm Mr. James Gunmore, secretary of the Eagle Park Aviation
Association. I had some correspondence with you about a prize contest
we are going to hold. I believe--"
"Oh, yes, I remember now," and the young inventor smiled pleasantly as
he opened wider the door of his home. "Won't you come in? My father
will be glad to see you. He is as much interested in airships as I am."
And Tom led the way to the library, where the secretary of the aviation
society was soon seated in a big, comfortable leather chair.
"I thought we could do better, and perhaps come to some decision more
quickly, if I came to see you, than if we corresponded," went on Mr.
Gunmore. "I hope I haven't disturbed you at any of your inventions,"
and the secretary smiled at the youth.
"No. I'm through for to-day," replied Tom. "I'm glad to see you. I
thought at first it was my chum, Ned Newton. He generally runs over in
the evening."
"Our society, as I wrote you, Mr. Swift, is planning to hold a very
large and important aviation meet at Eagle Park, which is a suburb of
Westville, New York State. We expect to have all the prominent
'bird-men' there, to compete for prizes, and your name was mentioned. I
wrote to you, as you doubtless recall, asking if you did not care to
enter."
"And I think I wrote you that my big aeroplane-dirigible, the Red
Cloud, was destroyed in Alaska, during a recent trip we made to the
caves of ice there, after gold," replied Tom.
"Yes, you did," admitted Mr. Gunmore, "and while our committee was very
sorry to hear that, we hoped you might have some other air craft that
you could enter at our meet. We want to make it as complete as
possible, and we all feel that it would not be so unless we had a Swift
aeroplane there."
"It's very kind of you to say so," remarked Tom, "but since my big
craft was destroyed I really have nothing I could enter."
"Haven't you an aeroplane of any kind? I made this trip especially to
get you to enter. Haven't you anything in which you could compete for
the prizes? There are several to be offered, some for distance flights,
some for altitude, and the largest, ten thousand dollars, for the
speediest craft. Ten thousand dollars is the grand prize, to be awarded
for the quickest flight on record."
"I surely would like to try for that," said Tom, "but the only craft I
have is a small monoplane, the Butterfly, I call it, and while it is
very speedy, there have been such advances made in aeroplane
construction since I made mine that I fear I would be distanced if I
raced in her. And I wouldn't like that."
"No," agreed Mr. Gunmore. "I suppose not. Still, I do wish we could
induce you to enter. I don't mind telling you that we consider you a
drawing-card. Can't we induce you, some way?"
"I'm afraid not. I haven't any machine which--"
"Look here!" exclaimed the secretary eagerly. "Why can't you build a
special aeroplane to enter in the next meet? You'll have plenty of
time, as it doesn't come off for three months yet. We are only making
the preliminary arrangements. It is now June, and the meet is scheduled
for early in September. Couldn't you build a new and speedy aeroplane
in that time?"
Eagerly Mr. Gunmore waited for the answer. Tom Swift seemed to be
considering it. There was an increased brightness to his eyes, and one
could tell that he was thinking deeply. The secretary sought to clinch
his argument.
"I believe, from what I have heard of your work in the past, that you
could build an aeroplane which would win the ten-thousand-dollar
prize," he went on. "I would be very glad if you did win it, and, so I
think, would be the gentlemen associated with me in this enterprise. It
would be fine to have a New York State youth win the grand prize. Come,
Tom Swift, build a special craft, and enter the contest!"
As he paused for an answer footsteps were heard coming along the hall,
and a moment later an aged gentleman opened the door of the library.
"Oh! Excuse me, Tom," he said, "I didn't know you had company." And he
was about to withdraw.
"Don't go, father," said Tom. "You will be as much interested in this
as I am. This is Mr. Gunmore, of the Eagle Park Aviation Association.
This is my father, Mr. Gunmore."
"I've heard of you," spoke the secretary as he shook hands with the
aged inventor. "You and your son have made, in aeronautics, a name to
be proud of."
"And he wants us to go still farther, dad," broke in the youth. "He
wants me to build a specially speedy aeroplane, and race for ten
thousand dollars."
"Hum!" mused Mr. Swift. "Well, are you going to do it, Tom? Seems to me
you ought to take a rest. You haven't been back from your gold-hunting
trip to Alaska long enough to more than catch your breath, and now--"
"Oh, he doesn't have to go in this right away," eagerly explained Mr.
Gunmore. "There is plenty of time to make a new craft."
"Well, Tom can do as he likes about it," said his father. "Do you think
you could build anything speedier than your Butterfly, son?"
"I think so, father. That is, if you'd help me. I have a plan partly
thought out, but it will take some time to finish it. Still, I might
get it done in time."
"I hope you'll try!" exclaimed the secretary. "May I ask whether it
would be a monoplane or a biplane?"
"A monoplane, I think," answered Tom. "They are much more speedy than
the double-deckers, and if I'm going to try for the ten thousand
dollars I need the fastest machine I can build."
"We have the promise of one or two very fast monoplanes for the meet,"
went on Mr. Gunmore. "Would yours be of a new type?"
"I think it would," was the reply of the young inventor. "In fact, I am
thinking of making a smaller monoplane than any that have yet been
constructed, and yet one that will carry two persons. The hardest work
will be to make the engine light enough and still have it sufficiently
powerful to make over a hundred miles an hour, if necessary.
"A hundred miles an hour in a small monoplane! It isn't possible!"
cried the secretary.
"I'll make better time than that," said Tom quietly, and with not a
trace of boasting in his tones.
"Then you'll enter the meet?" asked Mr. Gunmore eagerly.
"Well, I'll think about it," promised Tom. "I'll let you know in a few
days. Meanwhile, I'll be thinking out the details for my new craft. I
have been going to build one ever since I got back, after having seen
my Red Cloud crushed in the ice cave. Now I think I had better begin
active work."
"I hope you will soon let me know," resumed the secretary. "I'm going
to put you down as a possible contestant for the ten-thousand-dollar
prize. That can do no harm, and I hope you win it. I trust--"
He paused suddenly, and listened. So did Tom Swift and his father, for
they all distinctly heard stealthy footsteps under the open windows of
the library.
"Some one is out there, listening," said Tom in low tones.
"Perhaps it's Eradicate Sampson," suggested Mr. Swift, referring to the
eccentric <DW52> man who was employed by the inventor and his son to
help around the place. "Very likely it was Eradicate, Tom."
"I don't think so," was the lad's answer. "He went to the village a
while ago, and said he wouldn't be back until late to-night. He had to
get some medicine for his mule, Boomerang, who is sick. No, it wasn't
Eradicate; but some one was under that window, trying to hear what we
said."
As he spoke in guarded tones, Tom went softly to the casement and
looked out. He could observe nothing, as the night was dark, and the
new moon, which had been shining, was now dimmed by clouds.
"See anything?" asked Mr. Gunmore as he advanced to Tom's side.
"No," was the low answer. "I can't hear anything now, either."
"I'll go speak to Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper," volunteered Mr.
Swift. "Perhaps it was she, or she may know something about it."
He started from the room, and as he went Tom noticed, with something of
a start, that his father appeared older that night than he had ever
looked before. There was a trace of pain on the face of the aged
inventor, and his step was lagging.
"I guess dad needs a rest and doctoring up," thought the young inventor
as he turned the electric chandelier off by a button on the wall, in
order to darken the room, so that he might peer out to better
advantage. "I think he's been working too hard on his wireless motor.
I must get Dr. Gladby to come over and see dad. But now I want to find
out who that was under this window."
Once more Tom looked out. The moon had emerged from behind a thin bank
of clouds, and gave a little light.
"See anything?" asked Mr. Gunmore cautiously.
"No," whispered the youth, for it being a warm might, the windows were
open top and bottom, a screen on the outside keeping out mosquitoes and
other insects. "I can't see a thing," went on Tom, "but I'm sure--"
He paused suddenly. As he spoke there sounded a rustling in the
shrubbery a little distance from the window.
"There's something!" exclaimed Mr. Gunmore.
"I see!" answered the young inventor.
Without another word he softly opened the screen, and then, stooping
down to get under the lower sash (for the windows in the library ran
all the way to the floor), Tom dropped out of the casement upon the
thick grass.
As he did so he was aware of a further movement in the bushes. They
were violently agitated, and a second later a dark object sprang from
them and sprinted along the path.
"Here! Who are you? Hold on!" cried the young inventor.
But the figure never halted. Tom sprang forward, determined to see who
it was, and, if possible, capture him.
"Hold on!" he cried again. There was no answer.
Tom was a good runner, and in a few seconds he had gained on the
fugitive, who could just be seen in the dim light from the crescent
moon.
"I've got you!" cried Tom.
But he was mistaken, for at that instant his foot caught on the
outcropping root of a tree, and the young inventor went flat on his
face.
"Just my luck!" he cried.
He was quickly on his feet again, and took after the fugitive. The
latter glanced back, and, as it happened, Tom had a good look at his
face. He almost came to a stop, so startled was he.
"Andy Foger!" he exclaimed as he recognized the bully who had always
proved himself such an enemy of our hero. "Andy Foger sneaking under my
windows to hear what I had to say about my new aeroplane! I wonder what
his game can be? I'll soon find out!"
Tom was about to resume the chase, when he lost sight of the figure. A
moment later he heard the puffing of an automobile, as some one cranked
it up.
"It's too late!" exclaimed Tom. "There he goes in his car!" And knowing
it would be useless to keep up the chase, the youth turned back toward
his house.
Chapter Two
Mr. Swift is Ill
"Who was it?" asked Mr. Gunmore as Tom again entered the library. "A
friend of yours?"
"Hardly a friend," replied Tom grimly. "It was a young fellow who has
made lots of trouble for me in the past, and who, lately, with his
father, tried to get ahead of me and some friends of mine in locating a
gold claim in Alaska. I don't know what he's up to now, but certainly
it wasn't any good. He's got nerve, sneaking up under our windows!"
"What do you think was his object?"
"It would be hard to say."
"Can't you find him to-morrow, and ask him?"
"There's not much satisfaction in that. The less I have to do with Andy
Foger the better I'm satisfied. Well, perhaps it's just as well I fell,
and couldn't catch him. There would have been a fight, and I don't want
to worry dad any more than I can help. He hasn't been very well of
late."
"No, he doesn't look very strong," agreed the secretary. "But I hope he
doesn't get sick, and I hope no bad consequences result from the
eavesdropping of this Foger fellow."
Tom started for the hall, to get a brush with which to remove some of
the dust gathered in his chase after Andy. As he opened the library
door to go out Mr. Swift came in again.
"I saw Mrs. Baggert, Tom," he said. "She wasn't out under the window,
and, as you said, Eradicate isn't about. His mule is in the barn, so it
couldn't have been the animal straying around."
"No, dad. It was Andy Foger."
"Andy Foger!"
"Yes. I couldn't catch him. But you'd better go lie down, father. It's
getting late, and you look tired."
"I am tired, Tom, and I think I'll go to bed. Have you finished your
arrangements with Mr. Gunmore?"
"Well, I guess we've gone as far as we can until I invent the new
aeroplane," replied Tom, with a smile.
"Then you'll really enter the meet?" asked the secretary eagerly.
"I think I will," decided Tom. "The prize of ten thousand dollars is
worth trying for, and besides that, I'll be glad to get to work again
on a speedy craft. Yes, I'll enter the meet."
"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Gunmore, shaking hands with the young inventor.
"I didn't have my trip for nothing, then. I'll go back in the morning
and report to the committee that I've been successful. I am greatly
obliged to you."
He left the Swift home, after refusing Tom's invitation to remain all
night, and went to his hotel. Tom then insisted that his father retire.
As for the young inventor, he was not satisfied with the result of his
attempt to catch Andy Foger. He had no idea why the bully was hiding
under the library window, but Tom surmised that some mischief might be
afoot.
"Sam Snedecker or Pete Bailey, the two cronies of Andy, may still be
around here, trying to play some trick on me," mused Tom. "I think I'll
take a look outside." And taking a stout cane from the umbrella rack,
the youth sallied forth into the yard and extensive grounds surrounding
his house.
While he is thus looking for possible intruders we will tell you a
little more about him than has been possible since the call of the
aviation secretary.
Tom Swift lived with his father, Barton Swift, in the town of Shopton,
New York State. The young man had followed in the footsteps of his
parent, and was already an inventor of note.
Their home was presided over by Mrs. Baggert, as housekeeper, since
Mrs. Swift had been dead several years. In addition, there was Garret
Jackson, an engineer, who aided Tom and his father, and Eradicate
Sampson, an odd <DW52> man, who, with his mule, Boomerang, worked
about the place.
In the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and his
Motor-Cycle," here was related how he came to possess that machine. A
certain Mr. Wakefield Damon, an eccentric gentleman, who was always
blessing himself, or something about him, owned the cycle, but he came
to grief on it, and sold it to Tom very cheaply.
Tom had a number of adventures on the wheel, and, after having used the
motor to save a valuable patent model from a gang of unscrupulous men,
the lad acquired possession of a power boat, in which he made several
trips, and took part in many exciting happenings.
Some time later, in company with John Sharp, an aeronaut, whom Tom had
rescued from Lake Carlopa, after the airman had nearly lost his life in
a burning balloon, the young inventor made a big airship, called the
Red Cloud. With Mr. Damon, Tom made several trips in this craft, as set
forth in the book, "Tom Swift and His Airship."
It was after this that Tom and his father built a submarine boat, and
went under the ocean for sunken treasure, and, following that trip Tom
built a speedy electric runabout, and by a remarkable run in that, with
Mr. Damon, saved a bank from ruin, bringing gold in time to stave off a
panic.
"Tom Swift and His Wireless Message" told of the young inventor's plan
to save the castaways of Earthquake Island, and how he accomplished it
by constructing a wireless plant from the remains of the wrecked
airship Whizzer. After Tom got back from Earthquake Island he went with
Mr. Barcoe Jenks, whom he met on the ill-fated bit of land, to discover
the secret of the diamond makers. They found the mysterious men, but
the trip was not entirely successful, for the mountain containing the
cave where the diamonds were made was destroyed by a lightning shock,
just as Mr. Parker, a celebrated scientist, who accompanied the party,
said it would be.
But his adventure in seeking to discover the secret of making precious
stones did not satisfy Tom Swift, and when he and his friends got back
from the mountains they prepared to go to Alaska to search for gold in
the caves of ice. They were almost defeated in their purpose by the
actions of Andy Foger and his father, who in an under-hand manner, got
possession of a valuable map, showing the location of the gold, and
made a copy of the drawing.
Then, when Tom and his friends set off in the Red Cloud, as related in
"Tom Swift in the Caves of Ice," the Fogers, in another airship, did
likewise. But Tom and his party were first on the scene, and
accomplished their purpose, though they had to fight the savage
Indians. The airship was wrecked in a cave of ice, that collapsed on
it, and the survivors had desperate work getting away from the frozen
North.
Tom had been home all the following winter and spring, and he had done
little more than work on some small inventions, when a new turn was
given his thoughts and energies by a visit from Mr. Gunmore, as
narrated in the first chapter of the present volume.
"Well, I guess no one is here," remarked the young inventor as he
completed the circuit of the grounds and walked slowly back toward the
house. "I think I scared Andy so that he won't come back right away. He
had the laugh on me, though, when I stumbled and fell."
As Tom proceeded he heard some one approaching, around the path at the
side of the house.
"Who's there?" he called quickly, taking a firmer grasp of his stick.
"It's me, Massa Swift," was the response. "I jest come back from town.
I got some peppermint fo' mah mule, Boomerang, dat's what I got."
"Oh! It's you, is it, Rad?" asked the youth in easier tones.
"Dat's who it am. Did yo' t'ink it were some un else?"
"I did," replied Tom. "Andy Foger has been sneaking around. Keep your
eyes open the rest of the night, Rad."
"I will, Massa Tom."
The youth went into the house, having left word with the engineer, Mr.
Jackson, to be on the alert for anything suspicious.
"And now I guess I'll go to bed, and make an early start to-morrow
morning, planning my new aeroplane," mused Tom. "I'm going to make the
speediest craft of the air ever seen!"
As he started toward his room Tom Swift heard the voice of the
housekeeper calling to him:
"Tom! Oh, Tom! Come here, quickly!"
"What's the matter?" he asked, in vague alarm.
"Something has happened to your father!" was the startling reply. "He's
fallen down, and is unconscious! Come quickly! Send for the doctor!"
Tom fairly ran toward his father's room.
Chapter Three
The Plans Disappear
Mr. Swift was lying on the floor, where he had fallen, in front of his
bed, as he was preparing to retire. There was no mark of injury upon
him, and at first, as he knelt down at his father's side, Tom was at a
loss to account for what had taken place.
"How did it happen? When was it?" he asked of Mrs. Baggert, as he held
up his father's head, and noted that the aged man was breathing
slightly.
"I don't know what happened, Tom," answered the housekeeper, "but I
heard him fall, and ran upstairs, only to find him lying there, just
like that. Then I called you. Hadn't you better have a doctor?"
"Yes; we'll need one at once. Send Eradicate. Tell him to run--not to
wait for his mule--Boomerang is too slow. Oh, no! The telephone, of
course! Why didn't I think of that at first? Please telephone for Dr.
Gladby, Mrs. Baggert. Ask him to come as soon as possible, and then
tell Garret Jackson to step here. I'll have him help me get father into
bed."
The housekeeper hastened to the instrument, and was soon in
communication with the physician, who promised to call at once. The
engineer was summoned from another part of the house, and then
Eradicate was aroused.
Mrs. Baggert had the <DW52> man help her get some kettles of hot water
in readiness for possible use by the doctor. Mr. Jackson aided Tom to
lift Mr. Swift up on the bed, and they got off some of his clothes.
"I'll try to see if I can revive him with a little aromatic spirits of
ammonia," decided Tom, as he noticed that his father was still
unconscious. He hastened to prepare the strong spirits, while he was
conscious of a feeling of fear and alarm, mingled with sadness.
Suppose his father should die? Tom could not bear to think of that. He
would be left all alone, and how much he would miss the companionship
and comradeship of his father none but himself knew.
"Oh! but I mustn't think he's going to die!" exclaimed the youth, as he
mixed the medicine.
Mr. | 231.604491 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: Josh Billings at home.--Preparing his new Lecture.]
JOSH BILLINGS,
Hiz Sayings.
WITH COMIC ILLUSTRATIONS.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
_Carleton, Publisher, Madison Square._
LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO.
M DCCC LXX.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by
G. W. CARLETON,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of
New York
TO
DEAKON URIAH BILLINGS,
(A man ov menny virtues, and sum vices) this book
iz completely dedikated--and may he hav
the strength tew stand it.
Hiz own nephew,
JOSHUA BILLINGS
Tred litely, dear reader, for the ^way iz ruff. This book waz got up
tew sell, but if it don't prove tew be a sell, I shan't worry about it.
J. BILLINGS.
CONTENTS.
Page.
I. JOSH BILLINGS ON THE MULE. 13
II. JOSH BILLINGS INSURES HIS LIFE. 15
III. REMARKS. 17
IV. ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. 19
V. A TABLOWS IN 4 ACKS. 22
VI. FEMALE EDDIKASHUN. 25
VII. DEPOZETIONS. 28
VIII. WAR AND ARMY PHRAZES. 31
IX. PASHUNCE OV JOB. 34
X. FRIENDLY LETTER. 35
XI. AFFURISIMS. 37
XII. JOSH BILLINGS ON CATS. 40
XIII. REMARKS. 43
XIV. JOSH BILLINGS ADDRESSES THE BILLINGSVILLE
SOWING SOSIETY. 45
XV. NOSHUNS. 47
XVI. SAYINS. 51
XVII. REMARKS. 53
XVIII. THE DEVIL'S PUTTY AND VARNISH. 56
XIX. MANIFEST DESTINY 59
XX. ANSWERS TO CONTRIBUTORS. 62
XXI. ON DOGS. 64
XXII. SAYINGS OF JOSH BILLINGS. 67
XXIII. FASHION. 70
XXIV. REMARKS. 73
XXV. PROVERBIAL PIG. 75
XXVI. PROVERBS. 77
XXVII. ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. 79
XXVIII. PROVERBS OF THE BILLINGS FAMILY. 82
XXIX. A FU REMARKS. 85
XXX. A LEKTURE TEW MALE YUNG MEN ONLY. 87
XXXI. CLEVER FELLOWS. 90
XXXII. AFFERISIMS. 92
XXXIII. ANSWERS TO CONTRIBUTORS. 94
XXXIV. A SHORT AND VERY AFFEKTING ESSA
ON MAN. 97
XXXV. THE RASE KOARSE. 100
XXXVI. "GIV THE DEVIL HIZ DUE." 106
XXXVII. WATCH DOGS. 108
XXXVIII. ANSWERS TO CONTRIBUTORS. 110
XXXIX. REMARKS. 113
XL. AN ESSA ONTO MUSIK. 117
XLI. "MAN WAZ MADE TEW MOURN." 120
XLII. PROVERBS. 122
XLIII. KISSING CONSIDERED. 124
XLIV. FOR A FU MINNITS AMONG THE SPEERITS. 128
XLV. SAYINGS. 131
XLVI. JOSH GOES TO LONG BRANCH. 133
XLVII. TO MY LADY CORRESPONDENTS. 137
XLVIII. ON WIDDERS. 140
XLIX. THINGS THAT I DON'T HANKER AFTER
TO SEE. 143
L. ON COURTING. 145
LI. REMARKS. 149
LII. THE FAULT FINDER. 152
LIII. PROVERBS. 154
LIV. KOLIDING. 156
LV. ON SNAIKS AND MUDTURKLES. 157
LVI. TRUE BILLS. 161
LVII. NARRATIF. 163
LVIII. PHOTOGRAPHS. 167
LIX. AFFERISIMS. 169
LX. JOSH GITS ORFULLY BIT. 172
LXI. THINGS THAT SUIT ME. 174
LXII. MY FIRST GONG. 176
LXIII. PROVERBS. 178
LXIV. DISIPLIN IZ EVRATHING--IN 2 PARTS. 181
LXV. CORRESPONDENTS. 183
LXVI. JOSH BILLINGS AT SARATOGA SPRINGS. 186
LXV | 231.702628 |
2023-11-16 18:20:55.6835800 | 3,324 | 6 |
Produced by John Bilderback, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
MEN, WOMEN, AND BOATS
By Stephen Crane
Edited With an Introduction by Vincent Starrett
NOTE
A Number of the tales and sketches here brought together appear now for
the first time between covers; others for the first time between covers
in this country. All have been gathered from out-of-print volumes and
old magazine files.
"The Open Boat," one of Stephen Crane's finest stories, is used with
the courteous permission of Doubleday, Page & Co., holders of the
copyright. Its companion masterpiece, "The Blue Hotel," because of
copyright complications, has had to be omitted, greatly to the regret
of the editor.
After the death of Stephen Crane, a haphazard and undiscriminating
gathering of his earlier tales and sketches appeared in London under
the misleading title, "Last Words." From this volume, now rarely met
with, a number of characteristic minor works have been selected, and
these will be new to Crane's American admirers; as follows: "The
Reluctant Voyagers," "The End of the Battle," "The Upturned Face," "An
Episode of War," "A Desertion," "Four Men in a Cave," "The Mesmeric
Mountain," "London Impressions," "The Snake."
Three of our present collection, printed by arrangement, appeared in
the London (1898) edition of "The Open Boat and Other Stories,"
published by William Heinemann, but did not occur in the American
volume of that title. They are "An Experiment in Misery," "The Duel
that was not Fought," and "The Pace of Youth."
For the rest, "A Dark Brown Dog," "A Tent in Agony," and "The Scotch
Express," are here printed for the first time in a book.
For the general title of the present collection, the editor alone is
responsible.
V. S.
MEN, WOMEN AND BOATS
CONTENTS
STEPHEN CRANE: _An Estimate_
THE OPEN BOAT
THE RELUCTANT VOYAGERS
THE END OF THE BATTLE
THE UPTURNED FACE
AN EPISODE OF WAR
AN EXPERIMENT IN MISERY
THE DUEL THAT WAS NOT FOUGHT
A DESERTION
THE DARK-BROWN DOG
THE PACE OF YOUTH
SULLIVAN COUNTY SKETCHES
A TENT IN AGONY
FOUR MEN IN A CAVE
THE MESMERIC MOUNTAIN
THE SNAKE
LONDON IMPRESSIONS
THE SCOTCH EXPRESS
STEPHEN CRANE: _AN ESTIMATE_
It hardly profits us to conjecture what Stephen Crane might have
written about the World War had he lived. Certainly, he would have been
in it, in one capacity or another. No man had a greater talent for war
and personal adventure, nor a finer art in describing it. Few writers
of recent times could so well describe the poetry of motion as
manifested in the surge and flow of battle, or so well depict the
isolated deed of heroism in its stark simplicity and terror.
To such an undertaking as Henri Barbusse's "Under Fire," that powerful,
brutal book, Crane would have brought an analytical genius almost
clairvoyant. He possessed an uncanny vision; a descriptive ability
photographic in its clarity and its care for minutiae--yet
unphotographic in that the big central thing often is omitted, to be
felt rather than seen in the occult suggestion of detail. Crane would
have seen and depicted the grisly horror of it all, as did Barbusse,
but also he would have seen the glory and the ecstasy and the wonder of
it, and over that his poetry would have been spread.
While Stephen Crane was an excellent psychologist, he was also a true
poet. Frequently his prose was finer poetry than his deliberate essays
in poesy. His most famous book, "The Red Badge of Courage," is
essentially a psychological study, a delicate clinical dissection of
the soul of a recruit, but it is also a _tour de force_ of the
imagination. When he wrote the book he had never seen a battle: he had
to place himself in the situation of another. Years later, when he came
out of the Greco-Turkish _fracas_, he remarked to a friend: "'The Red
Badge' is all right."
Written by a youth who had scarcely passed his majority, this book has
been compared with Tolstoy's "Sebastopol" and Zola's "La Debacle," and
with some of the short stories of Ambrose Bierce. The comparison with
Bierce's work is legitimate; with the other books, I think, less so.
Tolstoy and Zola see none of the traditional beauty of battle; they
apply themselves to a devoted--almost obscene--study of corpses and
carnage generally; and they lack the American's instinct for the rowdy
commonplace, the natural, the irreverent, which so materially aids his
realism. In "The Red Badge of Courage" invariably the tone is kept down
where one expects a height: the most heroic deeds are accomplished with
studied awkwardness.
Crane was an obscure free-lance when he wrote this book. The effort, he
says, somewhere, "was born of pain--despair, almost." It was a better
piece of work, however, for that very reason, as Crane knew. It is far
from flawless. It has been remarked that it bristles with as many
grammatical errors as with bayonets; but it is a big canvas, and I am
certain that many of Crane's deviations from the rules of polite
rhetoric were deliberate experiments, looking to effect--effect which,
frequently, he gained.
Stephen Crane "arrived" with this book. There are, of course, many who
never have heard of him, to this day, but there was a time when he was
very much talked of. That was in the middle nineties, following
publication of "The Red Badge of Courage," although even before that he
had occasioned a brief flurry with his weird collection of poems called
"The Black Riders and Other Lines." He was highly praised, and highly
abused and laughed at; but he seemed to be "made." We have largely
forgotten since. It is a way we have.
Personally, I prefer his short stories to his novels and his poems;
those, for instance, contained in "The Open Boat," in "Wounds in the
Rain," and in "The Monster." The title-story in that first collection
is perhaps his finest piece of work. Yet what is it? A truthful record
of an adventure of his own in the filibustering days that preceded our
war with Spain; the faithful narrative of the voyage of an open boat,
manned by a handful of shipwrecked men. But Captain Bligh's account of
_his_ small boat journey, after he had been sent adrift by the
mutineers of the _Bounty_, seems tame in comparison, although of the
two the English sailor's voyage was the more perilous.
In "The Open Boat" Crane again gains his effects by keeping down the
tone where another writer might have attempted "fine writing" and have
been lost. In it perhaps is most strikingly evident the poetic cadences
of his prose: its rhythmic, monotonous flow is the flow of the gray
water that laps at the sides of the boat, that rises and recedes in
cruel waves, "like little pointed rocks." It is a desolate picture, and
the tale is one of our greatest short stories. In the other tales that
go to make up the volume are wild, exotic glimpses of Latin-America. I
doubt whether the color and spirit of that region have been better
rendered than in Stephen Crane's curious, distorted, staccato sentences.
"War Stories" is the laconic sub-title of "Wounds in the Rain." It was
not war on a grand scale that Crane saw in the Spanish-American
complication, in which he participated as a war correspondent; no such
war as the recent horror. But the occasions for personal heroism were
no fewer than always, and the opportunities for the exercise of such
powers of trained and appreciative understanding and sympathy as Crane
possessed, were abundant. For the most part, these tales are episodic,
reports of isolated instances--the profanely humorous experiences of
correspondents, the magnificent courage of signalmen under fire, the
forgotten adventure of a converted yacht--but all are instinct with the
red fever of war, and are backgrounded with the choking smoke of
battle. Never again did Crane attempt the large canvas of "The Red
Badge of Courage." Before he had seen war, he imagined its immensity
and painted it with the fury and fidelity of a Verestchagin; when he
was its familiar, he singled out its minor, crimson passages for
briefer but no less careful delineation.
In this book, again, his sense of the poetry of motion is vividly
evident. We see men going into action, wave on wave, or in scattering
charges; we hear the clink of their accoutrements and their breath
whistling through their teeth. They are not men going into action at
all, but men going about their business, which at the moment happens to
be the capture of a trench. They are neither heroes nor cowards. Their
faces reflect no particular emotion save, perhaps, a desire to get
somewhere. They are a line of men running for a train, or following a
fire engine, or charging a trench. It is a relentless picture, ever
changing, ever the same. But it contains poetry, too, in rich,
memorable passages.
In "The Monster and Other Stories," there is a tale called "The Blue
Hotel". A Swede, its central figure, toward the end manages to get
himself murdered. Crane's description of it is just as casual as that.
The story fills a dozen pages of the book; but the social injustice of
the whole world is hinted in that space; the upside-downness of
creation, right prostrate, wrong triumphant,--a mad, crazy world. The
incident of the murdered Swede is just part of the backwash of it all,
but it is an illuminating fragment. The Swede was slain, not by the
gambler whose knife pierced his thick hide: he was the victim of a
condition for which he was no more to blame than the man who stabbed
him. Stephen Crane thus speaks through the lips of one of the
characters:--
"We are all in it! This poor gambler isn't even
a noun. He is a kind of an adverb. Every sin is
the result of a collaboration. We, five of us, have
collaborated in the murder of this Swede. Usually
there are from a dozen to forty women really involved
in every murder, but in this case it seems
to be only five men--you, I, Johnnie, Old Scully,
and that fool of an unfortunate gambler came
merely as a culmination, the apex of a human movement,
and gets all the punishment."
And then this typical and arresting piece of irony:--
"The corpse of the Swede, alone in the saloon,
had its eyes fixed upon a dreadful legend that
dwelt atop of the cash-machine: 'This registers the
amount of your purchase.'"
In "The Monster," the ignorance, prejudice and cruelty of an entire
community are sharply focussed. The realism is painful; one blushes for
mankind. But while this story really belongs in the volume called
"Whilomville Stories," it is properly left out of that series. The
Whilomville stories are pure comedy, and "The Monster" is a hideous
tragedy.
Whilomville is any obscure little village one may happen to think of.
To write of it with such sympathy and understanding, Crane must have
done some remarkable listening in Boyville. The truth is, of course, he
was a boy himself--"a wonderful boy," somebody called him--and was
possessed of the boy mind. These tales are chiefly funny because they
are so true--boy stories written for adults; a child, I suppose, would
find them dull. In none of his tales is his curious understanding of
human moods and emotions better shown.
A stupid critic once pointed out that Crane, in his search for striking
effects, had been led into "frequent neglect of the time-hallowed
rights of certain words," and that in his pursuit of color he "falls
occasionally into almost ludicrous mishap." The smug pedantry of the
quoted lines is sufficient answer to the charges, but in support of
these assertions the critic quoted certain passages and phrases. He
objected to cheeks "scarred" by tears, to "dauntless" statues, and to
"terror-stricken" wagons. The very touches of poetic impressionism that
largely make for Crane's greatness, are cited to prove him an
ignoramus. There is the finest of poetic imagery in the suggestions
subtly conveyed by Crane's tricky adjectives, the use of which was as
deliberate with him as his choice of a subject. But Crane was an
imagist before our modern imagists were known.
This unconventional use of adjectives is marked in the Whilomville
tales. In one of them Crane refers to the "solemn odor of burning
turnips." It is the most nearly perfect characterization of burning
turnips conceivable: can anyone improve upon that "solemn odor"?
Stephen Crane's first venture was "Maggie: A Girl of the Streets." It
was, I believe, the first hint of naturalism in American letters. It
was not a best-seller; it offers no solution of life; it is an episodic
bit of slum fiction, ending with the tragic finality of a Greek drama.
It is a skeleton of a novel rather than a novel, but it is a powerful
outline, written about a life Crane had learned to know as a newspaper
reporter in New York. It is a singularly fine piece of analysis, or a
bit of extraordinarily faithful reporting, as one may prefer; but not a
few French and Russian writers have failed to accomplish in two volumes
what Crane achieved in two hundred pages. In the same category is
"George's Mother," a triumph of inconsequential detail piling up with a
cumulative effect quite overwhelming.
Crane published two volumes of poetry--"The Black Riders" and "War is
Kind." Their appearance in print was jeeringly hailed; yet Crane was
only pioneering in the free verse that is today, if not definitely
accepted, at least more than tolerated. I like the following love poem
as well as any rhymed and conventionally metrical ballad that I know:--
"Should the wide world roll away,
Leaving black terror,
Limitless night,
Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
Would be to me essential,
If thou and thy white arms were there
And the fall to doom a long way."
"If war be kind," wrote a clever reviewer, when the second volume
appeared, "then Crane's verse may be poetry, | 231.70362 |
2023-11-16 18:20:55.6837380 | 5,491 | 13 | CULTIVATION OF THE POTATO; AND HOW TO COOK THE POTATO***
E-text prepared by Steven Giacomelli, Jeannie Howse, Irma Spehar, Janet
Blenkinship, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Core Historical Literature of Agriculture (CHLA), Albert R. Mann Library,
Cornell University (http://chla.library.cornell.edu/)
http://chla.library.cornell.edu/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=chla;idno=2923510
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed between tilde characters was in bold face in
the original (~bold face~).
[oe] represents the oe-ligature.
THE $100. PRIZE ESSAY ON THE CULTIVATION OF THE POTATO.
Prize offered by W. T. WYLIE and awarded to D. H. COMPTON.
HOW TO COOK THE POTATO,
_Furnished by Prof. BLOT._
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED. PRICE, 25 CENTS.
New-York:
ORANGE JUDD CO.,
No. 751 BROADWAY.
PRIZE ESSAY ON THE POTATO AND ITS CULTIVATION.
$100.
In the fall of 1868, I offered $100 as a prize for the best Essay on the
Cultivation of the Potato, under conditions then published; the prize to
be awarded by a committee composed of the following gentlemen, well
known in agricultural circles:
Colonel MASON C. WELD, Associate Editor of _American Agriculturist_.
A. S. FULLER, ESQ., of Ridgewood, N. J., the popular author of several
horticultural works, and Associate Editor of the _Hearth and Home_.
Dr. F. M. HEXAMER, who has made the cultivation of the potato a special
study.
In the month of January, 1870, the committee awarded the prize to D. A.
Compton; and this Essay is herewith submitted to the public in the hope
of stimulating a more intelligent and successful cultivation of the
Potato.
BELLEFONTE, PA., January, 1870.
W. T. WYLIE.
OFFICE OF THE AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST,
NEW-YORK, January, 1870.
REV. W. T. WYLIE: DEAR SIR: The essays submitted to us by Mr.
Bliss, according to your announcement, numbered about twenty.
Several could not be called essays from their brevity, and others
were exceedingly incomplete. About twelve, however, required and
were worthy of careful consideration. That of Mr. D. A. Compton, of
Hawley, Wayne County, Pa., was, in the opinion of your committee,
decidedly superior to the others as a practical treatise, sure to
be of use to potato-growers in every part of the country, and well
worthy the liberal prize offered by yourself.
In behalf of the committee, sincerely yours,
MASON C. WELD, _Chairman_.
POTATO CULTURE.
BY D. A. COMPTON, HAWLEY, PENNSYLVANIA.
The design of this little treatise is to present, with minuteness of
detail, that mode of culture which experience and observation have
proved to be best adapted to the production of the Potato crop.
It is written by one who himself holds the plow, and who has, since his
early youth, been engaged in agriculture in its various branches, to the
exclusion of other pursuits.
The statements which appear in the following pages are based upon actual
personal experience, and are the results of many experiments made to
test as many theories.
Throughout the Northern States of our country the potato is the third
of the three staple articles of food. It is held in such universal
esteem as to be regarded as nearly indispensable. This fact is
sufficient to render a thorough knowledge of the best varieties for use,
the character of soil best adapted to their growth, their cultivation
and after-care, matters of the highest importance to the farmers of the
United States.
The main object of this essay is so to instruct the novice in
potato-growing that he may be enabled to go to work understandingly and
produce the potato in its highest perfection, and realize from his
labors bestowed on the crop the greatest possible profits.
SOIL REQUIRED--ITS PREPARATION.
The potato is most profitably grown in a warm, dry, sandy, or gravelly
loam, well filled with decayed vegetable matters. The famous potato
lands of Lake County, Ohio, from which such vast quantities of potatoes
are shipped yearly, are yellow sand. This potato district is confined to
ridges running parallel with Lake Erie, which, according to geological
indications, have each at different periods defined its boundaries. This
sand owes much of its potato-growing qualities to the sedimentary
deposit of the lake and to manural properties furnished by the
decomposition of the shells of water-snails, shell-fish, etc., that
inhabited the waters.
New lands, or lands recently denuded of the forest, if sufficiently dry,
produce tubers of the most excellent quality. Grown on dry, new land,
the potato always cooks dry and mealy, and possesses an agreeable flavor
and aroma, not to be attained in older soils. In no argillaceous soil
can the potato be grown to perfection as regards quality. Large crops
on such soil may be obtained in favorable seasons, but the tubers are
invariably coarse-fleshed and ill-flavored. To produce roots of the best
quality, the ground must be dry, deep, and porous; and it should be
remembered that, to obtain very large crops, it is almost impossible to
get too much humus in the soil. Humus is usually added to arable land
either by plowing under green crops, such as clover, buckwheat, peas,
etc., or by drawing and working in muck obtained from swamps and low
places.
The muck should be drawn to the field in fall or winter, and exposed in
small heaps to the action of frost. In the following spring, sufficient
lime should be mixed with it to neutralize the acid, (which is found in
nearly all muck,) and the whole be spread evenly and worked into the
surface with harrow or cultivator.
Leaves from the woods, buckwheat straw, bean, pea, and hop vines, etc.,
plowed under long enough before planting to allow them time to rot, are
very beneficial. Sea-weed, when bountifully applied, and turned under
early in the fall, has no superior as a manure for the potato. No stable
or barn-yard manure should be applied to this crop. If such nitrogenous
manure must be used on the soil, it is better to apply it to some other
crop, to be followed the succeeding year by potatoes. The use of stable
manure predisposes the tubers to rot; detracts very much from the
desired flavor; besides, generally not more than one half as many
bushels can be grown per acre as can be obtained by using manures of a
different nature. Market gardeners, many of whom from necessity plant on
the same ground year after year, often use fine old stable manure with
profit. Usually they plant only the earlier varieties, crowd them with
all possible speed, dig early, and sell large and little before they
have time to rot, thus clearing the ground for later-growing vegetables.
Thus grown, potatoes are of inferior quality, and the yield is not
always satisfactory. Flavor, however, is seldom thought of by the hungry
denizens of our cities, in their eagerness to get a taste of something
fresh.
Market gardeners will find great benefit from the use of wood-ashes,
lime, and the phosphates. Sprinkle superphosphate in the hill at the
rate of two hundred pounds per acre; mix it slightly in the soil with an
iron rake or potato-hook, then plant the seed. Just before the last
hoeing, sprinkle on and around the hill a large handful of wood-ashes,
or an equal quantity of lime slacked in brine as strong as salt will
make it.
But for the generality of farmers, those who grow only their own supply,
or those who produce largely for market, no other method of preparing
the soil is so good, so easy, and so cheap as the following; it requires
time, but pays a big interest: Seed down the ground to clover with wheat
or oats. As soon as the grain is off, sow one hundred and fifty pounds
of plaster (gypsum) per acre, and keep off all stock. The next spring,
when the clover has made a growth of two inches, sow the same quantity
of plaster again. About the tenth of July, harrow down the clover,
driving the same direction and on the same sized lands you wish to plow;
then plow the clover neatly under about seven inches deep. Harrow down
the same way it was plowed, and immediately sow and harrow in two
bushels of buckwheat per acre. When it has grown two inches, sow plaster
as before; and when the buckwheat has grown as large as it will, harrow
down and plow under about five inches deep. This, when cross-plowed in
the spring sufficiently deep to bring up the clover-sod, is potato
ground _first-class in all respects_.
It is hardly supposable that this mode of preparation of soil would meet
with favor among all farmers. There is a parsimonious class of
cultivators who would consider it a downright loss of time, seed, and
labor; but any one who will take the trouble to investigate, will find
that these same parsimonious men never produced four hundred bushels of
potatoes per acre; and that the few bushels of small tubers that they do
dig from an acre, are produced at considerable loss. "Men do not gather
grapes from thorns, nor figs from thistles."
To make potato-growing profitable in these times of high prices of land
and labor, it is absolutely necessary that the soil be in every way
fitted to meet any and all demands of the crop.
It is said that in the State of Maine, previous to the appearance of the
potato disease, and before the soil had become exhausted by continued
cropping, potatoes yielded an average of four hundred bushels per acre.
Now, every observer is aware that the present average yield of the same
vegetable is much less than half what it was formerly. This great
deterioration in yield can not be attributed to "running out" of
varieties; for varieties are extant which have not yet passed their
prime. It can not be wholly due to disease; for disease does not occur
in every season and in every place. True, we have more insects than
formerly, but they can not be responsible for all the great falling off.
It is traceable mainly to poverty of the soil in certain ingredients
imperatively needed by the crop for its best development, and to the
pernicious effect of enriching with nitrogenous manures. Any one who
will plant on suitably dry soil, enriched only with forest-leaves,
sea-weeds, or by plowing under green crops until the whole soil to a
proper depth is completely filled with vegetable matter, will find to
his satisfaction that the potato can yet be grown in all its pristine
vigor and productiveness.
To realize from potato-growing the greatest possible profits, (and
profits are what we are all after,) the following conditions must be
strictly adhered to: First, the ground chosen _must be dry_, either
naturally or made so by thorough drainage; a gently sloping, deep, sandy
or gravelly loam is preferable. Second, the land should be liberally
enriched with humus by some of the means mentioned, if it is not already
present in the soil in sufficient quantities, and the soil should be
deeply and thoroughly plowed, rendering it light, porous, and
pulverulent, that the air and moisture may easily penetrate to any
desirable depth of it; and a proper quantity of either wood-ashes or
lime, or both, mixed with common salt, should be harrowed into the
surface before planting, or be applied on top of the hills immediately
after planting. And, finally, the cultivation and after-care should be
_prompt_, and given as soon as needed. Nothing is more conducive to
failure, after the crop is properly planted, than failure in promptness
in the cultivation and care required.
GENERAL REMARKS ON MANURING WITH GREEN CROPS.
Experience proves that no better method can be adopted to bring up lands
partially exhausted, which are remote from cities, than plowing under
green crops. By this plan the farmer can take lot after lot, and soon
bring all up to a high state of fertility. True, he gathers no crop for
one year, but the outlay is little; and if in the second year he gathers
as much from one acre as he formerly did from three, he is still
largely the gainer.
It costs no more to cultivate an acre of rich, productive land than an
acre of poor, unproductive land; and the pleasure and profit of
harvesting a crop that abundantly rewards the husbandman for his care
and labor are so overwhelmingly in favor of rich land as to need no
comment. Besides, manuring with green crops is not transitory in its
effects; the land remembers the generous treatment for many years, and
if at times lime or ashes be added to assist decomposition, will
continue to yield remunerative crops long after land but once treated
with stable manure or guano fails to produce any thing but weeds. The
skinning process, the taking off of every thing grown on the soil and
returning nothing to it, is ruinous alike to farm and farmer. Thousands
of acres can be found in various parts of the country too poor to pay
for cultivating without manuring. Of the capabilities of their lands
under proper treatment the owners thereof have no idea whatever. Such
men say they can not make enough manure on the farm and are too poor to
buy. Why not, then, commence plowing under green crops, the only manure
within easy reach? If fifty acres can not be turned under the first
year, put at least one acre under, which will help feed the rest. Why be
contented with thirty bushels of corn per acre, when eighty or one
hundred may be had? Why raise eight or twelve bushels of wheat per acre,
when forty may as well be had? Why cut but one half-ton of hay per acre,
when the laws of nature allow at least three? Why spend precious time
digging only one hundred bushels of potatoes per acre, when with proper
care and culture three or four hundred may easily be obtained? And,
finally, why toil and sweat, and have the poor dumb beasts toil and
sweat, cultivating thirty acres for the amount of produce that should
grow, may grow, can grow, and has grown on ten acres?
The poorest, most forsaken side-hills, cobble-hills, and knolls, if the
sand or gravel be of moderate depth, underlaid by a subsoil rather
retentive, by turning under green crops grow potatoes of the first
quality. If land be so poor that clover will not take, as is sometimes
the case, seed to clover with millet very early in the spring, and
harrow in with the millet thirty bushels of wood-ashes, or two hundred
pounds of guano per acre; then sow the clover-seed one peck per acre;
brush it in.
If neither ashes nor guano can be obtained at a reasonable price, sow
two hundred pounds of gypsum per acre as soon as the bushing is
completed. This will not fail in giving the clover a fair foothold on
the soil.
Before the millet blossoms, cut and cure it for hay. Keep all stock off
the clover, plaster it the following spring, plow it under when in full
bloom; sow buckwheat immediately; when up, sow plaster; when in full
bloom, plow under and sow the ground immediately with rye, to be plowed
under the next May. Thus three crops are put under within a year, the
ground is left strong, light, porous, free from weeds, ready to grow a
large crop of potatoes, or almost any thing else.
Much is gained every way by having and keeping land in a high state of
fertility. Some crops require so long a season for growth, that high
condition of soil is absolutely necessary to carry them through to
maturity in time to escape autumnal frosts. In the Western States manure
has hitherto been considered of but little value. The soil of these
States was originally very rich in humus. For a time wheat was produced
at the rate of forty bushels per acre; but according to the statistics
given by the Agricultural Department at Washington, for the year 1866,
the average yield in some of these States was but four and a half
bushels per acre. It is evident from this that Mr. Skinflint has had
things pretty much his own way. His land now produces four and a half
bushels per acre; what time shall elapse when it shall be four and one
half acres per bushel? Who dare predict that manure will not at some day
be of value west of the Alleghanies? New-Jersey, with a soil naturally
inferior to that of Illinois, contains extensive tracts that yearly
yield over one hundred bushels of Indian corn per acre, while the
average of the State is over forty-three; and the average yield of the
same cereal in Illinois is but little over thirty-one bushels per acre.
In the Western States, where potatoes are grown extensively for Southern
markets, the average yield is about eighty bushels per acre; while in
old Pennsylvania could be shown the last year potatoes yielding at the
rate of six hundred and forty bushels per acre. There are those who
argue that manure is never necessary--that plant-food is supplied in
abundance by the atmosphere; it was also once said a certain man had
taught his horse to live without eating; but it so happened that just as
he got the animal perfectly schooled, it died.
Good, thorough cultivation and aeration of the soil undoubtedly do much
toward the production of crops; but mere manipulation is not all that is
needed.
That growing plants draw much nourishment from the atmosphere, and
appropriate largely of its constituents in building up their tissue, is
certainly true; it is also certainly true that they require something of
the soil besides mere anchorage. All facts go to show that if the
constituents needed by the plant from the soil are not present in the
soil, the efforts of the plant toward proper development are abortive?
What sane farmer expects to move a heavy load over a rugged road with a
team so lean and poverty-stricken that they cast but a faint shadow? Yet
is he much nearer sanity when he expects farming to be pleasant and
profitable, and things to _move aright_, unless his land is strong and
fat? Is he perfectly sane when he thinks he can skin his farm year after
year, and not finally come to the bone? The farmer on exhausted land
must of necessity use manure. Manure of _some_ kind must go under, or he
must go under; and to the great mass of cultivators no mode of enriching
is so feasible, so cheap, and attended with such satisfactory results,
as that of plowing under green crops.
The old plan of leaving an exhausted farm, and going West in search of
rich "government land," must soon be abandoned. Already the head of the
column of land-hunters have "fetched up" against the Pacific, and it is
doubtful whether their anxious gaze will discover any desirable
unoccupied soil over its waters.
The writer would not be understood as saying that all farms are
exhausted, or that there is _no_ way of recuperation but by plowing
under green crops. What he wishes understood is, that where poor, sandy,
or gravelly lands are found, which bring but small returns to the owner,
by subjecting them to the process indicated, such lands bring good crops
of the kind under consideration. And further, that land in the proper
condition to yield a maximum crop of potatoes, is fitted to grow other
crops equally well. Neither would the writer be understood as arguing
that a crop of clover and one of buckwheat should be turned under for
each crop of potatoes; where land is already in high condition, it may
not be necessary. A second growth of clover plowed under in the fall for
planting early kinds, and a clean clover sod turned in _flat_ furrows in
the spring, for the late market varieties, answer very well. To turn
flat furrows, take the furrow-slice wide enough to have it fall
completely inside the preceding one.
Potatoes should not be planted year after year on the same ground;
trouble with weeds and rapid deterioration of quality and quantity of
tubers soon render the crop unprofitable. Loamy soil planted
continuously soon becomes compact, heavy, and lifeless. Where of
necessity potatoes must be grown yearly on the same soil, it is
advisable to dig rather early, and bury the vines of each hill in the
one last dug; then harrow level, and sow rye to be plowed under next
planting time.
The intelligent farmer, who grows large crops for market, will always so
arrange as to have a clover-sod on dry land in high condition each year
for potatoes. It is said by many, in regard to swine, that "the breed is
in the trough;" though this is certainly untrue to a certain extent, yet
it is undeniable that in potato-growing success or failure is in the
character of soil chosen for their production.
Why clover, or clover and buckwheat lands, are so strongly urged is,
such lands have in them just what the tubers need for their best and
healthiest development; the soil is rendered so rich, light, and porous,
and so free from weeds, that the cultivation of such land is rather a
pleasure than otherwise, and at the close of the season the tangible
profits in dollars and cents are highly gratifying.
VARIETIES.
From the fact that the United States produce about 109,000,000 bushels
of potatoes annually, it might be supposed a great many varieties would
be cultivated. Such, however, is not the fact. Of the varieties extant,
comparatively few are grown extensively.
Every grower's observation has established the fact that for quality the
early varieties are inferior to the late ones. The Early June is very
early, but its quality is quite indifferent. The Cherry Blow is early,
attains good size, and yields rather well. In quality it is poor. The
Early Kidney, as to quality, is good, but will not yield enough to pay
for cultivation. The Cowhorn, said to be the Mexican yam, is quite
early, of first quality, but yields very poorly. The Michigan White
Sprout is early, rather productive, and good. Jackson White is in
quality quite good, is early, and a favorite in some places. The Monitor
is rather early, yields large crops; but as its quality is below par, it
brings a low price in market. Philbrick's Early White is one of the
whitest-skinned and whitest-fleshed potatoes known. It is about as early
as Early Goodrich, is quite productive, and grows to a large size, with
but few small ones to the hill. Its quality is excellent. It has not yet
been extensively tested. The Early Rose is said to be very early, of
excellent quality, and to yield extremely well. It has, however, not
been very widely tested. Perhaps for earliness and satisfactory product,
the Early Goodrich has no superior. It is of fair quality, and though
some seasons it does not yield as well as others, yet, all things
considered, it is a desirable variety. The old Neshannock, or Mercer, is
among the latest of the early varieties. As to quality, it is the
standard of excellence of the whole potato family. But it yields rather
poorly, and its liability to rot, except on soils especially fitted for
it, has so discouraged growers that its cultivation in many sections is
abandoned. On rather poor, sandy soil, manured in the hill with
wood-ashes, common salt, and plaster only, it will produce in ordinary
seasons two hundred bushels per acre of sound, merchantable tubers, that
will always command the highest market price. Any potato cultivated for
a long series of years will gradually become finer in texture and better
in quality; but its liability to disease will also be greatly increased.
As an instance of this, it will be remembered that when the Merino and
California varieties were first introduced | 231.703778 |
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E-text prepared by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive/American Libraries (https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 50744-h.htm or 50744-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/britishriflemanj00simm
A BRITISH RIFLE MAN
The Journals and Correspondence of Major George Simmons,
Rifle Brigade, During the Peninsular War and the Campaign of
Waterloo
Edited, with Introduction, by
Lieut.-Colonel Willoughby Verner
Late Rifle Brigade
Author of 'Sketches in the Soudan,' etc.
With Three Maps
London
A. & C. Black, Soho Square
1899
All rights reserved
To
GENERAL HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS
THE DUKE OF CONNAUGHT AND STRATHEARN,
COLONEL-IN-CHIEF OF THE RIFLE BRIGADE,
FORMERLY (1803-1816) STYLED THE 95TH RIFLES AND
(1800-1802) THE RIFLE CORPS,
THIS VOLUME
IN WHICH A BRITISH RIFLE MAN RECOUNTS HIS PERSONAL
KNOWLEDGE OF MANY OF THE DEEDS THAT HAVE
MADE THE NAME OF THE REGIMENT
SO FAMOUS
IS (BY PERMISSION) DEDICATED
BY HIS MOST HUMBLE AND OBEDIENT SERVANT
WILLOUGHBY VERNER,
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL, LATE OF THE RIFLE BRIGADE.
SKETCH MAPS
Illustrating the operations on the Coa and Agueda _Facing page_ 198
Illustrating movements during the Campaigns of 1809-12 " " 272
Illustrating movements during the Campaigns of 1813-14 " " 350
CONTENTS
Introduction Page xi
Commencement of the Peninsular War. Campaign of 1808 1
Campaign of 1809 2
CHAPTER I
Letter No. I., To his Parents, from Hythe and Dover, dated 21st May
1809—Journal, May-July 1809—Letter No. II., To his Parents, from
Castello Branco, dated 18th July 1809 4
CHAPTER II
Journal, July-December 1809—Letter No. III., To his Parents, from Campo
Mayor, dated September 1809—Letter No. IV., To his Parents, from Campo
Mayor, dated 29th October 1809—Journal, December 1809 19
Campaign of 1810 43
CHAPTER III
Journal, 1st January-27th February 1810—Letter No. V., To his Parents,
from Villar Torpin, dated 28th February 1810—Journal, 4th March-30th
April 1810—Letter No. VI., To his Father, from Villar de Ciérvos, dated
30th April 1810 44
CHAPTER IV
Journal, 7th May-8th August 1810—Letter No. VII., To his Parents, from
Lisbon, dated 10th August 1810 66
CHAPTER V
Journal, August-September 1810—Letter No. VIII., To his Parents, from
Pedroso, Lisbon, dated 30th September 1810—Journal, October-December
1810—Letter No. IX., To his Parents, from Lisbon, dated 16th December
1810 98
Campaign of 1811 127
CHAPTER VI
Letter No. X., To his Parents, from Lisbon, dated 11th January
1811—Journal, January-25th March 1811—Letter No. XI., To his Parents,
from Mello, dated 26th March 1811 129
CHAPTER VII
Journal, 26th March-26th May 1811—Letter No. XII., To his Parents, from
Espeja, dated 18th May 1811 158
CHAPTER VIII
Journal, 26th May-21st August 1811—Letter No. XIII., To his Parents,
from Martiago, dated 26th August 1811—Journal, 29th August-30th
September 1811—Letter No. XIV., To Lieutenant Maud Simmons, 34th
Regiment, 2nd Division, Portugal, from Aldea Velha, Portugal, dated 1st
October 1811—Journal, 1st October-20th December 1811—Letter No. XV., To
his Parents, from Atalaya, Spain, dated 8th December 1811 185
Campaign of 1812 213
CHAPTER IX
Journal, 4th January-30th July 1812 216
CHAPTER X
Journal, 1st-31st August 1812—Letter No. XVI., To his Parents, from
Madrid, dated 8th September 1812—Journal, 1st September-31st December
1812—Letter No. XVII., To his Parents, from Alameda, Spain, dated 12th
December 1812—Letter No. XVIII., To his Father, from Alameda, Spain,
dated 29th December 1812 245
Campaign of 1813 273
CHAPTER XI
Letter No. XIX., To his Father, from Alameda, dated 30th April
1813—Letter No. XX., From Lieutenant Joseph Simmons to his
Parents, from Alameda, dated 5th May 1813 (Postscript by George
Simmons)—Journal, 1st May-30th August 1813 275
CHAPTER XII
Letter No. XXI., To his Parents, from Vera, Pyrenees, dated 30th August
1813—Postscript | 231.706316 |
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Transcribed from the 1893 Oliphant Anderson and Ferrier edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
BUNYAN CHARACTERS: FIRST SERIES
BEING LECTURES DELIVERED IN ST. GEORGE'S FREE CHURCH EDINBURGH
BY ALEXANDER WHYTE, D.D.
INTRODUCTORY
'The express image' [Gr. 'the character'].--Heb. 1. 3.
The word 'character' occurs only once in the New Testament, and that is
in the passage in the prologue of the Epistle to the Hebrews, where the
original word is translated 'express image' in our version. Our Lord is
the Express Image of the Invisible Father. No man hath seen God at any
time. The only-begotten Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, He hath
declared Him. The Father hath sealed His divine image upon His Son, so
that he that hath seen the Son hath seen the Father. The Son is thus the
Father's character stamped upon and set forth in human nature. The Word
was made flesh. This is the highest and best use to which our so
expressive word 'character' has ever been put, and the use to which it is
put when we speak of Bunyan's Characters partakes of the same high sense
and usage. For it is of the outstanding good or evil in a man that we
think when we speak of his character. It is really either of his
likeness or unlikeness to Jesus Christ we speak, and then, through Him,
his likeness or unlikeness to God Himself. And thus it is that the
adjective'moral' usually accompanies our word 'character'--moral or
immoral. A man's character does not have its seat or source in his body;
character is not a physical thing: not even in his mind; it is not an
intellectual thing. Character comes up out of the will and out of the
heart. There are more good minds, as we say, in the world than there are
good hearts. There are more clever people than good people;
character,--high, spotless, saintly character,--is a far rarer thing in
this world than talent or even genius. Character is an infinitely better
thing than either of these, and it is of corresponding rarity. And yet
so true is it that the world loves its own, that all men worship talent,
and even bodily strength and bodily beauty, while only one here and one
there either understands or values or pursues moral character, though it
is the strength and the beauty and the sweetness of the soul.
We naturally turn to Bishop Butler when we think of moral character.
Butler is an author who has drawn no characters of his own. Butler's
genius was not creative like Shakespeare's or Bunyan's. Butler had not
that splendid imagination which those two masters in character-painting
possessed, but he had very great gifts of his own, and he has done us
very great service by means of his gifts. Bishop Butler has helped many
men in the intelligent formation of their character, and what higher
praise could be given to any author? Butler will lie on our table all
winter beside Bunyan; the bishop beside the tinker, the philosopher
beside the poet, the moralist beside the evangelical minister.
In seeking a solid bottom for our subject, then, we naturally turn to
Butler. Bunyan will people the house for us once it is built, but Butler
lays bare for us the naked rock on which men like Bunyan build and
beautify and people the dwelling-place of God and man. What exactly is
this thing, character, we hear so much about? we ask the sagacious
bishop. And how shall we understand our own character so as to form it
well till it stands firm and endures? 'Character,' answers Butler, in
his bald, dry, deep way, 'by character is meant that temper, taste,
disposition, whole frame of mind from whence we act in one way rather
than another... those principles from which a man acts, when they
become fixed and habitual in him we call his character... And
consequently there is a far greater variety in men's characters than
there is in the features of their faces.' Open Bunyan now, with Butler's
keywords in your mind, and see the various tempers, tastes, dispositions,
frames of mind from which his various characters act, and which, at
bottom, really make them the characters, good or bad, which they are. See
the principles which Bunyan has with such inimitable felicity embodied
and exhibited in their names, the principles within them from which they
have acted till they have become a habit and then a character, that
character which they themselves are and will remain. See the variety of
John Bunyan's characters, a richer and a more endless variety than are
the features of their faces. Christian and Christiana, Obstinate and
Pliable, Mr. Fearing and Mr. Feeblemind, Temporary and Talkative, Mr. By-
ends and Mr. Facing-both-ways, Simple, Sloth, Presumption, that brisk lad
Ignorance, and the genuine Mr. Brisk himself. And then Captain Boasting,
Mr. High-mind, Mr. Wet-Eyes, and so on, through a less known (but equally
well worth knowing) company of municipal and military characters in the
_Holy War_.
We shall see, as we proceed, how this and that character in Bunyan was
formed and deformed. But let us ask in this introductory lecture if we
can find out any law or principle upon which all our own characters, good
or bad, are formed. Do our characters come to be what they are by
chance, or have we anything to do in the formation of our own characters,
and if so, in what way? And here, again, Butler steps forward at our
call with his key to our own and to all Bunyan's characters in his hand,
and in three familiar and fruitful words he answers our question and
gives us food for thought and solemn reflection for a lifetime. There
are but three steps, says Butler, from earth to heaven, or, if you will,
from earth to hell--acts, habits, character. All Butler's prophetic
burden is bound up in these three great words--acts, habits, character.
Remember and ponder these three words, and you will in due time become a
moral philosopher. Ponder and practise them, and you will become what is
infinitely better--a moral man. For acts, often repeated, gradually
become habits, and habits, long enough continued, settle and harden and
solidify into character. And thus it is that the severe and laconic
bishop has so often made us shudder as he demonstrated it to us that we
are all with our own hands shaping our character not only for this world,
but much more for the world to come, by every act we perform, by every
word we speak, almost by every breath we draw. Butler is one of the most
terrible authors in the world. He stands on our nearest shelf with Dante
on one side of him and Pascal on the other. He is indeed terrible, but
it is with a terror that purifies the heart and keeps the life in the
hour of temptation. Paul sometimes arms himself with the same terror;
only he composes in another style than that of Butler, and, with all his
vivid intensity, he calls it the terror of the Lord. Paul and Bunyan are
of the same school of moralists and stylists; Butler went to school to
the Stoics, to Aristotle, and to Plato.
Our Lord Himself came to be the express image He was and is by living and
acting under this same universal law of human life--acts, habits,
character. He was made perfect on this same principle. He learned
obedience both by the things that He did, and the things that He
suffered. Butler says in one deep place, that benevolence and justice
and veracity are the basis of all good character in God and in man, and
thus also in the God-man. And those three foundation stones of our
Lord's character settled deeper and grew stronger to bear and to suffer
as He went on practising acts and speaking words of justice, goodness,
and truth. And so of all the other elements of His moral character. Our
Lord left Gethsemane a much more submissive and a much more surrendered
man than He entered it. His forgiveness of injuries, and thus His
splendid benevolence, had not yet come to its climax and crown till He
said on the cross, 'Father, forgive them'. And, as He was, so are we in
this world. This world's evil and ill-desert made it but the better
arena and theatre for the development and the display of His moral
character; and the same instruments that fashioned Him into the perfect
and express image He was and is, are still, happily, in full operation.
Take that divinest and noblest of all instruments for the carving out and
refining of moral character, the will of God. How our Lord made His own
unselfish and unsinful will to bow to silence and to praise before the
holy will of His Father, till that gave the finishing touch to His always
sanctified will and heart! And, happily, that awful and blessed
instrument for the formation of moral character is still active and
available to those whose ambition rises to moral character, and who are | 231.708159 |
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Produced by A. Light and L. Bowser
THE CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT
by Edwin Arlington Robinson
[Maine Poet -- 1869-1935.]
1905 printing of the 1897 edition
[Note on text: Italicized stanzas have been indented 5 spaces.
Italicized words or phrases have been capitalized.
Lines longer than 77 characters have been broken according to metre,
and the continuation is indented two spaces. Also,
some obvious errors have been corrected.]
To the Memory of my Father and Mother
Contents:
The Children of the Night
Three Quatrains
The World
An Old Story
Ballade of a Ship
Ballade by the Fire
Ballade of Broken Flutes
Ballade of Dead Friends
Her Eyes
Two Men
Villanelle of Change
John Evereldown
Luke Havergal
The House on the Hill
Richard Cory
Two Octaves
Calvary
Dear Friends
The Story of the Ashes and the Flame
For Some Poems by Matthew Arnold
Amaryllis
Kosmos
Zola
The Pity of the Leaves
Aaron Stark
The Garden
Cliff Klingenhagen
Charles Carville's Eyes
The Dead Village
Boston
Two Sonnets
The Clerks
Fleming Helphenstine
For a Book by Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hood
The Miracle
Horace to Leuconoe
Reuben Bright
The Altar
The Tavern
Sonnet
George Crabbe
Credo
On the Night of a Friend's Wedding
Sonnet
Verlaine
Sonnet
Supremacy
The Night Before
Walt Whitman
The Chorus of Old Men in "Aegeus"
The Wilderness
Octaves
Two Quatrains
Romance
The Torrent
L'Envoi
The Children of the Night
For those that never know the light,
The darkness is a sullen thing;
And they, the Children of the Night,
Seem lost in Fortune's winnowing.
But some are strong and some are weak, --
And there's the story. House and home
Are shut from countless hearts that seek
World-refuge that will never come.
And if there be no other life,
And if there be no other chance
To weigh their sorrow and their strife
Than in the scales of circumstance,
'T were better, ere the sun go down
Upon the first day we embark,
In life's imbittered sea to drown,
Than sail forever in the dark.
But if there be a soul on earth
So blinded with its own misuse
Of man's revealed, incessant worth,
Or worn with anguish, that it views
No light but for a mortal eye,
No rest but of a mortal sleep,
No God but in a prophet's lie,
No faith for "honest doubt" to keep;
If there be nothing, good or bad,
But chaos for a soul to trust, --
God counts it for a soul gone mad,
And if God be God, He is just.
And if God be God, He is Love;
And though the Dawn be still so dim,
It shows us we have played enough
With creeds that make a fiend of Him.
There is one creed, and only one,
That glorifies God's excellence;
So cherish, that His will be done,
The common creed of common sense.
It is the crimson, not the gray,
That charms the twilight of all time;
It is the promise of the day
That makes the starry sky sublime;
It is the faith within the fear
That holds us to the life we curse; --
So let us in ourselves revere
The Self which is the Universe!
Let us, the Children of the Night,
Put off the cloak that hides the scar!
Let us be Children of the Light,
And tell the ages what we are!
Three Quatrains
I
As long as Fame's imperious music rings
Will poets mock it with crowned words august;
And haggard men will clamber to be kings
As long as Glory weighs itself in dust.
II
Drink to the splendor of the unfulfilled,
Nor shudder for the revels that are done:
The wines that flushed Lucullus are all spilled,
The strings that Nero fingered are all gone.
III
We cannot crown ourselves with everything,
Nor can we coax the Fates for us to quarrel:
No matter what we are, or what we sing,
Time finds a withered leaf in every laurel.
The World
Some are the brothers of all humankind,
And own them, whatsoever their estate;
And some, for sorrow and self-scorn, are blind
With enmity for man's unguarded fate.
For some there is a music all day long
Like flutes in Paradise, they are so glad;
And there is hell's eternal under-song
Of curses and the cries of men gone mad.
Some say the Scheme with love stands luminous,
Some say 't were better back to chaos hurled;
And so 't is what we are that makes for us
The measure and the meaning of the world.
An Old Story
Strange that I did not know him then,
That friend of mine!
I did not even show him then
One friendly sign;
But cursed him for the ways he had
To make me see
My envy of the praise he had
For praising me.
I would have rid the earth of him
Once, in my pride!...
I never knew the worth of him
Until he died.
Ballade of a Ship
Down by the flash of the restless water
The dim White Ship like a white bird lay;
Laughing at life and the world they sought her,
And out she swung to the silvering bay.
Then off they flew on their roystering way,
And the keen moon fired the light foam flying
Up from the flood where the faint stars play,
And the bones of the brave in the wave are lying.
'T was a king's fair son with a king's fair daughter,
And full three hundred beside, they say, --
Revelling on for the lone, cold slaughter
So soon to seize them and hide them for aye;
But they danced and they drank and their souls grew gay,
Nor ever they knew of a ghoul's eye spying
Their splendor a flickering phantom to stray
Where the bones of the brave in the wave are lying.
Through the mist of a drunken dream they brought her
(This wild white bird) for the sea-fiend's prey:
The pitiless reef in his hard clutch caught her,
And hurled her down where the dead men stay.
A torturing silence of wan dismay --
Shrieks and curses of mad souls dying --
Then down they sank to slumber and sway
Where the bones of the brave in the wave are lying.
ENVOY
Prince, do you sleep to the sound alway
Of the mournful surge and the sea-birds' crying? --
Or does love still shudder and steel still slay,
Where the bones of the brave in the wave are lying?
Ballade by the Fire
Slowly I smoke and hug my knee,
The while a witless masquerade
Of things that only children see
Floats in a mist of light and shade:
They pass, a flimsy cavalcade,
And with a weak, remindful glow,
The falling embers break and fade,
As one by one the phantoms go.
Then, with a melancholy glee
To think where once my fancy strayed,
I muse on what the years may be
Whose coming tales are all unsaid,
Till tongs and shovel, snugly laid
Within their shadowed niches, grow
By grim degrees to pick and spade,
As one by one the phantoms go.
But then, what though the mystic Three
Around me ply their merry trade? --
And Charon soon may carry me
Across the gloomy Stygian glade? --
Be up, my soul! nor be afraid
Of what some unborn year may show;
But mind your human debts are paid,
As one by one the phantoms go.
ENVOY
Life is the game that must be played:
This truth at least, good friend, we know;
So live and laugh, nor be dismayed
As one by one the phantoms go.
Ballade of Broken Flutes
(To A. T. Schumann.)
In dreams I crossed a barren land,
A land of ruin, far away;
Around me hung on every hand
A deathful stillness of decay;
And silent, as in bleak dismay
That song should thus forsaken be,
On that forgotten ground there lay
The broken flutes of Arcady.
The forest that was all so grand
When pipes and tabors had their sway
Stood leafless now, a ghostly band
Of skeletons in cold array.
A lonely surge of ancient spray
Told of an unforgetful sea,
But iron blows had hushed for aye
The broken flutes of Arcady.
No more by summer breezes fanned,
The place was desolate and gray;
But still my dream was to command
New life into that shrunken clay.
I tried it. Yes, you scan to-day,
With uncommiserating glee,
The songs of one who strove to play
The broken flutes of Arcady.
ENVOY
So, Rock, I join the common fray,
To fight where Mammon may decree;
And leave, to crumble as they may,
The broken flutes of Arcady.
Ballade of Dead Friends
As we the withered ferns
By the roadway lying,
Time, the jester, spurns
All our prayers and prying --
All our tears and sighing,
Sorrow, change, and woe --
All our where-and-whying
For friends that come and go.
Life awakes and burns,
Age and death defying,
Till at last it learns
All but Love is dying;
Love's the trade we're plying,
God has willed it so;
Shrouds are what we're buying
For friends that come and go.
Man forever yearns
For the thing that's flying.
Everywhere he turns,
Men to dust are drying, --
Dust that wanders, eying
(With eyes that hardly glow)
New faces, dimly spying
For friends that come and go.
ENVOY
And thus we all are nighing
The truth we fear to know:
Death will end our crying
For friends that come and go.
Her Eyes
Up from the street and the crowds that went,
Morning and midnight, to and fro,
Still was the room where his days he spent,
And the stars were bleak, and the nights were slow.
Year after year, with his dream shut fast,
He suffered and strove till his eyes were dim,
For the love that his brushes had earned at last, --
And the whole world rang with the praise of him.
But he cloaked his triumph, and searched, instead,
Till his cheeks were sere and his hairs were gray.
"There are women enough, God knows," he said....
"There are stars enough -- when the sun's away."
Then he went back to the same still room
That had held his dream in the long ago,
When he buried his days in a nameless tomb,
And the stars were bleak, and the nights were slow.
And a passionate humor seized him there --
Seized him and held him until there grew
Like life on his canvas, glowing and fair,
A perilous face -- and an angel's, too.
Angel and maiden, and all in one, --
All but the eyes. -- They were there, but yet
They seemed somehow like a soul half done.
What was the matter? Did God forget?...
But he wrought them at last with a skill so sure
That her eyes were the eyes of a deathless woman, --
With a gleam of heaven to make them pure,
And a glimmer of hell to make them human.
God never forgets. -- And he worships her
There in that same still room of his,
For his wife, and his constant arbiter
Of the world that was and the world that is.
And he wonders yet what her love could be
To punish him after that strife so grim;
But the longer he lives with her eyes to see,
The plainer it all comes back to him.
Two Men
There be two men of all mankind
That I should like to know about;
But search and question where I will,
I cannot ever find them out.
Melchizedek he praised the Lord,
And gave some wine to Abraham;
But who can tell what else he did
Must be more learned than I am.
Ucalegon he lost his house
When Agamemnon came to Troy;
But who can tell me who he was --
I'll pray the gods to give him joy.
There be two men of all mankind
That I'm forever thinking on:
They chase me everywhere I go, --
Melchizedek, Ucalegon.
Villanelle of Change
Since Persia fell at Marathon,
The yellow years have gathered fast:
Long centuries have come and gone.
And yet (they say) the place will don
A phantom fury of the past,
Since Persia fell at Marathon;
And as of old, when Helicon
Trembled and swayed with rapture vast
(Long centuries have come and gone),
This ancient plain, when night comes on,
Shakes to a ghostly battle-blast,
Since Persia fell at Marathon.
But into soundless Acheron
The glory of Greek shame was cast:
Long centuries have come and gone,
The suns of Hellas have all shone,
The first has fallen to the last: --
Since Persia fell at Marathon,
Long centuries have come and gone.
John Evereldown
"Where are you going to-night, to-night, --
Where are you going, John Evereldown?
There's never the sign of a star in sight,
Nor a lamp that's nearer than Tilbury Town.
Why do you stare as a dead man might?
Where are you pointing away from the light?
And where are you going to-night, to-night, --
Where are you going, John Evereldown?"
"Right through the forest, where none can see,
There's where I'm going, to Tilbury Town.
The men are asleep, -- or awake, may be, --
But the women are calling John Evereldown.
Ever and ever they call for me,
And while they call can a man be free?
So right through the forest, where none can see,
There's where I'm going, to Tilbury Town."
"But why are you going so late, so late, --
Why are you going, John Evereldown?
Though the road be smooth and the path be straight,
There are two long leagues to Tilbury Town.
Come in by the fire, old man, and wait!
Why do you chatter out there by the gate?
And why are you going so late, so late, --
Why are you going, John Evereldown?"
"I follow the women wherever they call, --
That's why I'm going to Tilbury Town.
God knows if I pray to be done with it all,
But God is no friend to John Evereldown.
So the clouds may come and the rain may fall,
The shadows may creep and the dead men crawl, --
But I follow the women wherever they call,
And that's why I'm going to Tilbury Town."
Luke Havergal
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal, --
There where the vines cling crimson on the wall, --
And in the twilight wait for what will come.
The wind will moan, the leaves will whisper some --
Whisper of her, and strike you as they fall;
But go, and if you trust her she will call.
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal --
Luke Havergal.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies
To rift the fiery night that's in your eyes;
But there, where western glooms are gathering,
The dark will end the dark, if anything:
God slays Himself with every leaf that flies,
And hell is more than half of paradise.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies --
In eastern skies.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this, --
Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss
That flames upon your forehead with a glow
That blinds you to the way that you must go.
Yes, there is yet one way to where she is, --
Bitter, but one that faith can never miss.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this --
To tell you this.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There are the crimson leaves upon the wall.
Go, -- for the winds are tearing them away, --
Nor think to riddle the dead words they say,
Nor any more to feel them as they fall;
But go! and if you trust her she will call.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal --
Luke Havergal.
The House on the Hill
They are all gone away,
The House is shut and still,
There is nothing more to say.
Through broken walls and gray
The winds blow bleak and shrill:
They are all gone away.
Nor is there one to-day
To speak them good or ill:
There is nothing more to say.
Why is it then we stray
Around that sunken sill?
They are all gone away,
And our poor fancy-play
For them is wasted skill:
There is nothing more to say.
There is ruin and decay
In the House on the Hill:
They are all gone away,
There is nothing more to say.
Richard Cory
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich, -- yes, richer than a king, --
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
Two Octaves
I
Not by the grief that stuns and overwhelms
All outward recognition of revealed
And righteous omnipresence are the days
Of most of us affrighted and diseased,
But rather by the common snarls of life
That come to test us and to strengthen us
In this the prentice-age of discontent,
Rebelliousness, faint-heartedness, and shame.
II
When through hot fog the fulgid sun looks down
Upon a stagnant earth where listless men
Laboriously dawdle, curse, and sweat,
Disqualified, unsatisfied, inert, --
It seems to me somehow that God himself
Scans with a close reproach what I have done,
Counts with an unphrased patience my arrears,
And fathoms my unprofitable thoughts.
Calvary
Friendless and faint, with martyred steps and slow,
Faint for the flesh, but for the spirit free,
Stung by the mob that came to see the show,
The Master toiled along to Calvary;
We gibed him, as he went, with houndish glee,
Till his dimmed eyes for us did overflow;
We cursed his vengeless hands thrice wretchedly, --
And this was nineteen hundred years ago.
But after nineteen hundred years the shame
Still clings, and we have not made good the loss
That outraged faith has entered in his name.
Ah, when shall come love's courage to be strong!
Tell me, O Lord -- tell me, O Lord, how long
Are we to keep Christ writhing on the cross!
Dear Friends
Dear friends, reproach me not for what I do,
Nor counsel me, nor pity me; nor say
That I am wearing half my life away
For bubble-work that only fools pursue.
And if my bubbles be too small for you,
Blow bigger then your own: the games we play
To fill the frittered minutes of a day,
Good glasses are to read the spirit through.
And whoso reads may get him some shrewd skill;
And some unprofitable scorn resign,
To praise the very thing that he deplores;
So, friends (dear friends), | 231.801773 |
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Produced by Emmy, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by the University of Florida Digital Collections.)
[Illustration: "She was very pleased to have her mug filled--the mug
which she had brought on purpose."]
[Illustration: New York.
Sheldon & Company.]
LITTLE ROSY | 231.803364 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
HOLIDAYS AND HAPPY DAYS
H. HENDRY AND E. F. MASON
The Larger Dumpy Books for Children
II. HOLIDAYS AND HAPPY DAYS
Holidays & Happy-Days
BY
HAMISH HENDRY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
E. FLORENCE MASON
LONDON
GRANT RICHARDS
1901
CONTENTS.
1. NEW YEAR'S DAY
2. TWELFTH DAY
3. ST. VALENTINE'S DAY
4. PANCAKE TUESDAY
5. ST. DAVID'S DAY
6. ST. PATRICK'S DAY
7. ALL FOOLS' DAY
8. PALM SUNDAY
9. MAUNDY THURSDAY
10. GOOD FRIDAY
11. EASTER SUNDAY
12. ST. GEORGE'S DAY
13. MAY DAY
14. ROYAL OAK DAY
15. MIDSUMMER'S EVE
16. ST. SWITHIN'S DAY
17. MICHAELMAS DAY
18. ALL HALLOW'S EVE
19. GUY FAWKES' DAY
20. LORD MAYOR'S DAY
21. ST. ANDREW'S DAY
22. CHRISTMAS EVE
23. CHRISTMAS DAY
24. BOXING DAY
London
Engraved & Printed
at the
_RACQUET COURT PRESS_
_by_
_EDMUND EVANS_.
NEW YEAR'S DAY.
Little children are usually snug in bed when the first holiday of the
year arrives. It comes at midnight when all is dark out of doors.
Sometimes the weather is very cold, here in England, with snow upon the
ground; and as it nears midnight on the 31st December there is a great
silence beneath the stars. The children are in bed; but in most homes
there are grown-up people--fathers, mothers, uncles or aunts--who sit
late and watch the clock. They watch; and when the clock strikes twelve
they know that the first day of the New Year has arrived.
Then it is no longer silent out of doors. The bells are ringing loudly,
and ringing merrily; they are ringing a welcome to the Stranger. So the
grown-up people, who have been watching the clock, rise up smiling and
wish each other a Happy New Year. The father says to the mother: "I wish
you a Happy New Year, my dear," and in saying this they shake hands,
and kiss each other. Then the mother, if she has children in bed, goes
upstairs. They are all asleep; so she does not waken them. She simply
kisses them, each one, and smiles as she whispers: "A Happy New Year to
all of you, my dears." That is how the New Year arrives in England. In
Scotland there is more ceremony. There it used to be the custom for the
whole household to sit up till twelve o'clock and bring in the New Year
with singing and frolic. But that custom is dying out.
You children, I hope, get to know about the New Year in the morning. You
find that everybody is looking happy, and wishing happiness to other
people. Even although the sun is not shining there is brightness in the
house and in the street. People when they meet shake hands and joke and
laugh. Your aunt will give you a good hug, and more than likely your
uncle will put his hand into his pocket and give | 231.804211 |
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Produced by Eric Eldred, Cam Venezuela, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
MEMOIRS OF MY DEAD LIFE
BY
GEORGE MOORE
CONTENTS
APOLOGIA PRO SCRIPTIS MEIS
I. SPRING IN LONDON
II. FLOWERING NORMANDY
III. A WAITRESS
IV. THE END OF MARIE PELLEGRIN
V. LA BUTTE
VI. SPENT LOVES
VII. NINON'S TABLE D'HOTE
VIII. THE LOVERS OF ORELAY
IX. IN THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS
X. A REMEMBRANCE
XI. BRING IN THE LAMP
XII. SUNDAY EVENING IN LONDON
XIII. RESURGAM
APOLOGIA PRO SCRIPTIS MEIS
[_The_ APOLOGIA _which follows needs, perhaps, a word of
explanation, not to clear up Mr. Moore's text--that is as delightful,
as irrelevantly definite, as paradoxically clear as anything this
present wearer of the Ermine of English Literature has ever
written--but to explain why it was written and why it is published.
When the present publisher, who is hereinafter, in the words of
Schopenhauer, "flattened against the wall of the Wisdom of the East,"
first read and signified his pride in being able to publish these
"Memoirs," the passages now consigned to "the late Lord ----'s
library" were not in the manuscript. On the arrival of the final copy
they were discovered, and thereby hangs an amusing tale, consisting of
a series of letters which, in so far as they were written with a
certain caustic, humorous Irish pen, have taken their high place among
the "Curiosities of Literature." The upshot of the matter was that the
publisher, entangled in the "weeds" brought over by his_ Mayflower
_ancestors, found himself as against the author in the position of
Mr. Coote as against Shakespeare; that is, the matter was so
beautifully written that he had not the heart to decline it, and yet
in parts so--what shall we say?--so full of the "Wisdom of the East"
that he did not dare to publish it in the West. Whereupon he adopted
the policy of Mr. Henry Clay, which is, no doubt, always a mistake.
And the author, bearing in mind the make-up of that race of Man called
publishers, gave way on condition that this _APOLOGIA_ should
appear without change. Here it is, without so much as the alteration
of an Ibsen comma, and if the _Mayflower_ "weeds" mere instrumental
in calling it forth, then it is, after all, well that they grew_.--THE
PUBLISHER.]
Last month the post brought me two interesting letters, and the reader
will understand how interesting they were to me when I tell him that
one was from Mr. Sears, of the firm of Appleton, who not knowing me
personally had written to Messrs. Heinemann to tell them that the firm
he represented could not publish the "Memoirs" unless two stories were
omitted; "The Lovers of Orelay," and "In the Luxembourg Gardens,"--Messrs.
Heinemann had forwarded the letter to me; my interest in the
other letter was less direct, but the reader will understand that it was
not less interesting when I tell that it came from the secretary of a
certain charitable institution who had been reading the book in question,
and now wrote to consult me on many points of life and conduct. He had
been compelled to do so, for the reading of the "Memoirs" had disturbed
his mind. The reader will agree with me that disturbed is probably the
right word to use. To say that the book had undermined his convictions
or altered his outlook on life would be an exaggeration. "Outlook on life"
and "standard of conduct" are phrases from his own vocabulary, and they
depict him.
"Your outlook on life is so different from mine that I can hardly
imagine you being built of the same stuff as myself. Yet I venture to
put my difficulty before you. It is, of course, no question of mental
grasp or capacity or artistic endowment. I am, so far as these are
concerned, merely the man in the street, the averagely endowed and the
ordinarily educated. I call myself a Puritan and a Christian. I run
continually against walls of convention, of morals, of taste, which
may be all wrong, but which I should feel it wrong to climb over. You
range over fields where my make-up forbids me to wander.
"Such frankness as yours is repulsive, forbidding, demoniac! You speak
of woman as being the noblest subject of contemplation for man, but
interpreted by your book and your experiences this seems in the last
analysis to lead you right into sensuality, and what I should call
illicit connections. Look at your story of Doris! I _do_ want to
know what you feel about that story in relation to right and wrong. Do
you consider that all that Orelay adventure was put right, atoned,
explained by the fact that Doris, by her mind and body, helped you to
cultivate your artistic sense? Was Goethe right in looking upon all
women merely as subjects for experiment, as a means of training his
aesthetic sensibilities? Does it not justify the seduction of any girl
by any man? And does not that take us straight back to the dissolution
of Society? The degradation of woman (and of man) seems to be
inextricably involved. Can you regard imperturbedly a thought of your
own sister or wife passing through Doris' Orelay experience?"
* * * * *
The address of the charitable institution and his name are printed on
the notepaper, and I experience an odd feeling of surprise whenever
this printed matter catches my eye, or when I think of it; not so much
a sense of surprise as a sense of incongruity, and while trying to
think how I might fling myself into some mental attitude which he
would understand I could not help feeling that we were very far apart,
nearly as far apart as the bird in the air and the fish in the sea.
"And he seems to feel toward me as I feel toward him, for does he not
say in his letter that it is difficult for him to imagine me built of
the same stuff as himself?" On looking into his letter again I
imagined my correspondent as a young man in doubt as to which road he
shall take, the free road of his instincts up the mountainside with
nothing but the sky line in front of him or the puddled track along
which the shepherd drives the meek sheep; and I went to my writing
table asking myself if my correspondent's spiritual welfare was my
real object, for I might be writing to him in order to exercise myself
in a private debate before committing the article to paper, or if I
was writing for his views to make use of them. One asks oneself these
questions but receives no answer. He would supply me with a point of
view opposed to my own, this would be an advantage; so feeling rather
like a spy within the enemy's lines on the eve of the battle I began
my letter. "My Dear Sir: Let me assure you that we are 'built of the
same stuff.' Were it not so you would have put my book aside. I even
suspect we are of the same kin; were it otherwise you would not have
written to me and put your difficulties so plainly before me." Laying
the pen aside I meditated quite a long while if I should tell him that
I imagined him as a young man standing at the branching of the roads,
deciding eventually that it would not be wise for me to let him see
that reading between the lines I had guessed his difficulty to be a
personal one. "We must proceed cautiously," I said, "there may be a
woman in the background.... The literary compliments he pays me and
the interest that my book has excited are accidental, circumstantial.
Life comes before literature, for certain he stands at the branching
of the roads, | 231.999194 |
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THE BOYS OF '98
*STORIES of*
*AMERICAN HISTORY*
*By James Otis*
1. When We Destroyed the Gaspee
2. Boston Boys of 1775
3. When Dewey Came to Manila
4. Off Santiago with Sampson
5. When Israel Putnam Served the King
6. The Signal Boys of '75
(A Tale of the Siege of Boston)
7. Under the Liberty Tree
(A Story of the Boston Massacre)
8. The Boys of 1745
(The Capture of Louisburg)
9. An Island Refuge
(Casco Bay in 1676)
10. Neal the Miller
(A Son of Liberty)
11. Ezra Jordan's Escape
(The Massacre at Fort Loyall)
*DANA ESTES & COMPANY*
*Publishers*
*Estes Press, Summer St., Boston*
[Illustration: THE CHARGE AT EL CANEY.]
THE BOYS OF '98
BY
JAMES OTIS
AUTHOR OF
"TOBY TYLER," "JENNY WREN'S BOARDING HOUSE,"
"THE BOYS OF FORT SCHUYLER," ETC.
_Illustrated by_
J. STEEPLE DAVIS
FRANK T. MERRILL
_And with Reproductions of Photographs_
_ELEVENTH THOUSAND_
BOSTON
DANA ESTES & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1898_
BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE BATTLE-SHIP MAINE 1
II. THE PRELIMINARIES 19
III. A DECLARATION OF WAR 38
IV. THE BATTLE OF MANILA BAY 64
V. NEWS OF THE DAY 92
VI. CARDENAS AND SAN JUAN 117
VII. FROM ALL QUARTERS 130
VIII. HOBSON AND THE MERRIMAC 149
IX. BY WIRE 171
X. SANTIAGO DE CUBA 194
XI. EL CANEY AND SAN JUAN HEIGHTS 224
XII. THE SPANISH FLEET 254
XIII. THE SURRENDER OF SANTIAGO 290
XIV. MINOR EVENTS 302
XV. THE PORTO RICAN CAMPAIGN 320
XVI. THE FALL OF MANILA 335
XVII. PEACE 345
APPENDIX A--THE PHILIPPINE ISLANDS 355
APPENDIX B--WAR-SHIPS AND SIGNALS 370
APPENDIX C--SANTIAGO DE CUBA 379
APPENDIX D--PORTO RICO 383
APPENDIX E--THE BAY OF GUANTANAMO 386
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
THE CHARGE AT EL CANEY _Frontispiece_
U. S. S. MAINE 7
CAPTAIN C. D. SIGSBEE 12
EX-MINISTER DE LOME 20
U. S. S. MONTGOMERY 24
MAJOR-GENERAL FITZHUGH LEE 30
U. S. S. COLUMBIA 38
CAPTAIN-GENERAL BLANCO 44
PREMIER SAGASTA 49
PRESIDENT WILLIAM MCKINLEY 55
U. S. S. PURITAN 58
ADMIRAL GEORGE DEWEY 64
U. S. S. OLYMPIA 69
U. S. S. BALTIMORE 72
BATTLE OF MANILA BAY 75
U. S. S. BOSTON 77
U. S. S. CONCORD 82
U. S. S. TERROR 99
JOHN D. LONG, SECRETARY OF NAVY 107
U. S. S. CHICAGO 117
THE TRAGEDY OF THE WINSLOW 119
U. S. S. AMPHITRITE 123
THE BOMBARDMENT OF SAN JUAN, PORTO RICO 127
U. S. S. MIANTONOMAH 130
ADMIRAL SCHLEY 135
U. S. S. MONTEREY 144
U. S. S. MASSACHUSETTS 151
LIEUTENANT HOBSON 156
U. S. S. NEW YORK 161
HOBSON AND HIS MEN ON THE RAFT 166
ADMIRAL CERVERA 169
QUEEN REGENT, MARIA CHRISTINA OF SPAIN 171
GENERAL GARCIA 181
ADMIRAL CAMARA 186
GENERAL AUGUSTI 192
U. S. S. MARBLEHEAD 201
U. S. S. VESUVIUS 207
U. S. S. TEXAS 215
COLONEL THEODORE ROOSEVELT 218
MAJOR-GENERAL SHAFTER 224
THE ATTACK ON SAN JUAN HILL 229
VICE-PRESIDENT HOBART 234
U. S. S. NEWARK 239
ADMIRAL W. T. SAMPSON 243
GENERAL WEYLER 254
CAPTAIN R. D. EVANS 256
U. S. S. IOWA 262
THE DESTRUCTION OF CERVERA'S FLEET 266
U. S. S. INDIANA 269
U. S. S. OREGON 275
U. S. S. BROOKLYN 282
MAJOR-GENERAL JOSEPH WHEELER 292
KING ALPHONSO XIII. OF SPAIN 300
GENERAL GOMEZ 311
U. S. S. NEW ORLEANS 314
U. S. S. SAN FRANCISCO 318
MAJOR-GENERAL MILES 320
MAJOR-GENERAL BROOKE 327
GENERAL BROOKE RECEIVING THE NEWS OF THE 333
PROTOCOL
GENERAL RUSSELL A. ALGER, SECRETARY OF WAR 334
MAJOR-GENERAL WESLEY MERRITT 344
DON CARLOS 349
THE BOYS OF '98.
CHAPTER I.
THE BATTLE-SHIP MAINE.
At or about eleven o'clock on the morning of January 25th the United
States battle-ship _Maine_ steamed through the narrow channel which gives
entrance to the inner harbour of Havana, and came to anchor at Buoy No. 4,
in obedience to orders from the captain of the port, in from five and
one-half to six fathoms of water. She swung at her cables within five
hundred yards of the arsenal, and about two hundred yards distant from the
floating dock.
Very shortly afterward the rapid-firing guns on her bow roared out a
salute as the Spanish colours were run up to the mizzenmast-head, and this
thunderous announcement of friendliness was first answered by Morro
Castle, followed a few moments later by the Spanish cruiser _Alphonso
XII._ and a German school-ship.
The reverberations had hardly ceased before the captain of the port and an
officer from the Spanish war-vessel, each in his gaily decked launch, came
alongside the battle-ship in accordance with the rules of naval etiquette.
Lieut. John J. Blandin, officer of the deck, received the visitors at the
head of the gangway and escorted them to the captain's cabin. A few
moments later came an officer from the German ship, and the courtesies of
welcoming the Americans were at an end.
The _Maine_ was an armoured, twin-screw battle-ship of the second class,
318 feet in length, 57 feet in breadth, with a draught of 21 feet, 6
inches; of 6,648 tons displacement, with engines of 9,293 indicated
horse-power, giving her a speed of 17.75 knots. She was built in the
Brooklyn navy yard, according to act of Congress, August 3, 1886. Work on
her was commenced October 11, 1888; she was launched November 18, 1890,
and put into commission September 17, 1895. She was built after the
designs of chief constructor T. D. Wilson. The delay in going into
commission is said to have been due to the difficulty in getting
satisfactory armour. The side armour was twelve inches thick; the two
steel barbettes were each of the same thickness, and the walls of the
turrets were eight inches thick.
In her main battery were four 10-inch and six 6-inch breech-loading
rifles; in the secondary battery seven 6-pounder and eight 1-pounder
rapid-fire guns and four Gatlings. Her crew was made up of 370 men, and
the following officers: Capt. C. D. Sigsbee, Lieut.-Commander R.
Wainwright, Lieut. G. F. W. Holman, Lieut. J. Hood, Lieut. C. W. Jungen,
Lieut. G. P. Blow, Lieut. F. W. Jenkins, Lieut. J. J. Blandin, Surgeon S.
G. Heneberger, Paymaster C. M. Ray, Chief Engineer C. P. Howell, Chaplain
J. P. Chidwick, Passed Assistant Engineer F. C. Bowers, Lieutenant of
Marines A. Catlin, Assistant Engineer J. R. Morris, Assistant Engineer
Darwin R. Merritt, Naval Cadet J. H. Holden, Naval Cadet W. T. Cluverius,
Naval Cadet R. Bronson, Naval Cadet P. Washington, Naval Cadet A.
Crenshaw, Naval Cadet J. T. Boyd, Boatswain F. E. Larkin, Gunner J. Hill,
Carpenter J. Helm, Paymaster's Clerk B. McCarthy.
Why had the _Maine_ been sent to this port?
The official reason given by the Secretary of the Navy when he notified
the Spanish minister, Senor Dupuy de Lome, was that the visit of the
_Maine_ was simply intended as a friendly call, according to the
recognised custom of nations.
The United States minister at Madrid, General Woodford, also announced the
same in substance to the Spanish Minister of State.
It having been repeatedly declared by the government at Madrid that a
state of war did not exist in Cuba, and that the relations between the
United States and Spain were of the most friendly character, nothing less
could be done than accept the official construction put upon the visit.
The Spanish public, however, were not disposed to view the matter in the
same light, as may be seen by the following extracts from newspapers:
"If the government of the United States sends one war-ship to Cuba, a
thing it is no longer likely to do, Spain would act with energy and
without vacillation."--_El Heraldo, January 16th._
"We see now the eagerness of the Yankees to seize Cuba."--_The Imparcial,
January 23d._
The same paper, on the 27th, declared:
"If Havana people, exasperated at American impudence in sending the
_Maine_, do some rash, disagreeable thing, the civilised world will know
too well who is responsible. The American government must know that the
road it has taken leads to war between both nations."
On January 25th Madrid newspapers made general comment upon the official
explanation of the _Maine's_ visit to Havana, and agreed in expressing the
opinion that her visit is "inopportune and calculated to encourage the
insurgents." It was announced that, "following Washington's example," the
Spanish government will "instruct Spanish war-ships to visit a few
American ports."
The _Imparcial_ expresses fear that the despatch of the _Maine_ to Havana
will provoke a conflict, and adds:
"Europe cannot doubt America's attitude towards Spain. But the Spanish
people, if necessary, will do their duty with honour."
The _Epocha_ asks if the despatch of the _Maine_ to Havana is "intended as
a sop to the Jingoes," and adds:
"We cannot suppose the American government so naive or badly informed as
to imagine that the presence of American war-vessels at Havana will be a
cause of satisfaction to Spain or an indication of friendship."
The people of the United States generally believed that the battle-ship
had been sent to Cuba because of the disturbances existing in the city of
Havana, which seemingly threatened the safety of Americans there.
On the morning of January 12th what is termed the "anti-liberal outbreak"
occurred in the city of Havana.
Officers of the regular and volunteer forces headed the ultra-Spanish
element in an attack upon the leading liberal newspaper offices, because,
as alleged, of Captain-General Blanco's refusal to authorise the
suppression of the liberal press. It was evidently a riotous protest
against Spain's policy of granting autonomy to the Cubans.
The mob, gathered in such numbers as to be for the time being most
formidable, indulged in open threats against Americans, and it was
believed by the public generally that American interests, and the safety
of citizens of the United States in Havana, demanded the protection of a
war-vessel.
The people of Havana received the big fighting ship impassively. Soldiers,
sailors, and civilians gathered at the water-front as spectators, but no
word, either of threat or friendly greeting, was heard.
In the city the American residents experienced a certain sense of relief
because now a safe refuge was provided in case of more serious rioting.
That the officers and crew of the _Maine_ were apprehensive regarding
their situation there can be little doubt. During the first week after the
arrival of the battle-ship several of the sailors wrote to friends or
relatives expressing fears as to what might be the result of the visit,
and on the tenth of February one of the lieutenants is reported as having
stated:
"If we don't get away from here soon there will be trouble."
The customary ceremonial visits on shore were made by the commander of the
ship and his staff, and, so far as concerned the | 232.003155 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE
ANTI-SLAVERY HARP:
COLLECTION OF SONGS
FOR
ANTI-SLAVERY MEETINGS.
COMPILED BY
WILLIAM W. BROWN.
THIRD EDITION.
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY BELA MARSH,
No. 25 Cornhill.
1851.
Press of Bazin & Chandler,
No. 37 Cornhill.
SONGS.
[Illustration]
FREEDOM’S BANNER.
AIR--Freedom’s Banner.
My country, shall thy honored name,
Be as a by-word through the world?
Rouse! for as if to blast thy fame,
This keen reproach is at thee hurled;
The banner that above the waves,
Is floating over three millions slaves.
That flag, my country, I had thought,
From noble sires was given to thee;
By the best blood of patriots bought,
To wave alone above the Free!
Yet now, while to the breeze it waves,
It floats above three millions slaves.
The mighty dead that flag unrolled,
They bathed it in the heaven’s own blue;
They sprinkled stars upon each fold,
And gave it as a trust to you;
And now that glorious banner waves
In shame above three millions slaves.
O, by the virtues of our sires,
And by the soil on which they trod,
And by the trust their name inspires,
And by the hope we have in God,
Arouse, my country, and agree
To set thy captive children free.
Arouse! and let each hill and glen
With prayer to the high heavens ring out,
Till all our land with freeborn men,
May join in one triumphant shout,
That freedom’s banner does not wave
Its folds above a single slave.
O, PITY THE SLAVE MOTHER!
AIR--Araby’s Daughter.
I pity the slave mother, careworn and weary,
Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast;
I lament her sad fate, all so hopeless and dreary,
I lament for her woes, and her wrongs unredressed.
O who can imagine her heart’s deep emotion,
As she thinks of her children about to be sold;
You may picture the bounds of the rock-girdled ocean,
But the grief of that mother can never be known.
The mildew of slavery has blighted each blossom,
That ever has bloomed in her pathway below;
It has froze every fountain that gushed in her bosom,
And chilled her heart’s verdure with pitiless woe;
Her parents, her kindred, all crushed by oppression;
Her husband still doomed in its desert to stay;
No arm to protect from the tyrant’s aggression--
She must weep as she treads on her desolate way.
O, slave mother, hope! see--the nation is shaking!
The arm of the Lord is awake to thy wrong!
The slave-holder’s heart now with terror is quaking,
Salvation and Mercy to Heaven belong!
Rejoice, O, rejoice! for the child thou art rearing,
May one day lift up its unmanacled form,
While hope, to thy heart, like the rain-bow so cheering,
Is born, like the rain-bow, ’mid tempest and storm.
THE BLIND SLAVE BOY.
AIR--Sweet Afton.
Come back to me, mother! why linger away
From thy poor little blind boy, the long weary day!
I mark every footstep, I list to each tone,
And wonder my mother should leave me alone!
There are voices of sorrow and voices of glee,
But there’s no one to joy or to sorrow with me;
For each hath of pleasure and trouble his share,
And none for the poor little blind boy will care.
My mother, come back to me! close to thy breast
Once more let thy poor little blind one be pressed;
Once more let me feel thy warm breath on my cheek,
And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak!
O mother! I’ve no one to love me--no heart
Can bear like thine own in my sorrows a part;
No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind!
O! none like a mother can cherish the blind!
Poor blind one! no mother thy wailing can hear,
No mother can hasten to banish thy fear;
For the slave-owner drives her o’er mountain and wild,
And for one paltry dollar hath sold thee, poor child!
Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal
The anguish that none but a mother can feel,
When man in his vile lust of mammon hath trod
On her child, who is stricken and smitten of God!
Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone,
She hears in her anguish his piteous moan,
As he eagerly listens--but listens in vain,
To catch the loved tones of his mother again!
The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall
On the wretch who hath mingled this wormwood and gall,
And his gain like a mildew shall blight and destroy,
Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy!
YE SONS OF FREEMEN!
AIR--Marseilles Hymn.
Ye sons of freemen, wake to sadness,
Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise;
Three millions of our race in madness
Break out in wails, in bitter cries,
Break out in wails, in bitter cries;
Must men whose hearts now bleed with anguish,
Yes, trembling slaves in freedom’s land,
Endure the lash, nor raise a hand?
Must nature ’neath the whip-cord languish?
Have pity on the slave,
Take courage from God’s word;
Pray on, pray on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free.
The fearful storm--it threatens lowering,
Which God in mercy long delays;
Slaves yet may see their masters cowering,
While whole plantations smoke and blaze!
While whole plantations smoke and blaze;
And we may now prevent the ruin,
Ere lawless force with guilty stride
Shall scatter vengeance far and wide--
With untold crimes their hands imbruing.
Have pity on the slave;
Take courage from God’s word;
Pray on, pray on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free.
With luxury and wealth surrounded,
The southern masters proudly dare,
With thirst of gold and power unbounded,
To mete and vend God’s light and air!
To mete and vend God’s light and air;
Like beasts of burden, slaves are loaded,
Till life’s poor toilsome day is o’er;
While they in vain for right implore;
And shall they longer still be goaded?
Have pity on the slave;
Take courage from God’s word;
Toil on, toil on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free.
O Liberty! can man e’er bind thee?
Can overseers quench thy flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee,
Or threats thy Heaven-born spirit tame?
Or threats thy Heaven-born spirit tame;
Too long the slave has groaned, bewailing
The power these heartless tyrants wield;
Yet free them not by sword or shield,
For with men’s hearts they’re unavailing;
Have pity on the slave;
Take courage from God’s word;
Toil on! toil on! all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free!
FREEDOM’S STAR.
AIR--Silver Moon.
As I strayed from my cot at the close of the day,
I turned my fond gaze to the sky;
I beheld all the stars as so sweetly they lay,
And but one fixed my heart or my eye.
Chorus.
Shine on, northern star, thou’rt beautiful and bright
To the slave on his journey afar;
For he speeds from his foes in the darkness of night,
Guided on by thy light, freedom’s star.
On thee he depends when he threads the dark woods
Ere the bloodhounds have hunted him back;
Thou leadest him on over mountains and floods,
With thy beams shining full on his track.
Shine on, &c.
Unwelcome to him is the bright orb of day,
As it glides o’er the earth and the sea;
He seeks then to hide like a wild beast of prey,
But with hope rests his heart upon thee.
Shine on, &c.
May never a cloud overshadow thy face,
While the slave flies before his pursuer;
Gleam steadily on to the end of his race,
Till his body and soul are secure.
Shine on, &c.
THE LIBERTY BALL.
AIR--Rosin the Bow.
Come all ye true friends of the nation,
Attend to humanity’s call;
Come aid the poor slave’s liberation,
And roll on the liberty ball--
And roll on the liberty ball--
Come aid the poor slave’s liberation,
And roll on the liberty ball.
The liberty hosts are advancing--
For freedom to all they declare;
The down-trodden millions are sighing--
Come break up our gloom of despair.
Come break up our gloom of despair, &c.
Ye Democrats, come to the rescue,
And aid on the liberty cause,
And millions will rise up and bless you,
With heart-cheering songs of applause,
With heart-cheering songs, &c.
Ye Whigs, forsake slavery’s minions,
And boldly step into our ranks;
We care not for party opinions,
But invite all the friends of the banks--
And invite all the friends of the banks, &c.
And when we have formed the blest union
We’ll firmly march on, one and all--
We’ll sing when we meet in communion,
And _roll on_ the liberty ball,
And roll on the liberty ball, &c.
THE NORTH STAR.
AIR--Oh! Susannah.
Lo! the Northern Star is beaming
With a new and glorious light,
And its cheering radiance streaming
Through the clouds of misty night!
Freemen! in your great Endeavor,
’Tis a signal hung on high,
And will guide us on forever,
Like a banner in the sky!
Oh! Star of Freedom,
’Tis the star for me;
’Twill lead me off to Canada,
There I will be free.
Growing brighter in all ages,
Cheering Freedom on its way,
Shedding o’er Time’s clouded pages
Glimmers of the coming Day--
Ever telling Man the glory
And the freedom of its birth,
Waiting to record the story
Of the Freedom of the Fourth!
Oh! Star of Freedom,
’Tis the star for me,
’Twill lead me off to Canada,
There I will be free.
The mariner, ’mid the surging
Of the stormy waves and dark,
Hails the Northern Star emerging
From the clouds above his bark!
’Tis a trust that faileth never,
And a light that never dies--
’Tis the beacon-star forever
Beaming in the arctic skies!
Oh! Star of Freedom,
’Tis the star for me,
’Twill lead me off to Canada,
There I will be free.
’Tis the star that Freedom claimeth
As her emblem pure and bright,
And we watch it as it flameth
“In the dark and troubled night:”
While we march to battle glorious,
With our weapons, Truth and Love,
Freedom, as she proves victorious,
Hails the _Banner_ Star above!
Oh! Star of Freedom, &c.
OVER THE MOUNTAIN.
Over the mountain and over the moor,
Hungry and weary I wander forlorn;
My father is dead and my mother is poor,
And she grieves for the days that will never return;
Give me some food for my mother in charity,
Give me some food and then I will be gone.
Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity,
Cold blows the wind and the night’s coming on.
Call me not indolent beggar and bold enough,
Fain would I learn both to knit and to sew;
I’ve two little brothers at home, when they’re old enough,
They will work hard for the gifts you bestow;
Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity,
Cold blows the wind, and the night’s coming on;
Give me some food for my mother in charity,
Give me some food, and then I will be gone.
JUBILEE SONG.
AIR--Away the Bowl.
Our grateful hearts with joy o’erflow,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
We hail the Despot’s overthrow,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
No more he’ll raise the gory lash,
And sink it deep in human flesh,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.
We raise the song in Freedom’s name,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
Her glorious triumph we proclaim,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
Beneath her feet lie Slavery’s chains,
Their power to curse no more remains,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.
With joy we’ll make the air resound,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
That all may hear the gladsome sound,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
We glory at Oppression’s fall,
The Slave has burst his deadly thrall,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.
In mirthful glee we’ll dance and sing,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
With shouts we’ll make the welkin ring,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
Shout! shout aloud! the bondsman’s free!
This, this is Freedom’s jubilee!
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.
SPIRIT OF FREEMEN, WAKE!
AIR--America.
Spirit of Freemen, wake;
No truce with Slavery make,
Thy deadly foe;
In fair disguises dressed,
Too long hast thou caress’d
The serpent in thy breast,
Now lay him low.
Must e’en the press be dumb?
Must truth itself succumb?
And thoughts be mute?
Shall law be set aside,
The right of prayer denied,
Nature and God decried,
And man called brute?
What lover of her fame
Feels not his country’s shame,
In this dark hour?
Where are the patriots now,
Of honest heart and brow,
Who scorn the neck to bow
To Slavery’s power?
Sons of the Free! we call
On you, in field and hall,
To rise as one;
Your heaven-born rights maintain,
Nor let Oppression’s chain
On human limbs remain;--
Speak! and ’tis done.
THE SLAVE’S LAMENTATION.
AIR--Long, long ago.
Where are the friends that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago--long ago!
Where are the hopes that my heart used to cheer,
Long, long ago--long ago!
I am degraded, for man was my foe,
Friends that I loved in the grave are laid low,
All hope of freedom hath fled from me now,
Long, long ago--long, long ago!
Sadly my wife bowed her beautiful head--
Long, long ago--long ago!
O, how I wept when I found she was dead!
Long, long ago--long ago!
She was my angel, my love and pride--
Vainly to save her from torture I tried,
Poor broken heart! She rejoiced as she died,
Long, long ago--long, long ago!
Let me look back on the days of my youth--
Long, long ago--long ago!
Master withheld from me knowledge and truth--
Long, long ago--long ago!
Crushed all the hopes of my earliest day,
Sent me from father and mother away--
Forbade me to read, nor allowed me to pray--
Long, long ago--long, long ago!
SONG FOR THE TIMES.
I hear the cry of millions, of millions, of millions,
I hear the cry of millions, of millions in bonds;
Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
Oh! set the captive free from his chains.
I hear the voice of Garrison, of Garrison, of Garrison,
I hear the voice of Garrison, loud pleading for the slave;
Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
Oh! set the captive free from his chains.
I hear the voice of Phillips, of Phillips, of Phillips,
I hear the voice of Phillips, in strain of eloquence;
Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
Oh! set the captive free from his chains.
I hear the voice of Foster, of Foster, of Foster,
I hear the voice of Foster, against the priesthood;
Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
Oh! set the captive free from his chains.
I hear the voice of Pillsbury, of Pillsbury, of Pillsbury,
I hear the voice of Pillsbury, with all his sarcasm;
Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
Oh! set the captive free from his chains.
I hear the voice of Remond, of Remond, of Remond,
I hear the voice of Remond, on prejudice ’gainst color;
Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
Oh! set the captive free from his chains.
I hear the voice of Buffum, of Buffum, of Buffum,
I hear the voice of Buffum, with a few more facts;
Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
Oh! set the captive free from his chains.
I hear the voice of Quincy, of Quincy, of Quincy,
I hear the voice of Quincy, in words of living truth,
Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
Oh! set the captive free from his chains.
I hear the voice of Walker, of Walker, of Walker,
I hear the voice of Walker, and see his “Branded Hand;”
Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
Oh! set the captive free from his chains.
I hear the voice of Giddings, of Giddings, of Giddings,
I hear the voice of Giddings, in Congress, for the slave;
Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
Oh! set the captive free from his chains.
I hear the voice of thousands, of thousands, of thousands,
I hear the voice of thousands, in favor of “Disunion;”
Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
Oh! set the captive free from his chains.
FLIGHT OF THE BONDMAN.
DEDICATED TO WILLIAM W. BROWN,
_And Sung by the Hutchinsons_.
BY ELIAS SMITH.
AIR--Silver Moon.
From the crack of the rifle and baying of hound,
Takes the poor panting bondman his flight;
His couch through the day is the cold damp ground,
But northward he runs through the night.
Chorus.
O, God speed the flight of the desolate slave,
Let his heart never yield to despair;
There is room ’<DW41> our hills for the true and the brave,
Let his lungs breathe our free northern air!
O, sweet to the storm-driven sailor the light,
Streaming far o’er the dark swelling wave;
But sweeter by far ’<DW41> the lights of the night,
Is the star of the north to the slave.
O, God speed, &c.
Cold and bleak are our mountains and chilling our winds,
But warm as the soft southern gales
Be the hands and the hearts which the hunted one finds,
’<DW41> our hills and our own winter vales.
O, God speed, &c.
Then list to the ’plaint of the heart-broken thrall,
Ye blood-hounds, go back to your lair;
May a free northern soil soon give freedom to all,
Who shall breathe in its pure mountain air.
O, God speed, &c.
THE SWEETS OF LIBERTY.
AIR--Is there a heart, &c.
Is there a man that never sighed
To set the prisoner free?
Is there a man that never prized
The sweets of liberty?
Then let him, let him breathe unseen,
Or in a dungeon live;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.
Is there a heart so cold in man,
Can galling fetters crave?
Is there a wretch so truly low,
Can stoop to be a slave?
O, let him, then, in chains be bound,
In chains and bondage live;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.
Is there a breast so chilled in life,
Can nurse the coward’s sigh?
Is there a creature so debased,
Would not for freedom die?
O, let him then be doomed to crawl
Where only reptiles live;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.
YE SPIRITS OF THE FREE!
AIR--My faith looks up to thee.
Ye spirits of the free,
Can ye forever see
Your brother man
A yoked and scourged slave,
Chains dragging to his grave,
And raise no hand to save?
Say if you can.
In pride and pomp to roll,
Shall tyrants from the soul
God’s image tear,
And call the wreck their own,--
While, from the eternal throne,
They shut the stifled groan
And bitter prayer?
Shall he a slave be bound,
Whom God hath doubly crowned
Creation’s lord?
Shall men of Christian name,
Without a blush of shame,
Profess their tyrant claim
From God’s own word?
No! at the battle cry,
A host prepared to die,
Shall arm for fight--
But not with martial steel,
Grasped with a murderous zeal;
No arms their foes shall feel,
But love and light.
Firm on Jehovah’s laws,
Strong in their righteous cause,
Their march to save.
And vain the tyrant’s mail,
Against their battle-hail,
Till cease the woe and wail
Of tortured slave.
I AM AN ABOLITIONIST.
AIR--Auld Lang Syne.
I am an Abolitionist!
I glory in the name:
Though now by Slavery’s minions hiss’d
And covered o’er with shame,
It is a spell of light and power--
The watchword of the free:--
Who spurns it in the trial-hour,
A craven soul is he!
I am an Abolitionist!
Then urge me not to pause;
For joyfully do I enlist
In FREEDOM’S sacred cause:
A nobler strife the world ne’er saw,
Th’ enslaved to disenthral;
I am a soldier for the war,
Whatever may befall!
I am an Abolitionist!
Oppression’s deadly foe;
In God’s great strength will I resist,
And lay the monster low;
In God’s great name do I demand,
To all be freedom given,
That peace and joy may fill the land,
And songs go up to heaven!
I am an Abolitionist!
No threats shall awe my soul,
No perils cause me to desist,
No bribes my acts control;
A freeman will I live and die,
In sunshine and in shade,
And raise my voice for liberty,
Of nought on earth afraid.
THE BEREAVED MOTHER.
AIR--Kathleen O’More.
O, deep was the anguish of the slave mother’s heart | 232.003212 |
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ANDREW MELVILLE
BY
WILLIAM MORISON
FAMOUS
SCOTS:
SERIES
PUBLISHED BY
OLIPHANT ANDERSON
FERRIER EDINBVRGH
AND LONDON
The designs and ornaments of this volume are by Mr. Joseph Brown, and
the printing from the press of | 232.004172 |
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Daughters of Destiny
[Illustration: AHMED KHAN TO THE RESCUE.]
DAUGHTERS
_of_
DESTINY
BY
SCHUYLER STAUNTON
AUTHOR OF “THE FATE OF A CROWN”
The Reilly & Britton Co.
Chicago
COPYRIGHT, 1906
BY
THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.
LIST OF CHAPTERS
BOOK I--THE MAN
CHAPTER PAGE
I PRINCE KASAM OF BALUCHISTAN 11
II THE AMERICAN COMMISSION 20
III THE PERSIAN PHYSICIAN 41
IV THE DAUGHTER OF THE VIZIER 49
V THE PERIL OF BURAH KHAN 61
VI THE MAN OF DESTINY 71
VII DIRRAG 83
VIII A WOMAN’S WAY 111
IX THE SIXTH DAY 119
X AHMED KHAN 130
BOOK II--THE WOMAN
XI CAPTURE OF DAVID THE JEW 151
XII THE GIRL ON THE DIVAN 172
XIII A WILD WOOING 189
XIV THE VEILED WOMAN 206
XV SALAMAN 215
XVI THE ABDUCTION 224
XVII DAVID SELLS AN IMPORTANT SECRET 230
XVIII THE VIZIER OPENS THE GATE 246
XIX IN THE GARDEN OF AGAHR 262
XX THE GIRL IN THE HAREM 270
XXI THE CHAMBER OF DEATH 284
XXII BY THE HAND OF ALLAH 288
XXIII THE VENGEANCE OF MAIE 298
XXIV THE SPIRIT OF UNREST 301
XXV KASAM KHAN 308
XXVI HER SERENE HIGHNESS THE KHANUM 317
BOOK I
THE MAN
CHAPTER I
PRINCE KASAM OF BALUCHISTAN
“What country did you say, Prince?”
“Baluchistan, my lord.”
The great financier lay back in his chair and a slight smile flickered
over his stern features. Then he removed his eye-glasses and twirled
them thoughtfully around his finger as he addressed the young man
opposite.
“I remember,” said he, “that when I attended school as a boy one of my
chiefest trials in geography was to learn how to bound Baluchistan.”
“Ah, do not say that, sir,” exclaimed Prince Kasam, eagerly. “It is a
customary thing, whenever my country is mentioned, for an Englishman to
refer to his geography. I have borne the slight with rare patience, Lord
Marvale, since first I came, a boy, to London; but permit me to say
that I expected _you_ to be better informed.”
“But, why?” asked the nobleman, raising his brows at the retort.
“Because Baluchistan is a great country, sir. You might drop all of
England upon one of its plains--and have some trouble to find it again.”
Lord Marvale’s eyes twinkled.
“And how about London?” he asked. “You have many such cities, I
suppose?”
“There is but one London, my lord,” answered the young man composedly;
“and, to be frank with you, there are few clusters of houses in my
country that are worthy the name of cities. We Baluchi are a wild race,
as yet untamed by the influence of your western civilization, and those
who wander in desert and plain far exceed in numbers the dwellers in
towns.”
“I am not so ignorant as you may suppose,” declared Lord Marvale; “for
it is a part of my | 232.005053 |
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HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 15
[Illustration: General Roy Stone
(_Father of the good-roads movement in the United States_)]
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME | 232.103697 |
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http://www.pgdp.net.
[Illustration: TOM SPEEDILY GAVE THE CALL TO THE STATION AT THE
DIXON PLACE.]
THE BOYS OF THE WIRELESS
Or
A Stirring Rescue from the Deep
BY
FRANK V. WEBSTER
AUTHOR OF "AIRSHIP ANDY," "COMRADES OF THE SADDLE,"
"BEN HARDY'S FLYING MACHINE," "BOB THE CASTAWAY," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
BOOKS FOR BOYS
By FRANK V. WEBSTER
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
ONLY A FARM BOY
TOM, THE TELEPHONE BOY
THE BOY FROM THE RANCH
THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER
BOB, THE CASTAWAY
THE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE
THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS
THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES
THE TWO BOY GOLD MINERS
JACK, THE RUNAWAY
COMRADES OF THE SADDLE
THE BOYS OF BELLWOOD SCHOOL
THE HIGH SCHOOL RIVALS
BOB CHESTER'S GRIT
AIRSHIP ANDY
DARRY, THE LIFE SAVER
DICK, THE BANK BOY
BEN HARDY'S FLYING MACHINE
THE BOYS OF THE WIRELESS
HARRY WATSON'S HIGH SCHOOL DAYS
Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York
Copyright, 1912, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE BOYS OF THE WIRELESS
Contents
- CHAPTER I--TOM BARNES' WIRELESS
- CHAPTER II--STATION Z
- CHAPTER III--"SPOOKS!"
- CHAPTER IV--"DONNER"
- CHAPTER V--A BOY WITH A MYSTERY
- CHAPTER VI--A TIP VIA WIRELESS
- CHAPTER VII--GRACE MORGAN
- CHAPTER VIII--QUICK ACTION
- CHAPTER IX--STRICTLY BUSINESS
- CHAPTER X--A YOUNG CAPITALIST
- CHAPTER XI--A GREAT STEP FORWARD
- CHAPTER XII--"SUN, MOON AND STARS"
- CHAPTER XIII--THE BLACK CAPS
- CHAPTER XIV--TURNING THE TABLES
- CHAPTER XV--AN UNEXPECTED RESCUER
- CHAPTER XVI--KIDNAPPED
- CHAPTER XVII--UP TO MISCHIEF
- CHAPTER XVIII--THE TOY BALLOONS
- CHAPTER XIX--A STARTLING MESSAGE
- CHAPTER XX--THE LAUNCH
- CHAPTER XXI--BRAVING THE STORM
- CHAPTER XXII--THE RESCUE
- CHAPTER XXIII--"EVERY INCH A MAN"
- CHAPTER XXIV--THE KIDNAPPED BOY
- CHAPTER XXV--TOM ON THE TRAIL--CONCLUSION
THE BOYS OF THE WIRELESS
CHAPTER I--TOM BARNES' WIRELESS
"What's that new-fangled thing on the blasted oak, Tom?"
"That, Ben, is a wireless."
"Oh, you don't say so!"
"Or, rather the start of one."
"Say, you aren't original or ambitious or anything like that, are you?"
The speaker, Ben Dixon, bestowed a look of admiration and interest on
the chum he liked best of all in the world, Tom Barnes.
Tom was reckoned a genius in the little community in which he lived. He
had the record of "always being up to something." In the present
instance he had been up a tree, it seemed. From "the new-fangled thing"
Ben had discovered in passing the familiar landmark, the blasted oak,
wires and rods ran up to quite a height, showing that some one had done
some climbing.
Ben became instantly absorbed in an inspection of the contrivance before
him. He himself had some mechanical talent. His father had been an
inventor in a small way, and anything in which Tom had a part always
attracted him.
"Tell me about it. What's that thing up there?" asked Ben, pointing
directly at some metal rods attached to the broken-off top of the tree.
"Those are antennae."
"Looks like an--twenty!" chuckled Ben over his own joke. "There's a
whole network of them, isn't there?"
"They run down to a relay, Ben, catching the electric waves striking the
decoherer, which taps the coherer and disarranges a lot of brass filings
by mechanical vibration. That's the whole essence of the
wireless--otherwise it is no different from common telegraphy--a group
of parts each for individual service in transmitting or receiving the
electric waves."
"Thank you!" observed Ben drily. "How delightfully plain that all is!
You rattle those scientific terms off good and spry, though."
"So will you, as soon as you do what I've been doing," asserted Tom.
"And what's that?"
"Getting a glance at the real wireless outfit Mr. Edson is operating
down at Sandy Point."
"I heard of that," nodded Ben.
"He's a fine man," said Tom enthusiastically. "He's taken all kinds of
trouble to post me and explain things I wanted to know. This little side
show of mine is just an experiment on a small scale. I don't expect any
grand results. It will work out the principle, though, and when I get to
taking messages----"
"What! you don't mean to say you can do that?"
"Just that, Ben," declared Tom confidently.
"From where?"
"Well, mostly from Mr. Edson's station at Sandy Point, and maybe some
stray ones that may slip past him."
"Say!" cried Ben, on fire at once with emulation and optimism, "what's
the matter with me starting a station, too, down at my house? Then we
could have all kinds of fun over our line."
"It isn't much work nor expense," said Tom. "You can get an outfit cheap
for a home-made apparatus--you need some coarse and fine wire for the
main coil, a glass tube, a bell, sounder and a buzzer, some
electromagnets----"
"I see," interrupted Ben with a mock groan, "just a few things picked up
anywhere. Oh, yes!"
"You won't be discouraged once you get interested, Ben," assured Tom.
"We'll talk about your starting a station later. Just now you can help
me quite a bit if you want to."
"Sure!" returned the enterprising Ben with vim.
"All right; I want to string a coil of new wire I got yesterday,"
explained Tom, going around to the other side of the tree. "Why, it's
gone!" he cried.
"What's gone?" queried Ben.
"The wire. Now, isn't that a shame!" cried Tom indignantly, fussing
around among the grass and bushes. "That coil couldn't have walked away.
Some one must have stolen it."
"Don't be too hasty, Tom. Some one passing by may have picked it up. You
know the fellows are playing ball over in the meadow just beyond here.
Some of them may have cut across and stumbled over your wire."
"Couldn't they see that I was putting up a station here?" demanded Tom
with asperity.
"Station?" repeated Ben with a jolly laugh. "See here, old fellow, you
forget that we scientific numbskulls wouldn't know your contrivance here
from a clothes dryer."
"Well, come on, anyway. I've got to find that wire," said Tom with
determination.
In the distance they could hear the shouts of boys at play, and passing
through some brushwood they came to the edge of the open meadow lining
the river.
Half a dozen boys were engaged in various pastimes. Two of them playing
at catch greeted Tom with enthusiasm.
There was no boy at Rockley Cove more popular than Tom Barnes. His
father had farmed it, as the saying goes, at the edge of the little
village for over a quarter of a century. While Mr. Barnes was not
exactly a wealthy man he made a good living, and Tom dressed pretty
well, and was kept at school right along. Now it was vacation time, and
outside of a few chores about the house morning and evening Tom's time
was his own.
The result was that usually Tom had abundant leisure for sports. The
welcome with which his advent was hailed therefore, was quite natural.
"I say, Tom," suddenly spoke Ben, seizing the arm of his companion in
some excitement, "there's Mart Walters."
"Ah, he's here, is he?" exclaimed Tom, and started rapidly across the
meadow to where a crowd of boys were grouped about a diving plank
running out over the stream. "I'm bothered about that missing coil, but
I guess I can take time to attend to Walters."
The boy he alluded to was talking to several companions as Tom and Ben
came up. His back was to the newcomers and he did not see them approach.
Mart Walters was a <DW2> and a braggart. Tom noticed that he was arrayed
in his best, and his first overheard words announced that he was
bragging as usual.
Mart was explaining to a credulous audience some of the wonderful feats
in diving and swimming he had engaged in during a recent stay in Boston.
With a good deal of boastful pride he alluded to a friend, Bert Aldrich,
whose father was a part owner of a big city natatorium. Tom interrupted
his bombast unceremoniously by suddenly appearing directly in front of
the boaster.
"Hello, Mart Walters," he hailed in a sort | 232.201325 |
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[Illustration: Asa Gray]
LETTERS OF ASA GRAY
EDITED BY
JANE LORING GRAY
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II.
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1894
Copyright, 1893,
BY JANE LORING GRAY.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
V. SECOND JOURNEY IN EUROPE.--CORRESPONDENCE. 1830-1859 369
VI. LETTERS TO DARWIN AND OTHERS. 1800-1868 454
VII. TRAVEL IN EUROPE AND AMERICA. 1808-1880 565
VIII. FINAL JOURNEYS AND WORK. 1880-1888 701
NOTE ON THE ILLUSTRATIONS. The frontispiece portrait of Dr. Gray is a
photogravure from a photograph taken in 1880. The plate of Dr. Gray in
his study, facing page 529, is from a photograph taken in 1879. The view
of the present Range of Buildings in the Botanic Garden, facing page
614, is from a photograph taken for this work.
LETTERS OF ASA GRAY.
CHAPTER V.
SECOND JOURNEY IN EUROPE.--CORRESPONDENCE.
1850-1859.
Dr. Gray sailed for England with Mrs. Gray in a sailing packet June 11,
1850. The steamers made regular trips, but the fine packets were still
running, and it was thought desirable to try the longer voyage for Mrs.
Gray’s health.
Dr. Gray renewed acquaintance with his old friends, and made many new
ones, meeting at his friend Mr. Ward’s, where they first stayed, many of
the younger men, Henfrey, Forbes, etc., who had become known in science
since his former visit in 1839.
TO JOHN TORREY.
GHENT, BELGIUM, July 16, 1850.
I surely meant that you should have heard of us long ere this. But there
seemed not to be a moment of time during the fortnight we spent in
England; Mr. Ward kept us so busy with every sort of engagement and
sight-seeing that J. could enjoy. I meant to have written at Dover last
evening; but it was not convenient, so now that we are for the first
night in a strange country (which England is not) I must tell you, what
I trust you have learned from Carey (to whom I had occasion to write
hurriedly, last mail), that we had a very pleasant voyage of seventeen
and a half days and came near making it in fourteen, as we made land
early on the morning of the twelfth day out, no storms, but gentle
favoring breezes till we made the Irish coast; and then, to our
disappointment, we had head winds to beat against all the way up to
Holyhead, and reached Liverpool Saturday morning....
On Monday we left Liverpool, which has vastly improved since you saw it;
stopping at Coventry and turning off to Leamington to see, at
Darlington’s desire, the descendants of old Peter Collinson,[1] and
deliver some books and letters from him, which I did. Mrs. Collinson was
ill with a severe fall, but her daughter received the things I brought,
and showed me a portrait of Peter. Then Mrs. Gray and I made an
excursion to Warwick Castle, the fine ruins of Kenilworth, and
Stoneleigh Abbey, driving through six or seven miles of fine park. The
next day on to London, to Ward, who had insisted on our visiting him. He
lives three and a half miles out of London, in a pleasant and quiet
suburban house; his son being established in Wellclose Square.
Boott I saw the same evening I arrived, and two days later, with J., but
not later. He has been quite sick with an influenza, and a slight but
not altogether pleasant inflammation of the lungs.
To Hooker I went at once also, and got your kind letter there, and saw
Kew. Hooker is quite well; but Lady H. is very poorly.... She inquired
most particularly and affectionately after yourself, and asked about all
your family....
On Monday I made another visit to Kew Gardens, (a grand affair) to show
the lions of the place to four or five young Americans I knew, one of
them young Brace,[2] J.’s cousin, who is making with two friends a
pleasant and profitable pedestrian excursion in England.[3] I cannot
begin to tell you the half we have done and seen in England, but we were
most busy: Saturday, conversazione of Royal Botanical Society in
Regent’s Park. Wednesday, excursion with Linnæan Club to Hertford; saw a
great Pinetum, 600 species of Coniferæ, etc., and the Panshanger Oak. (I
wrote Carey a few words of this.) Thursday, a most pleasant day with
Hooker. Miss Hooker looks quite well; all send their love to you, all
most kind and sweet to us. Hooker has altered little, but looks older.
Brown looks older perhaps, but decidedly stronger, is as healthy as
possible and very lively. In talking with him and showing him about it
he gave up about Krameria, and said I must be right. He formerly
unequivocally referred it to Polygalaceæ. Bennett is large and fat. I
fear he does not work hard enough.
Yesterday we came down to Dover early in the afternoon (a striking
place), and embarked late in the evening on steamer for Ostend, which we
reached early this morning; came right on to Bruges, which listless and
very curious old-world town, and its curiosities, we have all day been
exploring, till six o’clock, when we came on twenty-eight miles further
by railway to the famous and more lively town of Ghent,--where I have
been running about till the dusk arrived, and must now to bed, as we
have to finish Ghent to-morrow before dinner, and go on to Antwerp
afterwards, thence to Cologne. I think we shall cut Brussels.
At Ghent saw the Belfry and the strange old Town Hall.... I went to the
Botanic Garden (did not find Professor Kickx),--hardly as large as ours
at Cambridge, and by no means so rich or half so well kept, though said
to be the best in Belgium; explored the university library, and strolled
through the streets and along the canals....
Antwerp.--Imagine us settled comfortably at Hotel du Parc, Wednesday
evening, overlooking the Place Verte, our windows commanding a near and
most advantageous view of the finest cathedral in Belgium, with light
enough still to see pretty well against the sky the graceful outlines
and much of the light tracery and Gothic work of this gem of a steeple,
one of the loftiest in the world (403 feet, 7 inches) and probably
unsurpassed by any for lightness, grace, and the elaborateness of the
carved work. Napoleon compared it to Mechlin lace. And such sweet
chimes, every fifteen minutes! The chime at the beginning of the hour
still rings in our ears. We have never tired of listening to it....
BONN, July 22.
We drove through the city (Cologne) to the station of the Bonn railroad.
But on the way the driver, of his own motion, stopped at the door of the
cathedral. Finding that we had time enough to take a good look before
the train left, we could not resist, and saw this wonder and masterpiece
of true Gothic architecture; which by the united efforts of most North
German powers is going on toward completion, in the style and plan on
which it was commenced seven hundred or eight hundred years ago, and in
which the choir was finished, and the transepts and nave commenced. It
is most grand; the grandest thing we ever saw, though the nave bears
only a temporary roof, at thirty or forty feet less than the full
height. The ancient stained glass comes fully up to one’s expectation. I
have never seen the like.
We went up to Poppelsdorf; such charming and picturesque view of the
Siebengebirge (seven mountains) and the Godesberg, etc., from the
professor’s windows and the Botanic Garden; the museums rich and
curious, and parts of the old château in which they are (now surrendered
to the university) not less so. The botanical professors, Treviranus[4]
and Dr. Roemer, very kind; some collections to be made ready here for me
to examine when we come back, so that I must then spend a day here....
TO GEORGE ENGELMANN.
GENEVA, August 16, 1850.
We went up the Rhine to Coblenz, Bingen, and Mayence; thence to
Frankfort. By some mistake in the post office in giving me the address,
your letter to Dr. Fresenius[5] I took to a law-doctor Fresenius, who
was away in Switzerland. So I gave up all hopes of seeing him, and we
fell to seeing the sights by ourselves, when, a few hours before we had
arranged to go to Heidelberg, the true Dr. Fresenius came in. We may see
him again on our way back. We went to Heidelberg, for an hour or two
only....
It is now the 20th,--time passed fast. I work to-day in herbariums De
Candolle and Boissier, and to-morrow morning we go to Freiburg and Berne
and the Bernese Oberland. We cannot be back now in England so early as
we expected; but still hope to be there by the 20th September....
Thursday morning, after an early breakfast, went on by railroad to Kehl;
left our luggage and took a carriage over the bridge of boats, across
the lines of the French republic (?) into Strasburg. Saw Schimper;[6]
then we went to the cathedral, viewed the grand front of this imposing
structure, and the wonderful spire, the tallest in the world; were much
struck with the grandeur of the interior, wholly lighted by stained
glass, the greater part of it 400 or 500 years old. After visiting the
Museum of Natural History, and arranging with Schimper to meet him in
Switzerland, where he is to pass with his wife (a Swiss lady) a long
vacation, we took our carriage and returned to the Baden side of the
river, and came on to Freiburg (in the Breisgau) that evening, reaching
it in the rain....
Professor Braun,[7] the brother of the first Mrs. Agassiz, was very kind
to us. He is a very interesting man, of charming manners; his wife very
sweet and charming, his children most engaging. Saturday afternoon we
took a carriage, and with Professor Braun rode up a beautiful valley to
the Höllenthal (French, Vallée d’Enfer), a rocky and wooded gorge of
very striking scenery; wild and majestic, rather than terrible, as its
name imports....
In the afternoon visited the cathedral, one of the finest and oldest in
Europe, that is well preserved. Here nearly every part, and all the
stained glass, of a most curious kind, is perfectly preserved; and the
spire, though not so high as that of Strasburg, is as elaborate and
light,--as it were of woven stone thread,--and even more beautiful....
Tuesday we rode from Bâle to Bienne (fifty-six miles) in a diligence,
from eight A.M. to five P.M., through the Münster Thal, the grandest and
most picturesque scenery of the Jura.
Wednesday, a ride of three hours along lakes of Bienne and Neuchâtel
brought us to Neuchâtel at eleven o’clock A.M.... Professor Godet,[8]
who received me most cordially, took me (with Mr. Coulon) up the
Chaumont, 2,500 feet; but the Alps were obscured by clouds, at least the
higher Alps, and we had no fine view of them; otherwise the view was
very fine. We returned by the great boulder Pierre à Bot. All asked
after Agassiz with much interest. Excursions are planned for us when we
return....
* * * * *
Dr. Gray enjoyed the visit to Geneva, where he renewed his friendship
with MM. Alphonse De Candolle and Boissier, accomplishing some useful
work, and having pleasant social meetings and excursions. He went to
Chamouni and the Bernese Oberland; then to Munich, especially to meet
again Martius, with whom he had been in constant correspondence, and who
made the journey from Tyrol to greet his old friend. Their few days
together were greatly enjoyed.
He returned to England, going down the Neckar by steamboat to
Heidelberg, then down the Rhine, and through Holland, where he saw
Miquel[9] in Amsterdam, rambling with him on a fête-day through the
streets at evening, enjoying the queer sights; went to Leyden, meeting
De Vriese,[10] with whom was R. Brown (then staying in Leyden for a few
days), and seeing the Botanic Garden, one of the oldest in Europe, and
well known to Linnæus. Blume[11] he missed, but he saw Siebold’s[12]
collection of Japanese curios, then most rare. He took steamer from
Rotterdam to London, and after a few days went down to Mr. Bentham’s, in
Herefordshire.
Here were spent two months of very hard work with Mr. Bentham, who most
kindly went over with him the plants of the United States Exploring
Expedition, which had been brought over the Atlantic for the purpose.
Pontrilas is in a pretty, hilly country on the border of Wales, with
many old churches, almost of Saxon time, in the neighborhood, to give
interest to walks, and very interesting, agreeable neighbors for a day
or two’s visiting, among them the authoress, Mrs. Archer Clive, who was
very kind.
He left Pontrilas early in December to make a visit, at Dublin, to his
friend Professor Harvey, to stay in the family of Mr. and Mrs.
Todhunter, Dr. Harvey’s sister. Going on board the steamer at ten in the
evening, he met with the severe accident of which he gives an account in
his letters. Dr. Harvey came from Dublin to help in nursing him. His
vigor and elasticity helped him to a speedy recovery, but it increased a
general tendency to stoop, and he was never so erect afterwards.
He was able to get to Kew the last of December, and spent the winter in
hard work in Sir William Hooker’s herbarium, which was then in his house
at West Park.
TO A. DE CANDOLLE.
CUMBERLAND PLACE, KEW, December 28, 1850.
Your kind favor of December 6th, forwarded to me by Bentham, to Dublin,
would have been sooner acknowledged, but that it found me an invalid. On
our way from Hereford to Dublin I had just gone on board a steamer at
Holyhead, early in the evening; had left Mrs. Gray in the ladies’ cabin,
when, coming on deck again, I stepped over an open hatchway which had
been left for the moment very carelessly unguarded and unlighted. I fell
full eighteen feet, they say, to the bottom of the hold, striking partly
on my right hand and the side of my right leg, bruising and straining
both, but principally on my right side against a timber projecting from
the floor, fracturing two of my ribs. It is truly wonderful that I was
not more seriously and permanently injured. I was taken on shore at once
and had good medical attendance. I recovered so rapidly that in a week I
was comfortably taken across to Dublin, where I was kindly cared for by
good friends; in two weeks more I left for London, able to walk without
difficulty; and to-day, just four weeks after the accident, I have begun
to work at plants again, in Sir William Hooker’s herbarium. But my side
is still tender, and my strength is not great.
Having said thus much of my bodily condition, let me no longer delay to
thank you heartily for the very unexpected compliment that you have
caused to be paid me, and to ask you to convey, in fitting terms, my
grateful acknowledgments to the Société de Physique et d’Histoire
Naturelle, for the honor they have conferred upon me in choosing me as
one of their corresponding members. I was not aware that I had rendered
any particular services to your society, but I shall be very glad to do
so if any opportunity offers. Although, generally, I am far from
coveting compliments of this kind, I assure you I am much pleased to be
thus associated with several valued personal friends, my contemporaries,
and with such highly honored names of the past generation....
We had eight weeks of most pleasant and profitable labor at Pontrilas,
and Mr. Bentham has rendered me invaluable assistance.
Mrs. Gray joins me in the expression of kind remembrances and regard to
Madame De Candolle and yourself.
Believe me to remain, ever most sincerely yours,
ASA GRAY.
* * * * *
Since Dr. Gray was so near Sir William, and working in the herbarium
almost every day, there was much meeting of old friends, and of many of
the men distinguished in botany. Robert Brown, with his keen observation
and dry wit, he saw constantly at the British Museum, Dr. Wallich,[13]
Mr. Miers and many others. There was some social visiting in London and
the neighborhood. Mr. Abbott Lawrence was then American minister in
London, and he and Mrs. Lawrence were very kind and attentive, giving
him a chance to see at an evening reception some of the great men of the
London world: the Duke of Wellington, Lady Morgan, Whewell the Master of
Trinity, Lord Boughton, Lord Gough, and many others.
It was the year of the first great World’s Exhibition, and the building
was then considered very wonderful. Through the kindness of Professor
Lindley he was enabled to see it before it was completed.
There was a very charming visit to Oxford in March, where Dr. Gray made
most delightful acquaintances. He there first met Dean Church, then a
fellow of Oriel, who had him to dine. He also dined with Mr.
Congreve[14] at Wadham; met Maskeleyne, who showed him “some fine
talbotypes, which are a sort of daguerreotype on paper, and have a
beautiful effect for landscapes and buildings.” Breakfasted with Mr.
Burgon and Mr. Church, at Oriel, in Dr. Pusey’s old rooms, and met Mr.
Burgon again at dinner, when dining in the “Common Room,” at a dinner
given him by Mr. Church, and also Buckle and Sclater. Dr. Jacobson, then
Regius professor of divinity, afterwards Bishop of Chester, and Mrs.
Jacobson, were very kind. Dr. Daubeny was then professor of botany at
Oxford, and there were some plants to look at in the small herbarium
kept in the little Botanic Garden in an old greenhouse. The days were
crowded with interesting sight-seeing and in meeting agreeable people.
From Oxford, Dr. Gray went to Cambridge, where he met again a traveling
acquaintance made on the passage from Rotterdam, Dr. Thompson, then
Greek tutor, later Master of Trinity, who was very kind in doing the
honors of Trinity, King’s Chapel, etc. At his rooms, Dr. Gray met
Professor Challis and other Cambridge men. The grounds about the
colleges were then at their greatest beauty, the banks of the Cam yellow
with primroses, the whole setting off the beautiful bridges and stately
buildings. Another traveling acquaintance met in the street, recalling
an experience on the Furca, asked Dr. Gray to dine with him at Caius
College, saying his name was Mackenzie. He was Bishop Mackenzie, who
died in south Africa.
On returning to Kew, Dr. Gray found Dr. Joseph Hooker, just back from
his journey to the Himalayas and Thibet. Dr. Thompson[15] was also
there, just home from India, where he had been imprisoned with Lady Sale
and others, twenty of them in one small room, during the trouble in
Afghanistan. And one day came an invitation to lunch from the Hookers’,
“to meet Mr. Darwin, who is coming to meet Dr. Hooker; is distinguished
as a naturalist.” “Mr. Darwin was a lively, agreeable person” [Mrs.
Gray’s journal].
TO A. DE CANDOLLE.
5 CUMBERLAND PLACE, KEW, April 14, 1851.
For myself I am glad that I am perfectly recovered from the effects of
my accident, and am as active as ever. I have passed a very pleasant
winter, and have prosecuted my studies to great advantage, though there
still remains, alas! more for me to do than I can hope to accomplish in
the time that is still left for me. Your letter was just in time to
reach me here; for we had just decided to go to Paris early next week;
to remain there until the 1st of June, at least. The only drawback is
that we thereby lose the society of Mr. and Mrs. Bentham, who mean to
come to London early next month....
Sir William Hooker is not yet well, though better than he was last
winter. I have presented your kind messages, for which he sends best
thanks, and is rejoiced to hear of your recovery. Sir William is truly a
noble man; the more intimately you know him the more strongly attached
to him you become....
I had thought it quite likely that we might pass through Geneva again
this summer; but that is not now possible. The sea, however, is not so
broad as formerly. Believe me to remain,
Very faithfully and affectionately yours,
ASA GRAY.
* * * * *
In April Dr. and Mrs. Gray went to Paris, where he worked busily through
the mornings at the Jardin des Plantes, taking the afternoon for his
sight-seeing. He met again his old friends, Jussieu, Decaisne, Gay,
etc., and made the acquaintance of M. and Mme. Vilmorin, both most
charming and interesting people; the former distinguished as a
horticulturist, and both making investigations for many years on the
varieties of strawberries, for which Mme. V. made all the drawings. Two
separate days were passed at Verrières, their country home, an old villa
belonging formerly to the Duchesse de la Vallière. And here to meet him
came old Michaux[16] the younger, then eighty-one, who had walked from
his home (fifteen leagues), for the pleasure of seeing Dr. Gray. And it
was at Dr. Gray’s request that both Michaux and Jussieu sat for their
daguerreotypes for him, the only satisfactory likenesses of either. Mr.
François Delessert[17] extended pleasant hospitalities, and Mr. Webb was
very kind and cordial.
It was during the time of the Republic, Louis Napoleon, president, and
there were some grand fêtes in May, in honor of the Republic, at which
the officers of the government were conspicuously absent.
Dr. Gray returned to Kew in June to continue his work, broken only by
some days in London.
TO GEORGE BENTHAM.
PARIS, April 30, 1851.
DEAR BENTHAM,--I cannot give your message to Weddell, for he is on his
way to the Peruvian cinchona forests, to remain a year,--I suppose on a
commission from the manufacturers of quinine. Jussieu still suffers with
some affection of the stomach, but is much better than last winter.
Decaisne is quite well, but is occupied with the _Culture_, and is
little in the herbarium, where Spach, Tulasne,[18] Naudin,[19] and
Trécul[20] | 232.202429 |
2023-11-16 18:20:56.1863580 | 7,435 | 21 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Julia Miller and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
MEXICAN COPPER TOOLS:
THE USE OF COPPER BY THE MEXICANS BEFORE THE CONQUEST;
AND
THE KATUNES OF MAYA HISTORY,
A CHAPTER IN THE
EARLY HISTORY OF CENTRAL AMERICA,
WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE PIO PEREZ MANUSCRIPT.
BY
PHILIPP J. J. VALENTINI, PH.D.
[TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN, BY STEPHEN SALISBURY, JR.]
WORCESTER, MASS.:
PRESS OF CHARLES HAMILTON.
1880.
[PROCEEDINGS OF AMERICAN ANTIQUARIAN SOCIETY, APRIL 29, AND OCTOBER 21,
1879.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
MEXICAN COPPER TOOLS 5
THE KATUNES OF MAYA HISTORY 45
NOTE BY COMMITTEE OF PUBLICATION 47
_Introductory Remarks_ 49
_The Maya Manuscript and Translation_ 52
_History of the Manuscript_ 55
_Elements of Maya Chronology_ 60
_Table of the 20 Days of the Maya Month_ 62
_Table of the 18 Months of the Maya Year_ 63
_Table of Maya Months and Days_ 64
_Translation of the Manuscript by Señor Perez_ 75
_Discussion of the Manuscript_ 77
_Concluding Remarks_ 92
_Sections of the Perez Manuscript Expressed in Years_ 96
_Table of Maya Ahaues Expressed in Years_ 100
_Results of the Chronological Investigation_ 102
Illustrations.
PAGE.
COPPER AXES IN THE ARMS OF TEPOZTLA, TEPOZTITLA AND 12
TEPOZCOLULA
COPPER AXES, THE TRIBUTE OF CHILAPA 13
COPPER AXES AND BELLS, THE TRIBUTE OF CHALA 14
MEXICAN GOLDSMITH SMELTING GOLD 18
YUCATAN COPPER AXES 30
COPPER CHISEL FOUND IN OAXACA 33
MEXICAN CARPENTER’S HATCHET 35
COPPER AXE OF TEPOZCOLULA 36
COPPER AXE OF TLAXIMALOYAN 36
COPPER TOOL, FOUND BY DUPAIX IN OAXACA 37
MAYA AHAU KATUN WHEEL 72
MAP SHOWING THE MOVEMENT OF THE MAYAS, AS STATED IN THE 78
MANUSCRIPT
FOOTNOTE
YUCATAN AXE, FROM LANDA 17
INDIAN BATTLE AXE, FROM OVIEDO 19
MEXICAN COPPER TOOLS.
BY PHILIPP J. J. VALENTINI, PH.D.
[_From the German, by Stephen Salisbury, Jr_.]
[From Proceedings of American Antiquarian Society, April 30, 1879.]
The subject of prehistoric copper mining, together with the trade in the
metal and the process of its manufacture into implements and tools by
the red men of North America, has engaged the attention of numerous
investigators.
It was while listening to an interesting paper on prehistoric copper
mining at Lake Superior, read by Prof. Thomas Egleston before the
Academy of Sciences, of New York, March 9, 1879, that the writer was
reminded of a number of notes which he had made, some time previous, on
the same subject. These notes, however, covered a department of research
not included in the lecture of that evening. They were collected in
order to secure all the material extant in relation to the copper
products of Mexico and Central America. Nevertheless, this treatment of
a subject so germain to ours, could not help imparting an impulse to a
rapid comparison of the results of our own studies with those of others.
It brought to light striking agreements, as well as disagreements, which
existed in connection with the copper industries of the two widely
separated races. On the one hand it appeared that both of these ancient
people were unacquainted with iron; both were trained to the practise of
war, and, strange to say, both had invariably abstained from shaping
copper into any implement of war, the metal being appropriated solely to
the uses of peace.
But, on the other hand, whilst the northern red man attained to his
highest achievement in the production of the axe, the native of Central
America could boast of important additions to his stock of tools. He
possessed copper implements for tilling the fields, and knew the uses of
the chisel. Besides, when he wished to impart to the copper a definite
form, he showed a superior ingenuity. The northern Indian simply took a
stone, and by physical force hammered the metal into the required shape.
But the skilled workman of Tecoatega and Tezcuco, subjecting the native
copper to the heat of the furnace, cast the woodcutter’s axe in a mould,
as well as the bracelets and the fragile earrings that adorned the
princesses of Motezuma.
Therefore, in view of the recently increasing interest shown in
archæological circles, respecting everything relating to Mexico, the
writer deemed it worth while to revise the notes referred to.
As to the fact that the early Mexicans used instruments of copper, there
can be no doubt. The brevity of the statements respecting these
instruments is nevertheless very perplexing. The accounts of the Spanish
chroniclers, indeed, afford a certain degree of satisfaction, but they
leave us with a desire for fuller information. We should have felt more
grateful to these authorities if, out of the thousand and more chapters
devoted to the glorious deeds of the “Castellanos and Predicadores,”
they had written one in which they had introduced us to the Mexican
work-shop, exhibiting the weaver, the paper-maker, the carpenter, the
goldsmith, and the sculptor, and initiating us into the devices and
methods respectively employed; describing the form and shape of the
tools they used, and giving an account of all those little details which
are indispensable for achieving any technical or artistical results.
Yet, as it exists, the desired information is incomplete, and, for the
present at least, we can only deplore its brevity. In looking for aid
from other quarters we feel still more perplexed. No specimen of any
copper or bronze tool, apparently, has been preserved, and we are thus
prevented from determining whether the axes or chisels mentioned by the
Spanish authors were of the same shape as ours, or whether the natives
had contrived to give them a peculiar shape of their own. Finally, no
definite hint is given whether the kind of copper metal, which they
called “brass or bronze,” was copper with the natural admixtures of
gold, silver, tin, or other tempering elements, or whether the Mexicans
had themselves discovered the devices of hardening, and combined the
elements in due conventional proportions.
All these questions are of the highest interest, and claim an answer.
Our most renowned authorities for Mexican archæology and history,
Humboldt, Prescott and Brasseur de Bourbourg,[1] pass over this subject
without giving any desired satisfaction. They do not go much farther
than to repeat the statements furnished by the writers in the same
language as they received them.
These early statements will form the principal portion of the material
out of which we weave the text of our discussion. In order that the
reader may be better prepared to enter into our reasoning and judge of
the correctness of our conclusions, we shall, in translation, place the
statements of these authors below the text, in the form of foot-notes;
though, in cases where it is believed that the reader may desire to see
the originals, the Spanish text is given. Considerable help has been
derived from a source hitherto very little consulted, that of the native
paintings, which represent copper implements. As will be seen, they make
up, to a certain extent, for the deficiency of the latter in
collections. The cuts we give are of the same size as those we find
copied in the Kingsborough Collection.
We shall speak first of those localities whence the natives procured
their copper and their tin; secondly, of the manner in which they used
to melt metals; thirdly, consider whether the metal was moulded or
hammered; and fourthly, discuss the various forms into which their tools
appear to have been shaped.
That the natives of the New World collected and worked other metals
besides gold and silver, seems to have become known to the Spaniards
only after their entrance into the city of Mexico, A.D. 1521. During the
first epoch, in which the West India Islands and the Atlantic coasts of
South and Central America were explored and conquered, no specimen of
utensils, tools or weapons, made of brass or copper, was discovered to
be in the possession of the inhabitants. So also in Yucatan, Tlascalla,
and on the high plateau of Anahuac, where mechanics and industry were
found to have a home, and where the native warrior exhibited his person
in the most gorgeous military attire, their swords, javelins, lances and
arrows, showed that concerning the manufacture of arms they had, so to
speak, not yet emerged from the Stone-Age. And finally, when brass,
copper, tin, and even lead, were seen exposed for sale in the stalls of
the market-place of Mexico, it was noticed to the great astonishment of
the conquerors, that these metals had exclusively served the natives for
the manufacture of mere instruments of peace.
The Spanish leader communicates these facts to his emperor in these few
words:[2]—“Besides all kind of merchandise, I have seen for sale
trinkets made of gold and silver, of lead, bronze, copper and tin.”
Almost the same expressions are used in the memoirs of his companion,
Bernal Diaz de Castillo:[3]—“And I saw _axes_ of _bronze_, and _copper_,
and _tin_.” Under the influences of such a revelation the hearts of the
distressed Spaniards must have been elated with joy and courage, when
they saw not only a prospect of replacing the arms which their small
band had lost, but also the source from which to equip the faithful
Indian allies of Tlascala in an efficient manner. Immediately after
having taken firm foothold on the conquered ground, Cortes ordered the
goldsmiths of Tezcuco to cast eight thousand arrow-heads of copper, and
these weapons were made ready for delivery within a single week.[4] At
the same time, too, the hope to have a supply of cannon made was
presented to the conqueror’s mind. The only question was from whence to
procure a sufficient quantity of the material necessary to carry out
this design.
Copper is found to-day in nearly all the states of the Mexican Republic.
We abstain, therefore, from quoting the localities. But as far as our
information goes, no writer or historian has stated where Cortes and
before him the natives themselves found it. To investigate this matter
might be of direct utility, at least. We intend to use a source hitherto
little explored, but which for the history of Mexico is of greatest
importance, the picture tables, called the Codices Mexicana. These
collections contain representations of their historical, religious,
social and commercial life. The writer of this article has made himself
familiar with these sources, expecting to find in them disclosures about
the location of the ancient copper mines, as soon as he could discover
what _copper_ was called in the language of the natives. The answer
comes in this connection.
The Mexicans had the habit of giving a name to their towns and districts
from the objects which were found in abundance in their neighborhood.
Therefore, copper regions ought to bear a name which related to this
mineral.
In Lord Kingsborough’s Collection, Vol. V., pages 115–124, there are two
printed alphabetical indices of the names of all the towns, whose
hieroglyphic symbol, or, as we term it, whose coat of arms, is
represented in the Codex Mendoza, to be found in Vol. I. of the same
collection, pages 1–72. This Codex is arranged in three sections. The
first shows the picture-annals of the ancient Aztec-Kings, and the
cities which they conquered (pages 1–17). The second reproduces again
the coats of arms of these cities, but gives in addition the pictures of
all the objects of tribute which these cities had to pay. The third
section exhibits an illustration of how Mexican children were trained
from infancy up to their 15th year. Sections first and second will claim
our interest, exclusively.
Copper, we learn from the Dictionary of Molina[5] was named in the
language of the Nahoa speaking natives, _tepuzque_.[6] Upon searching in
the above quoted Codices, we find three names of towns which are
compounds of this word _tepuzque_. Their names appear in the following
form: Tepoztla, Vol. I., page 8, fig. 2, and the same name on page 26,
fig. 13. Tepoztitla, page 42, fig. 10, and Tepozcolula, page 43, fig. 3.
The cuts 1, 2, 3 and 4, are faithful reproductions of the coats of arms
belonging to these towns.
[Illustration:
CUT 1.
Tepoztla.
]
[Illustration:
CUT 2.
Tepoztla.
]
[Illustration:
CUT 3.
Tepoztitla.
]
[Illustration:
CUT 4.
Tepozcolula.
]
There cannot be any doubt as to the meaning of the objects represented
by these pictures. They mean axes. Their handles appear in a curved
form, the blades at their cutting edges are somewhat rounded, and the
tenons of the blades are inserted below the top of the handles. Both
handles and blades are painted in a reddish brown color, the wood as
well as the copper.
The differences between the pictured representations are the following:
Cuts 1, 2, and 4, show the axes growing out from the top of a mountain,
whilst the axe of cut 3 appears by itself. Further, the axes of cuts 1
and 2, those of _Tepoztla_, show something applied to the handle, which
in cut 1 we recognize to be a single bow-knot, and in cut 2 the same
girdle with a bow-knot, yet wound about a dress of white color,
embroidered with red spots. A notable difference, however, will still be
noticed between the form of the axes in cuts 1, 2, 3, and that in cut 4,
or _Tepozcolula_. We shall speak of this latter, on a later page, as an
instrument very closely related to the other axes.
By means of these pictures we arrive at the knowledge of the following
facts: Copper was undoubtedly found in the neighborhood of the three
named cities. Moreover, copper in these cities was wrought into
axe-blades. Finally, the axe will turn out to be the symbol used for
copper, in general.
Let us accept these facts and see whether this picture for the symbol
for copper does not return on other pages of the same Codex, and thereby
gain more information on the subject. We notice the picture of the
axe-blade reappearing on the pages 39 and 42. Both happen to bear the
same number, that of figure 20, and both belong to the same section of
the Codex which contains the pictures of the tributes paid by the
conquered towns. Cut 5 is a reproduction of fig. 20, page 39, Codex
Mendoza. It shows the metal axe without a handle hanging on a thread
from a line upon which we see five flags are painted. Moreover, at the
left side is a little picture. A flag in Mexican symbol writing
signifies the number twenty.[7]
[Illustration:
CUT 5.
Town of Chilapa.
]
We may therefore conclude that by this combination one hundred copper
axes are indicated. The question now arises, what city may have paid
this tribute of copper axes? The painter has not only omitted to connect
directly these flags and axe with one of the various coats of arms that
are grouped in their neighborhood, but even, if he had done so, the
student, still unacquainted with the art of explaining pictures, would
be unable to make out the name of the city, embodied in the picture of
the coat of arms. We will overcome this difficulty by consulting the
interpretation of the Codex Mendoza, which is printed on the pages 39–89
of Vol. V., Kingsb. Collection. There, on page 73, the suggestion is
given that the tribute objects refer to the town of Chilapa, whose coat
of arms (fig. 2), as we shall notice on the cut, consists of a tub
filled with water, and on whose surface the _chilli_-fruit appears,
better known as the Spanish red pepper _chilli_, red pepper, _atl_,
water, _pa_, in or above. For this reason we learn that the town of
_Chilapa_ was tributary in 100 axes.
[Illustration:
CUT 6.
Town of Chala.
]
In like manner we may proceed with the definition of the picture found
on page 42, fig. 20. The copy given in cut 6, shows 80 blades of copper
axes in fig. 20, and besides 40 little copper bells in fig. 19, and the
interpretation, Vol. V., page 76, informs us that it was the town of
Chala, fig. 26, which had to pay this kind of tribute.
Therefore, the towns of Tepoztla, Tepoztitla, Tepozcolula, and, besides,
those of Chilapa and Xala, must be considered to have been connected, in
one way or the other, with copper mining, copper manufacture, and the
tribute of the same.[8]
A few words on the procuring of the metal from localities where it was
discovered by the natives, may find a suitable place here. Mining, as we
understand it to-day, or as the Spaniards understood it already at the
time of the conquest, was not practised by the natives. Gold and silver
were not broken from the entrails of the rocks. They were collected from
the _placeres_ by a process of mere washing. No notice at all has come
down to us how copper was gathered. We can, however, easily imagine,
that whenever by a chance outcropping a copper vein or stratum became
visible, they probably broke off the ore or mineral to a depth easy to
be reached, and only selected the most solid pieces. It is evident that
the results of such superficial mining must have been very trifling,
certainly not greater than would barely suffice for the fabrication of
the most necessary tools. Herein we will find an explanation, why this
people, though possessing the metal and the technical skill,
nevertheless did not use it for the manufacture of arms. The production
could not have been abundant enough to supply the whole nation or even
the professional soldier with metal weapons. They preferred therefore,
to continue in the ignorance of the Stone-Age.
Where the Mexicans found the _lead_ that was seen in the market-place,
nay, even the purposes for which they might have used it, we have been
entirely unable to learn. _Lead_ in the language of the Nahoas, is
called _temeztli_ (telt stone, metzli moon), moon stone, a name
picturesque and characteristic, as were most of those which stand in the
list of objects that belong to the realm of nature. Not a single picture
referring to lead can be found in the Mexican Codices. The same must
also be said of _tin_, the name of which was _amochictl_, a word
seemingly Nahoatl in form, but whose root was probably derived from a
foreign language. It will be gratifying, however, to learn from the pen
of the great conqueror Cortes himself, where the natives, and afterwards
his followers, found their _tin_. To quote the language of Cortes,[9] “I
am without artillery and weapons, though I have often sent money to
obtain them. But as nothing drives a man to expedients so much as
distress, and as I had already lost the hope that Your Royal Majesty
might be informed of this, I have mustered all my strength to the utmost
in order that I might not lose what I have already obtained with so much
danger and sacrifice of life. I have therefore arranged to have men
immediately sent out in search of copper, and in order to obtain it
without delay I have expended a great amount of money. As soon as I had
brought together a sufficient quantity, I procured a workman, who
luckily was with us, to cast several cannons. Two half-culverines are
now ready, and we have succeeded as far as their size would permit. The
copper was indeed all ready for use, but I had no _tin_. Without _tin_ I
could do nothing, and it caused me a great deal of trouble to find a
sufficient quantity of it for these cannons, for some of our men, who
had tin plates or other vessels of that kind, were not willing to part
with them at any rate. For this reason I have sent out people in all
directions searching for tin, and the Lord, who takes care of
everything, willed graciously that when our distress had reached its
highest point, I found among the natives of _Tachco_[10] small pieces of
tin, very thin and in the form of coins.[11] Making further
investigations I found that this tin, there and in other provinces was
used for money, also that this tin was obtained from the same province
of _Tachco_, the latter being at a distance of 26 leagues from this
town. I also discovered the locality itself of these mines. The
Spaniards whom I despatched with the necessary tools brought me
_samples_ of it, and I then gave them orders that a sufficient quantity
should be procured, and, though it is a work of much labor, I shall be
supplied with the necessary quantity that I require. While searching for
tin, according to a report from those skilled in the subject, a rich
vein of iron-ore was also discovered.
Now supplied with tin I can make the desired cannons, and daily I try to
increase the number, so that now I have already five pieces ready, two
half-culverines, two which are still smaller, one field-piece and two
_sacres_, the same that I brought with me, and another half-culverine
which I purchased from the estate of the Adelantado Ponce de Leon.”
In the above report of Cortes, therefore, we are informed of the name of
the locality where tin was found and dug by the natives. So we have the
facts established that both copper and tin[12] were dug by the natives,
that there was a traffic, in them at that time, that Cortes himself
succeeded in getting at the mines from which they were extracted, and
that he had not been mistaken in his former recognition of their display
for sale in the public market.
But before these ores could be shaped into the above named commercial
forms, it is clear that they still needed to undergo a process of
smelting. As to the peculiar mode of smelting pursued by the natives, we
have not been able to find any distinct reference in the writings of the
chroniclers. It does not appear that the ancient Mexicans understood the
method of the Peruvians of melting their copper in furnaces exposed to
the wind on the lofty sierras, but we may form for ourselves an idea of
how they proceeded from a picture in Codex Mendoza, page 71, fig. 24.
Cut 7 gives a faithful reproduction.
[Illustration:
CUT 7.
Smelting Gold.
]
In the midst of an earthen tripod, surrounded by smoke and flames, we
perceive a small disk of a yellow color. Our attention is called to the
peculiar mark imprinted on the surface of the disk. Upon searching in
Lord Kingsborough’s Collection, Vol. V., page 112, plate 71, where the
interpretation of the little picture is given, we learn, that the man
sitting by the tripod, is meant to be a goldsmith. Hence we conclude the
disk must be understood to mean a round piece of gold, and that very
probably the mark printed on it, was the usual symbolical sign for
gold.[13] At the right of the tripod sits a man wrapped in his mantle,
no doubt the master of the work-shop; for the addition of a flake flying
from his mouth, as the typical sign for language or command, gives us a
right to suppose that we have before us the so-called _temachtiani_, or
master of the trade. At the left side crouches the apprentice,
_tlamachtilli_. He holds in his right hand a staff, one end of which is
in his mouth and the other is placed in the crucible. _Tlapitzqui_, in
the Nahoatl language means at the same time a flute player and a melter
of metal. This etymological version therefore conveys the idea, that the
staff held by the smelter signifies a pipe or tube used for increasing
heat by blowing the fire, as the staff is similar to a long pipe or
flute and is held in the mouth of the workman. In his left hand he holds
a similar staff, but there is no means of recognizing whether it is a
stick for stirring the embers, or a tube to be used alternately with the
other. Now, we shall be permitted to draw a conclusion from this process
of smelting gold as to the manner of smelting copper. The process must
have been exactly the same with both. For, if the Mexican goldsmith,
with the aid of a blowpipe, was able to increase the heat of the fire to
such a degree as to make gold fusible, a heat which requires 1,100° C.,
he cannot have found greater difficulties in melting copper, which
requires nearly the same degree of heat; and tin, which is far more
easily fusible, could have been treated in the same way.
Melting was followed by casting into forms or moulds, and these moulds
must have been of stone. This might be concluded from the language of
Torquemada and Gomara.[14] The words “_by placing one stone above
another one_” are too clear to leave the least doubt as to what the
author meant. This process will account for the absolute identity we had
the opportunity to observe existing between certain trinkets of the same
class, coming chiefly from Nicaragua and Chiriqui. No specimens of a
mould, however, have come to our view, or have been heard of as existing
in any collection, probably because whenever they were met by the
“_huaqueros_,” they did not recognize them as such, and threw them away.
The scanty knowledge we have of all these interesting technical details
will not be wondered at, if we consider that we derive it from no other
class of writers than from unlearned soldiers, and monks unskilled in
the practical matters of this world. But still, the principal reason for
this want of information is that the Mexican artist was as jealous in
keeping his devices secret, as the European. They also formed guilds,
into which the apprentices were sworn, and their tongues were bound by
fear as well as interest. Let us quote only one instance. The Vice-King
Mendoza reports to the Emperor[15] that he offered to pardon one of
those workmen, if he would disclose how he was able to counterfeit the
Spanish coins in so striking a way. But the native preferred to remain
silent and was put to death.
Here is the place for asking the question: Would not the early Mexicans,
aside from their practice of casting the above metals, have employed
also that of hammering? Our reply would be emphatically in the negative,
if taking the expression “hammering” in its strict meaning, which is
that of working with the hammer. The writers of the Conquest have left
the most explicit testimony, that the natives, only after the arrival of
the Spaniards became acquainted with this instrument, and with the art
of using it for working high reliefs out of a metal sheet. Moreover, the
native vocabulary has no word for the metal hammer as it is commonly
understood. Yet the wooden mallet was known, the so-called
_quauhololli_, and used by the sculptors. In the gradual education of
mankind in technical knowledge, beating of metals, of course, must have
preceded casting. The ancestors of the early Mexicans, at a certain
epoch, stood on the same low stage of workmanship as their more distant
northern brethren. But when the inventor of the mould had taught them
how to multiply the objects most in demand, by the means of this easy,
rapid and almost infallible operation, we must not imagine that he had
done away entirely with the old practice of beating and stretching metal
with a stone. The practice, in certain cases, would have been
maintained: as for instance, when a diadem, a shield, or a breastplate
was to be shaped, and on occasions when the object to be made required
the use of a thin flat sheet of metal. Such objects are not only
described by the writers, but are also represented by the native
painters. A specimen of such a kind is mentioned, which on account of
its extraordinary beauty, workmanship and value left a deep impression
on the conquerors. It was the present which Motezuma made to Cortes at
his landing, on the _Culhua_ coast, “the two gold and silver wheels;”
the one, as they said, representing the Sun, the other the Moon.
According to the measures they took of them, these round discs must have
had a diameter of more than five feet. It is preposterous to imagine
that round sheets of this size should have been the product of
casting.[16]
We pass on now to discuss the various tools which we have reason to
think were cast in copper or in bronze, by the early Mexicans.
The _axe_ stands in the first place. Cortes, we shall remember, omitted
to specify any of the objects which he saw exposed for sale in the
market-place. Not so his companion, Bernal Diaz. He, after a lapse of 40
years, when occupied with the writing of his memoirs, has no
recollection of other tools, which he undoubtedly must have seen, except
the much admired bronze axes. Specimens of these were sent over to Spain
in the same vessel on which the above mentioned presents to the Emperor
were shipped. At their arrival at Palos, Petrus Martyr of the Council
House of the Indies was one of the first to examine the curiosities sent
from the New World, and to gather from the lips of the bearers their
verbal comments. His remarks on the axes he had seen, are “with their
bronze axes and hatchets, cunningly tempered, they (the Indians) fell
the trees.” There are three expressions in this passage which will claim
our attention. First, we learn that two classes of axes were sent over,
one of which Martyr recognized as a “_secūris_” the other as a
“_dolabra_” hence a common axe, and another which was like a pick or a
hoe. Further on we shall give an illustration of these axes, taken from
the pictures of the natives, when we are to recur again to this subject.
Our author, in the second place, describes the two axes as of bronze,
for this is the English rendering of the Latin expression:
_aurichalcea_. Thirdly, we learn, that the blades were “cunningly
tempered” or “_argute temperata_.” This language requires explanation.
The attentive reader will remember what has been said respecting Cortes
and Bernal Diaz, whether they recognized the bronze objects in the
market as a mixture of copper and tin, of themselves, or whether they
had been inquisitive enough to ask for information, and in consequence
learned that it was a common practice among the workmen to mix these two
metals, in certain proportions, in order to produce a harder quality of
copper. The latter hypothesis seems to gain a certain corroboration from
Martyr’s language. For there cannot be the slightest doubt as to what he
meant when putting down the words “cunningly tempered.” He wished to
express the idea, that he had positive grounds for the conviction, that
the metal of which the axes were made, was not a _natural_ but an
_artificial_ product. What grounds for this conviction he had, he does
not, however, communicate to his reader.
Our author has the well deserved reputation of being one of the fullest
authorities for all that concerns the discovery and conquest of the
western | 232.206398 |
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THE TRAINING OF A FORESTER
[Illustration: A FOREST RANGER LOOKING FOR FIRE FROM A NATIONAL FOREST
LOOKOUT STATION _Page 32_]
THE TRAINING OF A FORESTER
BY
GIFFORD PINCHOT
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA & LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1914
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PUBLISHED FEBRUARY, 1914
PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS
PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.
To
OVERTON W. PRICE
FRIEND AND FELLOW WORKER
TO WHOM IS DUE, MORE THAN TO ANY OTHER MAN, THE
HIGH EFFICIENCY OF THE UNITED STATES FOREST SERVICE
PREFACE
At one time or another, the largest question before every young man is,
"What shall I do with my life?" Among the possible openings, which best
suits his ambition, his tastes, and his capacities? Along what line
shall he undertake to make a successful career? The search for a life
work and the choice of one is surely as important business as can occupy
a boy verging into manhood. It is to help in the decision of those who
are considering forestry as a profession that this little book has been
written.
To the young man who is attracted to forestry and begins to consider it
as a possible profession, certain questions present themselves. What is
forestry? If he takes it up, what will his work be, and where? Does it
in fact offer the satisfying type of outdoor life which it appears to
offer? What chance does it present for a successful career, for a career
of genuine usefulness, and what is the chance to make a living? Is he
fitted for it in character, mind, and body? If so, what training does he
need? These questions deserve an answer.
To the men whom it really suits, forestry offers a career more
attractive, it may be said in all fairness, than any other career
whatsoever. I doubt if any other profession can show a membership so
uniformly and enthusiastically in love with the work. The men who have
taken it up, practised it, and left it for other work are few. But to
the man not fully adapted for it, forestry must be punishment, pure and
simple. Those who have begun the study of forestry, and then have
learned that it was not for them, have doubtless been more in number
than those who have followed it through.
I urge no man to make forestry his profession, but rather to keep away
from it if he can. In forestry a man is either altogether at home or
very much out of place. Unless he has a compelling love for the
Forester's life and the Forester's work, let him keep out of it.
G. P.
CONTENTS
PAGE
WHAT IS A FOREST? 13
THE FORESTER'S KNOWLEDGE 18
THE FOREST AND THE NATION 19
THE FORESTER'S POINT OF VIEW 23
THE ESTABLISHMENT OF FORESTRY 27
THE WORK OF A FORESTER 30
THE FOREST SERVICE 30
THE FOREST SUPERVISOR 46
THE TRAINED FORESTER 50
PERSONAL EQUIPMENT 63
STATE FOREST WORK 84
THE FOREST SERVICE IN WASHINGTON 89
PRIVATE FORESTRY 106
FOREST SCHOOLS 114
THE OPPORTUNITY 116
TRAINING 123
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
A FOREST RANGER LOOKING FOR FIRE FROM A NATIONAL
FOREST LOOKOUT STATION _Frontispiece_
STRINGING A FOREST TELEPHONE LINE 32
FOREST RANGERS SCALING TIMBER 43
WESTERN YELLOW PINE SEED COLLECTED BY THE FOREST
SERVICE FOR PLANTING UP DENUDED LANDS 47
A FOREST EXAMINER RUNNING A COMPASS LINE 59
BRUSH PILING IN A NATIONAL FOREST TIMBER SALE 95
FOREST RANGERS GETTING INSTRUCTION IN METHODS OF
WORK FROM A DISTRICT FOREST OFFICER 105
FOREST SERVICE MEN MAKING FRESH MEASUREMENTS IN
THE MISSOURI SWAMPS 136
THE TRAINING OF A FORESTER
WHAT IS A FOREST?
First, What is forestry? Forestry is the knowledge of the forest. In
particular, it is the art of handling the forest so that it will render
whatever service is required of it without being impoverished or
destroyed. For example, a forest may be handled so as to produce saw
logs, telegraph poles, barrel hoops, firewood, tan bark, or turpentine.
The main purpose of its treatment may be to prevent the washing of soil,
to regulate the flow of streams, to support cattle or sheep, or it may
be handled so as to supply a wide range and combination of uses.
Forestry is the art of producing from the forest whatever it can yield
for the service of man.
Before we can understand forestry, certain facts about the forest itself
must be kept in mind. A forest is not a mere collection of individual
trees, just as a city is not a mere collection of unrelated men and
women, or a Nation like ours merely a certain number of independent
racial groups. A forest, like a city, is a complex community with a life
of its own. It has a soil and an atmosphere of its own, chemically and
physically different from any other, with plants and shrubs as well as
trees which are peculiar to it. It has a resident population of insects
and higher animals entirely distinct from that outside. Most important
of all, from the Forester's point of view, the members of the forest
live in an exact and intricate system of competition and mutual
assistance, of help or harm, which extends to all the inhabitants of
this complicated city of trees.
The trees in a forest are all helped by mutually protecting each other
against high winds, and by producing a richer and moister soil than
would be possible if the trees stood singly and apart. They compete
among themselves by their roots for moisture in the soil, and for light
and space by the growth of their crowns in height and breadth. Perhaps
the strongest weapon which trees have against each other is growth in
height. In certain species intolerant of shade, the tree which is
overtopped has lost the race for good. The number of young trees which
destroy each other in this fierce struggle for existence is prodigious,
so that often a few score per acre are all that survive to middle or old
age out of many tens of thousands of seedlings which entered the race of
life on approximately even terms.
Not only has a forest a character of its own, which arises from the fact
that it is a community of trees, but each species of tree has peculiar
characteristics and habits also. Just as in New York City, for example,
the French, the Germans, the Italians, the Hungarians, and the Chinese
each have quarters of their own, and in those quarters live in
accordance with habits which distinguish each race from all the others,
so the different species of pines and hemlocks, oaks and maples prefer
and are found in certain definite types of locality, and live in
accordance with definite racial habits which are as general and
unfailing as the racial characteristics which distinguish, for example,
the Italians from the Germans, or the Swedes from the Chinese.
The most important of these characteristics of race or species are those
which are concerned with the relation of each to light, heat, and
moisture. Thus, a river birch will die if it has only as much water as
will suffice to keep a post oak in the best condition, and the warm
climate in which the balsam fir would perish is just suited to the
requirements of a long leaf pine or a magnolia.
The tolerance of a tree for shade may vary greatly at different times of
its life, but a white pine always requires more light than a hemlock,
and a beech throughout its life will flourish with less sunshine or
reflected light than, for example, an oak or a tulip tree.
Trees are limited in their distribution also by their adaptability, in
which they vary greatly. Thus a bald cypress will grow both in wetter
and in dryer land than an oak; a red cedar will flourish from Florida to
the Canadian line, while other species, like the Eastern larch, the
Western mountain hemlock, or the big trees of California, are confined
in their native localities within extremely narrow limits.
THE FORESTER'S KNOWLEDGE
The trained Forester must know the forest as a doctor knows the human
machine. First of all, he must be able to distinguish the different
trees of which the forest is composed, for that is like learning to
read. He must know the way they are made and the way they grow; but far
more important than all else, he must base his knowledge upon that part
of forestry which is called Silvics, the knowledge of the relation of
trees to light, heat, and moisture, to the soil, and to each other.
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THE HISTORY
OF THE
FIRST WEST INDIA REGIMENT.
THE HISTORY
OF THE
FIRST WEST IND | 232.397817 |
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by The Internet Archive)
THE HISTORY OF BREAD
[Illustration: EGYPTIANS THRESHING CORN BY HAND.]
[Illustration: EGYPTIANS WINNOWING AND STORING CORN IN SACKS, AND A
SCRIBE NOTING THE QUANTITIES.]
The History of Bread
From Pre-historic to Modern Times
BY
JOHN ASHTON
[Illustration]
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 Bouverie Street and 65 St. Paul’s Churchyard, E.C.
1904
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.
DUKE STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E., AND GREAT WINDMILL STREET, W.
PREFACE
It seems extraordinary, but it is, nevertheless, a fact, that, up to
this present time, there has not been written, in the English language,
a History of _Bread_, although it is called ‘the Staff of Life,’ and
really is a large staple of food.
There have been small _brochures_ on the subject, and large volumes on
the Chemistry of Bread, its making and baking; and long controversies
as to the merits of whole meal, and other kindred questions, but no
History. It is to remedy this that I have written this book, in which I
have endeavoured to trace Bread from Pre-historic to Modern Times.
JOHN ASHTON.
CONTENTS
PAGE.
CHAPTER I. PRE-HISTORIC BREAD 13
” II. CORN IN EGYPT AND ASSYRIA 20
” III. BREAD IN PALESTINE 29
” IV. THE BREAD OF THE CLASSIC LANDS 43
” V. BREAD IN EASTERN LANDS 56
” VI. BREAD IN EUROPE AND AMERICA 69
” VII. EARLY ENGLISH BREAD 83
” VIII. HOW GRAIN BECOMES FLOUR 103
” IX. THE MILLER AND HIS TOLLS 114
” X. BREAD-MAKING AND BAKING 123
” XI. OVENS ANCIENT AND MODERN 136
” XII. THE RELIGIOUS USE OF BREAD 142
” XIII. GINGER BREAD AND CHARITY BREAD 150
” XIV. BREAD RIOTS 162
” XV. LEGENDS ABOUT BREAD 170
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
EGYPTIANS THRESHING CORN BY HAND; WINNOWING
AND STORING IT IN SACKS, AND A SCRIBE NOTING
THE QUANTITIES _Frontispiece._
_Page_.
PRE-HISTORIC MILLS AND CORN-CRUSHERS 17
EGYPTIAN REAPERS 20
EGYPTIANS STACKING CORN 21
EGYPTIANS CARRYING GRAIN TO THE THRESHING-FLOOR
AND THRESHING 23
EGYPTIAN METHODS OF BREAD-MAKING 25
ASSYRIAN BREAD-MAKING 26
EGYPTIAN CAKE SELLER AND BREAD 27
A PALESTINE HAND-MILL 36
DEMETER AND TRIPTOLEMUS 45
PITHOI FOUND AT HISSARLIK 47
ETRUSCAN WOMEN POUNDING GRAIN 49
A BAKE-HOUSE AT POMPEII 51
ROMAN METHODS OF BREAD-MAKING 53
A BAKER’S SHOP (_from Pompeii_) 54
CHINESE METHOD OF HUSKING GRAIN 59
EARLY SCANDINAVIAN BAKERIES 70-71
A MEDIÆVAL BAKERY 79
THE ARMS OF THE WHITE BAKERS 86
THE ARMS OF THE BROWN BAKERS 87
AN EARLY BAKERY 91
A POST MILL 104
A WATER-WHEEL MILL 105
THE GRINDING SURFACE OF A MILLSTONE 107
‘HOT GINGERBREAD, SMOKING HOT’ 152
HOGARTH’S PICTURE OF FORD 154
THE BIDDENDEN MAIDS 160
THE
HISTORY OF BREAD
FROM PRE-HISTORIC TO MODERN TIMES.
CHAPTER I.
PRE-HISTORIC BREAD.
Man, as is evidenced by his teeth, was created graminivorous, as well
as carnivorous, and the earliest skull yet found possesses teeth
exactly the same as modern man, the carnivorous teeth not being bigger,
whilst in many cases the whole of the teeth have been worn down, as if
by masticating hard substances, such as parched grain.
In the history of bread, the lake dwellings of Switzerland are most
useful, as from them we can gather the cereals their inhabitants used,
their bread, and the implements with which they crushed the corn. The
men who lived in them are the earliest known civilised inhabitants
of Europe—by which I mean that they cultivated several kinds of
cereals—wove cloth, made mats, baskets, and fishing nets, and, besides,
baked bread.
The cereals known to us, and made use of, are the result of much
cultivation, improved by selection; and Hallett’s pedigree wheat would
be hardly recognised when put by the side of its humble progenitor of
pre-historic times. We now use wheat, barley, oats, Indian corn or
maize, rye, rice, millet, and Guinea corn, or Indian millet, besides
such odds and ends as the sea lyme grass (_Elymus arenarius_), which,
though uncultivated, affords seed which is used in Iceland as a food,
for want of something better.
We have been enabled to trace with certainty the cereals used by
pre-historic man, as they have been found lying in the lake mud, or
buried under a bed of peat several feet thick, when they had to be
collected out of a soft, dark- mud, which formed the ancient
lake-bottom, and is now called the relic bed. Dr. Oswald Heer, in his
_Treatise on the Plants of the Lake Dwellings_, says: ‘Stones and
pottery, domestic implements and charcoal ashes, grains of corn and
bones, lie together in a confused mass. And yet they are by no means
spread regularly over the bottom, but are frequently found in patches.
The places where bones are plentiful, where the seeds of raspberries
and blackberries, and the stones of sloes and cherries are found in
heaps, probably indicate where there were holes in the wooden platform,
through which the refuse was thrown into the lake; whilst those places
where burnt fruits, bread, and plaited and woven cloth are found,
indicate the position of store rooms in the very places where they were
burnt, and thus the contents fell into the water. The burnt fruits
and seeds, therefore, unquestionably belong to the age of the lake
dwellings; and a portion of them are in very good preservation, for
the process of burning has not essentially changed their form. Many
of the remains of plants, however, have been preserved in an unburnt
state.’
He gives the following list of cereals that have been found, and
it is a somewhat extensive one: ‘(1) Small lake-dwelling barley
(_Hordeum hexastichum sanctum_), (2) Compact six-rowed barley (_Hordeum
hexastichum densum_), (3) Two-rowed barley (_Hordeum distichum_),
(4) Small lake-dwelling wheat (_Triticum vulgare antiquorum_), (5)
Beardless compact wheat (_Triticum vulgare compactum muticum_), (6)
Egyptian wheat (_Triticum turgidum_), (7) Spelt (_Triticum spelta_),
(8) Two-grained wheat (_Triticum dicoccum_), (9) One-grained wheat
(_Triticum monococcum_), (10) Rye (_Secale cereale_), (11) Oat (_Avena
sativa_), (12) Millet (_Panicum miliaceum_), and (13) Italian millet
(_Setaria Italicum_).’
Of these Nos. 1 and 4 were the most ancient, most important, and most
generally cultivated, and next to them come Nos. 5, 12, and 13. Nos. 6,
8, and 9 were, probably, like No. 3, only cultivated, as experiments,
in a few places. Nos. 7 and 11 appeared later, not until the Bronze
Age, whilst No. 10 (rye) was entirely unknown amongst the lake
dwellings of Switzerland.
At the lake settlement at Wangen a remarkable quantity of charred corn
was dug up. Mr. Löhle believes that, altogether, and at various times,
he has collected as much as 100 bushels. Sometimes he found the entire
ears, at other times the grain only. Any of my readers can see for
themselves some of this wheat, and also some raspberry seeds, found
at Wangen. In the same case in the Prehistoric Saloon of the British
Museum may be seen specimens of beans, peas, charred straw, acorns,
hazel nuts, barley in the ear, millet in ear, in seed, and made into
cakes, one showing the pattern of the bottom of a basket, and another
the impress of a rush mat. The cakes or bread of millet are very solid,
and are made of meal coarsely crushed.
We know how this was crushed, for we have found their corn-crushers and
mealing-stones. Of these the rude corn-crushers are undoubtedly the
earliest. These stones, with their rounded ends, for a time somewhat
puzzled the archæologist as to their use; but that was at once apparent
when they were taken in conjunction with the hollowed stones. They were
corn-crushers, which were used for pounding the parched corn or raw
grain to make a thick gruel or porridge.
Later on they improved upon them by using mealing-stones, which
ground out the meal by rubbing one stone on another, accompanied with
pressure. The stones are in the British Museum. Such mealing-stones
were used by the Egyptians and Assyrians, as we shall see, and are
employed to this day in Central Africa. ‘The mill consists of a block
of granite, syenite, or even mica schist, 15in. or 18in. square and
five or six thick, with a piece of quartz or other hard rock about
the size of a half-brick, one side of which has a convex surface,
and fits into a concave hollow in the larger, and stationary, stone.
The workwoman, kneeling, grasps this upper millstone with both
hands, and works it backwards and forwards in the hollow of the lower
millstone, in the same way that a baker works his dough, when pressing
it and pushing from him. The weight of the person is brought to bear
on the movable stone, and while it is pressed and pushed forwards and
backwards one hand supplies, every now and then, a little grain, to be
thus at first bruised, and then ground on the lower stone, which is
placed on the <DW72>, so that the meal, when ground, falls on to a skin
or mat spread for the purpose. This is, perhaps, the most primitive
form of mill, and anterior to that in Oriental countries, where two
women grind at one mill, and may have been that used by Sarah of old
when she entertained the angels.’[1]
[Illustration: PRE-HISTORIC MILLS AND CORN-CRUSHERS.]
To these mealing-stones succeeded the quern. This was a basin, or
hollowed stone, with another—oviform—for grinding. The quern has
survived to this day. In London, at the west end of Cheapside, by
Paternoster Row, was a church, destroyed by the Great Fire of 1666,
and never rebuilt, called St. Michael le Quern. It was close by Panyer
Alley, so called from the baker’s basket, and a stone is still in the
alley on which is sculptured a naked boy sitting on a panyer. Querns
have been found in the remains of the lake dwellings in Switzerland,
and in the Crannoges, or lake dwellings of Scotland and Ireland.
They are still in use in out-of-the-way places in Norway, in remote
districts in Ireland, and some parts of the western islands of
Scotland. In the latter country, as early as 1284, an effort was made
by the Legislature to supersede the quern by the water-mill, the use of
the former being prohibited, except in case of storm, or where there
was a lack of mills of the new species. Whoever used the quern was to
’gif the threttein measure as multer[2];’ and the transgressor was to
‘time[3] his hand mylnes perpetuallie.’ Querns were not always made of
stone, for one made of oak was found in 1831, whilst removing Blair
Drummond Moss. It is 19 in. in height by 14 in. in diameter, and the
centre is hollowed about a foot, so as to form a mortar.
To sum up this notice of pre-historic bread, I may mention that at
Robenhausen, Meisskomer discovered 8lbs. weight of bread, and also at
Wangen has been found baked bread or cake made of crushed corn exactly
similar. Of course, it has been burnt, or charred, and thus these
interesting specimens have been preserved to the present day. The form
of these cakes is somewhat round, and about an inch to an inch and a
half thick; one small specimen, nearly perfect, is about four or five
inches in diameter. The dough did not consist of meal, but of grains
of corn more or less crushed. In some specimens the halves of grains
of barley are plainly discernible. The under side of these cakes is
sometimes flat, sometimes concave, and there appears no doubt that the
mass of | 232.402467 |
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Transcriber's Note
Obvious typographical and printer's errors have been corrected.
Punctuation marks where missing have silently been supplied.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been retained as in
the original except where noted otherwise.
A complete list of corrections can be found at the end of this
e-text.
[Illustration: THE YELLOW HOUSE]
THE
YELLOW HOUSE
MASTER OF MEN
BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
AUTHOR OF
"THE MISCHIEF-MAKER" "BERENICE" "HAVOC"
"THE LOST LEADER" "THE MALEFACTOR"
[Illustration]
VOLUME ONE
NEW YORK
P. F. COLLIER & SON
Copyright 1908
By C. H. Doscher & Co.
Copyright 1912
By P. F. Collier & Son
THE YELLOW HOUSE
CHAPTER I
THE YELLOW HOUSE
Positively every one, with two unimportant exceptions, had called
upon us. The Countess had driven over from Sysington Hall, twelve
miles away, with two anaemic-looking daughters, who had gushed
over our late roses and the cedar trees which shaded the lawn. The
Holgates of Holgate Brand and Lady Naselton of Naselton had presented
themselves on the same afternoon. Many others had come in their train,
for what these very great people did the neighborhood was bound
to endorse. There was a little veiled anxiety, a few elaborately
careless questions as to the spelling of our name; but when my father
had mentioned the second "f," and made a casual allusion to the
Warwickshire Ffolliots--with whom we were not indeed on speaking
terms, but who were certainly our cousins--a distinct breath of
relief was followed by a gush of mild cordiality. There were wrong
Ffolliots and right Ffolliots. We belonged to the latter. No one
had made a mistake or compromised themselves in any way by leaving
their cards upon a small country vicar and his daughters. And earlier
callers went away and spread a favorable report. Those who were
hesitating, hesitated no longer. Our little carriage drive, very
steep and very hard to turn in, was cut up with the wheels of many
chariots. The whole county within a reasonable distance came, with two
exceptions. And those two exceptions were Mr. Bruce Deville of Deville
Court, on the borders of whose domain our little church and vicarage
lay, and the woman who dwelt in the "Yellow House."
I asked Lady Naselton about both of them one afternoon. Her ladyship,
by the way, had been one of our earliest visitors, and had evinced
from the first a strong desire to become my sponsor in Northshire
society. She was middle-aged, bright, and modern--a thorough little
cosmopolitan, with a marked absence in her deportment and mannerisms
of anything bucolic or rural. I enjoyed talking to her, and this was
her third visit. We were sitting out upon the lawn, drinking afternoon
tea, and making the best of a brilliant October afternoon. A yellow
gleam from the front of that oddly-shaped little house, flashing
through the dark pine trees, brought it into my mind. It was only from
one particular point in our garden that any part of it was visible at
all. It chanced that I occupied that particular spot, and during a
lull in the conversation it occurred to me to ask a question.
"By the by," I remarked, "our nearest neighbors have not yet been to
see us?"
"Your nearest neighbors!" Lady Naselton repeated. "Whom do you mean?
There are a heap of us who live close together."
"I mean the woman who lives at that little shanty through the
plantation," I answered, inclining my head towards it. "It is a woman
who lives there, isn't it? I fancy that some one told me so, although
I have not seen anything of her. Perhaps I was mistaken."
Lady Naselton lifted both her hands. There was positive relish in her
tone when she spoke. The symptoms were unmistakable. Why do the nicest
women enjoy shocking and being shocked?
I could see that she was experiencing positive pleasure from my
question.
"My dear Miss Ffolliot!" she exclaimed. "My dear girl, don't you
really know anything about her? Hasn't anybody told you anything?"
I stifled an imaginary yawn in faint protest against her unbecoming
exhilaration. I have not many weaknesses, but I hate scandal and
scandal-mongering. All the same I was interested, although I did not
care to gratify Lady Naselton by showing it.
"Remember, that I have only been here a week or two," I remarked;
"certainly not long enough to have mastered the annals of the
neighborhood. I have not asked any one before. No one has ever
mentioned her name. Is there really anything worth hearing?"
Lady Naselton looked down and brushed some crumbs from her lap
with a delicately gloved hand. She was evidently an epicure in
story-telling. She was trying to make it last out as long as possible.
"Well, my dear girl, I should not like to tell you all that people
say," she began, slowly. "At the same time, as you are a stranger to
the neighborhood, and, of course, know nothing about anybody, it is
only my duty to put you on your guard. I do not know the particulars
myself. I have never inquired. But she is not considered to be at all
a proper person. There is something very dubious about her record."
"How deliciously vague!" I remarked, with involuntary irony. "Don't
you know anything more definite?"
"I find no pleasure in inquiring into such matters," Lady Naselton
replied a little stiffly. "The opinion of those who are better able to
judge is sufficient for me."
"One must inquire, or one cannot, or should not, judge," I said. "I
suppose that there's something which she does, or does not, do?"
"It is something connected with her past life, I believe," Lady
Naselton remarked.
"Her past life? Isn't it supposed to be rather interesting nowadays to
have a past?"
I began to doubt whether, after all, I was going to be much of a
favorite with Lady Naselton. She set her tea cup down, and looked at
me with distinct disapproval in her face.
"Amongst a certain class of people it may be," she answered, severely;
"not"--with emphasis--"in Northshire society; not in any part of
it with which I am acquainted, I am glad to say. You must allow me
to add, Miss Ffolliot, that I am somewhat surprised to hear you, a
clergyman's daughter, express yourself so."
A clergyman's daughter. I was continually forgetting that. And, after
all, it is much more comfortable to keep one's self in accord with
one's environment. I pulled myself together, and explained with much
surprise--
"I only asked a question, Lady Naselton. I wasn't expressing my
own views. I think that women with a past are very horrid. One is
so utterly tired of them in fiction that one does not want to meet
them in real life. We won't talk of this at all. I'm not really
interested. Tell me about Mr. Deville instead."
Now this was a little unkind of me, for I knew quite well that Lady
Naselton was brimming with eagerness to tell me a good deal about this
undesirable neighbor of ours. As it happened, however, my question
afforded her a fresh opportunity, of which she took advantage.
"To tell you of one, unfortunately, is to tell you of the other," she
said, significantly.
I decided to humor her, and raised my eyebrows in the most approved
fashion.
"How shocking!" I exclaimed.
I was received in favor again. My reception of the innuendo had been
all that could be desired.
"We consider it a most flagrant case," she continued, leaning over
towards me confidentially. "I am thankful to say that of the two Bruce
Deville is the least blamed."
"Isn't that generally the case?" I murmured. "It is the woman who has
to bear the burden."
"And it is generally the woman who deserves it," Lady Naselton
answered, promptly. "It is my experience, at any rate, and I have
seen a good deal more of life than you. In the present case there
can be no doubt about it. The woman actually followed him down here,
and took up her quarters almost at his gates whilst he was away. She
was there with scarcely a stick of furniture in the house for nearly
a month. When he came back, would you believe it, the house was
furnished from top to bottom with things from the Court. The carts
were going backwards and forwards for days. She even went up and
selected some of the furniture herself. I saw it all going on with my
own eyes. Oh! it was the most barefaced thing!"
"Tell me about Mr. Deville," I interrupted hastily. "I have not seen
him yet. What is he like?"
"Bruce Deville," she murmured to herself, thoughtfully. Then she was
silent for a moment. Something that was almost like a gleam of sorrow
passed across her face. Her whole expression was changed.
"Bruce Deville is my godson," she said, slowly. "I suppose that is why
I feel his failure the more keenly."
"He is a failure, then?" I asked. "Some one was talking about him
yesterday, but I only heard fragments here and there. Isn't he very
quixotic, and very poor?"
"Poor!" She repeated the word with peculiar emphasis. Then she rose
from her chair, and walked a step or two towards the low fence which
enclosed our lawn.
"Come here, child."
I stood by her side looking across the sunlit stretch of meadows and
undulating land. A very pretty landscape it was. The farm houses, with
their grey fronts and red-tiled roofs, and snug rickyards close at
hand, had a particularly prosperous and picturesque appearance. The
land was mostly arable and well-cultivated; field after field of
deep golden stubble, and rich, dark soil stretched away to the dim
horizon. She held out her hand.
"You see!" she exclaimed. "Does that look like a poor man's
possessions?"
I shook my head.
"Every village there from east to west, every stone and acre
belongs to Bruce Deville, and has belonged to the Devilles for
centuries. There is no other land owner on that side of the
country. He is lord of the Manor of a dozen parishes!"
I was puzzled.
"Then why do people call him so miserably poor?" I asked. "They say
that the Court is virtually closed, and that he lives the life of a
hermit, almost without servants even."
"He either is or says he is as poor as Job," Lady Naselton continued,
resuming her seat. "He is a most extraordinary man. He was away from
the country altogether for twelve years, wandering about, without any
regular scheme of travel, all over the world. People met him or heard
of him in all manner of queer and out-of-the-way places. Then he lived
in London for a time, and spent a fortune--I don't know that I ought
to say anything about that to you--on Marie Leparte, the singer. One
day he came back suddenly to the Court, which had been shut up all
this time, and took up his quarters there in a single room with an old
servant. He gave out that he was ruined, and that he desired neither
to visit nor to be visited. He behaved in such an extraordinary manner
to those who did go to see him, that they are not likely to repeat the
attempt."
"How long has he been living there?" I asked.
"About four years."
"I suppose that you see him sometimes?"
She shook her head sadly.
"Very seldom. Not oftener than I can help. He is changed so
dreadfully."
"Tell me what he is like."
"Like! Do you mean personally? He is ugly--hideously ugly--especially
now that he takes so little care of himself. He goes about in clothes
my coachman would decline to wear, and he slouches. I think a man who
slouches is detestable."
"So do I," I assented. "What a very unpleasant neighbor to have!"
"Oh, that isn't the worst," she continued. "He is impossible in every
way. He has a brutal temper and a brutal manner. No one could possibly
take him for a gentleman. He is cruel and reckless, and he does
nothing but loaf. There are things said about him which I should not
dare to repeat to you. I feel it deeply; but it is no use disguising
the fact. He is an utter and miserable failure."
"On the whole," I remarked, resuming my chair, "it is perhaps well
that he has not called. I might not like him."
Lady Naselton's hard little laugh rang out upon the afternoon
stillness. The idea seemed to afford her infinite but bitter
amusement.
"Like him, my dear! Why, he would frighten you to death. Fancy any
one liking Bruce Deville! Wait until you've seen him. He is the most
perfect prototype of degeneration in a great family I have ever come
in contact with. The worst of it, too, that he was such a charming
boy. Why, isn't that Mr. Ffolliot coming?" she added, in an altogether
different tone. "I am so glad that I am going to meet him at last."
I looked up and followed her smiling gaze. My father was coming
noiselessly across the smooth, green turf towards us. We both of
us watched him for a moment, Lady Naselton with a faint look of
surprise in her scrutiny. My father was not in the least of the type
of the ordinary country clergyman. He was tall and slim, and carried
himself with an air of calm distinction. His clean-shaven face was
distinctly of the intellectual cast. His hair was only slightly grey,
was parted in the middle and vigorously mobile and benevolent. His
person in every way was faultless and immaculate, from the tips of
his long fingers to the spotless white cravat which alone redeemed
the sombreness of his clerical attire. I murmured a few words of
introduction, and he bowed over Lady Naselton's hand with a smile
which women generally found entrancing.
"I am very glad to meet Lady Naselton," he said, courteously. "My
daughter has told me so much of your kindness to her."
Lady Naselton made some pleasing and conventional reply. My father
turned to me.
"Have you some tea, Kate?" he asked. "I have been making a long round
of calls, and it is a little exhausting."
"I have some, but it is not fit to drink," I answered, striking the
gong. "Mary shall make some fresh. It will only take a minute or two."
My father acquiesced silently. He was fastidious in small things, and
I knew better than to offer him cold tea. He drew up a basket-chair to
us and sat down with a little sigh of relief.
"You have commenced your work here early," Lady Naselton remarked. "Do
you think that you are going to like these parts?"
"The country is delightful," my father answered readily. "As to the
work--well, I scarcely know. Rural existence is such a change after
the nervous life of a great city."
"You had a large parish at Belchester, had you not?" Lady Naselton
asked.
"A very large one," he answered. "I am fond of work. I have always
been used to large parishes."
And two curates, I reflected silently. Lady Naselton was looking
sympathetic.
"You will find plenty to do here, I believe," she remarked. "The
schools are in a most backward condition. My husband says that unless
there is a great change in them very soon we shall be having the
School Board."
"We must try and prevent that," my father said, gravely. "Of course
I have to remember that I am only curate-in-charge here, but still I
shall do what I can. My youngest daughter Alice is a great assistance
to me in such matters. By the by, where is Alice?" he added, turning
to me.
"She is in the village somewhere," I answered. "She will not be home
for tea. She has gone to see an old woman--to read to her, I think."
My father sighed gently. "Alice is a good girl," he said.
I bore the implied reproof complacently. My father sipped his tea for
a moment or two, and then asked a question.
"You were speaking of some one when I crossed the lawn?" he
remarked. "Some one not altogether a desirable neighbor I should
imagine from Lady Naselton's tone. Would it be a breach of
confidence----"
"Oh, no," I interrupted. "Lady Naselton was telling me all about the
man that lives at the Court--our neighbor, Mr. Bruce Deville."
My father set his cup down abruptly. His long walk had evidently tired
him. He was more than ordinarily pale. He moved his basket-chair a few
feet further back into the deep, cool shade of the cedar tree. For a
second or two his eyes were half closed and his eyelids quivered.
"Mr. Bruce Deville," he repeated, softly--"Bruce Deville! It is
somewhat an uncommon name."
"And somewhat an uncommon man!" Lady Naselton remarked, dryly. "A
terrible black sheep he is, Mr. Ffolliot. If you really want to
achieve a triumph you should attempt his conversion. You should try
and get him to come to church. Fancy Bruce Deville in church! The
walls would crack and the windows fall in!"
"My predecessor was perhaps not on good terms with him," my father
suggested, softly. "I have known so many unfortunate cases in which
the squire of the parish and the vicar have not been able to hit it
off."
Lady Naselton shook her head. She had risen to her feet, and was
holding out a delicately gloved hand.
"No, it is not that," she said. "No one could hit it off with
Bruce Deville. I was fond of him once; but I am afraid that he is
a very bad lot. I should advise you to give him as wide a berth as
possible. Listen. Was that actually six o'clock? I must go this
second. Come over and see me soon, won't you, Miss Ffolliot, and bring
your father? I will send a carriage for you any day you like. It is
such an awful pull up to Naselton. Goodbye."
She was gone with a good deal of silken rustle, and a faint emission
of perfume from her trailing skirt. Notwithstanding his fatigue, my
father accompanied her across the lawn, and handed her into her pony
carriage. He remained several minutes talking to her earnestly after
she had taken her seat and gathered up the reins, and it seemed to me
that he had dropped his voice almost to a whisper. Although I was but
a few paces off I could hear nothing of what they were saying. When at
last the carriage drove off and he came back to me, he was thoughtful,
and there was a dark shade upon his face. He sat quite still for
several moments without speaking. Then he looked up at me abruptly.
"If Lady Naselton's description of our neighbor is at all correct," he
remarked, "he must be a perfect ogre."
I nodded.
"One would imagine so. He is her godson, but she can find nothing but
evil to say of him."
"Under which circumstances it would be as well for us--for you girls
especially--to carefully avoid him," my father continued, keeping his
clear, grey eyes steadily fixed upon my face. "Don't you agree with
me?"
"Most decidedly I do," I answered.
But, curiously enough, notwithstanding his evil reputation--perhaps
because of it--I was already beginning to feel a certain amount of
unaccountable interest in Mr. Bruce Deville.
CHAPTER II
ON THE MOOR
After tea my father went to his study, for it was late in the week,
and he was a most conscientious writer of sermons. I read for an
hour, and then, tired alike of my book and my own company, I strolled
up and down the drive. This restlessness was one of my greatest
troubles. When the fit came I could neither work nor read nor think
connectedly. It was a phase of incipient dissatisfaction with life,
morbid, but inevitable. At the end of the drive nearest the road, I
met Alice, my youngest sister, walking briskly with a book under her
arm, and a quiet smile upon her homely face. I watched her coming
towards me, and I almost envied her. What a comfort to be blessed with
a placid disposition and an optimistic frame of mind!
"Well, you look as though you had been enjoying yourself," I remarked,
placing myself in her way.
"So I have--after a fashion," she answered, good humoredly. "Are you
wise to be without a hat, Kate? To look at your airy attire one would
imagine that it was summer instead of autumn. Come back into the house
with me."
I laughed at her in contempt. There was a difference indeed between my
muslin gown and the plain black skirt and jacket, powdered with dust,
which was Alice's usual costume.
"Have you ever known me to catch cold through wearing thin clothes or
going without a hat?" I asked. "I am tired of being indoors. There
have been people here all the afternoon. I wonder that your conscience
allows you to shirk your part of the duty and leave all the tiresome
entertaining to be done by me!"
She looked at me with wide-opened eyes and a concerned face. Alice was
always so painfully literal.
"Why, I thought that you liked it!" she exclaimed. I was in an evil
mood, and I determined to shock her. It was never a difficult task.
"So I do sometimes," I answered; "but to-day my callers have
been all women, winding up with an hour and a half of Lady
Naselton. One gets so tired of one's own sex! Not a single man all the
afternoon. Somebody else's husband to pass the bread and butter would
have been a godsend!"
Alice pursed up her lips, and turned her head away with a look of
displeasure.
"I am surprised to hear you talk like that, Kate," she said,
quietly. "Do you think that it is quite good taste?"
"Be off, you little goose!" I called after her as she passed on
towards the house with quickened step and rigid head. The little sober
figure turned the bend and disappeared without looking around. She was
the perfect type of a clergyman's daughter--studiously conventional,
unremittingly proper, inevitably a little priggish. She was the right
person in the right place. She had the supreme good fortune to be
in accord with her environment. As for me, I was a veritable black
sheep. I looked after her and sighed.
I had no desire to go in; on the other hand, there was nothing to
stay out for. I hesitated for a moment, and then strolled on to the
end of the avenue. A change in the weather seemed imminent. A grey,
murky twilight had followed the afternoon of brilliant sunshine, and a
low south wind was moaning amongst the Norwegian firs. I leaned over
the gate with my face turned towards the great indistinct front of
Deville Court. There was nothing to look at. The trees had taken to
themselves fantastic shapes, little wreaths of white mist were rising
from the hollows of the park. The landscape was grey, colorless,
monotonous. My whole life was like that, I thought, with a sudden
despondent chill. The lives of most girls must be unless they are
domestic. In our little family Alice absorbed the domesticity. There
was not one shred of it in my disposition.
I realized with a start that I was becoming morbid, and turned from
the gate towards the house. Suddenly I heard an unexpected sound--the
sound of voices close at hand. I stopped short and half turned
round. A deep voice rang out upon the still, damp air--
"Get over, Madam! Get over, Marvel!"
There was the sound of the cracking of a whip and the soft patter of
dogs' feet as they came along the lane below--a narrow thoroughfare
which was bounded on one side by our wall and on the other by the open
stretch of park at the head of which stood Deville Court. There must
have been quite twenty of them, all of the same breed--beagles--and
amongst them two people were walking, a man and a woman. The man was
nearest to me, and I could see him more distinctly. He was tall and
very broad, with a ragged beard and long hair. He wore no collar, and
there was a great rent in his shabby shooting coat. Of his features I
could see nothing. He wore knickerbockers, and stockings, and thick
shoes. He was by no means an ordinary looking person, but he was
certainly not prepossessing. The most favorable thing about him was
his carriage, which was upright and easy, but even that was in a
measure spoiled by a distinct suggestion of surliness. The woman
by his side I could only see very indistinctly. She was slim, and
wore some sort of a plain tailor gown, but she did not appear to be
young. As they came nearer to me, I slipped from the drive on to the
verge of the shrubbery, standing for a moment in the shadow of a tall
laurel bush. I was not seen, but I could hear their voices. The woman
was speaking.
"A new vicar, or curate-in-charge, here, isn't there, Bruce? I fancy I
heard that one was expected."
A sullen, impatient growl came from her side.
"Ay, some fellow with a daughter, Morris was telling me. The parson
was bound to come, I suppose, but what the mischief does he want with
a daughter?"
A little laugh from the woman--a pleasant, musical laugh.
"Daughters, I believe--I heard some one say that there were two. What
a misogynist you are getting! Why shouldn't the man have daughters if
he likes? I really believe that there are two of them."
There was a contemptuous snort, and a moment's silence. They were
exactly opposite to me now, but the hedge and the shadow of the
laurels beneath which I was standing completely shielded me from
observation. The man's huge form stood out with almost startling
distinctness against the grey sky. He was lashing the thistles by the
side of the road with his long whip.
"Maybe!" he growled. "I've seen but one--a pale-faced, black-haired
chit."
I smothered a laugh. I was the pale-faced, black-haired chit, but it
was scarcely a polite way of alluding to me, Mr. Bruce Deville. When
they had gone by I leaned over the gate again, and watched them
vanish amongst the shadows. The sound of their voices came to me
indistinctly; but I could hear the deep bass of the man as he slung
some scornful exclamation out upon the moist air. His great figure,
looming unnaturally large through the misty twilight, was the last to
vanish. It was my first glimpse of Mr. Bruce Deville of Deville Court.
I turned round with a terrified start. Almost at my side some heavy
body had fallen to the ground with a faint groan. A single step, and
I was bending over the prostrate form of a man. I caught his hand and
gazed into his face with horrified eyes. It was my father. He must
have been within a yard of me when he fell.
His eyes were half closed, and his hands were cold. Gathering up my
skirts in my hand, I ran swiftly across the lawn into the house.
I met Alice in the hall. "Get some brandy!" I cried,
breathlessly. "Father is ill--out in the garden! Quick!"
She brought it in a moment. Together we hurried back to where I had
left him. He had not moved. His cheeks were ghastly pale, and his eyes
were still closed. I felt his pulse and his heart, and unfastened his
collar.
"There is nothing serious the matter--at least I think not," I
whispered to Alice. "It is only a fainting fit."
I rubbed his hands, and we forced some brandy between his
lips. Presently he opened his eyes, and raised his head a little,
looking half fearfully around.
"It was her voice," he whispered, hoarsely. "It came to me through
the shadows! Where is she? What have you done with her? There was a
rustling of the leaves--and then I heard her speak!"
"There is no one here but Alice and myself," I said, bending over
him. "You must have been fancying things. Are you better?"
"Better!" He looked up at both of us, and the light came back into his
face.
"Ah! I see! I must have fainted!" he exclaimed. "I remember the study
was close, and I came to get cool. Yet, I thought--I thought----"
I held out my arm, and he staggered up. He was still white and shaken,
but evidently his memory was returning.
"I remember it was close in the study," he said--"very close; I was
tired too. I must have walked too far. I don't like it though. I must
see a doctor; I must certainly see a doctor!"
Alice bent over him full of sympathy, and he took her arm. I walked
behind him in silence. A curious thought had taken possession of me. I
could not get rid of the impression of my father's first words, and
his white, terrified face. Was it indeed a wild fancy of his, or had
he really heard this voice which had stirred him so deeply? I tried
to laugh at the idea. I could not. His cry was so natural, his terror
so apparent! He had heard a voice. He had been stricken with a sudden
terror. Whose was the voice--whence his fear of it? I watched him
leaning slightly upon Alice's arm, and walking on slowly in front
of me towards the house. Already he was better. His features had
reassumed their customary air of delicate and reserved strength. I
looked at him with new and curious eyes. For the first time I wondered
whether there might be another world, or the ashes of an old one
beneath that grey, impenetrable mask.
CHAPTER III
MR. BRUCE DEVILLE
My father's first sermon was a great success. As usual, it was
polished, eloquent, and simple, and withal original. He preached
without manuscript, almost without notes, and he took particular
pains to keep within the comprehension of his tiny congregation. Lady
Naselton, who waited for me in the aisle, whispered her warm approval.
"Whatever induced your father to come to such an out-of-the-way
hole as this?" she exclaimed, as we passed through the porch into
the fresh, sunlit air. "Why, he is an orator! He should preach at
cathedrals! I never heard any one whose style I like better. But all
the same it is a pity to think of such a sermon being preached to such
a congregation. Don't you think so yourself?"
I agreed with her heartily.
"I wonder that you girls let him come here and bury himself, with his
talents," she continued.
"I had not much to do with it," I reminded her. "You forget that I
have lived abroad all my life; I really have only been home for about
eight or nine months."
"Well, I should have thought that your sister would have been more
ambitious for him," she declared. "However, it's not my business,
of course. Since you are here, I shall insist, positively insist,
upon coming every Sunday. My husband says that it is such a drag
for the horses. Men have such ridiculous ideas where horses are
concerned. I am sure that they take more care of them than they do of
their wives. Come and have tea with me to-morrow, will you?"
"If I can," I promised. "It all depends upon what Providence has in
store for me in the shape of callers."
"There is no one left to call," Lady Naselton declared, with her foot
upon the carriage step. "I looked through your card plate the other
day whilst I was waiting for you. You will be left in peace for a
little while now."
"You forget our neighbor," I answered, laughing. "He has not called
yet, and I mean him to."
Lady Naselton leaned back amongst the soft cushions of her barouche,
and smiled a pitying smile at me | 232.604644 |
2023-11-16 18:20:56.5848770 | 2,956 | 116 |
Produced by Digital & Multimedia Center, Michigan State
University Libraries., Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Sankar
Viswanathan, and Distributed Proofreaders Europe at
http://dp.rastko.net
SERVIA,
YOUNGEST MEMBER OF THE EUROPEAN
FAMILY:
OR, A
RESIDENCE IN BELGRADE,
AND
TRAVELS IN THE HIGHLANDS AND WOODLANDS OF
THE INTERIOR,
DURING THE YEARS 1843 AND 1844.
BY
ANDREW ARCHIBALD PATON, ESQ.
AUTHOR OF "THE MODERN SYRIANS."
"Les hommes croient en general connaitre suffisamment l'Empire Ottoman
pour peu qu'ils aient lu l'enorme compilation que le savant M. de
Hammer a publiee... mais en dehors de ce mouvement central il y a la
vie interieure de province, dont le tableau tout entier reste a
faire."
LONDON:
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
1845.
PREFACE.
The narrative and descriptive portion of this work speaks for itself.
In the historical part I have consulted with advantage Von Engel's
"History of Servia," Ranke's "Servian Revolution," Possart's "Servia,"
and Ami Boue's "Turquie d'Europe," but took the precaution of
submitting the facts selected to the censorship of those on the spot
best able to test their accuracy. For this service, I owe a debt of
acknowledgment to M. Hadschitch, the framer of the Servian code; M.
Marinovitch, Secretary of the Senate; and Professor John Shafarik,
whose lectures on Slaavic history, literature, and antiquities, have
obtained unanimous applause.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER 1.
Leave Beyrout.--Camp afloat.-Rhodes.--The shores of the Mediterranean
suitable for the cultivation of the arts.--A Moslem of the new
school.--American Presbyterian clergyman.--A Mexican senator.--A
sermon for sailors.--Smyrna.--Buyukdere.--Sir Stratford
Canning.--Embark for Bulgaria.
CHAPTER II.
Varna.--Contrast of Northern and Southern provinces of
Turkey.--Roustchouk.--Conversation with Deftendar.--The Danube.--A
Bulgarian interior.--A dandy of the Lower Danube.--Depart for Widdin.
CHAPTER III.
River steaming.--Arrival at Widdin.--Jew.--Comfortless khan.--Wretched
appearance of Widdin.--Hussein Pasha.--M. Petronievitch.--Steam
balloon.
CHAPTER IV.
Leave Widdin.--The Timok.--Enter Servia.--Brza Palanka.--The Iron
Gates.--Old and New Orsova.--Wallachian Matron.--Semlin.--A
conversation on language.
CHAPTER V.
Description of Belgrade.--Fortifications.--Street and street
population.--Cathedral.--Large square.--Coffee-house.--Deserted
villa.--Baths.
CHAPTER VI.
Europeanization of Belgrade.--Lighting and paving.--Interior of the
fortress.--Turkish Pasha.--Turkish quarter.--Turkish
population.--Panorama of Belgrade.--Dinner party given by the prince.
CHAPTER VII.
Return to Servia.--The Danube.--Semlin.--Wucics and
Petronievitch.--Cathedral solemnity.--Subscription ball.
CHAPTER VIII.
Holman, the blind traveller.--Milutinovich, the poet.--Bulgarian
legend.--Tableau de genre.--Departure for the interior.
CHAPTER IX.
Journey to Shabatz.--Resemblance of manners to those of the middle
ages.--Palesh.--A Servian bride.--Blind
minstrel.--Gipsies.--Macadamized roads.
CHAPTER X.
Shabatz.--A provincial chancery.--Servian collector.--Description of
his house.--Country barber.--Turkish quarter.--Self-taught priest.--A
provincial dinner.--Native soiree.
CHAPTER XI.
Kaimak.--History of a renegade.--A bishop's house.--Progress of
education.--Portrait of Milosh.--Bosnia and the Bosnians.--Moslem
fanaticism.--Death of the collector.
CHAPTER XII.
The banat of Matchva.--Losnitza.--Feuds on the frontier.--Enter the
back-woods.--Convent of Tronosha.--Greek festival.--Congregation of
peasantry.--Rustic finery.
CHAPTER XIII.
Romantic sylvan scenery.--Patriarchal simplicity of
manners.--Krupena.--Sokol.--Its extraordinary position.--Wretched
town.--Alpine scenery.--Cool reception.--Valley of the Rogatschitza.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Drina.--Liubovia.--Quarantine station.--Derlatcha.--A Servian
beauty.--A lunatic priest.--Sorry quarters.--Murder by brigands.
CHAPTER XV.
Arrival at Ushitza.--Wretched street.--Excellent khan.--Turkish
vayvode.--A Persian dervish.--Relations of Moslems and
Christians.--Visit the castle.--Bird's eye view.
CHAPTER XVI.
Poshega.--The river Morava.--Arrival at Csatsak.--A Viennese
doctor.--Project to ascend the Kopaunik.--Visit the bishop.--Ancient
cathedral church.--Greek mass.--Karanovatz.--Emigrant priest.--Albanian
disorders.--Salt mines.
CHAPTER XVII.
Coronation church of the ancient kings of Servia.--Enter the
Highlands.--Valley of the Ybar.--First view of the High Balkan.--Convent
of Studenitza.--Byzantine Architecture.--Phlegmatic monk.--Servian
frontier.--New quarantine.--Russian major.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Cross the Bosniac frontier.--Gipsy encampment.--Novibazar
described.--Rough reception.--Precipitate departure.--Fanaticism.
CHAPTER XIX.
Ascent of the Kopaunik.--Grand prospect.--Descent of the
Kopaunik.--Bruss.--Involuntary bigamy.--Conversation on the Servian
character.--Krushevatz.--Relics of monarchy.
CHAPTER XX.
Formation of the Servian monarchy.--Contest between the Latin and Greek
Churches.--Stephen Dushan.--A great warrior.--Results of his
victories.--Kucs Lasar.--Invasion of Amurath.--Battle of Kossovo.--Death
of Lasar and Amurath.--Fall of the Servian monarchy.--General
observations.
CHAPTER XXI.
A battue missed.--Proceed to Alexinatz.--Foreign-Office
courier.--Bulgarian frontier.--Gipsy Suregee.--Tiupria.--New bridge and
macadamized roads.
CHAPTER XXII.
Visit to Ravanitza.--Jovial party.--Servian and Austrian
jurisdiction.--Convent described.--Eagles reversed.--Bulgarian
festivities.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Manasia.--Has preserved its middle-age character.--Robinson
Crusoe.--Wonderful echo.--Kindness of the
people.--Svilainitza.--Posharevatz.--Baby giantess.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Rich soil.--Mysterious waters.--Treaty of Passarovitz.--The castle of
Semendria.--Relics of the antique.--The Brankovitch
family.--Panesova.--Morrison's pills.
CHAPTER XXV.
Personal appearance of the Servians.--Their moral
character.--Peculiarity of manners.--Christmas
festivities.--Easter.--The Dodola.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Town life.--The public offices.--Manners half-oriental
half-European.--Merchants and tradesmen.--Turkish
population.--Porters.--Barbers.--Cafes.--Public writer.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Poetry.--Journalism.--The fine arts.--The Lyceum.--Mineralogical
cabinet.--Museum.--Servian Education.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Preparations for departure.--Impressions of the East.--Prince
Alexander.--The palace.--Kara Georg.
CHAPTER XXIX.
A memoir of Kara Georg.
CHAPTER XXX.
Milosh Obrenovitch.
CHAPTER XXXI.
The prince.--The government.--The senate.--The minister for foreign
affairs.--The minister of the interior.--Courts of justice.--Finances.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Agriculture and commerce.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
The foreign agents.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
VIENNA IN 1844.
Improvements in Vienna.--Palladian style.--Music.--Theatres.--Sir Robert
Gordon.--Prince Metternich.--Armen ball.--Dancing.--Strauss.--Austrian
policy.
CHAPTER XXXV.
Concluding observations on Austria and her prospects.
SERVIA.
CHAPTER I.
Leave Beyrout.--Camp afloat.--Rhodes.--The shores of the Mediterranean
suitable for the cultivation of the arts.--A Moslem of the new
school.--American Presbyterian clergyman.--A Mexican senator.--A
sermon for sailors.--Smyrna.--Buyukdere.--Sir Stratford
Canning.--Embark for Bulgaria.
I have been four years in the East, and feel that I have had quite
enough of it for the present. Notwithstanding the azure skies,
bubbling fountains, Mosaic pavements, and fragrant _narghiles_, I
begin to feel symptoms of ennui, and a thirst for European life, sharp
air, and a good appetite, a blazing fire, well-lighted rooms, female
society, good music, and the piquant vaudevilles of my ancient
friends, Scribe, Bayard, and Melesville.
At length I stand on the pier of Beyrout, while my luggage is being
embarked for the Austrian steamer lying in the roads, which, in the
Levantine slang, has lighted her chibouque, and is polluting yon white
promontory, clear cut in the azure horizon, with a thick black cloud
of Wallsend.
I bade a hurried adieu to my friends, and went on board. The
quarter-deck, which retained its awning day and night, was divided
into two compartments, one of which was reserved for the promenade of
the cabin passengers, the other for the bivouac of the Turks, who
retained their camp habits with amusing minuteness, making the
larboard quarter a vast tent afloat, with its rolled up beds, quilts,
counterpanes, washing gear, and all sorts of water-cans, coffee-pots,
and chibouques, with stores of bread, cheese, fruit, and other
provisions for the voyage. In the East, a family cannot move without
its household paraphernalia, but then it requires a slight addition of
furniture and utensils to settle for years in a strange place. The
settlement of a European family requires a thousand et ceteras and
months of installation, but then it is set in motion for the new world
with a few portmanteaus and travelling bags.
Two days and a half of steaming brought us to Rhodes.
An enchanter has waved his wand! in reading of the wondrous world of
the ancients, one feels a desire to get a peep at Rome before its
destruction by barbarian hordes. A leap backwards of half this period
is what one seems to make at Rhodes, a perfectly preserved city and
fortress of the middle ages. Here has been none of the Vandalism of
Vauban, Cohorn, and those mechanical-pated fellows, who, with their
Dutch <DW18>-looking parapets, made such havoc of donjons and
picturesque turrets in Europe. Here is every variety of mediaeval
battlement; so perfect is the illusion, that one wonders the waiter's
horn should be mute, and the walls devoid of bowman, knight, and
squire.
Two more delightful days of steaming among the Greek Islands now
followed. The heat was moderate, the motion gentle, the sea was liquid
lapis lazuli, and the hundred-tinted islets around us, wrought their
accustomed spell. Surely there is something in climate which creates
permanent abodes of art! The Mediterranean, with its hydrographical
configuration, excluding from its great peninsulas the extremes of
heat and cold, seems destined to nourish the most exquisite sentiment
of the Beautiful. Those brilliant or softly graduated tints invite the
palette, and the cultivation of the graces of the mind, shining with
its aesthetic ray through lineaments thorough-bred from generation to
generation, invites the sculptor to transfer to marble, grace of
contour and elevation of expression. But let us not envy the balmy
South. The Germanic or northern element, if less susceptible of the
beautiful is more masculine, better balanced, less in extremes. It was
this element that struck down the Roman empire, that peoples America
and Australia, and rules India; that exhausted worlds, and then
created new.
The most prominent individual of the native division of passengers,
was Arif Effendi, a pious Moslem of the new school, who had a great
horror of brandy; first, because it was made from wine; and secondly,
because his own favourite beverage was Jamaica rum; for, as Peter
Parley says, "Of late years, many improvements have taken place among
the Mussulmans, who show a disposition to adopt the best things of
their more enlightened neighbours." We had a great deal of
conversation during the | 232.604917 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: Cover]
GEORGINA OF THE RAINBOWS
"As Long as a Man Keeps Hope
at the Prow He Keeps Afloat."
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Georgina Of The Rainbows]
GEORGINA
OF THE RAINBOWS
BY
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
_Author of
"Two Little Knights of Kentucky," "The Giant Scissors,"
"The Desert of Waiting," etc._
[Illustration]
"_... Still bear up and steer
right onward._" MILTON
New York
Britton Publishing Company
Copyright, 1916
BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC.
All Rights Reserved
To
My Little God-daughter
"ANNE ELIZABETH"
[Illustration]
[Illustration: "At the Tip of Old Cape Cod."]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. HER EARLIER MEMORIES 11
II. GEORGINA'S PLAYMATE MOTHER 22
III. THE TOWNCRIER HAS HIS SAY 30
IV. NEW FRIENDS AND THE GREEN STAIRS 40
V. IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF PIRATES 51
VI. SPEND-THE-DAY GUESTS 63
VII. "THE TISHBITE" 77
VIII. THE TELEGRAM THAT TOOK BARBY AWAY 86
IX. THE BIRTHDAY PRISM 96
X. MOVING PICTURES 111
XI. THE OLD RIFLE GIVES UP ITS SECRET 124
XII. A HARD PROMISE 135
XIII. LOST AND FOUND AT THE LINIMENT WAGON 141
XIV. BURIED TREASURE 154
XV. A NARROW ESCAPE 161
XVI. WHAT THE STORM DID 169
XVII. IN THE KEEPING OF THE DUNES 178
XVIII. FOUND OUT 187
XIX. TRACING THE LINIMENT WAGON 198
XX. DANCE OF THE RAINBOW FAIRIES 209
XXI. ON THE TRAIL OF THE WILD-CAT WOMAN 218
XXII. THE RAINBOW GAME 230
XXIII. LIGHT DAWNS FOR UNCLE DARCY 244
XXIV. A CONTRAST IN FATHERS 258
XXV. A LETTER TO HONG-KONG 272
XXVI. PEGGY JOINS THE RAINBOW-MAKERS 283
XXVII. A MODERN "ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON" 291
XXVIII. THE DOCTOR'S DISCOVERY 304
XXIX. WHILE THEY WAITED 317
XXX. NEARING THE END 329
XXXI. COMINGS AND GOINGS 336
ILLUSTRATIONS
BY RAY N. JACKSON
THE REAL GEORGINA (in life colors) _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
THEY TOOK THEIR WAY IN "THE BETSEY" 54
COMING ACROSS A SEA OF DREAMS 240
THE TOWNCRIER AND HIS LASS 310
[Illustration: "Put a Rainbow 'Round Your Troubles."--GEORGINA.]
Georgina of the Rainbows
CHAPTER I
HER EARLIER MEMORIES
IF old Jeremy Clapp had not sneezed his | 232.697522 |
2023-11-16 18:20:56.7810470 | 866 | 14 |
Produced by Victorian/Edwardian Pictorial Magazines,
Jonathan Ingram, Josephine Paolucci and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE
STRAND MAGAZINE
_An Illustrated Monthly_
Vol. 5, Issue. 29.
May 1893
[Illustration: "EXCUSE OUR INTRUSION, MADAM."
(_In the Shadow of the Sierras._)]
IN THE SHADOW OF THE SIERRAS
BY IZA DUFFUS HARDY.
Barbara Thorne sat leaning her head on her hand, looking at a photograph
that lay on the table beneath her eyes. She had not intended to look for
_that_ when she pulled out a dusty drawer full of old letters, papers,
and account-books to arrange and set in order. But when in the course of
her rummaging and tidying she found that picture in her hand, she paused
in her task. The neglected drawer stood open, with its dusty packets and
rolls of faded papers. Barbara had forgotten it and all else around her.
She sat there lost in memory, her eyes fixed upon the "counterfeit
presentment" of the face that once had been all the world to her. She
did not often think of Oliver Desmond now; to think of him meant only
pain--pain of outraged pride and wounded love. She had outgrown the time
when she could not tear her thoughts from him, when his face was in her
"mind's eye" by night and day, and yet she shrank with a shuddering
revolt of anguish from those pictures of the past which she could not
banish. For the memory that was the locked-up skeleton of her life--that
rattled its dead bones to-day as Oliver Desmond's pictured eyes smiled
into hers--was a cruel memory indeed, of grief and wrong and bitter
humiliation, of broken troth and shattered faith, insulted love, and
crushed and martyred pride. The blow that had rankled like iron in her
heart for years was base and cowardly as a stab in the back from the
hand that should have shielded and cherished her.
How strange it seemed to her to-day to think she had outlived it
all--the love, the anguish, the bitterness, which once had seemed
undying! There was nothing to disturb her reverie; she was alone, had
been alone all day, and yet not lonely, albeit this solitary Californian
ranch, in a secluded valley amongst the foot-hills of the Sierras, was a
lonesome-looking place enough. But Barbara had been too busy all day to
sit down and realize the loneliness. She lived on the Saucel Ranch with
her married brother and his wife, she and her sister-in-law doing all
the housework between them--servants or "helps" being unattainable
luxuries in those parts. Mr. and Mrs. Thorne had gone out for all the
day and all the night; a nervous woman might well have shrunk from being
thus left alone and unprotected in such a place; but if Barbara had ever
been troubled with the nineteenth century malady of "nerves," she had
lived it down since she had taken up her abode on the Saucel Ranch. Her
hands were always full. Even now, her day's task done, she had set
herself to "improve the shining hour" by "tidying-up" the bureau drawer,
in which she had come across the photograph of Oliver Desmond.
It was rarely indeed that Barbara Thorne indulged in reverie by day; the
night was her time for silence and thought; but now she was so lost in
the train of memories aroused by the sight of his portrait--memories
which had lost their sharpest sting, and only hurt her now with a dull
ache--she had even forgotten that an hour ago she had been looking out
for somebody--somebody who would never allow the long, lonely day to
pass without coming to see her!
| 232.801087 |
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